Duplicity, page 12
“I think I ruined your microwave.” If ever a six-foot-four adult male looked like a guilty little boy, it was at this very moment. “It started making weird noises and then one big bang. I’m really sorry, man.”
Brick started laughing. “No worries, it was here when I bought the place and that was over ten years ago. I was about to get a new one anyway.”
Ron looked up, directly facing Brick. “That’s not all I’m sorry about. I owe you an apology. I was way out of line.”
“Frankly, Ron, I wasn’t sure you’d still be here and I’m glad you are.” Brick took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. “I want to be supportive. Just as you were there for me, I want to be here for you. To see this through.”
Ron nodded. “I appreciate it. God knows I wish Holly hadn’t sent that photo to me, but what I told Jasmine and what I told you is the truth.”
“Do you think it really was a mistake or did Holly actually want you to see that photo?”
“I guess it’s possible that she did it on purpose, but I didn’t consider that at the time. She talked about her boyfriend a lot. Enough that it sounded like they have a serious relationship. Plus, she’s met Jasmine and even babysat for us. As far as I’m concerned, I just never thought she was hitting on me, but I have to say if I was single, I would have been thrilled if she was. We’re friends, that’s all.”
What Brick heard from Ron rang true. As to the old “can men and women just be friends” debate, he would argue that it is possible, especially between coworkers. But with a woman as sexy as Holly it can be complicated. Any guy who wouldn’t want more than friendship, even if they didn’t act on it, probably wasn’t interested in women to begin with.
“Is Holly’s boyfriend a cop?” Brick asked.
“No, he manages an Outback Steak House in Fairfax County.” Ron hesitated. “At Holly’s suggestion, that’s where I took Jasmine for our date night.” He made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sigh. “What really sucks is that even though I didn’t betray Jasmine, it doesn’t matter. She believes I did. And for all I know, she turned to her old boyfriend. I mean, she’s gone … he’s gone. A coincidence? I don’t think so.”
Brick thought it was too early to draw a conclusion, but he also didn’t believe in coincidences. Even though he had mentioned the pastor’s absence to Lieutenant Hughes, he asked if Ron had as well.
Ron nodded. “She’s having one of the detectives from Missing Persons look into locating him. And what do I get to do … sit on my ass and wait. It’s killing me, Brick.” Ron stood up and stretched. “By the way, Jasmine wasn’t the lead story tonight. I saw on the news that a Senate staffer was found strangled.”
“Where?”
“Her Capitol Hill apartment, a couple of blocks from Union Station.”
“Any arrests?”
“No. Looks like Travis Allen is working the case. When they showed the victim’s building, I caught a glimpse of him standing outside talking to one of the Mobile Crime guys.”
Just the mention of Travis Allen’s name brought back memories of the ass-kissing relationship Allen had with Blancato over the years. Still, Brick would be the first to acknowledge Allen was a competent detective. For a moment, he missed the feeling of new-case adrenaline most detectives experienced as a photo of a beautiful dark-haired young woman filled the TV screen. She appeared to be in her mid-to-late twenties. Immediately, Brick thought of Chandra Levy. Would this case turn into a full-blown political scandal? Time would tell, but Brick would bet the rent that Stella Owen was already salivating at the prospect.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I’M GOING TO Starbucks. Do you want anything?”
It was just after seven and Brick was surprised to see Ron was up and dressed. “No thanks, I’ve already had breakfast.”
Brick heard the door close as he put his cereal bowl in the dishwasher. It was the first time Ron had left the apartment by himself. Maybe he was just tired of instant coffee, but as the days dragged on with no major developments, he had seen changes in Ron’s demeanor. It was obvious he was on an ever-changing emotional roller coaster and at the moment, he seemed motivated by anger. Even though it was unknown if Jasmine had run off with Marcus, it had to be considered as a very real possibility. Had one of them parked her car at BWI, splashed fake blood on the infant car seat, and then dumped it in the Inner Harbor? Thinking about that was enough to make anyone angry. And in some ways, Brick thought it was better for Ron to be angry than paralyzed by fear and grief.
About twenty minutes after he left, Ron was back. “Wait ’til you hear this, partner.” Brick noticed that Ron seemed wired and unless he had chugged the contents of his grande cup, caffeine probably wasn’t the reason. “Got a call from Jasmine’s sister. Seems the accountant at the church discovered money missing from two different accounts.”
“Did she say how much?” Brick asked.
“Just that it was a lot.” Ron lifted the top off his cup and took a sip. “Damn, how convenient is that?”
Brick knew it wasn’t a question needing an answer.
Ron picked up his phone and appeared to text a message. When he finished, he reached for his cup. “I don’t know if Jasmine ran off with Marcus. If that’s what she did and that’s what she wants, I’ll survive. But they’re not getting my kids … no way, no how.” Ron picked up his coffee, spilling some of the still steaming liquid on his hand. He didn’t seem to notice as he headed in the direction of the den. Brick heard the door slam.
