I was on the mountain at first light the next morning. Judy was keeping an eye on me as I broke up the walking and jogging by practicing my forms in what had become my refuge against a mind that at times won’t shut off.
I was preparing to contact Lt. Jamison even as I was imagining the text I’d be sending later. Taking a chapter from a professional football cliché, I knew that practicing my forms wasn’t the goal of these walks, it was practicing them perfectly that prepared me for what might come. Perfect practice requires perfect concentration, and that morning reaching the ideal level of focus was proving to be a test in itself.
I finally ran up the mountain, pushing myself to a level of exertion that forced all other considerations beyond the next huffing step completely out of my mind. When I finally stopped, about a mile and a half and some two thousands feet above my house, I found my focus and felt the forms flowing one to another as the masters had always promised.
Judy gave up and just heeled the final half mile to my back yard where I ended my workout with stretching and a final round of forms.
Jan was at the kitchen island when I came inside, a cup of coffee steaming in front of her. “That was quite a workout; I figured you back here an hour ago. I was just starting to really wonder when I heard you come into the yard. You okay?”
I nodded, found a cup next to the coffee maker, filled it, and sat down next to her. “I had to run off some demons. I’m much better now.”
She laughed gently at the old joke, and reached out to touch my cheek. “Good. I need you to put this behind you, and settle down for some domestic bliss.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Careful, Mr. Stanton. It might be the name of a recipe.”
That sent me upstairs for a shower. When I came back down I found a note, “In Pendleton for groceries. Call me if you think of anything you need.”
I took another cup of coffee and my phone out on the deck and dialed Lt. Jamison’s number from her business card. I didn’t know if she’d be in the office on a Saturday, but thought it worth a try.
“Jamison.”
“Lieutenant, this is Jim Stanton.”
“Hold a minute, Mr. Stanton.”
I heard her mute the phone, and waited. After about a minute she returned, “Sorry about that; had some folks in my office, and they needed my attention. What’s up with you?”
“I wanted to follow up with you after my meeting with Aldo Frank.”
“You sensed that whiff?”
I gave her a Jack Webb report on my meeting with Frank. When I’d completed the factual report, I took a breath, thinking she’d initiate the next phase of our conversation.
“That doesn’t sound like a whiff to me, Mr. Stanton.”
“I guess I knew you’d feel that way, but I wanted the factual report out of the way, and then, if you were interested, I’d go on to some impressions, instinctive reaction, and what-if material that I took away from that session.”
I could almost hear a smile spread across her face, “Of course you did. Sure, let’s start with impressions.”
“First, this is one really cool cat. It’s not just that he had my ID from the license plate on my rental car within three minutes of my pulling up to his building. That’s pretty impressive, but even if you had that kind of potential, would you use it every time a stranger pulled up to your door?
“I don’t think everybody would. I think that might be the response of a person who either thinks he might be a target or is certain of it. I love the fact that he has a weapon detector built into the front door, but, again, even if you could afford it, would you, a police officer, install one?
“I have to wonder just what level of paranoia you have to attain to go to that much trouble. I’m reminded of something my father loved to say when I was growing up.”
“Which was?”
“He was a tramp during the Depression; roamed around the western states riding freights. He picked up a lot of sayings that used to crack me up, like describing a girl who was ‘so cross-eyed that when she cried, the tears ran down the middle of her back,’ that kinda stuff, you know?”
“Sounds like a character.”
“He was, but mostly it was the way he shared his little gems of wisdom. He wasn’t just saying it, but more of a flowery presentation. Like he would say, ‘If you want to know if you have a friend or not, spend a week in camp with the guy...’ or, ‘...go away on a trip and ask him to look after your girl.’”
“Oh, that way, huh?”
“Right. Well, he used to say, ‘There’s nothing that’ll make a feller gun shy more than the abiding knowledge that he deserves to be shot.’”
“You sense this paranoia stems from guilt?”
