Brainstorm (9 page)

Better judgment prevailed. When was it ever
smart to ha-ha a cop, especially when you wanted him on your side? So instead
of driving to the police station all worked up, I sent Jack a text and asked
him to come to my apartment when his tour ended; he could pass the information
along.

He said he’d come for dinner, so I put in an order
downstairs and then went up and aired out my apartment. A swish of a cloth took
care of tabletop dust and I ran the vacuum. With time to spare, I ran next door
to the hair salon and found Lisa finishing up her last appointment for the day;
a teen who was mooning over her newly-dyed pink hair. Lisa had given her a
short cut, jagged on the sides, while the hair over her eyes hung straight down
like a starched flag. How could she even see herself in the mirror? Lisa winked
at me, knowing exactly what I was thinking.

While the girl paid, I lowered myself into one of the
massage chairs and turned it on.
Oh Lordy
.
One of these would definitely be in my letter to Santa this year. I kicked off
my shoes.

“Well,
you
look
happy,” said Lisa, as she dropped into the chair next to mine. “What’s up?”

I gave her an abbreviated explanation about the
conversation I’d had with Matt and the subsequent talk with Mike at the café. I
also told her I was moving back into my apartment now that Harley was gone. I
was alone here, or I was alone there. What was the difference?

“No wonder that chair feels good – you’ve had a crazy
day.” She reached for the remote and hit the heat button on my chair. “Want to
have dinner tonight?”

I shook my head. “Jack’s coming over after work. I can’t
wait to tell him all of this.”

“Seems like I hardly see you anymore since Hunky Man
entered the picture! I’m glad for you. As for me, I’m taking this weekend off,”
she said. “A much needed R&R. I’ll be back on Monday. As long as you’re
back in your apartment, will you keep an eye out for me?”

“Sure. And good for you for taking a break. You deserve
it.” As much as I hated to leave the vibrating chair, I had to pick up my
dinner order and head upstairs. “Relax this weekend,” I said, “and try to
forgive yourself for what you did to that poor girl who just left here.”

“It’s all the rage,” she laughed, as she twisted her door
key off its ring and handed it to me. “Hang on to this just in case.”

“Well, don’t ever try that color on me,” I said, “or that
cut.” I left her shaking her head at my lack of hair fashion savvy.

My landlord handed me my order and I asked if he’d mind
putting deadbolts on my doors.

“Sure thing, Aud,” he said, “something up?”

“I’d just feel more secure.”

“I’ll put it on the top of my list,” he said. “You have a
good night.”

Upstairs, I lit a stick of Frankincense and flopped on
the sofa, needing to loosen up before Jack arrived. I was happy to be home, and
looked forward to sleeping in my own bed. There were only so many nights I
could take tossing around on that cot, like a kid at summer camp.

I revisited my talk with Mike and smiled thinking about
how Jack would react to the news. I was beginning to think he was right. Danny
Stearns didn’t know where I was. He had to be busy staying ahead of the law’s
long arm. Flying under the radar. Hiding in the weeds.

By the time Jack arrived, I was ravenous. Over dinner, I
filled him in on everything, but spent the most time on my conversation with
Mike. “That’s
great,
” he said. “I’ll
have Matt talk to him again. This is a big deal, Audrey, not to be the last one
to see Tony. A very big deal. He’ll send an officer to Mike to get a
description of the guy.”

“A sketch artist.”

“We don’t have an actual artist on staff; it’s done with
a computer program now. Any officer can do it. It’s just a matter of mixing and
matching different shapes of facial features.”

“And this will get Matt off my back?”

“He’d have no reason to follow up with you. You have no
motive, and now you weren’t even the last one to see Tony, so there’s no case
to be made.”

My cell phone rang and I recognized the number as Sean
Finnegan’s. “Sean?” I asked, “Have you heard something?”

“No. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. I’m flying in
tomorrow. I want to talk to the investigators on Ferdy’s case, and I want to do
it face-to-face. I don’t like asking people questions on the phone when I can’t
see their eyes. Are you going to be around? Maybe we could meet for lunch?”

“Sure. Absolutely. Do you need me to pick you up at the
airport?”

“No, I’ll rent a car. Can we meet at that restaurant –
the one you live above?”

“Sure. I can meet you there around 11:30, before the
crowd gets bad. Will that work?”

“Great. See you then, Audrey. I’m hoping for some good
news. Even one lead. Something.”

I turned to Jack. “You heard.”

“Was he summoned? Or is he coming on his own?”

“No one called him – he just wants some answers. I feel
so bad for him. I mean, how does someone just vanish into thin air like that?”

“It happens.”

My phone rang again.
What
now?
I did not recognize the number. “Out of town,” I said.

“What’s the area code?” Jack asked.

“585”

“Rochester.”

I fought to keep down what little I had eaten. “Hello?”

“Audrey Dory?” a deep voice asked.

“Yes?”

“This is officer Donaldson, Rochester PD. I need to talk
to you about Danny Stearns. I understand you can place him in Rochester the day
the bank was robbed.”

“Yes…but,”

“I’d like to do it tomorrow. Is 10 a.m. good for you?”

