Agnes Hahn (17 page)

“She was fine. She made sense for a little while.” “What did she say? Did she ask about me?”

If she only knew. “Not over the phone. Do you know about Fort Bragg?”

“Yes. I really need to find Lilin, Jason.”

He wasn’t so sure he wanted to now. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Can you come for supper? To my house?”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

What’s wrong with today? he thought. This is important. “You don’t have to go to any trouble. Just fix something you already have there.”

“It’s no trouble. But I want to make something special.”

What would be special to someone like her? Rude to ask. “I’ll check with Bransome to make sure it’s okay. I don’t want him getting weird on me again. What time?”

“Six.”

“I’ll call back if there’s a problem.”

Jason fell back on the bed and immediately regretted it. The original plan for today was to run down to Santa Rosa to turn in some copy. He could have done it via e-mail, but he wanted to check on his brother. But he knew Bransome would come unglued if he returned and the place was empty. That meant a boring day would compound his hangover. He pulled his legs up on the bed. A good snooze would pass the time. A thin wisp of steam corkscrewed from the cup ofcoffee on the counter, heading for nowhere in particular.

Jason clicked the lid of the laptop closed and congratulated himself. Got up somewhere around one. Got a hot dog and a Thirst Buster at the 7-Eleven. Finished off most of an old assignment, one that hadn’t recaptured his enthusiasm for weeks. It turned out to be a good day after all.

The afternoon shadows passed his window and the light took on an amber hue. That probably meant another nice sunset. Weariness crept up his back. What now—supper or sleep? A decision for the idle, the homeless, and the lonely. He fell back on the bed.

Leftover pizza and five bottles of beer crammed the knee-high refrigerator under the counter. He walked over to the TV and flicked it on. No remote control in this place. The newscaster spewed excitement as she read the latest breaking news, then broke for a set of commercials.

Jason stacked the two anorexic pillows and leaned against the headboard. The Fort Bragg murder was yesterday’s lead. He’d have to wait to see if there were any new developments.

The phone jarred him from relaxation. He let it ring two more times before he reached for it. “Hello.” Silence.

He pressed the receiver tight to his ear. “Hello?” A muffled scraping came through, as if someone was covering the mouthpiece. “Who’s there?”

The scraping stopped. Silence. “This isn’t funny. Tell your parents they want you—”

Giggling.

“Who is this, damn it?”

Dial tone.

J
ASON JERKED UPRIGHT IN BED. THE INABILITY TO FALL
into a deep sleep had come and gone over the last several years of this life. On most nights, the slightest sound could bring his head off the pillow, particularly when he was away from his apartment.

A metallic jolt and a rough, sliding sound broke through Jason’s confusion. His mind cleared almost instantly. Someone was trying to push open the window. The lock was nonfunctional, but a wooden dowel placed in the window slide did its job.

The sodium vapor lamp across the parking lot cast the culprit’s shadow on the unlined drapes. Jason’s flinch drew the covers into a ball around his knees as he pulled them tight to his chest. His heart galloped.

Was it a he, or a she? The shadow wore a baseball hat, pulled low. But the silhouette was short. Maybe. The angle of the lamp would shorten anyone who stood more than a few inches from the window.

The window frame jammed into the dowel again. He swiveled his feet to the floor. The screen had to be removed, or cut, to get to the window.

The shadow moved across the window, toward the door, and Jason launched himself out of the bed. He couldn’t get his breath. He scanned the room for something solid to fend off the attacker, but the only thing he could find was his laptop. The hard drive contained the better part of the last three years of his life. He hesitated, wondering if he could actually bring it down on the shadow’s head. His digital life for his organic life.

Holding the computer over his head, he slid behind the hinge side of the door. He tried to subdue his breathing, but gave up. The doorknob turned, slowly. It caught on the lock. It turned again, this time harder, but once again the lock held. A third twist was accompanied by a muffled bump against the door, which groaned its resistance.

Jason slid the computer under his arm. As the knob turned a fourth time, he slammed his fist into the door as hard as he could. The thump echoed through the room and rattled the door on its hinges.

He watched the shadow hurry across the window, hunched over in a shuffling run. He stepped to the drapes and pulled the corner out a few inches, but he could see only a short length of sidewalk. The room fell silent.

Should he call the police? It probably wasn’t the best idea. The attempted intrusion would raise more questions. There was so much he hadn’t told Detective Bransome about Agnes and Ella. And Eddie. In fact, Bransome didn’t even know about Eddie, and Jason didn’t feel like telling what he knew just yet. Besides, what could Bransome do about an attempted break-in? It might be unrelated to the Hahn case. The shadow could have been a crackhead looking to bankroll his habit. This wasn’t the Hilton.

Sleep was impossible, so he opened the laptop and pushed the power button. It was one of the faster models, but it still took a few minutes to boot through the operating system and security programs. He reached over and unplugged the phone from the wall jack. He wasn’t in the mood for any more crank calls.

The cell phone seemed safe. Or was it? He grabbed it and put his finger on the
off
button. The screen caught his attention. A voice message? He hadn’t heard the ring—some obnoxious classical tune that grated on him. Perfect at grabbing his attention.

His finger hovered. He didn’t recognize the number. He looked over at the window, the dowel. Someone was toying with him. Was this part of it?

