Saboteur: A Novel (13 page)

Chapter 27

Sullivan could see the blinking neon sign of the Aero club
all the way from the interstate. In spite of it being a major So Cal city, San
Diego had somehow managed to avoid the urban sprawl of cities like LA. The Aero
Club was tucked right beneath the overpass, but still near enough to the
airport to have earned the name. Inside though it was simply a square bar in
the middle of an old room. It reminded him of a thousand bars in the South,
minus the rednecks of course. He scanned as he walked in. Tackett raised a hand
from the back booth next to the jukebox.

“I already ordered two more Jack
and cokes, one for me and another for me,” he said yelling above the music.

It was a little too early for
“Don’t Sop Believin,” but already there were small groups of people getting
rowdy together. The after work crowd trying to shake off the day.

“You’re early. What are you a cop
or something?” Sullivan said over the roar. Tackett seemed a bit unsteady on
his feet. “Are you drunk already?” he said accusingly. “Goddamn, let me catch
up.”

“I lost my job. It’s a moral
fucking imperative that I get drunk.” Tackett suddenly became sober sounding,
though clearly he had been at it for a while.

“You just got suspended, you didn’t
get fired.”

“Never mind Robby fucking Tierney’s
sorry ass, what did you find out?”

“Well, the kid gave us---”

“Not about that, about 1032? You
said you needed to chat, so chat.”

The waitress came by with two cups
of coffee.

“Hey, where’s my Jack and coke?”

“You drink too much kid and my tank
is already full, sorry.”

“Ok, coffee it is,” he said
disappointedly.

“Now tell me what the hell you’ve
found out already.”

“A couple of very interesting
things. Each on their own maybe seems like nuthin, but--”

“Go on.”

“Well, I was reading Detective
Jensen’s notes on the case. He was a very organized guy it turns out. He seemed
to have reason to think this professor Noah Downy, who is a bigshot over at the
university, might be connected to the case, which at first made no sense to
me.”

“Yeah, I remember the name, we
ruled him out, right?”

“Yeah, he was the guy who bought
the house after the crime. Weird right, but Jensen’s notes on the case ended
officially in May of 2006, with an entry where he seemed at least to be considering
getting a blood sample from Downy. I have to believe there was a specific
reason he wanted it, which leads me to the second thing. I met with Downy this
morning and he wasn’t entirely telling the truth in our interview.”

“About what? How do you know?”

He leaned back flashing a
wide-toothy grin. “I just know.”

“Oh shit, are you kidding me? Look
man, you can’t ever pull that telepathy shit out here, not with real suspects,
especially not with a goddamn college professor.”

“I figured you would say that. My
superpowers are so rarely appreciated. That’s why I saved the best for last.
Get this, your friend Danny Fleming was a terrible note taker and he wrote
almost everything on scraps of paper. His case files looked like a fucking
third grader’s Trapper Keeper. But that’s good news for us because on September
5
^th
he visited Downy, or was planning to at the college. I know
because he wrote the address and directions to Downy’s school office on this.”
He reached into his pocket producing a tiny piece of weathered newspaper. “Top
right corner, look at the date. Probably he picked it up on his way.”

“Jesus, the day he--”

“Yep, the day Fleming went missing.
Everybody else who looked at the case assumed he was just taking down info,
name, address probably, but this proves it was
after
he had been to the house already to meet Downy and look at
the crime scene again. It was his last chance before the Downy’s moved in. This
would have been their second meeting then, but Downy says they never discussed
the case and never mentioned a second meeting, which means either Fleming never
made it or that Downy
was
his last
meeting.” He paused.

Tackett had his hands on his head
trying to fully absorb what had been said.

“If I tell you one more cool thing
will you buy me the Jack and coke you promised?”

“There’s more?”

“Of course there’s more. You think
I’d call you with only that? I asked the good professor about the house, how he
and his wife had acquired it and it turns out it came as a referral from a
friend, a friend now deceased. The widow is out of state he claims. I asked his
secretary before I left, a real cutey by the way, and she says he died in a
boating accident a few years back and that they were super close friends. If
you count our missing detectives, that’s four people who have gone missing or
died around the professor in a pretty short time. The friend’s name is
Patterson, Charles Patterson, though I haven’t had a chance yet to run a
background on him.”

“Shit.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Shhhh--” Tackett said, “it’s not
that loud in here.”

Sullivan pushed his finger against
his ear grimacing.

“So you think Jensen knew something
more on our professor?” Tackett asked, looking into his drink with a scowl.

“Well he probably never connected
the date on the newspaper. I can’t say for sure. It was thrown in with some
other notes, kind of randomly. Then again, none of our detectives knew they
were working for posterity’s sake, did they? As you said, everybody and their
mother has looked at that file. I don’t think anyone else caught it, which
means Jensen was probably operating on a different hunch, something more
concrete, the same one Fleming must have uncovered. I mean why would Fleming
want to talk to Professor Downy twice if he hadn’t found something? He’d
already been to the house. That Monday morning, when he disappeared, he wanted
to talk to Downy again. There had to be another reason. I’m hoping Jensen found
the same thing. Something led them both to him. It best explains why he would
want the blood sample.”

