Sweet Dreams Page 11

  Nothing.

  “Come on! Eject!”

  Six… five…

  Grabbing the DVD player, he yanked it from the entertainment center, ripping the cords from the back. He ran to the bathroom, tossed the player into the tub, and ran out, slamming the door behind him.

  He glanced at Maria, who watched him with wide eyes. He knew what she must be thinking. Time to get in the car, Mark. I’ll drive you someplace where nice men in white coats will take good care of you.

  “What?” He tried to look sane, although it probably wasn’t every day she saw a grown man rush his DV D player to the bathroom and slam the door shut. He sniffed. Smoke was seeping under the bathroom door into the hallway. He started toward the bathroom but jumped when the smoke detector above his head screeched to life.

  He yanked the bathroom door open. “Aw, man.” His DVD player had melted into a plastic puddle in the middle of the tub and had already filled the small room with smoke.

  Maria followed him in, hands over her ears.

  He motioned toward the bathtub.“Now I don’t have any proof that I’m not imagining all this.” She coughed and waved her hands at the smoke. “This is proof enough for me,” she yelled over the sound of the alarms.

  Someone in the next apartment began to pound on the wall.

  Mark switched on the bathroom fan and ran out of the room to disconnect the alarms.

  Maria opened the windows and the door of the apartment, then returned to the kitchen where she turned on the fan over the stove and went back to her cooking.

  When all was quiet again, she lifted the spatula.“I believe you, Mark, but I still think you should contact the police. Just tell them the truth.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll call Detective Owens right now. But I doubt he wants to see me after giving me the cold shoulder about the first note.”

  “Well, this is note number two, and you have the video—er—had it. But you’ll have to wait ‘til Monday. Today is Saturday. Plus, it’s Christmas, you know.”

  “Oh, it is, isn’t it? So what would you like to do today? That is, if you don’t have any other plans.”

  She flipped the eggs. “I was actually hoping that this… uh… Well, not this, but that… You know what I mean. I wanted to spend Christmas with you.” She lowered her eyes, looking like a chastised puppy that could not bear another rejection.

  He pretended to think about it. “Well, I guess, since you’re here, and I’m not doing anything, we could spend the day together.” But she didn’t laugh. Just looked at him with those puppy-dog eyes.

  He raised a hand. “Hey, I’m just teasing. I’ve love to spend Christmas with you.”

  She threw a potholder at him, then lifted two plates from the cupboard. “Tell you what. Let’s eat breakfast. Afterward, if you help me with the dishes, I’ll help you hunt down this Pat guy.”

  He put out his hand.

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  THE TOUCH ON HIS arm awakened Kirk from a deep sleep. He jumped to his feet, grabbed the neck of the man who stood over him and shoved him against the wall of the plane. But when he saw it was Geoff, the guy who was giving him a ride back to America, he released him and backed away.

  “Sorry. I thought you were… Never mind.” He sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes, remnants of his dream about the cylindrical, metal prison and the Creepers crouching at the edges of his memory.

  Geoff sat down across from him, breathing hard and holding his neck. “No worries. I’m just glad you let me go before you killed me. Remind me never to mess with you!”

  Kirk eyed the reporter. Does anything ever get this guy down? “I had a rough year. Didn’t think I’d ever get out of that place. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” He stretched and looked out the window at the snow-covered ground below them. “Where are we?”

  “About an hour from Detroit. You’ve been passed out for over seventeen hours. By the way, Merry Christmas!”

  “You’re kiddin’, right?” Kirk shook his head, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts. “Well, Merry Christmas to you, too. Sorry you have to spend it with me, I never was much into the holidays.”

  “I thought as much. I love celebrations—so festive and fun. People get in the giving mood. And then, you’ve got to love Santa!”

  Kirk grunted in disbelief. He hated Santa and the dumb elves. Most of all, he hated the arrogant red-nosed, whatever-his-name-was reindeer. “Well, you can have it all to yourself. It’s just a way for the stores to get more money out of people, and make the rest of us feel guilty when we don’t participate.”

