The Many (19 page)

10

Karl and Dawn weren’t short of conversation during the drive back to the city. Most of the talk centered on Leach’s primary objective. What did he hope to gain from poisoning people’s minds in such bizarre, random ways? Did he have a grand plan in mind or was he simply experimenting? And why was he apparently only targeting women now?

Most of Dawn's theories revolved around sex and controlling sexual urges. Given Leach’s puritanical views on human behavior, as evidenced in his book, Dawn wondered if he’d been trying to “cure” Isobel’s lesbianism. She also suggested Stacey might’ve been targeted because she slept around a bit. Karl immediately went on the defensive, saying his sister liked to party, but she was hardly a slut. Dawn said it didn't matter – as far as Leach was concerned, she fell outside the definition of a model citizen.

Knowing that a twisted prick like Leach thought his sister was a slut made Karl literally shake with rage. But he had to admit, Dawn’s “curing” theory made sense. Stacey had made lewd comments immediately after her date, but a few weeks later, she was a sexless vegetable. Her libido had disappeared along with everything else that made her human.

After crossing back over the river, Dawn surprised Karl by suggesting they swing by his hostel to pick up his clothes. She had a spare bedroom and it would be easier to brainstorm if they were under the same roof. Plus they’d save on transportation and phone costs.

Karl hadn’t needed any convincing. His roommate’s personal hygiene was getting worse and he’d grown to dread returning to the hostel every night. A good night’s sleep in a warm house was just what he needed.

Dawn lived in the heart of suburbia. Wide, clean sidewalks fringed by rose bushes and neatly cut lawns. Two-storied houses with low-hipped roofs and lantern-lit porches. Karl imagined there were lots of decent, liberal-minded families behind the drawn curtains. Nothing like the street he grew up in, where every second house had an American flag hanging from the porch and a busted hot rod on the lawn.

The streetlights exposed a thin fog hanging in the air, providing enough of a chill to drive everyone indoors. Nine o'clock, but it might as well have been three in the morning. Only then did Karl notice that every third or fourth house had a foreclosure sign on the lawn. He’d seen so many recently that they barely registered.

“Nice neighborhood,” he said, feeling obligated to say something.

Dawn gave him a disbelieving look. "It's quiet," she said, as if that were the word he meant to use.

They pulled into the driveway of a narrow, two-storied villa with dormer windows and a postage stamp-sized lawn. An identical property stood next door. A subdivision, Karl guessed, but at least they looked like cute versions of the other houses on the street. And unlike some of their larger neighbors, they were keeping up with their mortgage payments.

The interior had a cozy, jumbled sense of style – old-fashioned furniture, thick-pile rugs, and lots of framed art on the walls. Peering into the living room from the skinny hallway, Karl felt instantly at home.

“This is a great house,” he said.

“Thanks,” Dawn smiled, hanging her coat in a hallway closet. “Isobel spent a lot of time at rummage sales.”

“Yeah, it’s cool.” He glanced upstairs and then back to Dawn. “Are you sure it’s okay me staying here?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have invited you if it wasn’t okay.” She brushed past him and started up the stairs. “Come on. Your room is up here.”

Karl bit his tongue and fell in behind, watching her butt muscles work against her jeans. She was a hard girl to read – open and chatty one minute, frosty as hell the next. Still, he wasn’t complaining. Dawn’s house was toasty warm and he was looking forward to having his own room again.

At the top of the stairs, she led him into a double bedroom that smelled of sweet apple and cinnamon. He looked around, taking in the antique dresser, the green silk bed cover and the pencil sketch of a woman with a towel draped around her. It was still very much Isobel’s bedroom. He wondered if Dawn sprayed her mother’s perfume in the air to keep her memory alive.

“Sorry, it’s still quite girly in here,” she said, reading his mind. “But I’ve emptied out the closet and drawers so you can put your clothes away. And there are clean sheets on the bed.”

“Cool,” he said, wriggling out of his backpack. “This is awesome, Dawn. I really appreciate it.”

She looked at him, about to say something, but then she abruptly turned around and left him alone. “I’m going to change. I’ll see you downstairs when you’ve unpacked.”

“Sounds good,” Karl said, hearing her move into the room next door. He stared at the wall separating them, picturing Dawn stripping down. He’d only caught glimpses of her body beneath her baggy clothes, but if she looked anything like Karl was imagining, she was stacked and sexy as hell. 

Unpacking consisted of dumping the contents of his backpack on the far side of the bed, hidden from view. Most of his clothes were dirty and he didn’t want to stink up Dawn’s drawers. He parted the curtains, peering out into the night. Checking there wasn’t a gray-haired man in a dark coat glaring up at him. But there was nothing to see – just a large oak tree and the neighbor’s backyard.

