“Dr. Harper is with a client at the moment and his appointment calendar is full this afternoon. May I ask who referred you?”
“This is a very private matter. I’ll call back some other time.”
Ethan hung up and tried again.
“. . . This is Bob at the garage. Is Ron there? I need to talk to him about his lube job.”
“Ron’s not scheduled to work today. Did he give you this number? He’s not supposed to take calls at work. . . .”
“. . . I need to talk to Ernie about his last rent check. It bounced sky high . . .”
“Ernie has the day off. He can’t take private calls on this phone, anyhow. You’ll have to get him at home . . .”
He got lucky on the fourth call.
Ethan walked into her office shortly after nine, took one of the client chairs, extended his legs, leaned back, and laced his fingers behind his head. Making himself at home, she thought grimly. Well, she had known from the start that he would probably be irritating at times.
“What can you tell me about Leon Grady?” he said.
A cold wave washed through her. “So he’s the one?”
“Could be. The orderlies you mentioned, Ron and Ernie, are not scheduled to work today so they weren’t around. I suppose they are possibilities, but Grady is the one who interests me the most. He’s definitely not in his office at Candle Lake this morning and the official word is that he is out of town on business.”
“He’s head of security at Candle Lake.”
“You gave me that much last night. Explains how he might have had the resources to locate you and why he might know something about locks. Can you describe him?”
“Short. Heavyset. Thinning hair. Not a spiffy dresser.” She broke off, summoning up every detail she could recall. “I’d say he’s in his late fifties. He reports directly to Dr. Harper. He probably took a lot of heat from Harper when they discovered that Arcadia and I were gone.”
“Is Grady good with a computer? Savvy enough to track you down online?”
She wrinkled her nose. “From what I saw of him, I wouldn’t have thought that he was particularly clever at anything, but he might know his way around a computer. I just don’t know.”
“You mentioned his clothes. How does he dress?”
“Whenever I saw him in the halls at Candle Lake during the week, he was usually wearing a bad suit. But once or twice he came in on a weekend because of an emergency. I seem to remember cheap polo shirts and polyester pants on those occasions. And he had a very gaudy diamond ring. Arcadia is pretty sure the stone is not real.”
“Car?”
“A red Porsche. It’s his pride and joy. I used to see it in the parking lot, and I overheard some of the orderlies talking about it.”
Ethan thought about that and then let it go. “Probably isn’t driving it. Too eye-catching. Glasses? Scars? Quirks?”
“Sunglasses. I think they go with the Porsche. I don’t remember any scars.”
“Right.” Ethan unlaced his fingers and got to his feet. “I’m off. If you think of anything else, call me.”
“Wait.” She leaped out of her chair. “Where are you going?”
“To find out if Leon Grady is in Whispering Springs.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“The traditional way. I’m going to look for him.”
He was already at the door, turning the knob. She sensed the controlled energy running through him. On the hunt, she thought. Doing what came naturally.
“Ethan?”
He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her. “Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
He looked surprised. Then he smiled slightly.
“Always,” he said.
Before she could respond he was gone.
He went back to his office, opened the phone book, and started punching numbers. There were a lot of resorts, hotels, and motels in Whispering Springs and the surrounding area. This was Arizona, after all, a golfer’s and sunseeker’s paradise. But he cut the list down considerably when he excluded the high-end establishments. He had a feeling that Grady was the kind of guy who would feel more comfortable in inconspicuous surroundings. Blackmail, by its very nature, demanded a low profile.
He thought it was also safe to assume that Grady would not have set up shop too far from his target. He would want to keep tabs on Zoe.
It was amazing how free with information people were when you asked the right questions.
“. . . I’m trying to find my uncle. He’s got Alzheimer’s and he’s wandered off again. Big flashy ring. Thinning hair. You’d never know he was ill. Keeps changing his name because he can’t remember his own. We’re really worried about him. . . .”
At eleven-thirty that morning, he drove into the graveled parking lot of the Sunrise Suites motel. Half a dozen cars were parked in the lot. A fast-food chain restaurant occupied the property on the left. There was an old, boarded-up house on the right and, beyond it, a row of dilapidated warehouses that appeared to have been abandoned a long time ago.
Ethan sat behind the wheel for a few minutes, studying the two-story motel. In most of the windows the drapes were open or only partially closed. But one window was completely veiled with dingy curtains that sagged from the rod.
He climbed out of the SUV, collected his tool kit, and went up the outside steps at the far end of the building. He walked along the second-floor balcony, stopped in front of the door that went with the closed drapes, and knocked.
There was a short pause.
“Who’s there?”
A man’s voice. So far, so good.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” Ethan said, making it sound like he wasn’t sorry, just bored. “My company got a call from the manager. There’s a leak in the room below. I took a look down there and I’m pretty sure the water’s coming from this room. I need to check your shower.”
“Come back later.”
“Sorry, sir, this is sort of an emergency. The manager is freaking out about the damage downstairs. I gotta get this leak stopped.”