The cell phone was his one secure means of communication. Was secure, or was still secure? His mind oscillated. Erase it. See what it says. Don’t give in. It might be important. The button beeped under his finger. He hit the speaker button.

“Hey, little brother. I got something on your man. The Trent dude. He changed his name two years ago. Get this. Legally. I haven’t been able to get the details, though. Don’t know the original name. I can’t get into the system. They must’ve closed the back door on me. I’m amped about finding another doorway, but I’m having a little problem with a virus at the moment. Imagine that. Bit by my own pet. Anyway, I’ll keep plugging as soon as I clean out my hard drive. Oh yeah. His social security number starts with 557, so he’s a California boy, at least originally. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days. Whoever sent this bug is a clever bastard. I hate clever people. Before I go, can I have another fifty? Don’t worry. I’m clean. Later, little brother.”

J
ASON PAUSED ON AGNES’S FRONT PORCH. WHERE HAD
the day gone? The light of day had given him courage to sleep, and he almost missed all three meals, including this one. A stomach growl complained about his lapse.

He reached to push the doorbell and a loud click came from behind the door. It sounded like a cocking gun. He crouched, ready to hit the deck.

Another click.

He took a step to the side, out of a direct line with the doorway, still in a crouch.

The latch shuddered. One last click and it opened.

A dead bolt, not a gun. Great name for a lock. Jason straightened and stepped into the doorway, wishing he could kick himself for being such an idiot.

The slow, wide swing of the door revealed a beautiful woman in a fitted dress. A vision.

It was Agnes. He blinked to see if it was some kind of hallucination. Agnes? His eyes widened. His reversed sleep cycle and recent stressful experience would allow it.

It didn’t look like Agnes. It did, but it didn’t. The neckline of her dress plunged to show cleavage, which was pushed upward and inward for emphasis. His eyes stopped at her chest.

Agnes crossed her arms, effectively blocking the show. She looked at the ground, but a small smile parted her lips.

He saw hints of eyeliner before her hair swept forward, partially covering both of her eyes. Same Agnes, but in a different package. For the first time, her gender elbowed past her role in the investigation.

“Wow. You look nice. All the flannels in the wash?”

She didn’t laugh with him, but her smile remained. She stepped back from the door.

He followed her through the living room into the dining room, and noticed her hands didn’t drop until she had her back to him. Her gait wasn’t exactly fluid, but it wasn’t mechanical either. His eyes locked onto her butt. The dress clung to her hips, showing a shapely derriere. He didn’t know how he’d missed it before.

Agnes turned quickly to face him, her hands back over her cleavage. “Please, sit down.” She left the room before he could comply.

His mind hit Mach 2. Was it really Agnes? Or was it Lilin? He pictured Agnes, bound and gagged in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Was he Lilin’s next victim? His mind danced in zigzags. Who had been calling him, and who tried to get into his room last night? Twins almost always had subtle differences in their appearances, sometimes more than subtle. She looked like Agnes, and definitely acted like Agnes. But she was wearing perfume, a bold, come-here rather than stay-away scent. If it was Lilin, would he be able to tell?

Jason sat on the edge of the seat and scanned the room. The nearest escape was the front door, unless he wanted to dive out a window. He shook his head. She was so small. But he would keep the table between them anyway.

Agnes crept back into the room carrying an envelope, pinched at the corner with her thumb and forefinger. Her other arm crossed her chest, her fingertips resting lightly on the top of her shoulder. She walked to the end of the table and slid the letter on the polished wood.

Jason stood and inched back a step.

“This came in yesterday’s mail. It was mailed from here, in Mendocino.” The envelope hadn’t been opened.

He stepped forward to examine the envelope. The address was handwritten in a sloppy hand with a distinct shake. “Looks like a man wrote it.”

Agnes shrugged.

“You should open it.”

She disappeared again, but came back in a less than a minute, a silver knife-like letter opener gripped in her free hand.

He flexed his knees, prepared to lunge.

Agnes stepped toward him.

Lower. Ready.

She pivoted and grabbed the envelope from the table. With three quick wrist flicks, she threaded the opener under the envelope flap and slit the envelope from side to side. Shaking hands pulled out the single sheet of paper and spread it on the table. The letter opener dropped beside it. Her arm crossed her chest again.

Jason leaned on the table, trying to regain his breath, then pushed the opener out of reach. The few lines of the letter were hard to read. Agnes leaned close, keeping her arm in position.

Jason straightened up and looked at Agnes. Her eyes were on the letter, and her palms were flat on the table. He looked past the clear view of her cleavage to her face. Her expression showed more than fear. But what was the additional component? Understanding? Resignation?

Agnes’s inhalation wavered. “Who’s doing this?”

Good question. Eddie was a good bet, but it could be Lilin, too. “I don’t know.”

“Why would they want to hurt me?”

“They?”

A faint grin turned the corners of Agnes’s mouth, but her eyebrows canted downward in a scowl. She stomped out of the room.

Jason glanced back at the letter, and his head spun. The look on her face—it scared him, but he didn’t know why. He looked up. What was she doing in the kitchen? The closest window had a slide lock on top of the lower sash. And the path to the front door was clear.