The Dead Don't Speak (15 page)

It was move-in day for the Hepson clan. Margaret, Cayte, and Zach buzzed with the general excitement of being in a new place, while Walter was busy sleeping off his hangover in the RV. He'd been hitting the bottle quite hard and frequently since the first meeting with Dylan Tovak.

There was considerably less than a houseful of possessions between the two families of fair workers. Dylan Tovak foresaw this and had the house furnished by the same people who outfitted the suites at Versailles. It took under an hour for Margaret, Cayte, and Zach to unload and unpack their stuff from the RV. In the process they'd woken Walter who cursed them for being so excited about moving into a house given to them by such a terrible person.

Shortly after his tirade, Walter wandered in search of a liquor store. It was a gated community but security didn't hassle him. They had been advised of the Hepsons' arrival. He returned an hour or so later with a couple bottles of fruit-flavored vodka, one of which was already half empty when he arrived. He went into the RV and sat in the passenger seat.

Be damned if I'm going to set foot in that house. Gift from the Devil is what it is.

He took a swig from the half empty bottle; it tasted like a watery peach. His family, sleeping under
that
roof, so grateful for the crummy house. They'd see, yes, they'd see. That house would fall apart before they knew it. The walls would crack and chip, the floors would become creaky. The roof would leak. They would see. Walter took another drink.

He sat in the RV with a smile on his face. He fantasized how miserable Margaret, Cayte, and Zach would be. They'd come running out to the RV, begging his forgiveness for their mistake, begging him to take them back.
Please, please, please, let us in the RV
. The same RV they'd forfeited all rights to the moment they crossed the threshold to that serpent's lair.

Walter's daydream of justice was derailed by a set of headlights that appeared in the mirror. He watched the vehicle slow as it pulled alongside the RV and came to stop in front of it. A young black man got out carrying a bottle of wine and some flowers. Walter watched as he went to the front door and rang the bell.

What is this nigger doing at my house with wine and flowers?

He must be there to see Margaret. Yes, that made sense. She was always getting looks from men. This time she must have asked him to come over.

A Nigger!

Sure enough, Margaret appeared at the door with a radiant smile on her face. She gave the boy a hug and beckoned him inside.

Walter drank off the remainder of the peach vodka and opened the passenger side door. The bottle slipped from his hand, fell to the ground, and exploded.

"Mother fucker," he muttered even though it was empty.

Walter staggered toward the house. The physical act of standing had doubled the alcohol's potency. He had some difficulty following the sidewalk and opted to go straight for the door, walking through the rock garden.

Walter found the front door unlocked and entered.

"Where is he?" Walter shouted, slurring. "Where's the guy thinks he can fuck my wife?"

Zach came around a corner and saw his dad, hunched over, looking haggard everywhere except his eyes. Walter Hepson's eyes were on fire and darting back and forth so quickly Zach wondered how they didn't get turned around in his head.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Zach asked.

"Get out'a my way, traitor," Walter said and backhanded Zach across the face. The boy went flying, sliding across the hardwood floor.

"Where's he!" Walter demanded.

"What's the problem?" Julian appeared from the kitchen, followed by Margaret.

"Oh, hon, you're drunk," Margaret said.

"Not drunk," Walter protested. "B'trayed!"

He lunged for Julian who stepped aside and let the drunkard stumble past him. Walter collided with a wall but never lost his footing. He shoved off from the wall, turned, and caught Julian on the side of the head with a wild punch. Julian crumpled to the floor. Blood trickled out of his ear.

"What's the matter with you?" Margaret shouted. "He was bringing us a house warming present from Versailles. Wine and flowers!"

Walter took a long look at Margaret. She saw the murder in her new husband's eyes, two shining pools of bloodshot crazy. Margaret didn't wait for Walter to make a move. She grabbed the carving knife from the butcher block and sprinted to Cayte's room.

When her mother burst through the door holding a knife, Cayte's brain bypassed all fear and she wondered if this was how it would end for her. She could see the headline in her mind's eye, "Crazed mother stabs songbird daughter to death." Then she heard Walter's voice from beyond the door. Margaret slammed the door shut and locked it.

"What about Zach?" Cayte asked.