What was I going to do, say no? “I guess so, sure.” I
gave him my address and directions.

I hung up and looked at Jack, who had poured us decaf
while I was on the phone. He put two mugs on the table and took our plates to
the sink. “So?”

“So it was the Rochester police department. They want to
talk to me about Danny Stearns.”

“Of course they do. When?”

“Tomorrow. Should I be nervous?”

“Why would you be?”

“An officer’s coming
here
;
do you think he’ll be in an unmarked car?”

“Why,” he laughed. “Are you worried about what your
neighbors will say?”

“If he
is
in an
unmarked car, how will I know he’s a real cop?”

“He’ll have a badge.”

“You can buy those on-line. What if Danny Stearns sends
someone?”

“Audrey! For Christ’s sake! How would Stearns know you’re
expecting a car tomorrow morning? You have to stop imagining these whacked-out
scenarios!”

Dr. Steele had said something similar to me, but in
kinder terms. “I know I obsess, Jack – it’s a symptom of my disorder, and I
can’t stop just because you want me to. It doesn’t work like that!”

“Take a pill then – really. If they’re supposed to help,
take
one for God’s sake.” He handed me
one of the mugs. “Go get one. Take it with this.”

I went to get a pill, recognizing the weariness in his
voice. I’d heard that tone before, and it was not something I wanted to hear
from Jack. I didn’t want to lose him, yet I knew it was only a matter of time
before he would get sick of my histrionics; only so long he would be able to
watch me fear things I thought were worth fearing, but in his eyes were
unsubstantiated. It had happened before.

There was Luke in my sophomore year of college:
Look, Audrey, you’re great. I thought we had
a shot, but the truth is, I just can’t put up with your crap any more
.

After that was Rob in my junior year:
What the hell’s wrong with you? I’ve hung in
there for almost a year, but shit Audrey – life is just too short.

Then there was Eddie, the love of my life during my senior
year. I’d ended things two months after we’d become engaged, because I realized
I just couldn’t put him through a lifetime of me. He was a wonderful guy. He’d
calmed me when I needed it, and made excuses for me when I couldn’t be calmed.
Every day he went before me, paving the way, making sure I would experience as
little stress as possible. He did it willingly. But I couldn’t have watched him
do it forever. It was too much to ask any man to be the husband – no, the
caretaker – of someone like me. Eddie was talented, and smart, and people loved
him. He needed a life free of me, so he could pursue his own dreams. I would
not only have held him back, I would have ruined him. I’d had no family to
approve or disapprove of my decision to end things with him, but his family had
been ecstatic over the cancelled engagement. I believed to this day I abandoned
Eddie because I’d loved him so much.

I looked at Jack. “Want to stay here with me tonight?”

“Absolutely. But I should leave before Rochester gets
here in the morning.”

“Oh, then you’d better go right to sleep. No fooling
around.”

He unbuttoned his shirt. “Let’s go to bed and see how
that works out.”

The deadbolts hadn’t been installed yet, but not wanting
another display of insecurity in front of Jack, I fought the urge to wedge a
chair under each door. After all, I had 9-1-1 right here.

Still, dreams pursued me the whole night through. I was
next door, sure that something was amiss at the salon in Lisa’s absence. I
trudged along, carrying a key as long as my arm and as heavy as a brick, ready
to unlock the door and take care of whatever might be wrong. Seeing nothing
unusual on the main floor, I left the huge key on the reception desk and went
to check the basement.

The darkness was as absolute as it had been the day Lisa
and I had descended the rickety stairs. It smelled old, felt damp, and I
recoiled as a spider web brushed my face and got caught up in my hair. As my
foot hit the rough dirt floor, I reached out one arm and extended my fingers,
searching for the chain to the light, trying to remember where it was. But to
my horror, when I found the chain, someone else’s hand was already wrapped
around it. I turned to scramble up the stairs, but whoever was down there with
me, grabbed my ankle and dragged me back. I awoke, clutching my throat, unable
to scream; the feeling of that hand on my ankle so real, I yanked back the
covers to look.

Jack slept, unaware of my middle-of-the-night trauma. I
went to the kitchen to get a drink of water, and not knowing whether to take a
sleeping pill or a happy pill, I took one of each.

Jack kissed me awake around 8 a.m., and I struggled to pull
myself out of what felt like a coma. “I made coffee,” he said. “You were really
out, so I let you sleep. But Rochester’s going to be here at 10, so you’d
better hit the shower.”

“Yes
sir
,” I
answered. “Are you always this pushy?”

He shrugged. “I have to get home and pretty myself up for
work.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be nervous, okay? Call me when
it’s over.”

“Call you at work?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I left my number on the kitchen table.
If I’m busy, I just won’t answer. But you can leave a message.”

I hated being left to meet with the detective by myself,
afraid that his questions and my answers were going to poison the air in my
little dwelling, my sanctuary. Just the thought of law enforcement traveling
from another city to talk to me about Danny Stearns, whose image wouldn’t leave
me, made me nauseous.

I went to my computer, signed on, and Googled the
Rochester bank robbery. Several newspaper articles, photos of the bank, and
videos of interviews appeared as choices, and I clicked on the first one.