“Hell with it. Okay, okay, give me a minute.”
A short time later the door opened. A heavyset man with thinning hair peered out through the crack. He was wearing a faded tan polo shirt and polyester slacks. There was a really big, really fake-looking diamond ring on one finger. He surveyed Ethan’s gray work shirt and tool kit. Apparently satisfied, he stepped back.
“Make it fast, will you? I’m in the middle of some business here.”
Ethan caught the scent of antacid tablets on his breath. He walked into the room and closed the door.
“This won’t take long, Grady,” he said.
“It better not, I’m trying to work—” Grady broke off abruptly. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “What the hell? How do you know my name? Who are you?”
“I represent the lady you’re trying to blackmail. She hired me to find you and make sure that you cease and desist.” Ethan paused a beat. “That means stop, by the way.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Well, no, it’s not. I mean, look at the progress I’ve made, already. I’ve located you. That was the hard part. Making sure you stop the extortion will be a piece of cake.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Seems to be a lot of that going around lately.”
“Listen to me, you stupid SOB—”
“The name’s Truax.”
“I don’t give a shit what your name is. But here’s some free advice. If you’re working for the Cleland woman, you’re in trouble. She escaped from a psychiatric hospital.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. And you were the guy in charge of keeping her locked up.”
“Know why she was locked up?”
“I heard about the scam Harper is running,” Ethan said. “How, for a price, he arranges to take care of unwanted relatives. A good example of niche marketing.”
“Scam? Is that what she told you?” Grady grimaced
, his disdain obvious. “And you bought her story. Shit. She’s either paying you a lot of money or else she’s sleeping with you. Which is it?”
“That’s not your problem.”
“Let me tell you why her relatives wanted her stashed away out of sight and out of mind,” Grady said. “She hears voices, man.” He aimed a forefinger at his ear and turned it in a circular motion. “In the walls.”
“Thought you were in charge of security back at Candle Lake. Didn’t know you were working the shrink side of the business, too. You’re a real versatile guy, Grady.”
“I’m not one of the quacks, but I made a copy of the Cleland woman’s file before I left. I’ve had a lot of time on my hands since I hit this burg, so I read her records. She wound up in Candle Lake because she accused a big-time CEO of a major company of murdering her husband. Said something about hearing the screams in the room where it happened.”
Ethan grinned. “Hey, you really believe those records Harper makes up for his clients?”
“I do in this case,” Grady said, talking fast now. “The shrink who was treating her at Candle Lake, Dr. McAlistair, confirmed the delusion in some early notes. In fact, McAlistair took a personal interest in the case. Called it an extremely rare example of auditory hallucination.”
“Wow.”
“Listen up, pal, Cleland isn’t just crazy—she’s dangerous. When she and another patient escaped from Candle Lake, they damn near killed two orderlies.”
“Let me guess, you didn’t report the incident to the cops, did you?”
Grady scowled. “Harper wouldn’t hear of it. He’s real big on keeping a low profile. His clients don’t want any publicity.”
“What about the orderlies? Didn’t they have some interest in calling in the cops?”
“Nah. Harper made it worth their while to keep quiet. But I’m giving you the facts. The lady’s a certified nutcase, my friend. If I were you, I’d cut my losses.”
“Strangely enough, I was just about to give you the same advice,” Ethan said quietly. “Cut your losses and do it fast because if you don’t disappear I’m going to the cops.”
“Bullshit.” Grady was triumphant. “You can’t prove a goddamned thing. What’s more, the Cleland woman won’t let you call in the police. She knows that once they find out she’s a recent resident of a psych ward they’ll contact her family and her doctors. She’ll be back in Candle Lake before she knows what hit her. Trust me, she doesn’t stand a chance. Harper knows how to manage that kind of situation. Man, he’s a pro.”
Ethan shook his head. “She won’t be going back under any circumstances. I’ve got a plan to take out some insurance for her.”
For the first time Grady appeared wary. “How the hell are you gonna keep ’em from hauling her off to the Manor when the good doctors and her dear family all want her put back in a padded room?”
Ethan told him exactly how he intended to keep Zoe out of Candle Lake Manor.
The guy was downright scary. Truax’s scheme was breathtaking and damned brilliant. If he could pull it off.
But after seeing the stone-cold assurance in his eyes, Leon was pretty sure the son of a bitch would manage it.
Leon stood alone in the middle of the motel room and tried to think his way out of the box in which he found himself. You had to hand it to Truax. He’d come up with a hell of an angle. The Cleland woman might be desperate enough and crazy enough to go along with it. Probably wouldn’t even see the trap Truax had set for her.
He knew a slicker operator when he met one, Leon thought. Glumly he dug the large bottle out of his pocket, pried off the lid, and poured a fistful of antacid tablets into his palm. When this was over, he’d better see a doctor about his stomach problems. They were getting worse.
He stuffed a fistful of tablets into his mouth and chewed grimly. It was time to change course. Once Truax made his move, everything would start to come apart. Leon wanted to be in the wind before that happened.