"It's too late," Margaret said.

Cayte's mind took this to mean,

He killed him. The son of a bitch killed his own son! Zach, my little brother. He killed my little brother.

Shock turned to rage as Cayte watched her mother hold the knife out toward the door.

One hard thrust from Walter's shoulder and Cayte's bedroom door gave way. Walter fell flat on his face. Cayte leapt from her bed, took the carving knife from her mother's hand, ran to Walter's sprawled body, and plunged it into his back. The stainless steel blade bit into one of Walter's ribs and stopped.

Cayte heard herself shout, "You killed him," and stabbed Walter again. She continued to shout, "You killed him! You killed him." Tears were streaming now. "You killed him! You killed him!"

She stabbed Walter five times before Margaret could pull her off and get the knife away. Cayte wrestled herself free from her mother's grip and ran to the living room. That's where she found Zach sitting on the floor, rubbing his cheek. Julian was lying by the entrance to the kitchen, moving slowly and groaning.

"What's on your hands?" Zach asked.

Cayte looked at her hands then back at Zach. Her brain refused to supply an answer.

*****

Dylan Tovak's cellphone rang.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Mr. Tovak, this is Julian. We have a problem."

"What's the problem? Did they not like the flowers?"

"Not exactly. I came to deliver your gift, right. I was chatting with Mrs. Hepson in the kitchen and in comes her husband, drunk as anyone I've ever seen. First thing he does is smack Zach. I step out to see what the commotion is and he dives for me. I got out of his way but the little bastard is nimble. He comes back and punches me right in the ear. I go down. The rest of what happened is second hand. That little man knocked my ass out cold."

Julian told the rest of the story to Tovak who listened intently.

"Is he dead?" Tovak asked.

"Nah, not dead. Cayte fucked him up good, though. Social services has her."

"All right. I'll get on the horn with legal, see what they think. Tell Margaret and Zach they are welcome back at Versailles if they don't want to stay in the house. I will find them a room."

"Will do, sir. Sorry for cursing."

"No problem. You've had quite a night."

Tovak pressed End. Molly had just arrived from the kitchen with a couple glasses of champagne.

"That was work," Tovak said. "We only have time for a quickie."

Molly sighed, set the glasses on the table in front of the couch, and knelt in front of her boss.

Fifteen minutes later Dylan Tovak was on his way to Versailles. He spoke with the front desk and told them to hold a room for Margaret and Zach. He also left instructions for the desk to contact him before giving out the keys.

After a long conversation with Legal about the night's mishap, it was decided Zach's show would go on as scheduled. They would get with their media liaison and spin it as an attack by an abusive father and the heroic step-sister who was just protecting her little brother. Dylan figured that wasn't too far from the truth anyhow.

Dylan was leaning back in his desk chair, gazing at the tile ceiling when his desk phone rang with an intercom call.

"This is Mr. Tovak," he answered.

"Mr. Tovak, this is the front desk. Your guests have arrived, Margaret and Zach."

"Good. Please, send Margaret to my office, she knows the way. Zach can go on up to the room."

"Very good, sir."

"Thanks," Dylan hung up.

This is it. This will cement the deal.

He would convince Margaret to get custody of Zach, cut Walter Hepson loose, and sign a low-ball contract to keep Zach and Cayte at Versailles.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Tovak shouted.

Margaret peeked around the door, "Yall wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Pull up a chair."

Margaret did. Tovak came around to her side of the desk and sat in the chair opposite hers.

"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tovak said.

"I'm fine. Had a good scare is all. The police said Cayte has to be held 'til tomorrow but will be released to me."

"How's Zach?"

"He's takin' it hard. Poor boy, his dad goin' crazy like that."

"He'll need you now, more than ever," Tovak said.

"I know it. He's a good boy. Loves Cayte to pieces, I can tell."

Tovak smiled, "You certainly can. It really took me by surprise when he spoke up and asked for Cayte to get her own show."

"Bless your heart for makin' that happen without an audition," Margaret said and touched his hand. She lingered and Tovak didn't stop her.

"It's in everyone's best interest."

Margaret leaned in closer to Tovak.