Brick fixed a second cup of tea, sat down at the table, and thought about Ron’s reaction to what he had learned from Jasmine’s sister. He could have cautioned Ron about getting ahead of himself, but that would have been counterproductive. Given what he knew as far as missing church funds, an out-of-town incommunicado minister, and the disappearance of his former girlfriend and her kids, coming up with a scenario where all were linked was reasonable. Besides, it allowed Ron to have hope that Jasmine and the twins were alive. Brick didn’t see any harm in that even though he considered it as only one possibility and not necessarily the most likely. Jasmine’s photo and story had been local and national news. Unless she and Marcus had a well-organized plan to disappear, it’s a safe bet they would have been spotted somewhere. A couple with infant twins checking into a hotel makes an impression and draws attention in a restaurant. Still, Brick would admit, he’d been wrong before. Maybe it would play out that Jasmine, feeling betrayed, turned to Marcus and maybe he was more than willing to provide the comfort she sought. As much as Brick hoped Ron and Jasmine would reconcile, if that didn’t happen, knowing she and the twins were safe would be poignant consolation.
From this horrendous experience, Brick had a renewed appreciation for the suffering of the families and friends of victims waiting for news of their missing loved ones. He had no intention of mentioning what he was thinking to Ron, but in the back of his mind was a nagging thought—what if they never find out what happened to Jasmine and the twins. Even, God forbid, if the outcome was bad, knowing would be preferable to living in limbo. A place Brick knew all too well. He thought about his father, Patrick Kavanagh, who he only knew through old photographs and stories from his mother when she was still alive. Two months after Brick was born, she got the devastating news that her husband, a Green Beret Army captain, was missing-in-action in Vietnam. All these years later, his status had remained unchanged. As he had done many, many times, Brick shook off the emptiness he felt. He reached for the box of Henry Yang’s possessions.
Brick had gone through most of the items, but there were a few he hadn’t examined. He reached for a black-and-white marbled composition notebook. When he picked it up, a couple of photographs fell out. The first one Brick saw tugged at his heartstrings. A much younger Henry was standing next to a petite, smiling Asian woman with her arm around his shoulder. In the background Brick recognized the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown from when he had been there as a kid. Another photo showed Henry in a graduation cap and gown squinting in the bright sunshine and holding his high school diploma. Standing next to him was the woman from the other picture. She looked painfully thin in a flower print dress and appeared to be wearing a wig, but her smile was identical. The last photo showed Henry wearing a Lincoln U. sweatshirt while handing out a bag of food. A banner for So Others Might Eat, a D.C. nonprofit providing services to the poor and homeless, hung in the background. Henry was clean shaven and sporting a crew cut. For a guy aspiring to a career as an FBI agent, he was interview ready. Brick opened the notebook. He flipped through several pages of entries recording dates, distances run, and times per mile, along with a countdown of days to the Marine Marathon. It appeared Henry was following a strict training schedule.
For Brick, the image of Henry Yang was no longer limited to a set of autopsy photos. He placed the pictures back inside the notebook and was about to put it back in the box when he spotted a thumb drive partially hidden under an empty file folder. Brick booted up his computer and inserted the storage device into the USB port. He double-clicked on the label listed. Five files with names that didn’t give a clue as to their contents immediately piqued Brick’s curiosity. He clicked on the first file listed, hoping it would be readable. It was. A spreadsheet with alphanumeric codes and dates displayed. The other files were similar. Brick figured this data had significance for Henry but whatever that may be wasn’t obvious. He printed copies he intended to share with Grace Alexander.
After taking a break to stretch and work out the kinks in his shoulders, Brick looked for the professor’s business card. He dialed her number and on the third ring, a receptionist answered. Brick identified himself and asked to speak to the professor.
“One moment, please.” The receptionist put Brick on hold. He figured he had made it through two of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons before the receptionist came back on the line.
“Ms. Alexander is no longer affiliated with the University.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
FOR A MOMENT, Brick stared at his phone as if it would somehow provide an explanation for what he had just been told. “Son of a bitch.”
“Are you talking to yourself or talking to me?” Ron asked.
“What?” Brick set the phone aside and looked up. “No, I didn’t even realize you were standing there.” He went on to tell Ron what he had just found out. “Two weeks ago, she’s offering me a job and now it’s, ‘Ms. Alexander is no longer affiliated with the University.’ Their words, not mine. It doesn’t make sense.”
Ron pulled out a chair and plopped down across from Brick. “Man, if you ask me, nothing makes sense anymore.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Brick double-checked the business card Grace Alexander had given him. The only phone number listed was the one he had just called. And the .edu email address was obviously her professional account at the university. Brick regretted having turned off the computer after he finished printing the spreadsheets. He tapped his fingers on the table while he waited for his computer to boot up again.
“That took a while,” Ron said. “How old is your computer?”
“I don’t know, six or seven years. Maybe older.”
“When you go to Best Buy to check out microwaves, you might want to check out computers, too … just sayin’.”
Brick shrugged. “It’s slow, but it works.”
“So did the microwave until I blew it up.” Ron still looked guilty and didn’t crack a smile, but Brick did.
“Good point. I’ll check it out.”
