4 DEAD ... If Only Page 4

  They were unsettling, those eyes. I felt like I had run a red light, ignored a speed bump, robbed a piggy bank, and knocked a little old lady around, all within the time span of stepping over the threshold. My gut told me here was a man who condemned at first sight and went out of his way to ensure his assessment was right.

  Mom followed the man’s stare, caught sight of us, excused herself with a small gesture of a perfectly manicured hand, and hurried over.

  “How’s Victoria? Did you speak with her, Liana?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Tío. “Were you able to accomplish what you wanted to do, Mateo?”

  Her voice sounded thin, her body language more frenetic and unsure, and her face was definitely a little flushed. Whatever conversation she’d been having with the brown policeman seemed to upset her.

  Tío reached out a reassuring hand, resting it on Mom’s arm. “Es major, hermana,” he said in Spanish.

  Although he speaks English well, albeit with a heavy accent, he tends to revert to Spanish in times of pressure. After Dad died and Richard and I moved out, Mom was left rambling around the family’s Palo Alto McMansion, the white-columned symbol of the American success story. Tío moved in some time ago, and as a retired chef, took the bottom floor with the huge kitchen. Mom took the top floor with the humungous bathroom. They lead separate lives mostly, but are there for one another in times of need, as family usually is.

  “So she is better?” Mom visibly relaxed. “I’m so relieved.”

  “Si.” Tío smiled at her. “Victoria, she is resting now and will probably sleep for some hours. Con permiso, voy a regressar en un momento,” he added and headed down the hall, probably in search of a men’s room. I know the ladies room was whistling to me.

  The need to keep up a ‘strong front’ temporarily subsided, tension in Mom’s face drained away, to be replaced by fatigue. She didn’t seem so much like a drill sergeant now, just a woman trying to keep her family together in a crisis.

  “Mom, where’s Richard? And who’s that man over there staring at us?”

  “That is Detective Maxim Devereux. He’s an old acquaintance of your father’s and assigned to the homicide of the man found lying next to Victoria.”

  She looked toward him with a sniff of disapproval. He, on the other hand, glared at us like we’d committed a felony right under his nose and were about to get cuffed for it.

  “As for your brother, he is in a nearby room doing research on Dennis Manning and, hopefully, the dead man, as well. I arranged to have his laptop sent over from Felicity’s this afternoon. He --”

  “I didn’t realize Vicki and Richard were staying at Mrs. Llewellyn’s with you. I thought they were booked into the Mariage Frères Chateau. That’s where we’re staying.”

  “Felicity has plenty of room. She --”

  “Then why didn’t she invite me? I thought Mrs. Llewellyn liked me, although I don’t know her that well.” I didn’t wait for an answer, but went on with a new thought. “I don’t get it, anyway. You two were never such fast friends in Palo Alto and all of a sudden when she learns Vicki is opening a new store in New Orleans, she insists the family stay with her? What’s that all about?”

  “If you must know, she is a very big contributor to the American Cancer Society, even chairing the Garden District’s chapter, and as I am Chairwoman of the Palo Alto division --”

  “Say no more, Mom. I know how you chairs stick together, not to make you sound like pieces of furniture.”

  “Initially, it was my hope she and I could share some marketing ideas. Contributions have been down a little, and we could use an infusion of new ideas. Once Felicity heard you were flying here, she said the only reason she didn’t invite you to stay with her is her allergy to cats. Putting that aside, we should concentrate on Vicki and Richard --”

  “She’s allergic to Tugger? Well, where he’s not welcomed, I’m not welcomed.”

  “Liana, where you stay or don’t stay is irrelevant at this juncture.” At my quick intake of breath to speak again, she all but stamped her foot. “Now please stop interrupting me while I’m--”

  “Sorry, Mom. You’re absolutely right. Where I stay doesn’t matter. Whoops,” I said, realizing I interrupted her again. But did that stop me? No. I’m not sure why I tend to babble around my mother, but I do. It’s something about nerves, intimidation, and needing approval. “Don’t mean to keep saying I’m sorry. Sorry about that. I mean I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

  “Yes, but when?” My mother closed her eyes and spoke through gritted teeth, often what occurs around me. “As I was attempting to convey to you earlier before all this nonsense about who is staying where, Richard is forbidden to go online in Vicki’s room or out here in the hall. He did find a hotspot in a patient conference room for his computer. You’ll find him in there.” She pointed in a direction.