He waited until he heard Dawn trundling down the stairs before following her down. She was sitting at the computer when he arrived in the living room.

“We should check out the college faculty next,” she said without turning around. “Come look at this.”

Karl stood at her shoulder, squinting at the snapshot of a full-bearded old man with wireless glasses. “Who’s that?”

“The head of psychology at Portland State,” Dawn said excitedly. “He was an associate professor back in ‘98 – now he’s top dog. He’s bound to have some dirt on Leach. We should drive out and see him tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Dawn whirled around in her chair, looking up at him challengingly. She’d changed into sweat pants and a white tank top that revealed startlingly deep cleavage. Caught off guard, Karl pulled his eyes up a second too late. Dawn crossed her arms in front of her chest, eyebrows raised.

“What?” she said.

“I’m…I’m not sure we’ll learn anything useful, that’s all.”

She tilted her head with a suspicious expression. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms. “Why not? We got some useful stuff out of Seymour today.”

“It was
interesting
, but I’m not sure how useful it was. Not in terms of tracking down Leach. You heard what Seymour said – the FBI already spoke to him a year ago. They must’ve interviewed all of Leach’s old colleagues and assistants, just like we’re planning to do. But nothing they learned got them closer to Leach.”

Dawn stared at him furiously. Then she abruptly stood up and crossed the living room, her arms flying in the air. “Well, what are we supposed to do then? Give up?” She looked to the ceiling. “Sorry Isobel, sorry Stacey – but Professor Leach was just too smart for us. We’ll carry on with our lives now.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. We’re not giving up. We just have to try a different tack.”

“A different tack,” she repeated derisively. She collapsed into the sofa, huffing out a sigh. “Okay. I’m listening.”

He took a seat in a winged armchair opposite her, leaning forward. “It occurred to me this morning that we could take a more direct approach. Instead of running around behind their backs, we should actually go out and make something happen.”

Dawn sat up, interested. “Go on.”

“This is how I see it. We need to find Ivan Leach – that’s the bottom line. So instead of combing through Leach’s past, we should concentrate on the two people who can lead us to him
now
.”

“Maxine and Dr. Reynolds,” Dawn said, rolling her eyes. “But that’s easier said than done. We can’t keep tabs on them twenty-four-seven.”

“We don’t need to. Not if we set a trap.”

“A trap…”

“Yeah, dangle some bait under their noses. Leach needs human guinea pigs for his experiments, right? Which means Dr. Reynolds and Maxine will soon be on the prowl again.”

“But we don’t know when they’ll strike. Or who’ll they’ll target.”

“We know Dr. Reynolds is active on Love Letters again. Virgil sent me a text last night – the doctor logged into his account yesterday morning. And like I said, we could set a trap.”

Dawn searched his eyes for a clue to his meaning, which Karl thought was pretty obvious, but she wasn’t connecting the dots. He took a deep breath. There was no easy way to put it.

“We could use you as bait.”

11

From the shocked look on her face, Karl could tell Dawn hadn’t even considered the possibility. She started laughing, her cheeks filling with color. “You’re not serious.”

“Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, getting off the sofa and moving into the kitchen.

Karl looked around the empty living room, wondering if he was about to be kicked out. He heard her banging cupboards and running the faucet, muttering to herself. She was fighting mad, all right. He probably could’ve chosen his words more carefully, but it was just an idea. She could’ve said no and Karl would’ve understood.

He felt himself getting annoyed. “Hey, Dawn,” he called out. “Forget I even spoke, okay? It was a suggestion–”

She appeared in the doorway, hands on hips. “You think Adam Reynolds is going to pick out someone like me?”

Karl’s brain did a back flip.
That’s what she was worried about?
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”

She slapped the side of her rump. “I’m a size ten, Karl. What size was your sister?”

“God knows.”

“Bigger or smaller, you think.”

“Smaller, I guess. But you’ve got a fantastic body, Dawn. You’ve got curves.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“Jesus, he’s not even looking for a real date,” Karl said, laughing as he shook his head.

“What’s so funny?”

“Chicks, man. I’m talking about a potentially dangerous situation, and you’re worried about the size of your ass.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, smiling a little. “I just think that out of all the girls online, he’s unlikely to pick someone like me.”

“He won’t have to. You’ll do the asking. Anyway, I doubt it’s even the doctor making the decisions – it’ll be Leach who’s pulling the strings behind the scenes. And if for some bizarre reason he only wants beautiful women for his experiments, believe me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

She pulled a face like a gremlin, and Karl laughed some more. “See, that’s an improvement already. But seriously, can we get past this? Can I tell you the rest of the plan?”

Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes, but eventually she sat down on the sofa, ready to listen. It appeared that her insecurities had been soothed – for now.

“Okay,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Maxine and Dr. Reynolds don’t know what you look like, right?”

She thought for a moment. “Right. Actually, Maxine thinks I look like my friend, Rebecca.” Dawn explained how she’d used a fake photo when she’d signed up to the Sweet Violets website.

“Even better,” Karl said. “So when they see your photo, they won’t suspect a thing. Do you have a Facebook page?”

“Yeah, but my profile picture is Wonder Woman. As far as I know, there aren’t any photos of me online.”

“Good – so we can attach a fake name to your photo. Create a tempting profile page, just like you did for Sweet Violets. And then ask Dr. Reynolds for a date.”

Dawn nodded, following his train of thought. But then suddenly, her expression soured. She was imagining the next step. “You want me to actually go through with the date?”

“Yeah, how else are we going to find Leach?”

“I don’t know. I thought we’d just e-mail him, or have a phone conversation. Trick him into dropping a clue.”

“I don’t think that would work. Look, I’d be watching you the whole time. It wouldn’t be dangerous – if things got out of hand, I’d just call the cops.”

“You go on the goddamn date then.”

“I would if I could, but they know what I look like. This is a huge slice of luck, Dawn – having them think you’re a redhead. We can catch them off guard.”

She stood up and gave him a dark look, furious that he was making sense. Then she went to the front window, turning her back to him.

Give her time, Karl told himself. She was scared, naturally, but she was also pig-headed and vengeful. She hated Leach and his lackeys as much as he did.

“So let’s say I go on the date,” Dawn eventually said, playing with the folds in the curtain. “How do I get taken back to Leach’s cabin if I’m not passed out?”

Karl grinned, having already anticipated the question.
They were in business.

12

Virgil Grant stared down at the blank page in front of him, wondering if he should scribble in a fake appointment to lift his spirits. Buying a day-a-page diary had been a mistake, especially when business was this slow. Tomorrow’s schedule was empty, a mirror image of the page opposite. A shitty end to a slow week and another miserable goddamned month. February was nearly over, and Karl Morgan was just his fourth paying client of the year. He couldn’t live on that sort of money. Couldn’t eat.

With a beleaguered sigh, Virgil pushed back his chair and stood up to stretch. Looking out of his office window into the starless evening sky, he felt a shiver of fear for the future. If he didn’t hit the jackpot soon, he was going to wind up on the street.

No wonder he’d started drinking again. He knew it only made things worse, but he couldn’t help himself. When life was shit, he drank.

He was pouring the last shot of whiskey from the bottle when he heard a door thud below him, jarring his nerves. Virgil waited until his heart regained its rhythm and then slugged back the whiskey. He'd have to talk to the owners about building security and how the entrance didn’t automatically lock until 8 p.m. It wasn't safe to have strangers wandering in after dark.

He leaned over and switched off the fan heater, tilting his head to the door. After a few seconds, he heard slow, deliberate footsteps coming down the hall.

Virgil tensed – the air growing colder around him.

It was Leach.

Virgil had managed to keep Ivan Leach out of his head for the past few days, but the deep sense of dread quickly returned. In an ideal world he would’ve had nothing to do with the man, but Leach had promised him a way out of his financial mess. And Virgil was short on options.

He sat stiffly at his desk, listening to the footsteps grow louder before pausing outside his door. “Come in,” Virgil said to break the tension.

The door creaked opened and Leach's angular silhouette appeared in the hall. His unlit face watched Virgil for a long moment before he stepped inside and carefully closed the door. He was wearing a black high-collared coat over a black suit – the only outfit Virgil had seen him in. A liter of Jack Daniels was in his right hand. He moved into the dull glow from the desk lamp and fixed Virgil with his pale, unblinking stare.

“Is that for me?” Virgil asked, his throat feeling dry. He tried to focus on Leach's right eye, but he couldn't help staring at the ugly left one that turned inward. The one that looked dead, yet somehow pulled you in.

Leach nodded slowly, appearing to grow taller as his shadow climbed over the ceiling.

Virgil wrenched his eyes away, looking down at the bottle. “Jack, my favorite,” he said, not mentioning that he’d been drinking store brand whiskey recently.

Leach kept staring. Studying him.

Virgil shuffled some paper around, frowning as he flicked through his empty diary. “You caught me by surprise. I don’t have you penciled in.”

“This won’t take long,” Leach said in his angry baritone. “Have you done what I asked?”