“But why would he want the
professor’s blood, unless he believed it was his at the scene?

“I know, I know. It’s a problem.
I’m still working on that.”

“Maybe asking for blood was a bluff
on Jensen’s part, trying to flush him out.”

“Maybe it worked a little too
well.”

The waitress arrived with more
coffee.

“Thank you, finally” he said
rolling his eyes at Tackett. “Downright uncivilized to sit in a bar and drink
coffee, wouldn’t you say?”

The waitress was pretty, young, and
her tiny shirt was clearly struggling under the weight of her chest. She smiled
a beaming smile at Sullivan.

“I agree completely,” she said.
Tackett groaned.

“Seriously though, any guesses on
who would want to blow up the house?”

Tackett looked across the bar
outside to where the planes passed over on their way to landing. “It’s this
case,” he said putting his finger on the scrap of newspaper.

“But why take the trouble and then
warn us?”

“Bomb squad results will help. If
it was set to a timer it was probably dumb luck. Maybe he wanted someone else
dead. Maybe he wanted to get rid of something in the house, what, I have no
idea. Either way my cheese is gone.”

“Yeah and my hearing,” Sullivan
said grimacing again. Tackett smiled.

“Come to my place tonight. You can
sleep in the garage, there’s a pullout from my divorce. I’ll set you up at El
Cortez later. It’s an old joint, but it’s pretty cheap and rents by the month,
cuts a special deal for cops.”

“I need some new clothes--in the
house--all my clothes blew up.”

“Sorry.”

“They were shitty clothes. Can she
stay in the garage too?” he said pointing at the waitress as she walked back
toward them.

“Eh?”

“Hey, I’m Nick, Nick Sullivan and
I’m new in town,” he said extending his hand and then holding on for a bit too
long. “You know any good places to shop around here? I need a whole new
wardrobe.”

“What for?” the girl said smiling.

“For dancing.”

“What?”

“Tonight, with you. You’re going to
take me dancing.”

“Where you wanna go?” she said
playfully.

“Take me somewhere really loud and
sweaty with stupidly expensive drinks.”

The girl laughed out loud.

“Ok. I’m off at 8.”

Tackett shook his head in
disbelief.

“Do me one more favor,” Sullivan
said. “Make sure when we leave they take good care of my dear old dad here. He
doesn’t get to leave the home very often and I want him to have some fun, you
know before--well--you know.”

Tackett grabbed his jacket, yelling
“I’m outta here.”

“Hey wait! He shouted, “How do I
find your house?”

“I’m texting it to you right now.
Keys under the front mat.”

“That’s really your dad?”

“Nah,” he said, “my uncle.”

“Yeah?” she said grinning.

“Make the next one a Jack and coke
ok, a double. I like to be nice and tight when I’m tryin on clothes.”

“Coming up.” The girl twirled
herself flirtatiously back toward the bar.

He stared off into the distance at
the planes landing overhead. He raised his glass. “To San Diego!” he said. But
he was really thinking about the guy in the hat. He could almost see his face
if he had just known to pay closer attention. Whoever he was he was bold and
dangerous. He was going to catch the son of a bitch one way or another.

Chapter 28

Downy awakened startled and looked across at Naomi while she
slept. Her leg was twisted around the blanket. It was all he could do not to
wake her and demand more of what she’d given him last night. Their evening had
turned into quite a party. Everyone had had a little too much to drink. Of
course he and Samara had quite a head start, which probably helped set the
tone. He marveled at how well the two girls had gotten along. It had been too
much though when Naomi had insisted on showing Samara the vintage phone booth
in the back. They were like two long lost college girlfriends, giggling and
laughing their way through the night. It was nice not to have to think about
the situation with Nazim for a change.

Naomi’s job was sometimes a
stressful one and in the end corporate, so it was always a fun release for her
to get out. She had missed out on college unfortunately and seemed fascinated
by Samara’s life. Downy had decided to keep the situation under wraps about
Nazim for at least another day or two. He hoped he could simply resolve it
before he had to tell her, but more and more he feared that was wishful
thinking. And what had the strange old Dr. Tannehill meant when he said, “dear
friends now
ghosts
?” Why was he so concerned about
Samara?

Samara was now downstairs in their guest room asleep. Naomi
had absolutely insisted that she not try to drive home, both of them had. The
two girls had ended up in the backseat singing along together like teenagers,
while he drove. Gratefully he had drunk only coffee for the last two hours of
dinner and was buzzed by caffeine much more than scotch. To say that his
position as Samara’s professor was seriously compromised was an understatement;
but that was already true wasn’t it?

