Pieces of the Puzzle (6 page)

“Try me.”

“Jessica’s blonde.”

Scott shot back, “Strawberry blonde since the day she was born, I know.”

“Then what is this stuck to the hair tape?”

Scott spun around. “Black hair in the wig? That still doesn’t mean…” Scott’s voice trailed off. “You’ve never seen the case
before?”

“Never.”

Scott walked with Helen back into the reception area of J. Wellmen & Associates. “Tell me everything, everything you know.”

Helen’s voice trembled as she said, “Jessica’s alive, I know it.”

Scott repeated, “Tell me everything.”

Miami, Florida
Monday, 3 January

Scott and Helen had danced in circles for hours, him digging for the truth, and her evading it. “Who is he and why are you
so afraid of him?” he asked.

“A client,” she answered.

“A client that threatened to cut off your thumbs?”

“Not the first time.”

“All right, when was the first time you saw him?”

“Almost a year ago now.”

“What is WIH-2?”

“Has to do with some gizmo Jessica made a test port for.”

“A test port?”

“A box that checks a prototype gizmo.”

“What about the money?”

“What money?”

“What about the missing days in the calendar?”

“May’s job, not mine.”

“Who erased the phone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, your sister’s the one in trouble here. I’m just trying to help. Where are Jessica’s files, her date book, her client
list?”

“No matter whose side you’re on, I’ve already said too much.”

“Does Jessica have the box?”

“And if I said yes?”

“Will you help me find Jessica?”

“Only if you take me with you.”

“Where?”

A short while later, they were on the road to Miami Beach in Scott’s rented car. After that, Helen said only, “Wake me when
we get there.”

Scott glanced at her. Her seat was reclined all the way back. She seemed asleep, but he couldn’t really be sure because she
had a hand clutched over her face as if trying to ward off a pounding headache. He had a mounting headache of his own. Helen,
teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown, was the last thing he needed to worry about right now. There was no question
in his mind that her emotional distress was real.

She was deathly afraid that anything she said would get Jessica killed. Yet, she was also hiding something—a secret so dark
that she didn’t want to share it with anyone, least of all herself. He couldn’t help wondering if she had sold out her own
sister and was now regretting the deed—money never satisfied over the long term. It just wasn’t enough to help forget in the
immediacy of the present.

He clicked on the radio, tuned up and down the dial to see what he could find. News Radio should have been somewhere in the
low band on the AM dial. He glanced at Helen to see if the radio woke her. It didn’t, but he wanted it to. He was on the other
side of the bay now. The freeway was about to end, and he needed to know whether to turn north, south or continue to Collins
Avenue. He nudged her. She jumped and shrank away.

He said, “Miami Beach.”

In the rearview mirror as they passed under the street lights, he saw her face clearly. Her jaw was quivering, and she was
trying to hide that fact, but her hand touched to her mouth was trembling right along with it.

“Helen, are you all right?”

“Don’t touch me. Never touch me. I’m sober now. Keep your hands off me.”

He said, his voice soft, “We’re in Miami Beach.”

She looked out the window. Her voice changed. “Good, the hotel. We’re almost there.”

“Directions,” Scott shot back at her. “Are you going to help me out, or are we going to drive all night?”

Helen started crying.

Scott winced. He hadn’t meant to snap at her. It just happened. “I’m sorry. Jessica did tell you which hotel she was going
to check into?”

“She is my sister.”

Scott looked at Helen sideways. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yes,” and so saying, she finally gave him directions.

A short while later they were entering the lobby of the Miami Beach Ritz-Carlton. The lobby was immaculate and massive. Red
carpets, crystal chandeliers everywhere. Five-star all the way. Scott turned up his nose and followed Helen to the front desk.
Three night clerks were behind the desk. Helen approached one.

“A room?” the male clerk asked.

“Thank you, no.”

His eyes lit up. “A suite, then?”

“Would you be a dear, I’m looking for my sister, Jessica Wellmen. She checked in on Thursday around midnight. Is she still
registered at this hotel?”