  Geoff laughed. “Hey, you hungry? I can get us some dinner, if you like.”

  “Great. I’m starved.”

  * * *

  GEOFF WENT BACK TO where the food was stored, opened up the mini fridge, and pulled out two sandwiches. Looking around for some napkins, he felt his phone vibrate and rumble in his pocket.

  Looking at the number, he answered in a hushed tone.

  “Yes, I’m on my way back now… Sure, I’ll keep you posted.” Hanging up, he gathered the sandwiches, grabbed two Cokes, and headed into the main area.

  “How does roast beef sound?”

  Kirk nodded and took the sandwich from Geoff’s outstretched hand. “So, what exactly do you do for this World Magazine?” He opened the Coke and took a sip. He closed his eyes and savored each sip. It had been too long.

  “Well, I get assignments to go wherever to investigate stories, take pictures, and interview people. Then I send the info back to our main office, where they compile it and print it. That is, if it’s any good.”

  Kirk, who didn’t seem much like talking, finished his hoagie roll and looked out the window.

  Geoff felt like Kirk did not want to divulge any more information than he had to about his kidnapping. He didn’t want to push him too much, but he believed with time he would open up—then he might have the story he so desperately wanted. He shifted in his seat, trying to get Kirk’s attention.

  “I just got off the phone with my editor, and it looks like I got about a month off. I was thinking. If you don’t mind, I could help you try to track down the people responsible for your kidnapping.” He could see Kirk start to reject his idea, but he butt in before he could say anything. “Everything will be off the record. I know my way around the Middle East, and Europe is a cinch. I’m a great researcher. I could help you.”

  Kirk held up his hand. “Okay, okay. You can help. If you are as much help as you’ve been so far, you might come in handy. Just know one thing: If I read anything about this in the papers or your crappy magazine, I’ll personally hunt you down and kill you.”

  “No worries. I’ll keep it just between us.”

  For the next hour, Kirk filled Geoff in on everything that had happened, from the David’s Island case to the hit he got on the head at the mill. He left out the part about his high-tech prison. Even a nice guy like Geoff wouldn’t believe he’d been suspended on a disc one hundred feet in the air all those months.

  The reporter made notes on his laptop and asked several questions, then shut off his computer and sat back in his seat. “So it seems the WJA group is behind the kidnapping as well as the poisoning. With the notes in the pillow cases and all, it’s almost like they’re daring people to find them. Have you cross-referenced WJA with any other cases?”

  “Not yet, but I plan to get my friend Mooch on it as soon as we land in Detroit.”

  “From what I remember reading about the food poisoning in the newspaper, the authorities said it was caused by bad meat from a company that sold to the food supplier. It was ruled as an accident.”

  “So the FBI shut the case down.” Kirk shook his head. “That means I’ll need to convince my boss to allow me to investigate under his jurisdiction, and when we get solid proof, go to the feds.”

  “No worries. I’ll get a hold of that CSI lady. What was her name? Oh, yeah. Cassy. I’ll call her thi
s week to see if she has anything new on that drug.”

  “Good idea. Maybe she found the partner drug. That would just be what we need. I wonder why the feds still thought it was accidental after what she found.”

  Geoff could feel the airplane start to descend. “We’re here. You’re home, bud.”

  “Great. After a shower, I’m going to sleep all weekend.”

  * * *

  THE WEEKEND WAS JUST what Mark needed. Saturday morning, he and Maria ice skated in Central Park, then ate lunch downtown and looked at the Christmas displays in the store windows. The air was crisp and cool. Huge snowflakes began to fall as they walked back to his apartment.

  Saturday night, they talked and watched movies at his place, drank eggnog and ate popcorn. It was late when they finished the last movie, and several inches of snow had piled up on the streets, creating a beautiful scene under the light of the full moon as well as slick streets. He insisted Maria spend another night on his couch, not just for her safety, he had to admit to himself, but because he enjoyed her company.

