Color of Blood(57)
Dennis sometimes walked around shopping malls to beat back boredom and loneliness. He would saunter aimlessly down the sterile look-alike corridors until he got hungry, then grab lunch or dinner at a California Pizza Kitchen or Cheesecake Factory, and then go home.
He had just passed the Williams-Sonoma store at Tysons Corner Center and was distracted by a bunch of adolescent boys hooting at some girls nearby when he turned to stare into the thick plate-glass window of a high-end jeweler.
There were sparkling diamond bracelets, several ruby and diamond rings, and five watches. The watch manufacturers were exotic and sported names he had never heard of, like Pippo Italia, Spazio24, and Baume & Mercier.
Dennis marveled about the market for fine vintage watches he’d gleaned from the Garder case. Anyone interested in fine vintage watches, and who had money to spend, would probably be interested in fine new watches. Transfixed by the precision jerks of the second hand of the Spazio24 men’s watch in the display case, it came to him.
He laughed out loud and looked around in amusement, as if he needed to share something.
Later that afternoon, sitting in front of his home computer, he laboriously ran several web searches, playing with the search terms. He clicked on several additional entries, smiling as he did so.
“Son of a bitch,” he said out loud. “Son of a bitch,” he repeated, drawing out each word for his own amusement.
***
Judy had spent the evening at dinner with two girlfriends: Cilla, the mother of a boy in Simon’s class whom she had known for many years, and Sarah, a good friend of Cilla’s, whom Judy adored for her brash and ribald sense of humor. They’d eaten dinner at their favorite restaurant in Subiaco and laughed their way through two bottles of sauvignon blanc.
Sarah had peppered Judy with questions about “this mysterious Yank” who Judy had a platonic relationship with.
“When is he coming back to the Land of Oz?” Sarah had said. “Doesn’t he know this available divorcée is waiting with bated breath for his return? Really, Jude, just buy him a plane ticket. Hell, Cilla and I will buy the bloody ticket, won’t we, Cilla?”
“Too right.”
Judy laughed. “I barely know him. I’m not even sure he’s fond of me. I keep wondering if he is just using me for his silly investigation.”
“Well, there is that,” Cilla said. “I’m sure you can tell if he’s really interested in you. And he’s available, right? He’s a widower.”
“Or that’s what he told you, anyway,” Sarah said. “Probably married and has ten children and a farm in Oklahoma or Manitoba. You’re just a safe tryst on the other side of the world.”
“Manitoba’s in Canada,” Judy said.
“Well, that’s two families he’s got then,” Sarah said.
“Oh hush, Sarah,” Cilla laughed.
“It’s not that I haven’t thought of that,” Judy said with a self-deprecating smirk. “Oh well, I don’t think he’s coming back to this side of the world anyway, and I’m not going over there. So that’s that.”
Driving home that evening Judy felt tipsy, and not coincidentally, lonely. She pulled into her driveway and cursed. The front-door light bulb had burned out again, and she realized it was just another one of the manly tasks she was forced to do in Phillip’s absence.
It was a beautiful, warm night with a gentle sea breeze flowing in from the Indian Ocean and rustling the waxy leaves of the giant eucalyptus tree in her small front yard. At the front door she fumbled trying to find the keyhole in the dark.
The bear hug from behind was so powerful that she was lifted off the ground in one motion, her arms locked to her side. Before she could scream, another hand came from somewhere and clamped a thick cloth tightly over her mouth and nose. A cloying medicinal substance made her gag, and she furiously squirmed and kicked backward with her heels against the shin of one of her assailants, but he just squeezed harder. She tried not to breathe the fumes, but the constriction of her rib cage, combined with the asphyxiating effect of the cloth over her mouth and nose, forced her to gasp.
Then it was over. A pervasive, almost welcoming blackness enveloped her, and she could hear voices filtering through what seemed like miles of tunnels. Not unpleasant, really.
***
“So how’s the hunt going?” Marty asked in that part-affable, part-serious tone of voice that came through loud and clear on the cell phone.
“Going well,” Dennis said, “and that brat may not just be a thief, either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“One of Garder’s sources in Australia showed up dead in what I’d call extremely suspicious circumstances. I think he might have slipped back into the country to cover his tracks.”
“Dennis, I’m not suggesting I remember every aspect of that case, but I don’t think any of Garder’s paid sources were identified in the file that we had access to, right? They were bogus sources.”
“That’s true,” Dennis said. “But I found a phone message from Pearson to Garder at the consulate. I’m certain he was a source: had to be. The guy knew everything there was to know about mining interests in Western Australia.”
“But what proof do you have that Garder killed him?” Marty pressed.
“No proof, just intuition,” Dennis replied.