“I can’t give out a room number if that’s what you’re after. Against the rules, you know. We’re very discreet.”

“You
can
tell me if she checked in?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” The clerk went over to a computer terminal. “Wellmen, Wellmen,” he mumbled. “Sorry, no Wellmen.”

“Maybe she checked out.”

“I checked for Friday like you said.”

“How about her mother’s maiden name, Johnson?”

The clerk bobbed his head. “Jessica Johnson checked in on Thursday at 8:05 p.m. Paid for a week in advance.”

“And the room number?”

“Already told you, against hotel policy. Discreet, we’re very discreet. Take great pride in it. I can dial her room for you
if you’d like? She can tell you herself then.”

Scott leaned in close. “Can we talk privately?”

The clerk grinned and walked to the far end of the counter. He watched Scott’s hands as if he expected something.

Scott leaned against the counter. “Can we keep this just between us?”

The clerk nodded greedily.

“I’m her husband, Bob. We’re having difficulties. I’m afraid my wife is very distraught. She’s diabetic, you know.” He paused
intentionally, then added, “She didn’t take her insulin with her. I’m afraid—”“Room 908,” the clerk said in a hushed tone,
“I’ll make you a card key… I hope she’s all right.”

“I hope so too,” Scott said, his voice grim.

The clerk made a card key. “Do you want me to call the paramedics, just in case?”

“No, no. Helen here knows how to administer the insulin. Things’ll be fine now. Thank you. You may have saved my wife’s life.”

The desk clerk stood a little taller. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, call down to the front desk, and I’ll
see you get it.”

Scott and Helen went to the elevator. The elevator doors opened on the ninth floor. Neither had spoken during the brief ride,
and the closer they got to Room 908, the faster Helen’s jaw quivered.

He said, “If there’s something you haven’t told me, now would be a good time.”

She looked up at him. Her eyes full of tears. “She really is diabetic, you know. I don’t want to know if it was a guess or
if you actually knew, but I hope nothing else you said comes true. Jessica’s all I have left, except maybe May, but May’s
not family.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Scott mumbled. He passed the card key through the reader, looked up and down the hall to make sure
it was empty, then took out his gun. He looked directly at Helen. “Stay here until I say otherwise.”

He turned the knob and slowly opened the door. The room was dark. The NVGs were still in the car, he hadn’t expected to find
a darkened room. He didn’t know if it was a good sign or a bad sign, but he didn’t wait to find out. He slipped into the room
and eased the door closed behind him. His heart was racing in his ears. He felt strange, good. The way he always felt during
a mission—but usually not after.

He crouched to his knees and made his way through the room an inch at a time. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, but everything
was still bathed in shadows. A bathroom door was to his right, he continued past it.

He sniffed the air. He didn’t smell anything. No perfume, no aftershave, not even the scent of shampoo from the bathroom.
He continued into the room. Closets came next on the left, a bed was on the right. He snaked around the right side of the
bed, raised his hands to where a person’s head should have been and found nothing. He circled to the left side of the bed,
and again found nothing. The bed was empty, that didn’t mean the room was.

A lamp was next to the bed. He put his back to the wall and switched it on. Gun at the ready, he turned it in a swift 180
around the room. The room was thankfully empty. He looked under the bed. He went to the bathroom and jolted the door open.
The bathroom was empty. The shower walls were dry. He checked the closets next and found empty hangers.

He opened the door and waved Helen in. “No one’s here. The bed hasn’t been slept in recently. The shower walls are dry. No
clothes in the closet.”

She buried her face in his chest. She whispered, “Make me feel. I need to feel.”

He put her at arm’s length. “You’re tired. You don’t know what you want. Rest, I’ll see if I can find out the last time Jessica
was seen here in the hotel. Do you have a picture of her in your purse?”

Helen began unbuttoning her dress. Scott touched his hand to hers as a sign to stop. She smiled, slipped the dress off her
shoulders and it fell to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra, only panties with a lace band. Her figure was nothing like the
baggy clothes had suggested and everything like the name Helen suggested. She was striking, beautiful, vulnerable.

