Mr. And Miss Anonymous (25 page)

In the front seat, Zolly guffawed.

“Okay, big man,” Tessie said to Zolly in the same jittery voice, “let’s go find this man’s kid so we can all go home and go to sleep.”

D
iesel Morgan eyed the man in the backseat, who was shackled to the door handle. One more stop to make, then he would step into Hudson Preston’s shoes. Just one more stop. He met the man’s gaze in the rearview mirror and smiled. He laughed when he saw the way the man shivered. “I certainly hope you haven’t lied to me about anything.”

The man in the backseat said nothing. What was the point?

“Okay, we’re here,” Morgan said, pulling up under the portico of the Preston family mansion on Wild Orchid Drive. “I won’t be long,” Morgan said as he opened the car door.

Morgan marched to the side door and rang the bell. A maid, who looked to be an old family retainer, opened the door and peered up at the clean-cut-looking man standing in front of her. “Hudson asked me to drop something off for his father. I don’t have much time, so if you show me the way, I can be in and out in a few minutes.”

“Eh?” the old woman asked as she cupped her ear to hear better. “Mr. Preston,” Morgan shouted. “Hudson sent me,” he said, waving a brown envelope under her nose. “Take me to him.” When the woman still didn’t seem to understand, Morgan brushed past her, taking a moment to pat her on the back in a friendly way.

The woman backed up, then closed the door. Morgan waited to see if she would lead the way. She did, stopping at the bottom of the stairway and pointing upward. She then pointed to her knees, a sign that Morgan took to mean she didn’t do stairs, which was fine with him.

The staircase was beautiful, polished mahogany and circular. At the top, a woman in a white uniform waited for him. “Can I help you?”

“You sure can. Hudson asked me to deliver this package to his father. He said I was to place it directly in his hands. I’m in a bit of a hurry as I have a flight to catch. Can you show me the way to Mr. Preston’s room?”

“No one called me,” the middle-aged woman grumbled. “I don’t like my patient’s routine altered. Right now, Mr. Preston is watching the US Open. An old one, but he does love to play commentator. I guess it’s all right. Hudson was here earlier in the day. Hudson never comes here anymore.”

Morgan shrugged and waved the envelope. “No offense, ma’am, but I will need some privacy for this meeting.”

The nurse huffed and puffed a little, but in the end she opened the door to her patient’s room and closed it as Morgan was walking toward the elder Preston.

“Who are you?” the old man asked petulantly.

“Why do you want to know?” Morgan asked as he opened the brown padded mailing envelope. He withdrew a gun with a long snout. The old man recognized the silencer and cringed in his chair. “Don’t make a sound,” the hired killer warned.

The old man started to wheeze as his clawlike hands gripped the arms of the chair. “What do you want? Did my son send you?”

“I want you to write a letter saying what you and your rich friends did where all those kids were concerned. For starters, I know you’re the one who gave the order to slaughter those kids at the school. I want you to explain, in detail, how you tested your drugs on all those children from the day they were born. By the way, your son Hudson is dead. I killed him a few hours ago. Now, write,” Morgan said as he handed a pen and paper to the old man. “Be quick about it, or I’ll start by shooting out your kneecaps.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” the old man wheezed. The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Morgan pointed and fired at the man’s right knee. The only thing to be heard was a spitting, popping sound. The elder Preston doubled over, a scream of pain spewing from his mouth. The door opened, and the nurse rushed in to check on her patient, her eyes wide with fear. Morgan shot her right between the eyes. She crumpled soundlessly to the floor.

“Now, write, old man.”

Morgan kept one eye on his watch and the other on the old man. “I think you need to write a little faster.” He raised the gun and waved it around the room, finally settling on the old man’s left leg.

“Why are you doing this?” Preston asked, his voice full of pain.

“Because I can.”

“Who the hell are you to judge? You killed those children for money. What makes you any different from me? All we did was speed up the testing process so our drugs could help millions of people. It’s called ‘collateral damage.’ ”

There was no reasonable response to the old man’s questions or his last statement, so Morgan didn’t try to offer any. “Now, write down names and phone numbers.”

“I don’t have that information. Hudson has all the records. Other people… I don’t know. I tried to keep my distance in case… I just didn’t want to be involved. That’s the truth, so if you’re going to shoot me, just shoot me.”