  The use of the word ‘computer’ for any of Richard’s state-of-the-art equipment is almost an insult. It’s actually a supercomputer configured into a laptop and to Richard’s own specifications. A small island in the Pacific costs roughly around the same amount of money as this hunk of binary codes held inside a plastic casing. Thus, I have named it Bali Hai.

  Bali Hai is a prototype, weighing in at less than a pound, fifteen inches square, pencil thin, and has the power of ten petaFLOPS. PetaFLOPS is some kind of scientific term used for computer power, speed, and performance. I can only remember the word because it’s similar to the word flip-flops, which I wear during the summer. Other than that, I’m clueless.

  But Richard, the fount from which all things megahertz flows, is clued in like gangbusters. He even added a bunch of gewgaws on his supercomputer that do everything but fry eggs. There’s a nifty monitor that swivels or can be detached and moved around within a twenty-foot radius of its mommy board. And he can make 3D images dance upon it like Nijinski. I don’t know why you’d want to do that, but it’s a great party trick.

  Once linked to D.I.’s mainframe, Richard has the ability to find information, and run our business from anywhere in the world. And just like Mission Impossible, this baby is designed to self-destruct within five seconds if the wrong password is entered. Aloha, Bali Hai.

  D.I., BTW, stands for Discretionary Inquiries. We’re twenty employees strong and offer the service of bringing software, hardware, and intellectual property miscreants to justice on behalf of wounded hi-tech companies. They Steal; We Reel could be on our letterhead. Just a thought.

  At work I am known as the ferret. I dig out who the bad guy is, even when the bad guy took a powder a long time ago. I have a knack for solving after-the-fact crimes, which, hopefully, would enable me to sniff out Dennis Manning. Because I had no doubt he was alive and kicking, and living under a rock somewhere.

  I opened the door to the conference room and whispered my brother’s name, trying not to startle him. Fat chance. On hearing my voice, he leapt up from a small sofa with such ferocity he banged his shins against the table holding Bali Hai, almost tossing it to the floor.

  “What…how…is everything all right?” The words came out jerky, and half-swallowed.

  “Vicki’s fine, just fine.” I was quick to reassure him. “In fact, she’s sleeping and should be for the next couple of hours. She’s much better.”

  He fell back down on the sofa, bringing his bent arm across his face, trying to hide his emotions behind it. “Holy crap, you came in so quietly, I thought something else happened.”

  I sat down beside him. “I’m sorry, Richard. I guess I should have barged into the room and shouted out right away ‘Vicki’s okay’. I was trying to be considerate of you.”

  “Well, don’t do that again. I’m not used to you being considerate.”

  I think I had just been insulted, but due to the circumstances, I let it go.

  My brother lowered his arm and looked at me, fear, confusion, and love for Vicki written across his face like a newspaper ad. It made me swallow hard; the pain, the devotion. I tried to sm
ile and be upbeat.

  “She told me to give you her love. She’s going to be all right, Richard. And so is the baby.”

  He didn’t say anything but nodded. When he finally spoke, he turned his head away from me and reached down to close the lid on his laptop. “So what do you think?”

  The words spoken were vague, but I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “I think a very alive Dennis Manning was in New Orleans and seen by Vicki this morning. Even if he was only here on vacation and lives somewhere else, I’ll find him. We’re going to get him, Richard. You can take that to the bank.”

  Relief spread across my brother’s face. “Thank God at least one other person besides me believes Vicki. I don’t know how I could have done battle with the entire family over this, what with everything else going on.” His light blue eyes, so reminiscent of Mom’s, were lit from behind with our father’s Latino spirit.