“Yes, of course.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“No. I’ve been subtle, like you said. I just fed Karl the information and let him connect the dots.”

“And you haven’t shared this information with anyone else.”

“No.”

Leach lifted his chin and breathed in like he was sniffing a foul odor. Taking his time, keeping Virgil on edge. “Good,” he said eventually. He placed the bottle on Virgil's desk. “You've done well.”

“Yeah, well it's not the way I normally do business,” Virgil said, eyeing the rich amber liquid through the glass. He couldn't wait for Leach to leave so he could rip the cap off. “Does that mean we're done?”

“No.”

Virgil swallowed, working up the courage to protest. He'd kept his end of the bargain and normally he would've insisted on payment in full. It wouldn't have been the first time he had to strong arm a tightfisted client. Yet there was something about Ivan Leach that made Virgil feel nervous and weak. Like a child before a school principal.

“You promised to help me,” he said feebly.

“When the job is finished,” Leach said. “There's one more thing I need you to do. After that, you won’t hear from me again.              

“But you'll help me out?”

A ripple of disgust ran over Leach’s long face. He nodded once.

“All right,” Virgil said, realizing he was in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth. “What do you want me to do?

Once he’d opened the bottle and downed three quick glasses in succession, Virgil decided to make an evening of it. He cleared his desk and placed two separate orders: one for Chinese takeout and another for his regular girl, Kylee.

They arrived within minutes of each other and after sharing a romantic dinner of barbecued pork and crispy wontons, Virgil fucked Kylee in his executive chair. He made her do most of the work – she was twenty-two and didn't mind the exercise. Plus he loved watching her big tits jiggle.

They chatted about nothing to fill up the hour and Virgil was happy to give her the last hundred bucks in his wallet. When he kissed Kylee goodbye, he felt desperately sad, even more so than usual. He had an overwhelming sense it would be the last time he saw her.

To cheer himself up, he contemplated calling his eldest daughter, Zara. His speech wasn't slurred yet, and she always liked it when he called out of the blue. But then he checked his watch and realized she would've gone to bed an hour ago. Her mom would answer the phone and call him a loser and a lazy drunk and then ask him for more money. Thank Christ he'd checked the time.

He still wanted to hear Zara's voice though. As a consolation, he went through his voice-mail and found one of her messages. It was from last Saturday, just before their regular dinner date, and she was reminding him to buy the proper stringy spaghetti and not the flat stuff he sometimes got for Spaghetti Bolognese. Her grown-up request brought a smile to Virgil's face. Zara was funny – she always liked things to be proper.

He listened to the message again before putting the phone down and leaning back in his chair. The silence roared in his ears. He thought about driving home where the TV could keep him company, but he suspected he was already over the limit. One more DUI and he'd lose his license for good.

With nobody else to talk to and the night still agonizingly young, Virgil reached for the bottle. There was only one sure-fire way to numb the pain of being alone. Getting blackout drunk.

He was still in his chair, staring at the door, when the office line rang. He blinked, checking his watch. Midnight? What had happened to the past two hours?

Virgil felt odd – like he’d woken up inside a dream. The bottle of Jack was empty, but he couldn’t remember reaching the bottom. Strange.

There was a charred smell in the air. He glanced behind him, where the smoke was strongest. Seeing the blackened wallpaper above the trashcan, fragments of the evening came back to him. Setting fire to Karl Morgan’s case file. Erasing his hard drive. Getting rid of all the evidence connecting him to Leach.

Virgil turned back to the ringing phone. He put the receiver to his ear and listened.

"Have you destroyed everything?"

"Yes," Virgil replied. His voice sounded unnaturally clear, like it was coming through an expensive stereo.

He listened for a long time without speaking, then gently put down the phone. He stared at his hand, at the knot of veins below his knuckles.

Suddenly, his skin tightened over his bones. Dark, violent thoughts swarmed into his head. He knew something terrible was about to happen, but he felt powerless to stop it.

Virgil watched in horror as his hand left the receiver and went to the bottom desk drawer.

Inside was his 9mm.

He took the gun out of the drawer and felt the weight of the full clip in his hand. He kept it loaded in case the debt collectors called. He should’ve been less paranoid. An empty clip might've bought him more time to think, more time for something or someone to interrupt him. A last-minute visitor. A surprise phone call. But it was all happening so fast, one deliberate action after another….

Virgil sat up straight in his chair and put the gun in his mouth. His eyes opened wide, shining with fear. He pushed the barrel up hard against the roof of his mouth. Tears were pouring down his cheeks.

A smiling image of Zara flashed before him. But it exploded into nothingness as his finger squeezed the trigger, blasting a hole through the back of his head.