Too Near the Edge (23 page)

“They refuse to question Ahmed about Adam’s
death because they say they have no evidence of murder or any foul
play. I told them over and over that Adam would never be so
careless that he’d slip off a trail like that, but they just said,
‘Ma’am, his death was ruled accidental by the county medical
examiner in Arizona. We can’t question someone about a death we
have no reason to believe he was involved in, especially when the
death was ruled an accident.’ It’s so frustrating! How are they
ever going to get any evidence if they won’t question anyone?”

“I agree that’s disappointing, but I’m not
surprised. Maybe when they’re questioning Ahmed about the drug
trafficking, he’ll let something slip that will make them
suspicious about Adam. Or maybe we’ll find out something if you
contact Adam. Maybe we should wait a few days and talk to them
again. If Ahmed had Adam killed or did it himself, he’s going to
have a hard time covering it up now that he’s in so much
trouble.”

“Couldn’t you talk to your boyfriend? Isn’t
he a policeman? Maybe he could convince them.”

“The thing is, Pablo doesn’t actually believe
that Adam was murdered either. He says the same thing about no
evidence. I can bring it up with him, but I don’t think he’ll be
much help.”

“Please try. I don’t want to let Ahmed get
away with this.” She was silent for a few seconds, then sighed,
“I’m not really in the mood for a camping trip, but I promised
Nathan, and I don’t want to disappoint him, so we’re going. I guess
I’ll talk to you on Friday.”

I met with a couple of clients, and had just
finished some charting while lunching on yogurt and fruit at my
desk when I got a call from Narmada.

“Cleo, I need to bring you something. Are you
going to be at your office this afternoon?”

Great, just what I needed—another visit from
Narmada. “I’ll be here, but I have clients. What is it that you
need to bring me? Can you put it in the mail?”

“Not exactly. It’s a computer.”

“Why are you bringing me a computer?”

“It’s actually Adam’s computer. I want to get
it back to Sharon, but being around her unbalances my energy
connections and messes with my intuitive sense. I thought I could
bring it to you, and you could get it back to her.”

“Wow! You have Adam’s stolen computer?”

“Look, I didn’t steal it. But I have it now,
and having stolen property is bad karma. I need to get it back to
Sharon. So, can I bring it to you?”

I had some questions, but I told her to bring
it by at 4:30, when I’d be done with my clients.

She showed up right on time. I had moved my
car so she could park in back of the office, and went out to help
her bring the computer in. She wore a tight white cropped top that
showed off her flat bare midriff above a long pink and white
gypsy-style skirt. No question all that yoga gets results.

This business of her bringing me the computer
felt strange. I was curious and a little skeptical. “How can I tell
if this is Adam’s computer?” I asked as she opened the back of her
SUV.

She stopped dead and turned to face me with a
troubled look. “Lack of trust can be toxic, Cleo. You should know
that. You need to accept what the universe offers you.” Well, she
had me there. How did she know trust is one of my issues?

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’d just
like a few more details about how you ended up with Adam’s
computer, and how you know it’s his.”

“I have a very high level of trust, and I am
also attuned to people’s emotional frequencies, so when the person
who gave me this computer said it was Adam’s, I knew it was
true.”

I still wanted answers. “So who was this
person who stole the computer, why did they take it, and why did
they give it to you?”

Narmada shook her wild mop of dark hair
vigorously in my direction. “None of that is important to you. You
don’t need to know, and I don’t want to pass that negative energy
on to you.”

“Oh, go ahead and tell me. I think I can
handle some negative energy.”

“Look, Cleo, I’m returning the computer.
Isn’t that enough? Whatever—it will have to be, because I’m not
going to talk about it anymore.”

I figured I could mention the police, or even
call them, since Sharon had reported the theft, but I decided
getting the computer back was the main priority right now. If I
involved the police, they’d probably impound the computer as
evidence or something and we’d never be able to look at what Adam
had on there. So I kept quiet as we took the computer inside.