He had been surprised when they arrived home how insistent
Naomi had been that they make love. Usually when a guest was in the house sex
was strictly off limits, but the scotch had undoubtedly fixed that. Samara was
a safe distance away in any case, downstairs, and undoubtedly exhausted
herself. In her drunkenness Naomi was in the mood and as usual when she drank,
loose of tongue.

“Professah Noah Downy,” she had
said in her hilarious mock southern accent, “who is always surrounded by tha’
most beautiful gurls, always right at the pretty lil’ center of everyone’s
tenshun--attention.”

“I’ll give you some attention boy,”
she had said loquaciously.

She had lunged at him with a kiss
before they’d even made it upstairs. And they hadn’t even made it to the bed,
so the bathroom counter had to do. He tried to
shoosh
her several times for fear of the noise, but Naomi was even
more vocal than usual.

And then she had made the strangest
remark of the evening, after he tried to quiet her again, “Oh, she’d be doing
it if she could, so who cares what she hears.”

Then she had spoken in French so he
couldn’t understand a word. It was a trick she loved to play on him when she
wanted to say the un-sayable right in front of him. It was also extremely sexy.
He wasn’t sure she she was actually feeling suspicious, but as he lay there he
knew that her sixth sense must have been on overdrive. Women could always tell.
She hadn’t been angry about it at least and it certainly hadn’t affected her
treatment of Samara. Oh well, maybe Naomi wanted her to hear it.

“God last night was fun.” Her voice
came out low and sonorous. She had been watching him think silently the whole
time. “Penny for your thoughts, professor.”

“Hey,” he said groggily, “how’s
your head?”

“It’ll get better, but I need
pancakes stat. Do you think she heard us?” she said whispering.

He looked at the clock. It was
10:47. Samara was sleeping it off too it seemed. He hadn’t heard a peep.

“Nah, not me anyway” he said
laughing.

“Ahhhh,” she said laughing back,
“I’m not sorry. She looks at you like you are the most interesting thing God
ever created ya’ know.”

“Does she? No,” he said protesting.

“Make me pancakes ok? Don’t forget
the blueberries,” she said rolling her eyes and falling over into the blankets
face down.

Against the white of the sheets her
body looked soft, her skin a light butterscotch. He rubbed his hand across the
nape of her neck with his finger, then he got up and walked to the bathroom to
clear his face in the mirror. All their clothes from the night before were
strewn wildly about the room. He put on his pants and a shirt and made his way
down the hallway. There was still no sound in the house. He went downstairs as
quietly as he could, but couldn’t see into Samara’s room, which was still dark
and silent. Pancakes for three then. He walked back upstairs trying to be quiet
and stood in the front room overlooking the bay. Birds chirped away and he
could hear the whinge of crickets, which reminded him so much of home. He walked
into the kitchen to start the pancakes, but his attention was distracted by a
piece of paper on the counter. She had gone already then. He picked it up, eyes
scanning the page while he rubbed his eyes.

If you want her back,
ask your publisher for directions to the pond.

Call the police and
you will never see her again.

Come alone.

G.

His hand began to shake and his
pulse raced.
Holy Jesus.
He ran down
the stairs as fast as he could and threw open the door. The bed was empty, though
the sheets looked like she had slept there. He knocked at the bathroom door
franticly. No answer.

“Samara? Are you in there?”

He pushed open the door, but the
lights were out and it was empty. He looked back to the bed to the sheet
hanging down the side and could see a long smear of what looked like blood. It
was not yet completely dry. He bent down holding it in his hand, which was
shaking violently. He sprinted up the stairs as fast as he could, his heart
racing.

“Naomi!” he shouted. “Get up! I need
you to come down here right now. Naomi!” Downy ran to their room and could hear
the shower. “Naomi!”

“What is it?” she said emerging
from the shower, still dripping with water and towel.

“Put on a robe.
Something has happened to Samara.”
Naomi could sense the fear in her husband’s face immediately and ran silently
to get her robe as the two of them hurried down the stairs.

“Look at this!” he said shoving the
note at Naomi, who read it with a disturbed look.

“What the hell does this mean?
Where is she?”

“She’s not in the room. And then
there’s this,” he said pulling her along down the stairs.

“Stop pulling me. I’m coming! I’m
coming!”

Downy pointed to the sheet.

“Is this, Oh Jesus…”

“What the hell do you think?”

“It looks like blood. Oh Jesus,
it’s blood.”

The two of them walked almost
unconsciously out of the house to the front driveway, looking back at every
step. There was no sign of anyone.

“What do we do?” she said.

He reached for his phone. He pulled
up Samara’s number and started dialing frantically.

“We can check at her dorm.”

“We have to call the police now,”
Naomi said holding the note.

He stared at the house, not
answering her for a moment. “Ok, but not yet. I have some things I need to tell
you first, ok?”

“What things?”

“Come inside and hurry. It’s
important.”

Naomi frowned as they walked. “What
the hell is happening, Noah?”

They stopped on the porch step
together, never making it to the door.

“It’s about Charlie,” Downy began.
“Something very strange is going on.”