The 7th Tarot Card (24 page)

I spoke with the desk Sergeant,
a paunchy, balding man with tired eyes and a gentle, but formal manner. He had me fill out some paperwork, then directed me to the Threat Management Unit, where I took a seat on a dented metal folding chair, and waited in a small anteroom until Detective John Hutchings was available.

The vibrations
from heavy footsteps advancing rapidly down the hall caught my attention, and I looked up with wide eyes as he entered the room. Tall and powerfully built, the man had dark skin and wore his graying hair cropped short. As large as he was, I doubt he had an ounce of body fat. He looked lean and mean. The expression on his fierce countenance was serious as he flipped through a manila folder. If I had to guess, I would say he was in his mid-fifties. His navy blue suit fit him like a glove and must have been made for him, but it looked like it had seen better days. His maroon and blue striped tie was loosened around his thick neck, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

I stood up
as he approached and extended his baseball mitt-sized hand.

“
So, Ms. Morgan,” he began in a deep voice, frowning. “May I ask you a question?”

“
Uh, sure,” I responded meekly.

“
What follows two days of rain in Seattle?”

“
Pardon me?” I asked, not understanding the question.

“
I said, what follows two days of rain in Seattle? I don’t think I stuttered.”

“
Well, I . . . I have no idea.” I took a step backwards.

“
Monday.” With that he roared at his own joke and slapped his thigh. The sound of his great horselaugh filled up the small room and reverberated down the hallway. “That one always cracks me up. I’m John Hutchings, but you can call me Hutch. Let’s go into my office.”

I smiled questioningly, and looked around, not knowing what to make of him, then followed him
to his office and took a seat on one of two blue upholstered chairs across from his desk.

Hutch
’s friendly, casual manner, so different from his outward appearance, was thoroughly disarming, and soon I began to relax and warm up to him. He was perfect for his job and I found myself smiling a lot in spite of the situation. He even laughed loudly at some of my feeble attempts at humor, which, of course, endeared him to me even more. When I told him he could call me Vic or Victoria instead of Ms. Morgan, he said he preferred Vic. Said it sounded hip, and well, hip is part of my Action Plan.

Before I got into the
sordid details of my story, I handed him the USB key and explained to him that it was recorded on a “Nanny Cam” after I suspected I had an intruder. I decided to keep Judah out of it, since he had been reluctant to come in with me. He must have his reasons, which I’m convinced, can’t be good.

“
Vic, if you don’t mind, I’d like to send this to a contact at the FBI, see if we can run a facial recognition. I’m also going to run it through NCIC, The National Crime Information Center. Hopefully this guy is in a database somewhere.” I gladly gave him my permission and he excused himself and left the room.

While I waited for his return, I looked around his office. On the wall behind his
desk, was a poster of Hutch as a young man in a Green Bay Packer’s uniform. He was ex-NFL, I realized. That fits. I would have to ask him more about that later, when I wasn’t afraid for my life.

Framed pictures in all shapes and sizes, filled with photos of family and pets, topped his desk and the shelves on the far wall of his office. They told a
lovely story about his life and his happy family. A young man, obviously his son, was shown in various stages of development ranging from toddler to Boy Scout to UW college football player. A pretty young girl in a pink tutu, posed at what looked like a ballet recital, then later she was pictured in a graduation cap and gown.

I was still examining the photos when he came back into his office.

“You have a beautiful family,” I commented, returning a silver-framed picture of his son to his desk.

“
That’s JJ, John Jr., and there’s my sweet Olivia,” he said pointing to the little girl in the tutu. “We call her Liver.” I smiled and scooched my chair forward as he plugged the USB key into his computer. We watched the recording together and it didn’t get any easier seeing it for the second time. Hutch leaned forward, steepled his fingers, and asked me several questions in his no-nonsense, direct style.

“
You recognize this scum?”

“
No,” I told him, “I don’t recognize him.”

“
Is it possible he’s someone from your past? Someone who’s aged and his appearance has changed,” he suggested.

I leaned forward and
again studied the video paused on his computer screen. “Maybe. I can’t say for certain. I’m sorry.” I shrugged my shoulders and sat back, feeling useless.

“
That’s okay, don’t worry about it, we can—” The sound of Hutch’s ringing phone interrupted us, so he excused himself and took the call. I listened to the one-sided conversation, trying to make sense of what was being said. “I see,” he said to the caller. “There’s no doubt about this then? Good work. Thanks.” His expression was grim as he hung up the phone and turned back to me. He asked, “Does the name Louis Ogborne mean anything to you? Louis William Ogborne?”