“Or association with guilt, yes.”
“What else?”
“He’s every bit as controlled as James Barnes described, but he is more concerned about his anonymity than he is about being defamed. I mean who wouldn’t go to court to shut up Will Craig after all these years just because it might raise his public profile somehow? Who’s as protective of their privacy as that?”
“Somebody who has something to hide, right?”
I smiled, thinking how female cops think alike, but I took the next step. “Makes you wonder just how far he’d go to protect that privacy, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Here’s how Craig explained the events back in ’95 when he launched a year-long series featuring Silicon Valley’s unsung heroes; did you ever hear this?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, Missy Strange lived in the same complex as Frank did back then, and she mentions Frank to Sylvia Anderson as perhaps being a top candidate for the series.
“Sylvia approaches Frank and pitches him on sitting still for an interview and photo session as part of the series.
“Frank wonders how she heard about him, and she mentions Missy. Frank blows her off, but something she said or some vibe he caught from her must have made him fear that she wasn’t going to drop the idea.”
From the tone of her voice, Jamison wasn’t buying it, “So he eliminates Missy and a week later he cleans the slate by taking Sylvia out? That doesn’t make sense to me. Why wouldn’t he just proceed to Sylvia? Missy obviously wasn’t going to pursue a story.”
“He’s a programmer. He thinks linearly, in terms of ones and zeros, ons and offs; if he needs to solve a problem, he does it in some flow of order. Melissa sent Sylvia to invade his privacy. That’s the order of sequence, so that’s the order of solution in his mind. Could make all kinds of sense to a wizard programmer.”
She remained silent, and I knew she was chewing on it.
“Why don’t I send you an e-mail wrapping all this up so you don’t come back later and claim I didn’t report a whiff?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
I promised her a note by end of day. Her response seemed distant and took me a bit off guard, “Audrey? Are you okay?”
“Oh, sure. I’m sorry, Jim. I was thinking of Barnes, you know; wondering if he just hadn’t gotten so close to the forest. Well, I’ll look for your report. Bye!”
I went back to my loft and opened up the report I’d drafted in preparation for making the call. I massaged it for a half hour, printed it out, proofed it, and then made a couple more changes.
I was on the deck, watching cloud shadows paint their way across the Columbia Basin when Jan came home.
“There you are!” She plopped herself down next to me on the chaise I was using, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Hi, there.”
“What’s the matter, Jim?”
I shook myself and smiled, “Nothing really. I have a document in the printer upstairs; mind giving it a read?”
“Of course not. I’ll just finish bringing in the groceries.”
“You read; I’ll tote and put away.”
“This is only four pages,” I heard her yell from the loft as I headed for the garage.
“Bear with it, I’m sure you’ll finish by supper,” I called back.
When I finished putting away the groceries, I went upstairs to see how she was doing. I found the report on my desk with a few red-ink notes on it. I went to our room and found her laying out clothes on her bed.
“What’s up? You leaving me?”
“I’m not really packing, but I thought, after reading that report, that it won’t be long before we’re going to San Jose, so I thought I’d start planning my wardrobe.”
I reached out and pulled her into a hug that turned into a swaying kiss that was on the verge of turning into something else until she pushed me away without letting go of me, “That’s a significant leap you’re making in that report.”
“I think I’ve kept the ‘facts’ separated from the ‘non-facts’ don’t you?”
“As a ‘cover-your-ass’ precaution, that might work, but all the same, if that guy’s innocent, and files a complaint for violating his right to privacy, you might want to know a top notch lawyer or two.”
“I think I’m okay.”
“Who all’s getting a copy?”
“I’m to blind copy Ray. When I do, according to him, I’m out of it.”
“Good; but I’ll keep planning for the trip in any case.” She smiled sweetly at me as I retreated to my desk.
I had the email alert me when the message was opened, and I had both alerts from San Jose and Portland within minutes of pushing “Send.”