He started to pace the threadbare carpet. He needed to come up with plan B and he had to do it fast. He possessed valuable information. If he could not use it to blackmail the Cleland woman, he ought to be able to find another buyer.
There was at least one other person he could think of who might be persuaded to pay big bucks to find out where the crazy lady was hiding. He hesitated to make that call, though. It was one thing to deal with an escaped patient on the run, but the idea of negotiating with the other potential client worried him.
He stopped pacing and looked at the large envelope that sat on top of the small table. It contained the contents of the Cleland woman’s file. He had copied every scrap of paper in the original before leaving Candle Lake Manor. The phone number he needed was there.
He walked across the room, scooped up the envelope, and emptied the contents onto the table.
He picked up the sheet of paper that contained the name and address he wanted, studied it for a while, and then opened the file and reread Harper’s original intake notes.
. . . Subject is obsessed with the delusion that her husband was murdered by Forrest Cleland. She suffers from severe auditory hallucinations, claiming to sense so-called “screams” in the walls of the cabin where the body was found.
Subject made serious verbal threats to Forrest Cleland and has vowed to destroy both him and the firm of Cleland Cage, Inc. Subject is clearly a danger to others and, in her obsessed, hallucinatory state, very probably to herself, as well. . . .
Leon put down the notes and popped a few more tablets. The reason he was reluctant to make the pitch to his one other potential target was simple. He knew enough about Ian Harper’s business style to suspect that there was a good chance the patient had told the truth. It was very possible that the Cleland woman was right about her husband having been murdered by the CEO of Cleland Cage.
Leon would have preferred not to do business with a guy who was capable of putting a bullet in the brain of someone who got in his way. But he no longer had any choice. Truax had seen to that.
Time was not the only thing that was running out fast, Leon thought. His supply of cash was dangerously low. He’d cleaned out his bank account before he left, but that had only netted him a few hundred bucks.
He had lived on the corporate credit card and his own personal plastic until he’d arrived in Whispering Springs. After that he’d used his hard-earned cash to pay for the crappy motel room and the fast food that was killing his stomach. No telling when Harper might get suspicious and take a notion to trace him via the credit card records. A motel charge popping up from Whispering Springs, Arizona, would be the same as sending Harper a telegram informing him that he was not in L.A. looking for the Cleland woman.
He could try pawning the ring, but he knew enough about pawn shops to realize that he wouldn’t get anywhere near its real value.
It had all looked so easy back at the start. He would get in and get out with the payoff from the Cleland woman before anyone back at Candle Lake knew what had happened. He had pictured himself living on a beach in Florida or some island in the Caribbean before Harper even realized he’d been hosed.
But Truax had just screwed things up royally.
The story of his life, Leon thought. There was always someone around who couldn’t wait to screw him.
If he was to salvage anything out of this, he had to take some risks. He’d have to put the squeeze on Forrest Cleland before the guy discovered that Truax was about to outmaneuver him.
The burning sensation in his chest was worse than it had ever been. The pills weren’t doing a damn bit of good. He reached for the bottle of liquid antacid that sat on the dresser, opened it, tilted it, and drank deeply.
When the fire in his chest eased a little, he pondered his priorities. One thing was crystal clear. He could not hang around this fleabag motel now that Truax had made him.
He needed some more cash to blow town, and he needed it fast. Luckily he had planned for this contingency.
C
hapter Eighteen
“What is it? What’s happened?” Kimberley Cleland asked.
She sat tensely on the sofa and watched Forrest put down the phone. Something was very wrong. She could see that in his face. He rarely displayed strong emotion of any kind, but whoever he had just finished talking to had managed to anger him. She could tell because he looked even more cold and controlled than usual and that was saying something.
Forrest was fifty-one and very much in his prime. He had the kind of good bones that would draw the eyes of men and women alike until his dying day. At six-foot-four, he possessed a physical presence that did great things for hand-tailored suits. Together with his natural charisma and authority, that presence also helped him keep his board of directors and the members of a constantly feuding, bickering family in line. Most of the time.
She was his second wife. Three years ago when she had married him, she had made the mistake of thinking that his seemingly bottomless well of cold control was a reflection of his strength. Somewhere along the line she had discovered the enormity of her mistake. Forrest was not strong. He was cold-blooded.
She had been wrong about him. He did not really love her. He had married her because she came from the right social world and because she had the right social connections and because she was attractive and because she was eighteen years younger than he was.
When she hit forty, he would probably trade her in on a newer model. Maybe she wouldn’t even last that long. Lately she’d sensed that he was getting restless. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was having an affair. He’d had one with her before he’d divorced his first wife.
“That was a man claiming to know the present whereabouts of Sara Cleland,” Forrest said evenly.
She stared at him, jolted out of her thoughts. “What on earth?”
“He offered to sell me the information for a considerable sum.”
“I don’t understand. Sara’s at Candle Lake Manor.”
“According to the man on the phone, she hasn’t been there for the past year.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. We’ve been paying the bills. She has to be at Candle Lake.”