“I have to tell you, no one was able to boot
up this computer anyway,” Narmada said, as we set the computer down
on a table. So it’s not as if Adam’s privacy was invaded or
anything.”

“I don’t know whether that will make Sharon
feel any better about someone stealing it, but I guess it’s good
that no one messed with Adam’s files.”

“Cleo, you might not want to keep this
computer around here too long. I have a strong sense that it
contains some evil material.

I’m glad to be getting rid of it. By the way,
how are you coming with Donald Waycroft’s attack?”

“I’m still working on my written response to
the regulatory board,” I said, thinking the less discussion I had
with Narmada about this, the better.

“Don’t forget you have waves of positive
energy supporting you.” The woman actually waved her arms through
the air as she said it. “I hope you can feel that. We’re getting a
protest rally together soon. Well, I’ve got to run. Have
faith!”

And with that, she bounded out the back door
to her SUV and took off.

I sat there for a while staring at the
computer. Sharon wouldn’t be back until Thursday or possibly Friday
morning. And Erik, who supposedly had a disk that would boot it up,
was gone too. So just to see for myself, I took it over to my desk,
connected it to my monitor and keyboard, and turned it on. Sure
enough, it asked for a user name and password. I made a couple of
guesses, but got the error message
“The system could not log you
on. Make sure your user name and domain are correct, then type your
password again. Letters in passwords must be typed using the
correct case. Make sure that Caps Lock is not on.”
So I
unhooked the computer and put it in a closet to keep it safe until
Sharon got back.

It was 6:00 by then and I was ready to go
home, grab a quick bite to eat, and get some painting done. With
all that had been going on, I’d been totally neglecting my art.

I was in the kitchen microwaving some frozen
chicken tandoori with spinach and rice, when Pablo called.

“So did you read the article? What did you
think?”

“Interesting, for sure. Sharon thinks Adam
found out some of this stuff when he worked on Ahmed’s website, and
maybe confronted Ahmed and maybe Ahmed had him killed. She talked
to the Boulder police about it this morning, but they wouldn’t take
her seriously.”

“Of course not. From what you said, there’s
no evidence that her husband was murdered. And didn’t you say it
was ruled an accidental death in Arizona?”

“Well, yes. But that doesn’t mean they were
right. And if they refuse to ever consider any other possibilities,
how can they be sure they were right?”

“Okay Cleo, we’re way past anything I have
any jurisdiction over. You were right about Ahmed giving out too
many drugs and being involved in some illegal activity, but that
doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.”

“But he might be.”

“True, but anyone might be. We need evidence,
not just supposition. Anyway, I have something else to tell you. I
did some checking into Erik Vaughn—which, by the way isn’t his real
name.”

“What is his name?”

“He’s used quite a few aliases. But his real
name is Horace Honigman.”

“Well, I can see why he’d want to use a
different name,” I said, thinking I couldn’t really picture Erik as
a Horace.

“It may not be a great name, but I don’t
think that’s his reason.” Pablo sounded exasperated with me, which
I thought was unwarranted.

“I guess there’s no way we’ll know what his
reasons are unless he tells us..”

“As a matter of fact, I was able to track
down his brother in Minneapolis. He said Horace has changed his
name a lot because of some shady business deals.”

“You found Erik’s brother?” I refused to call
him Horace. “Is his name Harry?” I asked, remembering that Jenny
had told Sharon to ask Erik about his brother Harry.

“Yes, Harry Honigman. He runs a seafood
restaurant there— called Harry’s Grill—very upscale and popular. He
didn’t want to talk much about Horace. Said he’s no good and don’t
lend him any money.”

“How did you find out all this?”

“A few people owed me some favors. But that’s
not the point. The issue is this guy isn’t who he says he is, and
his business may not be legitimate. I’m still looking into that.
But I wanted to let you know you should stay away from him.”

“Thanks for the advice. Maybe he is
dangerous. But I am a therapist and I deal with quite a few strange
people. I can handle Erik if I need to.”

“Hey Cleo, you could be a little more
appreciative. This guy could be big trouble for you.”