She took his hand and pulled him against her. She kissed him on the lips. He kissed her forehead.

She lay down, pulling him with her. She started unbuttoning his shirt, unzipped his pants and all the while, blew gently in
his ear.

He was aroused, couldn’t help but be aroused, and it made what he had to do all the more difficult. His body tensed all over.
He started to stand.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Please, I don’t want to be alone. Just close your eyes and go with it.”

“Go with it?”

“That’s what he told me when he raped me. Take the pain away. I want to feel. I want to hear the music.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. She continued blowing in his ear. But it wasn’t going to happen, not now, not ever.
He rolled over onto the other side of the bed but kept his arm around her. “I’m not going to leave you, Helen. You sleep now.”

For a long time she trembled. He kept his arm around her and stared up at the ceiling. He tried to imagine the warm body beside
him was Cynthia’s, but that didn’t help anything. He wished he didn’t need Helen to find Jessica, but for the time being it
was good that they needed each other. If Jessica was dead, Helen was his only link to the killer, the assignment, the whole
mess.

Eventually he slept, but only for a few hours. He awoke around eleven and knew the entire night was ahead.

He found Helen’s purse and rummaged through it. Hidden in a side pocket was a small .22 gun. He wasn’t surprised. He found
a few pictures: One of her and Jessica—there was a strong family resemblance. She had twenty-seven dollars in her billfold,
a few dollars in coins in the change compartment. He didn’t find any drugs, not even prescription, which did surprise him.
And there was a note:

Helen, see you Sunday at Pete’s.

Celebration. Bring your happy mood.

He glanced over to the bed. Helen was still asleep. She had kicked the blankets off, and her breasts were like beacons. He
decided to take a cold shower.

He was stepping out of the shower, reaching for a towel, when he saw it. It was barely visible under the clear plastic garbage
bag, but it was there. He dried himself quickly, wrapped the towel around his waist. He lifted the bag out of the trash can,
revealing a covered dish. The kind room service used. He smiled, hurried out of the bathroom. His suit was draped over a chair.
He was putting on his boxers when he heard her shift in the bed.

“Nice,” she said, “very nice. Bring those muscles back over here.”

He continued dressing. “Give it a rest, Helen. Go back to sleep.”

She started crying.

“Are you seeing a therapist?”

“No head shrinker can tell me what’s wrong with me. I know, I know all too well.”

“You’d be surprised. You’re confused. You need help.”

She pulled the bed sheet over her head. “Where are you going?”

“I think I have a lead. Sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

He finished dressing, then waited to make sure she went back to sleep. He grabbed the covered dish from the trash can and
made his way to the lobby. Only two clerks were behind the desk now. One of them was the clerk he spoke to earlier.

He slammed the plate onto the counter. “Who made this delivery?”

The clerk came over. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

“Yes, there is.” He scowled. “I need to know when this was delivered. Her blood-sugar level is all messed up, and you did
it!”

“I would ask you to lower your voice, sir.”

“Lower my voice? How’s this?” Scott shouted.

The clerk went over to the computer terminal. “Jessica Johnson, right?”

“Yes!”

“There was a request for room service around eleven forty-five on Friday night, but I don’t think that—”“Do you presume to
tell me about my own wife now?” Scott glared. “Who made the delivery?”

“Probably a bellboy. You’re not going to do anything violent, are you?”

Scott shook his head, apparently he was playing the part a little too well. “I just need to know if he saw her eat it.”

“Check the kitchen, right through there.” The clerk pointed.

Scott nodded and trotted off. The kitchen was nearly deserted. The solitary cook looked at him quizzically.

Scott said, “Who makes night deliveries for room service?”

“If you wanted room service, you could have called down.”

“No, I need to know the name of a bellboy that made a delivery to Room 908 on Friday night around twelve.”

“This is a joke, right?”

“There’s a Benjamin Franklin in it, if I get a name.”

“The money first.”

Scott took a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet.

“If she signed a tip to the bill, the bellhop would’ve signed to claim it.”

Scott snatched the money away from the cook’s reaching hand. “No name, no game.”