Dead men really do tell tales, only you can’t tell if they’re lying, because rotting corpses don’t have facial expressions, other than the one they died with.
This latest murder had put yet another spin on the increasingly complicated mystery I found myself immersed in. Obviously – perhaps too obviously? – Jason had murdered Mr. Gaust. Or perhaps he was trying to cover himself because he’d been set up, which would make sense if someone else in the organization knew or suspected he was an agent. There was one other possibility, and that was that he was planning on setting me up, and the gun being there was just for safe-keeping.
My mind spun as I constructed a scenario in which I was a pawn that would ultimately be sacrificed for real. The agency fakes my death in such a way they can later prove I faked my own death. Which I did to get closer to the criminal, Jason, and prove that I’d switched sides. Meanwhile, I was still playing the long game and was only using Jason to get to Gaust. Why, I don’t know. They’d probably make up some back story about me being scorned and needing to prove myself as an agent, which, given my current position, would fly. Then I kill Gaust in an attempt to make the agency see my value, but Jason finds out and retaliates. He’d more ‘in’ with the gang than ever, Gaust is out of the way, and the agency is only out one lowly, unimportant clerk. Not, I had to admit, a bad plan. Except the part about killing me.
But then, what about the traffic accident? As wonderful as my explanation fit everything else, this was an anomaly. It wasn’t explained by anything. Unless it really was a red herring. I shook my head. I was starting to sound like a 1950s era detective. Before long I’d be calling women ‘dames’ and wearing a fedora. Though I did like fedoras. There was one way to get to the bottom of this. I might not be able to hack into the agency’s computers, since they were very careful about having no outside connection where they stored sensitive material, but I could get to the official police files. They might shed some light on it, if they agency hadn’t scrubbed all of the records.
An hour later, I found out why the agency hadn’t bothered to expunge the police records. They worked too perfectly in with the grand plan. I was more sure than ever that I had it all figured out. Except the part about getting myself out of it in one piece. That still needed a little work. But maybe my new-found respect for coincidence could help me out. After all, it ended up just being a coincidence that the drugged-up teen that stole my car for a joy ride was about my size, and could be mistaken for me after that horrific crash. And maybe coincidence would extend far enough for me to bump into someone in the crime world. It was time to put my hunches into action.
I picked up the phone and dialed the first three numbers standard on every agency phone number, followed by the four-digit number I’d found written on the freezer door. The phone rang six times, then a familiar voice said “You’ve reached Robert’s phone, I can’t take your call right now but please leave me a message.” I hung up, knowing full well the number would be recorded on the caller ID. I just couldn’t think fast enough to compose a decent message in my head. Either he’d be curious who had called and call me back, or I’d try later. For now I was left with not a whole lot to do.
I sat down on the couch and picked up a set of knitting needles and a skein of wonderfully soft yarn. The label told me it was a silk and bamboo blend, and it was heavenly. I had to give that to Jason, at least. He hadn’t skimped on setting me up in this place. Which just made me wonder. Would they really have gone through all this expense just to kill me off in a few days? I forced the thought from my mind as I knitted, mindlessly following one of my favorite shawl patterns. I’d been at it just long enough to start to get a sense of how the yarn was going to work up in this pattern when the phone rang. I barely stopped myself from jumping and dropping my project, saving myself from having to frog it or, at the very least, spend a significant amount of time trying to pick stitches up.
I picked up the phone and recognized the caller ID number as Robert’s. “Hello?” I spoke through my nose and with a faint east coast accent, just in case they decided to do voice matching.
“Hello, this is Robert. I’m returning your call.” Very formal, very businesslike. I hesitated. This was an agency line, so I didn’t want to come right out and say anything, but I had to get my message across.
“Hi, I’m sorry our last meeting was so chilly. You just caught me at a bad time. But I would like to try again, if you’re willing.”
It was his turn to hesitate. “I’m not really much of one for blind dates. Too many bad experiences.”
“I really would like a chance to explain… no, to apologize, for our last meeting. It wasn’t well done of me at all, and I’m not normally that way. Unless you’ve been listening to Jason.” I tried to sound peeved.
“Jason? You’re a friend of Jason’s?” His tone became very hostile.
“Hmmmm, no, I wouldn’t say that. We’re more of acquaintances, friend of a friend kind of thing. Except now he’s brought some floozy from work around and is kicking me out of my own apartment. Okay, I was sub-letting it from him, but still. It’s my home, and I admit I’ve been a bit hostile towards him of late. He says she needs it more than I do, something about hiding out. Whatever. Anyway, I know you guys work together – you probably know this Sandra chick, too – and I admit I did kinda seek you out at that grocery store and accidentally bumped into you on purpose.” I paused, not sure what he was going to make of this. But so far I’d covered my bases. I wasn’t me, and I explained how the call came from this number. I also established Sandra’s… I mean my… presence in this apartment. All he needed to figure out was that I really was Sandra and agree to meet with me. “I admit it was with an eye to payback at first. I thought maybe you could tell me something that would help me get back at him. Stupid, I know. But once I started talking to you… I really do like you and want to give it a try.”
“So what happened on our date? That seemed like a step back. You seemed a lot nicer picking through pomegranates than you on our so-called date,” he said.
“An attack of conscience and a case of nerves, I think. Please let me make it up to you. I’m a lot more like pomegranate girl than freezer girl.” I completely failed at sounding coquettish in my nasal voice, but I think the sentiment was understood.
“Okay, deal. One more date. But this time I pick the place, you have horrid taste.”
“I don’t suppose you’d fancy a furniture store? All the stuff in here is Jason’s, I’m just back for a few more personal items before I lock up and hand over the keys.” Please suggest the mega-furniture mart on the edge of town, I thought. It was the perfect place to get swallowed up and avoid a tail, in case they were listening and sent someone after him.
“How about that huge place on Highway 7? I can’t remember the name off the top of my head, but you can’t miss it.”
“Perfect. How about we meet…”
“I think we know what you need most, first,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ll see you around seven?”
“I’ll be there.” We hung up, and I looked at the clock. I had five hours to kill before I had to leave. I dug through the closets looking for something to wear, but not finding anything I loved. A lot of stuff I liked, which I set aside to box up and take to my storage unit, but nothing I loved. Then it struck me. The identity Jason has set me up with had money. And credit. Lots of it. No wonder, since it was only supposed to be for a short time. But I could spend a fair bit of it before I had to go.
I grabbed my purse and the new cards and went out and hit the stores. For the first time, I lived the maxim ‘live each day as if it were your last.’ I spent with wild abandon, and when I’d bought everything I could think of that I wanted, I started buying for charity. A stop at the pet store and $10,000 later the shelter had several month’s worth of food, some pet beds, and lots of toys. Another ten grand to a children’s hospital. The biggest shopping trip I’ve ever made to the grocery store made the local food bank ecstatic. It’s amazing what, when you shop generic and simple, two thousand dollar’s worth of food looks like. I had a nasty flash-back moment to my college years, when that would have fed me for about six months, and my stomach heaved at the thought of Ramen Noodles. I had to settle my nerves with a quick trip to the spa to ready myself for the night.
I made a quick detour to my storage until to store all my new clothes, electronics, yarn, and other bits, then I headed out with the last fifty thousand to my name, or, rather, my new fake identity’s name, burning a hole in my pocket.
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