“
Louis Ogborne. Louis Ogborne,” I repeated as I thought for a moment, then it hit me. “Bill Ogborne? Could it be Bill Ogborne? Do you think?”

“
Yes, possibly. Probably. You know him?”

“
He’s a guy from back in my college days. Used to follow me around campus a lot. Creeped me out, but he was harmless.” I thought for a long moment. “I can’t believe it. Why now? Why after all these years?” I wondered out loud.

Hutch put his palms up.
“Who knows? Why does any homicidal sociopath do anything?”

Comforting words.

I sat back in my chair and sighed. “Homicidal seems a little harsh, don’t you think? He’s just a misguided soul. Well, now that I know who he is, I feel a little better. At least he’s not a complete stranger.”

Hutch leveled his eyes at me and said,
“Yeah, I wouldn’t feel all that better about him,”

“
What do you mean?” The expression on his face was beginning to scare me.

“
I’m not gonna sugarcoat it for you. This is a really bad dude. He’s wanted by the FBI for kidnapping and murder. He also has a history of crank calls, breaking and entering, and sexual assault. He’s pretty much a violent psychopath.”

“
Oh my Lord. Poor Bill. What happened to him?”

“
If you saw the police report and what happened to his last victim, I don’t think you’d be feeling so sympathetic. I’m not going to give you the gory details, but you need to know that your life is in serious jeopardy.”

I sat forward and leaned my arms on his desk.
“Well now that you’ve identified him, can’t you just arrest him?”

“
We would if we could find him. His last known address was in a trailer park in Spokane, but he skipped out a few months ago, behind on his rent and facing eviction. He rented the furnished trailer under an assumed name and paid in cash. After he split, several items were missing, so the landlord called the police and they dusted for prints.”

“
What can I do?” I questioned. “What can
you
do? You can give me police protection or something, right?”

H
is old leather chair squeaked as Hutch leaned forward and put his large hands flat on his desk. “I wish we could, Vic. Fact is, we just don’t have enough manpower to assign a bodyguard to you, so here’s the deal. You have two choices. You could either call us if you see him again and we can try and apprehend him at that point, or you can play up to him, draw him out, and we’ll be there and nab him the minute he shows.”

Silence.
I was feeling queasy. “I don’t know . . . how would I do that?”

“
The next time he calls you, pick up the phone and talk to him. Or, if you prefer to move faster on this, you can return his text message and ask him to call you. Either way, try to set up a meeting. Let me know where and when, and we’ll be there. We’ll have your back. I promise you that.”

Neither one of those options
was tolerable. I had a lot to think about and my head was beginning to pound. There was no way I was capable of making that choice right now. I thanked Hutch for his help, and told him I’d call and let him know as soon as my decision was made. Concern darkened his eyes as he stood and shook my hand. With a heavy heart, I made my way out of his office and down the corridor to the main entrance.

“
To do anything in this world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in, and scramble through as well as we can.” —Sydney Smith, British writer

*******

It was shortly after six o’clock by the time my police interview had ended, and I was exhausted, hungry, and frazzled from head to toe. I called Judah and told him I’d be waiting for him in the parking lot, but when I stepped outside, ominous-looking rain clouds sweeping in rapidly from the west caused me to change my mind. A major shift from this afternoon’s golden sunshine. As the saying goes, ‘If you don’t like the weather in Seattle, wait ten minutes and it’ll change.’ I decided to wait for him inside the safe confines of the station.

He must have been somewhere close by when I called because within moments
Judah’s sleek black sports car came zipping into the lot. As he swung around and pulled up to the entrance I experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. Swiftly scampering over to his car, I dodged the first drops of what looked like a bad storm ready to let loose any second.

The moment
I opened the door and climbed inside his car, I was hit by the intoxicating aroma of chicken panang curry. My absolute favorite. “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Judah said. “Hope you like Thai food.” A crooked smile eased across his handsome face.

“
You read my mind. I love Thai food.” I looked at him and shook my head. “You are the best.” Gratefully I accepted the two red and white plastic bags he held out, and balanced them on my lap, feeling the comforting warmth and weight of several different sized containers as we pulled out of the parking lot and blended into traffic. Off on the horizon a silver streak of lightning flashed across billowing black and grey storm clouds, and soon large rain drops began pelting the windshield.

He didn
’t ask me any questions. Instead, in a rare moment of affection, he reached over and squeezed my hand, then turned on his stereo. The sensual refrains of Sting filled the air and, all at once, everything underwent a magical transformation. I wished the moment would go on forever. That we could just keep on driving and never stop. The words drew me in:

You could say I lost my sense of direction

You could say all of this and worse but

If I ever lose my faith in you

There’d be nothing left for me to do . . .