"Were you a singer?" Dylan asked.

"Heavens, no, I did some modelin' years ago but that's all."

"Couldn't have been that long ago," Dylan said.

"You're sweet."

"Comes with the job."

"You and I both know that ain't true. Plenty of people in show business are just plain mean. You're different."

"I tr--" Dylan was interrupted by Margaret's lips on his. He pulled away, "Your husband?"

"Man's dead to me," Margaret said and pulled Dylan to her. This time Dylan put up no resistance. In his mind he was already redecorating Daphne Carter's office.

*****

Dan Rutherford drove along the Great Basin Highway heading north. It was just after 6:00 AM and the sun was beginning to crest the horizon on his right. It was a cool morning, not a bad day for the monthly inspection.

Dan worked for Nevada Chemical & Filtering. It was a company that manufactured and sold industrial strength water purification chemicals and equipment worldwide. NCF had a few facilities in the desert where they manufactured the chemicals needed for their systems.

He turned his NCF-issued Ford F-150 to the right, off the highway and onto the gravel road that led to the plant. Dan made it around the first couple of bends, weaving his way through the foothills, when he noticed a large bag sitting in the scrub.

The pickup's tires crunched to a stop on the gravel road. Dan alighted from the vehicle to investigate this mysterious package. There were tire tracks, kept safe from the desert winds by the hills. Dan could see where the vehicle had stopped, deposited the bag, then U-turned, and left. Something about the situation didn't feel right. Having been born and raised near Las Vegas, he had a good idea what he would find if he looked in the bag.

Dan called 911.

Walter Hepson swam up out of the fog of sedation. His mouth was dry. He smacked his lips to coax some moisture from his salivary glands.

"Do you need water?" A man's voice asked.

"Yeah," Walter rasped.

A straw appeared at his lips. He sucked at it hungrily until he heard the bubbling noise of the cup being empty. His vision was blurry and he didn't know who'd given him the drink.

"Who is it?"

"Just me. Your old friend, Dylan Tovak."

Walter tensed in his hospital bed. A sharp pain shot from his back through his entire body. He gritted his teeth, unable to hide his agony.

"Hurts, huh? I’ll call a nurse to get you some pain meds," Dylan said.

"Don't need nothin' from you," Walter hissed through his teeth.

"Fair enough. That little girl sure did a number on you."

What girl? Margaret? Had his wife done this to him? The last thing Walter recalled was sitting in the RV daydreaming about victory over his family.

"What happened?" Walter finally said.

"You attacked your family. Hit your son; we've already had words about that, if you'll remember. You hit my assistant Julian, knocked him out. As your encore, you attacked your wife and her daughter. Word is you fell on the floor and Cayte stabbed you in the back."

"Cayte?" Walter's ego deflated. "Little blond cunt."

"Now, now," Dylan said. "Your wife wouldn't want to hear you speaking that way about her little girl."

"Don't you talk about my wife."

"You don't know? That's right, you've been in surgery. Your wife is in the process of having your marriage annulled. Before she does, though, she's going to be granted temporary custody of Zach. Then comes the annulment. Then, since you are a danger to your family, she will most likely adopt the little guy."

"I won't sign nothin'."

"You'll sign anything I tell you to. I want this to go smoothly," Dylan said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hepson, but you're going to have to learn the hard way that I deliver what I promise and I get what I want."

"Like hell."

"Have it your way, Walter. But know that if you do sign the annulment papers once Margaret has custody of your boy, I can make it worth your while. Until then, enjoy your state-mandated rehab."

Dylan left the room. Zach was waiting for him outside.

"You sure you don't want to talk to him?" Dylan asked.

Zach shook his head, "Not yet."

The right side of the boy's face was purple.

"All right. Want to find something to eat?" Dylan asked.

"Nah, I just want to go home."

"Back to the hotel?"

"The house."

"I'll call Margaret and let her know, see what she says."

A voice called from behind them, "Tovak!"

Dylan stopped and turned. Daphne Carter was approaching with long, quick steps.

"Daphne? What are you doing here?" No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than Dylan Tovak wished he could have them back. "Sorry," he said with a wave of his hand, "a lot going on."