About halfway through the article, I learned that police
had interviewed all of the bank’s employees, whether they’d been at work the
day of the robbery or not. Because of the unusually large amount of money
stolen, an inside connection was originally suspected. But after questioning
the bank employees, that theory was dropped; the robber had simply chosen a day
when a big haul was available.

An inside job
,
I thought. I wondered why the police dismissed that theory so quickly. I
glanced at an old group photo of some of the bank’s employees, who had been
herded together in front of a police officer for a PR story several years
before the robbery. The caption read,
Tellers
at the National Bank of Rochester receive robbery training from the local
police department.
This type of training, according to the story, occurred
twice a year, particularly around holidays, when robberies were apt to
increase.

At 10 sharp, Officer Donaldson knocked on my door. I
offered him coffee, which he declined, and he stood for a moment just inside
the door gazing around the room. I waited for him to sniff the air and ask if
I’d been smoking pot.

“Lived here long?” he asked, instead.

“For years,” I said. “It’s pretty small, but I don’t need
a lot of room. It’s just me.”

“Can we sit?”

“Oh, of course, sorry.” I indicated the sofa with a Vanna
White wave of my hand.

“So let’s go back about ten years,” he said. “You were
living in Rochester at that time?”

“I had just graduated from college.”

“Exactly where were you when you saw Danny Stearns?”

“On Franklin Street, waiting for a taxi. I was going back
to my dorm to pick up my things and go to the airport to come home.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Nazareth.”

“What did you study?”

“Marketing Management. Excuse me, but I thought you
wanted to talk about Danny Stearns.”

“Just trying to get a clear picture. What brought you to
Franklin Street that day?”

“An appointment.”

“Business?”

“Personal.”

“What time of day was this?”

“Around 10 a.m. I guess.”

“So walk me through it,” he said. “You were waiting for a
cab…”

“Yes, and a man ran around the corner and slammed into
me.”

“Danny Stearns?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know his name at the time.”

“When did you learn his name?”

“When it was on the news recently. There was a story
about the case being reopened and they showed a picture of him.”

“And you recognized him?”

“Yes. I’ll never forget his face. His eyes in
particular.”

“So you got a good look at him?”

“I did. He grabbed my shoulders when he bumped into me
and he stared at me for a couple of seconds.”

“Then what?”

“He shoved me against the building and ran. Police cars
came screeching around the corner right after that.”

“Now this ski mask. You think it was his?”

“He dropped it when we collided. I picked it up.”

“And kept it all these years?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you take it to
the police?”

“For one thing,” I said, “I didn’t know a bank had been
robbed.”

“It didn’t seem strange?” he asked. “A guy runs around
the corner, drops a ski mask, and police cars head in the same direction?”

“I just wanted to go home.”

“Why did you keep the mask?”

“I couldn’t let go of it at the time. I was upset at the
whole incident and I just couldn’t let go of it.”

“I never heard of that happening. You
couldn’t
let it go. Why would that be?”

I took a deep breath. “I have an anxiety disorder. I
don’t know, maybe that’s why. I couldn’t let it go; my hand wouldn’t open. My
taxi came and I got in. That’s it.”

He considered that for a moment. “Did this man have a
weapon with him?”

“Not that I saw.”

“No gun, no knife, nothing?”

I shook my head. “That’s really all I can tell you.”

“The ski mask has been sent to a lab,” he said.
“Hopefully some of his hair, or dried sweat, or saliva will be in it. They’ll
run any DNA they find through the data base to try and get a match, but as far
as we can tell, Stearns has no prior arrests, so it’s a long shot that there’ll
be a match. So you see, Ms. Dory, without you, Mr. Stearns most likely won’t
even be arrested, assuming of course, he’s found. And if they do find him, his
lawyer will say that the suspect could have worn the ski mask at any point in
his life, not necessarily on the day the bank was robbed, rendering any DNA of
his inside of it, useless to the investigation. Only you can put the mask and
the man together in Rochester on that day.”

I pictured one of the old wartime posters, with Uncle Sam
pointing at me and exclaiming,
I want you
(to ID Danny Stearns!
) “I get it.”

“Do you remember what he was wearing?”

“I couldn’t even tell you what I was wearing that day.”

“But you remember his face and his eyes 100%. No doubt at
all.”

“I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

“Okay then,” he said, and he stood up and looked out my
front window. “I’ll get back to you if I need anything else. In the meantime,
be real careful. You’re an eye witness. Nobody knows that yet…”

“Except Danny Stearns,” I cut in. “
He
knows. He saw me.”

“Okay, well, that’s true, and there may come a time when
you’ll need to be put into protective custody. But not yet.” We said goodbye,
and he left.

I called Jack and left a message, asking if he would have
dinner with me and assuring him I was fine after my interview with Officer
Donaldson, even though I was anything but fine. The interview had brought back
all the stomach-knotting, brain-numbing fear I’d felt on that day. And now I was
a known witness – perhaps the
only
witness – someone who may need police protection in the near future. I was
going to have to talk to Dr. Steele again. I took a happy pill and headed
downstairs to meet Sean for lunch.