  “There’s no battle to be done, Richard. At least, not between you and me.”

  Wordless, he reached for my hand resting in my lap, and gave it a squeeze. I squeezed right back. He looked at me with the same smile he had when we were united against the world over anything and everything, from cafeteria bullies to Dad’s tough curfew hours.

  “I know Dennis Manning being alive sounds crazy, Lee, but --”

  “No, it doesn’t, so let’s not waste time going there. Vicki is way too pragmatic to have imagined this. Plus, if nothing else convinced me, a bloody wrench clenched in her hand while she lies out cold next to a dead man does. It’s straight out of a bad Wes Craven movie.”

  He let out a laugh, the first genuine one I’d heard out of him since I arrived. “You always have the most bizarre way of looking at things.” His mood instantly sobered. “But the handiness of it had crossed my mind. Vicki knocked out, the only other witness lying dead beside her, Manning gone.” He paused. “Again.”

  “Hmmm. Vicki said the same thing. I take it you’ve been looking for Dennis Manning online. Or maybe the dead man’s identity? Who was he?”

  “Info on the dead man is nowhere to be found. I can’t get a name or anything about the victim. I would say the cops are sitting on it, not putting into their system yet.”

  “Which begs the question, why?”

  “Once it goes in there, it’s fair game to anyone like me, Lee.”

  “That said, I’m surprised you’re using the hospital’s server. I would imagine it’s pretty slow for our purposes.”

  “I’m not using that piece of crap.” The affront to my words rose up from him like a geyser. “Their server can barely bring in Google.” He dismissed the notion with distain and an impatient wave of his hand. Going into a field he knew well and was master at, his demeanor became more secure.

  “I’ve captured a signal from an overhead satellite dish, and connected it to D.I.’s mainframe. It should stay in range for the next fourteen hours. Otherwise, even with my computer I would hardly be able to play a video game, much less do what I’m doing.”

  “And what are you doing?”

  “After not finding the dead man, I dug up the Woodside Police report on Robin’s assault, including the medical examiner’s findings, from nine years ago. I’ve sent you a copy via your phone. It’s encoded but be careful where you read it. I broke the law on this one.”

  I let out a soft whistle. “Richard, I’m shocked to hear you admit it. Usually, your philosophy is, if I can get it, it’s mine. And how did you? Get a hold of it?”

  Richard looked at me with raised eyebrows then a disappointed shake of his head. I was chagrined.

  “Forgive me, Oh Hurdler of Firewalls. I didn’t mean to doubt you. Anything interesting I should know about?”

  “I didn’t read it; leaving that to you, but it shouldn’t have been as buried as it was. That much I know.”

  “Meaning what?”

  He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Since then I’ve been searching for Dennis Manning.”

  “And?”

  Richard shook his head.

  “Nothing?” If my voice sounded incredulous, that’s exactly how I felt. “No funeral notice sans body?”

  He shook his head again. I went on, emphasizing each word.

  “No memorial service for the dear departed? Nada?”

  “Nada, nada, and nada. He disappeared from existence September third, two-thousand and five and that’s it.”

  Chapter Six

  A Blast From The Past

  “That’s not it, Richard. It’s only the beginning.”

  Richard grinned at me. “I knew you’d say that, so I pulled up an old photo of him from his real estate days. Then I added nine years and a beard to the image.”

  “Sort of Son of Photoshop meets Etch-a-sketch. Well, that’s pretty good thinking.”

  “Not really. I made it up one night when I was nine. You should remember that.”

  Then he actually sniffed in a similar way Mom does when you’ve said something pretty lame. Blood will tell. He reopened the laptop and jabbed at it.

  “Here’s the image I made of Manning as he probably looks today. I’ll show it to Vicki later.”

  A picture of a good-looking older man appeared on his monitor. Short salt and pepper hair and beard framed a face with even features. Dark brown eyes and deep-set wrinkles, the sort that come with an outdoorsy lifestyle, set off a flashy smile. I did not return the smile, but rather scowled.