Daphne nodded, "Don't worry about it. What brings you here?"

“Had a little trouble last night. I'll tell you about it later. First I want you to meet someone. Daphne Carter, this is Zach Hepson."

Daphne held out her hand, Zack shook it.

"So this is the kid," Daphne said thoughtfully.

"This is him.”

"Tell me the truth, Zach. How did you know the woman was pregnant?" By now Daphne had heard the whole story from Shelly.

Zach said, "I hear voices."

Daphne looked at Dylan and smiled, "You coaching him?"

"He hasn't been coaching me," Zach said. "I can show you if that's okay."

"Fine by me," Daphne said.

Zach closed his eyes and tilted his head forward, as if listening intently.

“It’s faint,” he said. Now Zach cocked his head with a quick twitch. He asked, "Who is Sarah?"

This is too easy.

Anyone who watched the local news knew about Sarah Carter’s unfortunate situation. But Zach knew that being twelve years old was his trump card in this situation, as it often was. What twelve-year-old watches the news?

Daphne shot Dylan a nasty glare, "My daughter. Why?"

"I don't know. The voice is really quiet. Is she okay?"

"You tell me. You're the psychic."

She is getting angry, probably at Mr. Tovak. She thinks he has set her up.

"I can only hear one word. It's her name, Sarah. I'm going to move on."

"Good," Daphne said.

Zach closed his eyes again. His hands were sweaty. This lady wasn’t an easy read. He inventoried what he knew about her. She was a casino executive, her daughter was in a coma, she seemed to loath Dylan Tovak, and she was old enough to have many deceased relatives.

“Were you an only child?” Zach asked. “I’m getting a male who would be about your age, give or take a little. He passed on years ago.”

“I’m not an only child,” Daphne said.

Zach could tell from the sound of her voice that her jaw was tight, probably clenched. He didn’t open his eyes to check.

With his pulse swishing in his ears Zach said, “You had a brother or cousin you were close too who passed on? Maybe a nephew who was close to your age?”

“Maybe.”

She is sensitive about it, probably a brother.

“He says he’s your brother.”

"Yes,” Daphne answered quickly.

Very sensitive, childhood trauma sensitive.

"He died a long time ago. You were devastated.”

"Of course I was. We were kids."

Aha! I’ve got her now.

“He says to not worry about Sarah. He knows it’ll be hard but she will find her way home,” Zach said and opened his eyes. He thought the last line was a nice bit of artistry on his part. Whether the girl lived or died she’d “find her way home.”

Daphne stared at her feet for half a minute then brought her head up, "Dylan, can I steal a minute with Zach, in private?"

"Sure," Dylan wandered down the hall.

"How did you do that?" Daphne asked Zach.

"I hear voices."

She doesn't believe me.

"Tell me the truth," Daphne said. "Did Mr. Tovak put you up to this?"

Zach shook his head, "No, we came to see my dad."

"What happened to your dad?"

"My step-sister stabbed him in the back five times."

"You don't seem very upset. He gave you that, didn't he?" Daphne pointed to the bruise on Zach's face.

Zach nodded, "He did. He's done it before but he was extra crazy this time. He deserved to get stabbed."

Daphne was thoughtful a moment then said, "You think people who do bad things should be punished?"

"Sure," Zach shrugged.

"My daughter was involved in a hit and run accident. Do you know what that is?"

Zach nodded.

"I don't care if you want to say you’re psychic. I think you're just good at observing people, but it doesn't matter. Mr. Tovak," Daphne pointed, "is a bad person. He will step on anyone to get ahead. He needs you for now but that will change."

"I know. I need him for now, too. I can't stay with my dad anymore. He will eventually kill me if I do."

Zach saw understanding in Daphne's eyes. Understanding and... something more.

"I may need your help in a few days. If I call ahead of time, would you be able to
hear voices
for someone I bring with me?"

"Yes. The more warning I have the better to hear voices," Zach said.

She knows. Or she thinks she knows.

"Good. I will give you a call in a few days then. There are a couple of people who need punishing."

She's right about Tovak. When he has used me up he will toss me aside. I will need a friend like Daphne Carter.

"For your daughter?"

"Yes, for my daughter."