  Sunday afternoon, he walked her to her car, his arm around her shoulders. “Thanks for helping me make it through what could have been a really tough weekend. You’re a saint.”

  She smiled up at him, her golden eyes glinting in the sunshine. “My pleasure. Thanks for letting me sleep on your couch. And for loaning me a shirt.”

  He laughed. “It was more like a dress on you. Reminded me of my little girl when she played dress-up in her mom’s clothes.”

  She stopped, studying his face. “You can’t imagine what a privilege it is for me to be associated with your happy family memories.”

  He kissed her forehead. “And I am privileged to have a friend like you to help me create new happy memories. See you tomorrow.”

  He smiled and waved as she drove away. Maria was a special kind of lady. For the first time in a year, he felt truly happy again. Not all the way down deep in his soul, but as happy as he thought he could ever be without K and Sam.

  Monday morning the sun rose in a cloudless sky over the piece of New York skyline he could see from his apartment. The snow had stopped but still lingered on the trees and his balcony, making everything look clean and untarnished. He called in to work to tell Hank he’d be late. He needed to go to the police station to talk to Detective Owens.

  He smiled at the front-desk receptionist as she waved him back to Owens’ office with a big smile. They’d seen so much of each other, she’d dispensed with formalities.

  He stuck his head in the partially open door. “Hello, Detective Owens. You got a minute?”

  The detective looked up. A look of annoyance flashed across his face. “What can I do you for, Mr. Appleton? If you’re here about the explosion, I told you months ago the case was closed.”

  Mark plopped into a chair in front of Owens’ desk. “Remember the note I showed you last year? I just got another one, on Christmas Eve.” He laid the envelope on the desk.

  Owens stared at the envelope for a moment, then sighed and picked it up. He slid the note out, glanced at it, and said, “So where’s this DVD?”

  Mark rubbed his palms against his pants. “Uh, that’s the bad news. I know this’ll sound strange, but after I viewed it , my DVD player caught on fire and melted, with the disc inside.”

  The tall detective stood, leaned over the desk and handed the note and the envelope back to Mark. “Mr. Appleton—”

  “Mark. You can call me Mark.”

  “Okay. Mark, I’m very sorry your wife and daughter were killed in the accident—”

  “But, it wasn’t—”

  “Accident!” He glanced at the open door and lowered his voice. “… This case is closed. And no amount of notes or videos is goin’ to change what happened.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “If you’re wantin’ to obsess over this your whole life, you go right ahead. Just leave me out of it.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Appleton, you need to stop... Just let it be. That’s an order.” He motioned toward his desk. “If you don’t mind, I got work I should be doin’.”

  Mark swallowed a retort, stood and walked out.

  “And if I catch you tryin’ to investigate this,” called Owens, “I’ll arrest you for interferin’ with a police investigation. Ya hear?”

  He didn’t respond, though a wave of rage flooded his body. He passed the effervescent receptionist, who—thank God—was talking on the telephone. Interfering with a police investigation? How could he interfere in an investigation that’s closed? Closed, despite the hundreds of citizens killed and the hurting families they left behind.

  He unlocked his car and got inside. This was not over. He was supposed to protect his family, to be their guardian. But he’d let them die. Though the explosion was not his fault, it would be the same thing as killing them himself, if he let the monsters who bombed the building get away with murder.

  He picked up his phone from the charger in the center console and dialed Maria’s cell number.

  “Hey, Mark, how’d it go?”

  “Not good. Owens basically told me to leave it alone and threatened to arrest me if I did anything about it.”

  “Oh, I’m so sor—”

  “I need you to find out whatever you can on this Pat Rotter guy. He’s my only hope of figuring out who did this.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep looking into it. We’ll find him. I promise.”

  “Thanks, and be careful. Don’t get caught. Okay?”