“Well you could give me a little more credit
for being a professional who knows what I’m doing. And anyway, I
asked you to help me find out what happened to Adam, not to snoop
around about Erik.” I knew I should be grateful he watched out for
me, but I was feeling irritated and kind of smothered by his
superior attitude.

“Since when is police work called snooping?
And you’re the one who told me all the stuff about his slippery
business deals.”

“And you were jealous that this good looking
guy paid some attention to me, so you jumped on the chance to bring
him down.” I knew I was exaggerating and also being contrary, which
wasn’t quite fair, since I had questions about Erik, but I hated
Pablo telling me who I should stay away from.

“Look, Cleo, if you want to take your chances
with him, so be it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And before I could come back with a quick
retort, he hung up.

After I finished eating, I went out to my
studio to paint. But I couldn’t keep my mind off Erik, or Horace or
whoever he was. I thought about getting the phone number for
Harry’s Grill in Minneapolis and calling his brother to try to get
some information. But I was afraid the brother would just hang up
on me, since he’d told Pablo he didn’t want to talk about Erik.

In spite of my assumed nonchalance with
Pablo, I did have concerns about Erik and I did want to know more
about him. I thought about Tyler telling me on Sunday that I needed
to line up, that people were going under fast and needed serious
help from me. Of course, those people could be the ones being
scammed by Dr. Ahmed, and now that would be stopped. But I wasn’t
involved in investigating Ahmed, so why would Tyler push me to do
something about him? It was more likely he meant I should stop Erik
from scamming people with his herbs and nutrition business.

I wished Minneapolis were closer so I could
drop in on Harry. But wait—Minneapolis is less than a two-hour
plane flight. Why not just do it? I had a bunch of frequent flyer
miles with Frontier, so I gave them a call. No problem. I booked
myself a flight leaving Denver at

7:00 am the next day. Even with the one-hour
time change, I’d be there at 10:00 am, giving me plenty of time to
track down Harry before my return flight left Minneapolis at 7:30
that evening. I spent about an hour on the phone canceling my
Wednesday appointments, and went to bed to get some sleep before my
early-morning flight.

The flight was uneventful and on time. On the
plane, I sat next to a young woman from Minneapolis who was on her
way home from visiting her parents in Boulder. I asked her about
Harry’s Grill. She knew it—said it was a casual but expensive
art-deco seafood restaurant in downtown Minneapolis on the Nicollet
Mall.

While following the airport signs to ground
transportation, I debated whether to take a bus or a taxi downtown.
Since I didn’t know exactly how to get to Harry’s Grill, I decided
to spring for the taxi. There were lots of them lined up, so I was
soon on my way, enjoying my first view of Minneapolis—a tall city
skyline where gleaming modern high-rises seemed to have pushed
their way up between substantial brick buildings that looked like
they had withstood many a frigid winter.

That July day was anything but frigid. A wave
of hot, humid air hit me when I stepped out of the air-conditioned
Minneapolis-St. Paul airport. It was sunny and, according to the
pilot’s report before we landed, about 80 degrees. But it felt much
warmer to me because of the stickiness, which we don’t get in
Colorado. The muggy air enveloped me again as I got out of the cab
at Nicollet Mall.

I found myself on a festive pedestrian mall
with a narrow driving lane for busses and taxis. Stores and
restaurants lined each side of the street, which was bordered by
wide sidewalks with trees, flowers and outdoor restaurant seating.
Harry’s Grill was in an elegant brick building with dark green
awnings and a black wrought iron door. I took a deep breath and
walked in.

Inside was quite a contrast to the outside.
The air was cool and the décor accentuated that feeling—mostly
shiny black with peach accents. An enormous mirrored wall behind a
long rounded bar was lined with liquor bottles. Seating was in
curved booths with chrome accents.

It was about 11:30 by then, so Harry’s was
serving lunch. I asked the hostess if I could see Harry
Honigman.

“Harry’s in the kitchen right now. Was he
supposed to meet you?”

“No. But I’m here from Colorado just this one
day, and I really need to talk to him.”