*****

Chris boarded a flight at McCarran International Airport and landed in Miami two and a half hours later. He'd only be in town for a couple of days, so he had a small overnight bag that he carried on. Not having to wait at the baggage claim bought him time.

As soon as he stepped outside Chris got a healthy reminder of why he hated the South. A thick wall of humidity slapped him in the lungs. Chris unbuttoned his shirt a couple notches for the walk to the Miami Airport Inn.

Once in his room Chris consulted the Miami phone book. For a hotel room phonebook, it was in surprisingly good shape with only a few missing pages and minor graffiti. He opened to the white pages and located the C's. Chris had a very specific name in mind. And wouldn't you know it, there were five men with the correct initials who lived in close proximity to the airport.

Chris walked back to the airport car rental counter and picked up the economy-size vehicle he'd reserved by phone. Then, white pages in hand, he visited each of the addresses listed. Three of the five addresses were street numbers for apartment buildings. Unfortunately, two of the three had mailboxes in the entryway and they were locked.

The third apartment building had more of an old-school hotel setup with a large set of cubbies behind a front desk. With his sunglasses on, Chris donned his most amiable smile and approached the man working the desk. Chris said, "Hi, Dan Cooper, just moved in, any mail?"

"What unit?" the man asked, sounding bored with life.

Chris frantically scanned the cubbies with his eyes, found the one he needed, and said, "Three forty two."

The man, not bothering to look Chris in the face, turned, pulled out the collection of mail, and handed it over.

"Thanks," Chris said and walked away. He found the rear entrance and left the building.

The stack of mail was mostly junk, except for a cable bill which Chris pocketed, the rest went in a trash can. He found his rental car in the parking lot, got in, and used the complimentary GPS unit to find the closest public library. As a second location Chris found a DMV.

At the library Chris checked his e-mail, where he found the message he'd sent to himself while still in Vegas. It contained an attachment that Chris downloaded. He opened it and filled in the address information, then clicked the print button. Chris snatched the sheet of paper, a W2 tax form, off the printer and left the library without paying the ten cents required.

He drove to the DMV. From his carry-on bag Chris took the forged Social Security Card and Puerto Rican birth certificate he'd printed in Vegas.

He waited patiently for his turn at the next available DMV representative's window. One by one the mouth breathers trickled through the line, eventually leaving Chris to take his turn.

"Hi there," Chris said to the lady across from him. She was a large, curly haired lady with a nameplate that said Pam.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I need to get an ID card, first time. Moved to Florida months ago and never got around to it 'til now."

"Do you have the required documentation and application?"

"Sure do," Chris handed over the application he'd completed while waiting.

"Proof of identity..." Pam said.

Chris handed over his Puerto Rican birth certificate.

"Mmm hmm. Proof of Social Security number."

Chris passed Pam his social security card. Pam checked to make sure the number matched the birth certificate.

"Two proofs of address?"

Chris slid the stolen cable bill and recently printed W2 under the bullet-proof glass. Again Pam verified the SSN on the W2, being extra cautious, she thought.

"Very well, sir," Pam said. She spent a few minutes keying information into a computer. She slid the papers Chris had provided back to him. "Go wait in that line over there. Give the lady this," Pam slipped a small sheet of paper under the window, then pointed with a long-nailed finger to the line Chris was to occupy.

Chris did as instructed. The whole process from landing to walking out of the DMV with a brand new, and completely legitimate, Florida ID took around three hours. And, just like that, Daniel Bradley Cooper was born.

*****

Dylan Tovak was summoned to a board meeting. Word had gotten around about his latest acquisition. There was some concern, especially now that Simon Simmons' breakdown was well known to everyone with a newspaper subscription or a computer. The members of the Board were worried Zack Hepson might end up the same way. The recent incident with his father hadn't escaped their ears and certainly didn't alleviate their fears.

Dylan Tovak's situation was the last order of business and the Board made him wait in the hall for the seventy minutes it took to wrap up everything else. The conference room was nothing fancy; it was one Versailles rented out to interested business folk. There was nothing on the taupe walls, the board members sat in stackable chairs, and the table they used was the type where the legs folded in for easy storage.