  “I’ll use my laptop in the Java down the street, so I can’t be traced. On my lunch break, okay?”

  “Great. See you in a bit.” Twenty minutes later, he pulled into his space in the parking garage. He turned off the engine but sat for a moment, his hands clamped on the steering wheel. People had died in the explosion. Lots of people. How could the detective ignore evidence that it wasn’t an accident. He got out, slammed the door shut and headed for the elevators.

  Inside his office, he dropped his briefcase on his desk, then marched to Bert’s office. The door was open. He tapped on the doorframe.

  Bert looked up and smiled. “Hey, Mark. Did you have a good Christmas?”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “Great. It was really good to have a long weekend to relax with the family.” He paused. “Looks like you have something on your mind.”

  “You still go shooting at the range?”

  “Yeah, in fact, I’m going tonight. You want to meet me there?”

  “If you don’t mind. I need to blow off some steam.”

  “Sure. It’s a great stress reliever. I’ll bring an extra gun.”

  “Thanks.” He needed to at least know how to use a gun, just in case the Pat guy proved to be dangerous.

  All morning long, he fought to focus on his work and not obsess about the detective’s comments. Like he’d supposedly obsessed over the deaths of his family. It was almost impossible to fathom that the police weren’t interested in new information. If the gas line story was a cover-up, what were the police hiding? Were they involved somehow? What did they gain by blowing up a grocery store?

  He glanced at the clock. Eleven forty-three. Maria had said she planned to go to lunch shortly after noon. He’d wait until he heard from her before he took a lunch break. Or maybe he’d skip lunch. His stomach was too jittery to be hungry, and he had plenty of work to do.

  At five after one, his phone rang. He grabbed the receiver. “Mark App— Oh, hi, Maria. You find out anything?” A secretary passed his office, a stack of files in her arms. “Just a minute. I’d better close my door.”

  Maria’s voice was hushed. “I hacked into the police database to see if his name popped up anywhere. But didn’t get anything, so I moved to the DMV website and got a hit. Pat Rotter is twenty-two years old and lives in Manhattan.”

  Mark punched the air. “Great work!”

  “There’s more. I wanted to see if he had a criminal background and also find out what he does for a living.
So I did a search of employment agencies. And guess where he worked two years ago.”

  “Where?”

  “Manacore Manufacturing.” She paused. ”Guess what they make there.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “They produce C-4 and other plastic explosives for the U.S. Military. He was fired after suspicion of theft.”

  “You got to be kidding.” He sat back in his chair. This was the break he needed. “Does he still live in Manhattan?”

  “Not sure, but here is his last-known residence.” She gave him the address of an apartment building in lower Manhattan.

  He wrote it down and thanked her for her help. He would visit Mr. Rotter after he shot a few rounds at the range tonight. He could not go searching for Rotter as upset as he was at the moment. It might mean a slip in judgment, one that could put him behind bars.

  CHAPTER 11

  KIRK SLEPT MOST OF the weekend, only getting up to go to the bathroom and eat a donut or two in a dazed stupor. Geoff, he could see, had crashed on the living room couch. He vaguely remembered the two of them cleaning off old, rotten food wrappers and a pizza box that in the past year had molded and morphed into the size of a small animal.

  Then there was the refrigerator. One look at the miniature city skyline of white and green fuzz—and one smell—had convinced him he’d be buying a new fridge.

  But, though his place had been sitting empty for over a year, it wasn’t in much worse shape than when he lived there. He had never cleaned the bathroom or washed dishes. If he wanted to eat off a plate, he just wiped it with his shirttail and called it good.

  When he awoke, he discovered Geoff had picked up around the place and scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen. He didn’t remember his place ever being so clean.

  His answering machine had dozens of messages from his boss, which he deleted without listening to them, and one from his ex-wife, which he also deleted.

  He’d always paid his rent a year in advance with his tax return, so he wouldn’t have to worry about it. The utilities were included in the rent, so the place could run without human involvement for some time, which in this case it had.