“Okay.” The hit man raised his arm, eyeballed the man in front of him. He fired. The old man died instantly, slumping over in his chair.

Morgan reached for the paper, which he stuffed in the brown envelope along with the gun. He then dragged the nurse to the far corner of the room. He checked the air-conditioning unit and turned it to maximum cooling. He gave off a jaunty salute when he left the room.

Downstairs, he headed in the direction of the kitchen, where the old housekeeper was chopping vegetables. She looked up with frightened eyes before the bullet ended her life. Morgan dragged her body to the pantry and closed the door. He looked around for another air-conditioning panel and once again turned the temperature as low as it would go. He locked the kitchen door before making his way to the door that led to the portico.

After exiting the house, Morgan walked from the portico to the car and climbed behind the wheel, humming the lyrics to Rod Stewart’s newest song. In the backseat, his passenger cowered in fear. Morgan took a second to look over at the brown envelope on the passenger seat. He had the old man’s paper and Hudson’s keys. The memory stick with all the records. A hell of a bargaining chip should he ever need to use it. Not to mention a wonderful blackmail tool. Ah, the life of luxury was just his for the asking.

Now, all he had to do was head for the airport and climb aboard the chartered Gulfstream that would whisk him away to a safe land, where he would assume his new identity and commence living a life in the manner to which Hudson Preston was accustomed.

When Zolly parked the SUV six doors away from #982, no one made a move to get out of the vehicle.

“Maybe I should call first,” Pete said. “If we go right to the door, the old man or even the boy might opt to call the police. We need to ask ourselves if we really want to tangle with the locals, who will then call the FBI. If we blow it now, we aren’t going to get another chance.”

Tessie digested the information. “You do have a point. The last thing we want is for the boy to take off again. How about this? Zolly goes to the back door. I station myself at the garage. You and Lily go to the front door. Call the Trac-Fone before you ring the doorbell. Ask for the old man. He might listen and not panic, as opposed to the boy, who is scared out of his wits. If you get the feeling they’re going to call the police, Zolly can break down the door.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” Pete said, getting out of the car. “Lily, call Zolly’s cell phone so he can keep an open line. Everyone ready?”

Josh was about to bite into his grilled-cheese sandwich when the TracFone on the kitchen counter rang. He dropped his sandwich on the plate in front of him as he got off the chair, but Charlie beat him to the counter.

“I think we should answer it, youngster.”

“How did they get the number?” Josh whispered.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid! They broke into Charlie’s apartment and went through the trash and found the number on the papers in the trash. Sloppy work, buddy.”

Josh closed his eyes. “I can’t run anymore, Tom,” he whispered. “Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. Maybe I’ll be seeing you sooner than you know.”

“I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. You have things to do, places to go, promises to keep. Just see who it is, and maybe you can cut a deal. Go for it, 8446.”

Josh turned to Charlie and nodded.

Charlie clicked on the phone, and said, “Make it quick and state your business.”

Outside the front door, Pete blinked. In the voice he used from time to time to rally his staff, Pete went into his spiel. He ended up by saying, “We’re the good guys, Mr. Garrison. Do you think I got to be where I am in the business world by bullshitting my way? Everything I told you is the truth. All we want is to take the boy to safety, and the
Chronicle
seems to be the best place at the moment. If that doesn’t work for you and the boy, we can go anywhere you might suggest. I give you my word that we will keep the boy safe, and no harm will come to him. You can tell him for me that I am the other half of his number. I’ll give you a few minutes, then I’ll call you back. Will that be okay, Mr. Garrison?”

Charlie’s brain whirled and twirled. “I’ll talk to the boy. Give me a little time. Give me a number where I can call you back.” Pete rattled off his cell phone number, then ended the call.

Charlie looked at the young man standing across from him. He put both his hands on Josh’s shoulders and looked into the young man’s eyes. “I believe the man, Josh. He wants to help you. He said he’ll take us to the newspaper or wherever else we want—to keep us safe. I think the paper is the way to go. You can tell your story, and the paper will print it. Once it’s public, there isn’t anything the authorities can do to you except take your statement. I’m thinking Mr. Kelly has some top-notch lawyers who will beat them off with their law books. He also said to tell you he’s the other half of your 8446. I don’t know what that means. It must be important because no one else knows about those numbers. What do you say, youngster?”