Brick entered the professor’s name to start a Google search. Several images of women sharing the same name appeared. None of them looked like the Grace Alexander he was seeking. He added “Washington, D.C.” to the search criteria and tried again. A bunch of website addresses popped up. He scrolled through a couple before clicking on the first one listing a phone number and address. Although there was no photo, Brick knew he had hit on who he was looking for. The profile information listed her place of employment as Lincoln University. Only one way to find out if the phone number was current. He picked up his cell phone and tapped the number listed. After four rings, he was expecting to hear a voicemail recording. Instead, he heard a tentative “hello.” The voice didn’t sound familiar.
“Grace Alexander?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Brick Kavanagh.” He waited for a response but didn’t get one. “I called your office this morning and was surprised to hear you’re no longer—”
“You’re surprised—I’m shocked.” Brick sensed she had started to cry. “I can’t believe they’re accusing me of plagiarism, it’s total bullshit. I never—”
He waited a minute to give her time to compose herself. “Are you okay?”
Brick heard her sniffle before she responded. “No.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but is there someone …”
“No and I don’t mean to sound like a drama queen.” Another sniffle. “I’ll be okay.”
The flat affect in her voice didn’t sound convincing and Brick was concerned about her. “Grace, I know what it’s like to suddenly be unemployed. Talking can help. How about if you join me for lunch, my treat.”
“Thanks for asking, but I … I don’t think so.”
“Help me out. I’m trying to pay it forward.” That wasn’t the only reason. He was also trying to move forward with the Yang investigation and wanted to ask her about the spreadsheets. Brick heard a loud sigh before she responded.
“Well, since you put it that way.” Another sigh. “Give me an hour.”
“Boland’s at noon?”
“Okay.”
Brick set his phone down and turned the computer off.
“Achieve your goal?” Ron asked.
“Sort of. Whether she’ll be interested in the spreadsheets remains to be seen. From the way she sounded, she may be too distracted right now by her own situation. At least I know how to get in touch with her.”
“Technology, man.”
“Yeah, can’t tell you how thrilled I am to think how easy it is for some mope I arrested to track me down.” Brick wrote Grace Alexander’s phone number on the back of her card and placed it in his wallet.
“Doesn’t always work,” Ron said. “I’ve been searching for Jasmine’s therapist and other than her website, haven’t found a thing. Thought I hit on something, but it turned out it wasn’t her.”
“Well, that’s reassuring. I’ll sleep a little better knowing I might not be one click away from some asshole packing heat showing up on my doorstep.”
Brick took a seat at the bar and ordered a Guinness while he waited for Grace Alexander.
“There you go.” Eamonn set the pint in front of Brick. “Any news on the disappearance?”
Brick shook his head as he picked up his glass. It was the easiest way to evade the question. It hadn’t been revealed publicly that the blood on the infant car seat was fake, and even though Brick trusted Eamonn as a confidant, he couldn’t share this latest development.
“It’s hard to believe, Eamonn, a couple of weeks ago I was having a pint at a pub in Galway. After all that had happened earlier in the year, it was behind me. Mentally, I was ready to come home and figure out the next chapter in my life story.” Brick took a drink. “I never thought it would be this.”
“Ahh, it’s good we don’t know the future.”
There was something in the way Eamonn spoke those words that again gave Brick pause. For as long as he’d known Eamonn, he knew little about his life before he came to Washington and opened his namesake pub. In all probability, in Eamonn’s seventy-plus years he’d had to deal with plenty of things he never anticipated. And his point was well taken.
Eamonn started to wipe down a section of the bar. “The waiting—that’s got to be the worst.” He stopped what he was doing and made eye contact with Brick. “Let’s hope and pray that’s the worst.” He wadded up the bar rag and set it aside. “Need anything else before I head to the kitchen?”
“I’m good.” Brick glanced at his watch. A few minutes past noon. Had the professor changed her mind? It wouldn’t be the first time he had been stood up, but at least this wasn’t a date. Even though he tried not to take those times personally, he usually did. Although, like most guys, he’d never admit it. Another ten minutes passed. He set down his half-empty glass before turning and glancing out the window fronting on Connecticut Avenue.
Turns out he wouldn’t be having lunch alone after all.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Grace Alexander pulled out the barstool next to Brick and sat down. “While I was emptying my trash, I locked myself out of my apartment. Then I had to wait for the office manager who was off somewhere in the building. Finally got back in and I would have texted, but I realized my cell phone needed to be charged and when I picked up the charger, it fell apart.” She managed a smile. “I feel like I have reverse Midas touch.”
“Everything you touch turns to … something other than gold?”
“Sounds like you know the condition.”
“Absolutely.” Brick picked up his glass. “Something to drink?”
“Think I’d better pass. I had a week’s worth of wine last night so no more for a couple of days.”
“I understand.” Brick handed her a menu. “Let’s order then move to that table.” Brick pointed to one adjacent to the fireplace, which would provide the privacy he figured the professor would prefer.
Grace removed her jean jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. “Thank you for suggesting lunch. Otherwise, I’d probably stay in my pajamas all day and binge-watch episodes of Downton Abbey that I’ve already seen.” She stirred a packet of sugar into her glass of iced tea. “I know that sounds like a cliché, but like a lot of women it’s the indulgence I’ve resorted to when dealing with stress.”