  “I’ve got a first name for you, Richard. Sam. It’s not much, but Vicki remembers the other man calling out to Manning using that name. How many white males in their late forties, early fifties, go by the name of Sam in the greater New Orleans area?”

  “Oh, God, there must be ten thousand.” He looked stricken, so I tried to make light of it.

  “Ah, but this one’s got a limp. That should narrow it down to a couple of thousand. Piece of cake. Don’t you have a program that can compile, search, and eliminate; maybe one of those you’ve done later on in life, say in your teens?” I added the last bit as a touch of sarcasm, but could have saved myself the trouble. Sarcasm is wasted on Richard.

  “Given those parameters?” He thought about it. “I can probably piece something together. I helped the Palo Alto Police Department with something similar a few years ago. We don’t have much to go on, but I’ll do my best.” He changed the subject. “The question I can’t figure out is why here? Why New Orleans? Why not Switzerland or some far corner of the world, where you’re less likely to be caught? This isn’t that far from where he committed the crime.”

  “I would say two possibilities. Some people can’t cope with living in a foreign country, handling a new language and culture, especially in their middle years. And second, Hurricane Katrina. He disappeared shortly after it hit, when much of the city’s infrastructure was in chaos. If you had the guts and money, I’ll bet you could come here and make a new life, assume the identity of somebody missing or dead. Or create a new person by doctoring up corrupted files. Make them read what you want.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe you’re right. Have you seen the area around the Super Dome? Vicki and I took a tour of the city yesterday. Some of it still has vacant lots, nothing but debris left over from the Katrina. Might never be rebuilt.”

  He shook his head and turned to his computer. I reached out, stopping him with my hand.

  “Actually, there’s a third possibility and one that fits with what little I’ve already gleaned about Dennis Manning.”

  “What’s that?” He gave me his full attention.

  “He strikes me as having the kind of ego where he believes everyone else in the world is stupider than he is. That might work in our favor.” I leaned in. “One more thing. Where’s his wife, Richard? That’s what I want to know.”

  “Pamela Manning? I have no idea.”

  “Find her. Let’s see if we can track him down through her.”

  “You think she stayed with him after what he did?”

  “They
had two little kids. Besides, people are notorious for believing what they want, especially about a spouse. And find out their financial circumstances. Did she get any insurance monies when he died?”

  I stood up and watched my brother typing commands into the computer with renewed energy.

  “That should keep you busy for a while. Meanwhile, Mom, Tío, Gurn, and I will find some place close by for dinner and a debriefing. Can I bring you back anything?”

  He muttered something unintelligible, caught up in what he was doing. I persisted.

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  He didn’t answer, lost in his Internet search. I was not deterred.

  “Richard! Answer me. How about an omelet? It’s hard to ruin eggs no matter where you go.”

  He glanced over at me with a dismissive air and gave me one of his shrugs.

  “An omelet it is, Brother Mine.”

  He sat upright, body frozen, not even breathing. “Oh crap!”

  “Okay, then. No omelet. How about a hamburger?”

  Richard shot to his feet apparently not hearing me, but remembering something he didn’t want to remember. Waving his hands wildly, his face became contorted with a myriad of emotions, none of them good.

  “The car! I forgot to move the car from emergency when I drove to the hospital.”

  As if to prove he was in the final throes of panic, Richard began to talk with the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. “Don’t you see? I parked it in the emergency room section. The sign was very specific. You can only park there when the patient is in the emergency room. After that, you have to move it. Otherwise, the car is towed! Vicki got out of emergency over six hours ago. I’ll bet the car was towed. I’ll bet the car was towed. Oh, my God. That’s all I need.” His body jerked around like six-foot Cajun gators were nipping at his butt.

  In times of crisis, you never know what the final blow is going to be that sends someone over the edge. I know from experience. A friend at Stanford lost her grandmother and father within a week of each other. She’d been remarkably self-contained until she opened the dorm refrigerator and found a carton of milk with an expired date on it.