Josh turned around. “Tom?” he hissed. “Tell me what to do.”

“I think you got it going on, buddy. Give the guy a chance. If you don’t like what he’s saying to you, tell him to buzz off. Make him give you his word that if you don’t like what he says. you can leave, and he never bothers you again. Remember, you have Charlie in your corner.”

“You sure, Tom?”

“I’m as sure as I can be. The rest is up to you, Josh. You have to make a decision now, no more waffling. I think going to the newspaper is the right choice. I have a feeling they’re going to make this all right for you, buddy.”

Josh turned around and reached for the phone. “Tom said it’s okay. You say it’s okay. I’ll call Mr. Kelly. Read me off the number, Charlie.”

Josh punched in the numbers of Pete’s cell phone. When Pete came on the line, he said, “This is Josh Baer. I’ll agree to talk to you if you promise me something.”

Pete grew so light-headed at the sound of the boy’s voice, he had to reach for Lily’s arm to steady himself. “I never make a blind promise. Tell me what it is, and if I can agree to it in good conscience, then I will give you my promise.”

“Take him at his word,”
Tom whispered.
“What he’s saying is fair, Josh.”

Josh waited for several long minutes before he finally said, “Okay, that will work. When do you want to talk?”

“How about right now? I’m at your front door. Open it, and we can sit down and talk.”

Josh turned white. His expression showed panic as he handed the phone to Charlie.

“What?” the old man barked into the phone, his eyes on the young man, who was shaking from head to toe.

“Open the door, Mr. Garrison. I’m on the front porch.”

Charlie Garrison wrapped his arms around the boy. “Take a deep breath and sit down. We’re ready to listen. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to. It’s not going to hurt to listen; you might learn something that will help you. I won’t open the door if you don’t want me to. What’s it gonna be, Josh?”

“Go ahead, open the door, Charlie. I’m ready.” And, Josh realized, he
was
finally ready. He took another deep breath and waited.

He’s tall, not scary-looking at all,
Josh thought. He stood, and said, “You look like me.” He didn’t offer to shake hands. They were equally tall, he noticed. Strange.

Pete struggled with every emotion in the book. He tried for a light tone, but the words came out gruff and hoarse. “I was just going to say you look like me. Why don’t we just say we look like each other and let it go at that? Okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Josh said as he sat down.

Pete turned to Lily and introduced her. Josh simply nodded. “If you don’t mind, we have two friends outside. I’d like them to come in if that’s okay,” he said, addressing Charlie, who nodded his agreement.

Again, introductions were made. Winston prowled the kitchen before he settled down by the boy’s feet.
He knows,
Pete thought. Dogs’ instincts were so uncanny.

“What do you want? Why have you been chasing me everywhere I go?” Josh asked.

“I want… I want to keep you out of harm’s way. This lady,” Pete said, motioning to Lily, “and I met a long time ago when we were both around your age and going to college at Berkeley. We lost touch over the years and met up in the Atlanta airport the day the shooting occurred. We saw your picture on the screen at the same time. We were both coming here to a fund-raiser at our alma mater.

“But I need to go back to the beginning to when we met, but more importantly, where and how we met. I was…poor, as was Lily. It was our last year, and neither one of us had enough money to pay for our room and board and tuition. We both, unbeknownst to each other, made an unwise decision. I donated my sperm to a sperm bank, and Lily donated her eggs to a fertility clinic that was next door to the sperm bank. We met on our way out.

“We had both been told that counseling was available, but neither of us followed through on that. Consequently, neither one of us had an easy time of it wondering how many children were out there that belonged to us.

“On the five-hour flight here, we both agreed to see if there was a way for us to find the children of our donations. In doing so, things pretty much exploded. My donor number was 8446. Lily’s number was 1114. We went to the sperm bank and the fertility clinic but couldn’t find out anything. The next day when we went back, we broke in, only to find everything cleaned out. There wasn’t so much as a paper clip or rubber band left behind. We tried everything to find out who owned those two operations but were not successful. That’s why we went to Tessie Dancer of the
Chronicle.