The windshield wipers moved back
and forth in perfect tempo with the song, Judah beat gentle time with his finger on the steering wheel, and I was transported to another place. It was as if the universe opened up a window just for a moment to reveal a glimpse into something . . . more, letting me know that everything was under control. I watched Judah out of the corner of my eye as he softly mouthed the words to the song. Who was this man? I wondered, and why did he touch my heart so?

All good things must come to an end, as they say, and we arrived home
far too soon. By now the rain was coming down in buckets, so we made a run for it across the parking lot and up the stairs, laughing, trying not to drop our bags and our precious take-out.

I grabbed a half bottle of chardonnay
from the fridge and quickly set the table. It wasn’t until I was finally feeling relaxed, and we were almost through with dinner that Judah asked me about my meeting at the police station. As the wind picked up outside, and the rain beat loudly against the window panes, I related to him the grim facts Hutch had discovered, and the decision I needed to make.

“
What do you think I should do?” I put down my fork and asked him.

Judah sat back
in his chair and shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t make that decision for you. Only you can do that.”

I leaned forward and looked beseechingly at him.
“Okay I understand, but what would you do if it were you?”

“
If it were me,” he responded thoughtfully, wiping his mouth with his napkin, “I’d want to take control of the situation, contact him and setup a meeting. Make him think it’s his idea. Let him pick the time and place. The sooner this gets resolved, the better. But then, that’s me.”

I
closed my eyes, leaned my head against the back of the chair, and massaged my temples. “I can’t spend the rest of my life waiting in fear, wondering if he’s lingering around the next corner. I just want to get this over with.” And in that instant, my decision was made. I stood up, resolutely crossed over to my purse, and pulled out my cell phone.

Judah followed me with his eyes.
“What are you doing?”

“
I’m replying to his last text message and asking him to call me.” I opened the message, hit reply, then texted, “
Please call me. I’d like to talk
.”

“
You’re a strong woman, Victoria,” Judah said as he got up and carried his dishes into the kitchen.

I forced a smile. I wasn
’t feeling very strong. In fact, I was already beginning to regret my brash decision as I trailed him into the kitchen. He set his dishes on the counter, then asked me for my tool box and drill.

While I straightened up the kitchen and did the dishes
, Judah went to work installing my new deadbolt lock. His capable hands moved quickly, I observed, sneaking peeks here and there. Clearly he knew his way around a drill and carpentry tools. With his long graceful fingers he measured, cut, smoothed down the rough edges of the door jamb with sandpaper, then applied the hardware and fastened it securely. As I wiped dry and tucked away the last dish, he put the finishing touches on the lock and called to me to come see his handiwork.

H
ands on hips, he stepped away from the door, giving me room to survey his masterpiece. “Well, what do you think?” he asked proudly.

“
As locks go, it’s a beauty,” I replied beaming up at him with admiration. He tossed me the new key, which, miraculously, I was able to snatch out of the air, then he told me to try it out.

I stepped
outside onto the porch, closed and locked the door. When I tried the key again, the bolt moved smoothly in and out. The shiny new hardware, gleaming in the glow of my porch light, looked as if it had been professionally installed. Unexpectedly, overcome with gratitude for Judah’s help, I found myself welling up again. The sad truth was, I was turning into an unhinged, emotional marshmallow of a woman.

I came back in
and turned to him, my eyes wet with tears. He took one look at me and immediately stiffened. “You’re not going to get all melty again are you? Just being a good neighbor. That’s all.”

“
I’m sorry,” I said, swiping at my eyes. “I’m not usually a crier. It’s been a stressful day. It’s been a stressful week. I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“
You can thank me by pouring another glass of wine,” he said as he returned the tools and drill to their boxes. Meticulously, he placed each item in its corresponding location, then securely latched the cases.

“
Well, you work for cheap, but sure.” I went to my wine cellar, AKA my refrigerator vegetable drawer, but came up empty. Then I checked my last remaining wine storage space, the oven. Nothing.

I found Judah
, arms crossed, staring intently into my over-stuffed linen closet, trying to decide where to put my tools. I told him, “Just lift up a towel or something and shove them anywhere they’ll fit.” He shook his head, shifted some sheets and made a spot for them.

“
So, bad news,” I continued. “I’m completely out of wine. Guess that was my last bottle. The only thing I have left is a little tequila. But it’s very good tequila. Bought it in Puerto Vallarta. I only drink it on special occasions.”

He smiled.
“Tequila works. Any port in a storm—literally.”

I
went into the kitchen and cut up a lemon, then filled two of my very best glasses with ice, poured generous amounts of the precious libation in each, dropped in the lemon wedges, and handed a glass to Judah. He lifted his drink in a toast and said, “To the strong and brave Victoria.”

“Hah! If only that were true.” We clinked glasses, then I took a big swallow and coughed. A dull rumbling of thunder rolled across the heavens and the lights flickered as we moved into the living room.

I turned to
face him. “Don’t worry, the electricity never goes out in this complex. But then, I guess you’d know that, wouldn’t you?

He smiled. “I would.”

Drink in hand, I casually walked over to the sliding glass doors and stood looking out into the turbulent night sky. A flash from a jagged bolt of lightning lit up the room, followed by terrible crash of thunder that rattled my windows and vibrated through the floorboards. Instantly, I made a beeline back to Judah, now seated on the couch. With one big gulp, as ladylike as possible, I finished off the rest of my drink, coughed again, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Judah observed me with
cool amusement. “Looks like you need a refill.”

I was about to decline, when t
he lights flickered again, then went out, plunging us into complete darkness. A couple of seconds later, they came back on, so I took the opportunity to track down some matches and lit a pillar candle in a hurricane lamp on my fireplace mantle. Judah disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with the bottle of tequila and set it down on the coffee table.

Just as we sat down again, several flashes of lightning lit up the room, followed quickly by deafening thunder claps
. And, for a second time, and the lights went out, but this time they stayed out. The wind was stronger now. A thunderstorm of this magnitude was unusual for Seattle, and I impulsively inched closer to Judah. The room seemed to be getting warmer, or was that the alcohol?

In the soft
radiance of the candlelit room, the only sounds were the steady beat of rain against the windows and the rumbling thunder. The very sort of evening that in another time and place would have been sensual, romantic.

“
So,” I began, as I reached for the tequila bottle and refilled our glasses, “what do you want to do while we’re sitting here in the dark waiting for the mark to call?”

“
The mark?”

“
Isn’t that what they call ’em in the criminal world?” I was beginning to feel a touch better, now that the tequila had kicked in.

Judah
shook his head and smiled. “I wouldn’t know.”

“
Of course not.”

He ignored my comment and continued,
“We could always play a game of strip poker.”

I
shot him a look of disbelief. “What!? I’m not playing strip poker with you. Unless . . .” Little wheels started turning in my alcohol-soaked brain.

“
Unless what?” He leaned forward and gave me a deadly smile.

“
Unless
—
how about this? If you win a hand, I take something off. If I win, you have to answer a question.”

“
Seems fair,” he responded, his voice confident, bordering on cockiness. “I should warn you though, I’m pretty good at poker.”

I just smiled
innocently back at him. So was I. Back in college, I was the all-time poker champ of my sorority. It was one of my better talents, second only to my ability to handle my tequila.

I fumbled through the shadows to my purse
, resting on the table near the front door, and pulled my cow flashlight from the side pocket. As I lit my way into the kitchen and rummaged through my junk drawer the cow light mooed repeatedly. No doubt Judah was rolling his eyes in the dark.

After a short search, I found my cards and returned to the dining room table. It was too dark to see well, so I lit another candle,
my pink ‘romance’ candle that Laini suggested I buy when I first signed up for e-soulmate.com. Seated on a lovely rose quartz base (for added power), it’s supposed to attract love into your life. I felt it best not to divulge that little tidbit of information to Judah, since any mention of romance or intimacy would send him flying out of my condo like a crazed banshee. I placed the candle in the center of the table as Judah carried our glasses over from the living room and set them down on coasters. We took our seats on opposite sides of the table, eyeing one another warily in the soft sphere of candlelight.

“
Okay, what shall we play?” I asked as I began shuffling the cards. Anticipation flowed through me. This was my big chance to finally get some answers from this secretive man.

“
How about Five Card Stud?” he suggested as he picked up his glass and took a swig.

“
Sounds good. I’ll deal.” I passed each of us four cards and stopped. “Um, I forget, how many cards do we need
—
six or eight?”

He looked at me.
“Five, as in
five
card stud.”

“
Oh, duh, of course.” I finished dealing the cards then gazed innocently up at him. He was staring at me the way a lion stares patiently, but intently, at a cluster of antelope, waiting for the weakest of the herd to lag behind. The reflection from the flickering candlelight glistened in his dark eyes.