Death of an Escort (13 page)

At home, I let myself in. It was a little
early for dinner yet, and I figured my wife would still be putting
the picnic basket together, but when I got to the kitchen, there
was a large basket on the counter top. It was covered with a white
cloth and looked quite full.

I tested lifting it, and it was quite
full.

Marline came into the kitchen. "Oh,
excellent! You are home."

"It's a little early for dinner," I said not
at all enthusiastically.

"Let's go anyway," she said. "I've got it all
ready." She seemed excited.

"Okay," I said. I hefted the basket. "Where
are we going?"

"Do you know where that little stream runs
about half of a mile from here?"

I did. It was deeper into the area where we
lived. The creek wasn't actually on our property, but our neighbors
had made it clear that we could fish or wade in it whenever we
wanted to. They were nice people.

I slid the basket off of our shiny, smooth
granite countertop, and I looped two arms under the handle. The
basket was in front of me, and if I walked too fast, my knees would
bump into it.

"What did you pack?" I asked. "It's
heavy."

She smiled. "It's a surprise."

We left the house, and she set the alarm.
Then we slowly walked the way to the creek. It was slow only
because of the weighted basket I was carrying.

Once arriving at the edge of the stream, she
took the table cloth that was covering the top and spread it out.
The furthest edge was inches away from the babbling edge of the
stream.

The rippling water had a relaxing effect, and
I felt a little tension ease out of my shoulders. Marline unpacked
the basket.

There was a bottle of wine, and two wine
glasses. She'd wrapped those in newspaper to keep them from
breaking. There was a little block of cheese and a small loaf of
bread. Next out of the basket was a small cutting board and a
knife.

She set those items to the side, and then she
removed two much larger containers, plastic ones. Inside one was a
prepared salad. It was the kind with the dressing already on it.
The other one contained lightly breaded, fried chicken. It was her
specialty and nothing like the cheap, greasy fast food restaurant
stuff.

At the very bottom of the basket was one more
thing. It was a flat container, and it contained a marbled
cheesecake.

"Wow," I said. "This is amazing." Whatever
she wanted to talk about, she wanted to make sure I was in a good
mood first. That scared me a little.

"Sit," she said. "Let's eat."

I did, and she started slicing little pieces
of cheese and bread. I poured the wine.

We ate. Nothing much was said. I was waiting,
but I didn't want to push her. She didn't respond well to that, and
she was taking her time on this one.

"Ray?" she said finally when I was half
through my cheesecake and the meal was almost over.

"Yes?" I said.

"You're different," she said.

I waited for her to continue.

"You seem to have a paranoid element to you.
You don't park your car at the house. You use disposable cell
phones. You carry weapons. Weapons are all over in our house. Our
house has an amazing alarm. Your—"

"I get the point," I said.

"Well," she said. "We've never really talked
about why. I figured it was a quirk of yours. Is that what it
is?"

"Why?" I asked.

"I want more," she said.

I looked into her dark eyes. Whatever she
wanted, I really wanted to give to her, if I could.

"I'm not sure you are ready," she said.

"Ready for what?"

"I want to start a family," she said.

Chapter 12

"Ah," I said. That's what this was about.

"I want kids, Ray," she said. "It's time for
you to get past your oddities or whatever they are. It's time to
grow up and get ready to be a father."

"Grow up?" I could be offended at this, but I
wasn't.

"It's like you're a kid playing a spy game,
sort of. Except you seem to take it serious. Too serious to be
healthy."

"It is serious," I said.

"That's the problem. I think you should seek
help for it," she said.

"Help? What kind of help?" I asked.

"Maybe you could see someone to help
you."

"You're talking about a psychologist?"

She nodded. "And that could probably help you
through your family issues too."

"I don't have any family," I said.

"I know, but you never talk about your dad or
mom or anything. Are you angry with them? What happened between you
and them?"

"Why are we discussing this?"

"Because if we have kids, I want them to have
grandparents on both sides. I want them to have aunts and uncles
and cousins," she said.

I tried to breathe slowly. My heart rate was
increasing. I was torn between being honest, playing dumb, or being
a jerk right now to get her to leave me. Not because I wanted her
to, but because it was the safest.

I'd never be the man she wanted me to be. I
couldn't because I was on the run. Permanently.

"So?" she said.

"You want kids?" I said stalling.

"I really do, Ray. Don't you?"

"I don't know," I said. "I never really
thought about it."

"Will you promise me that you'll schedule
someone to help you with your security issues?"

I shook my head slowly. "No," I said.

She looked hurt. "Why not, Ray? For me,
please?"

I looked out at the rippling water. "It won't
help," I said.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"There's more going on here than you know," I
said.

"What does that mean?" she asked. A slight
edge had crept into her voice. "Is there another woman?"

I looked at her. "No. Definitely not."

"You feel closed, Ray," she said. She scooted
closer to me, and she put her hand into mine.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I really am."

She stared deeply into my eyes. "You've
always seemed guarded and closed. When we met, it was exciting and
mysterious. I loved it, and I loved you. I thought that you'd open
up as we got to know each other. As we got intimate with each
other, I thought that you'd reveal what was keeping you
closed."

I looked down at her. I wanted to say it all.
I wanted to get it off my chest, but I couldn't bring myself to do
it.

She continued, "But that hasn't happened.
You're still closed. You're keeping something from me, Ray." Her
eyes were moist now.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"It's starting to affect our relationship,"
she said. "I feel myself growing suspicious of you. I don't want
to, but what am I supposed to do? Ray, who are you?"

I broke eye contact. "I'm Ray Crusafi."

"That's not what I meant." She gently turned
my head to look her in the eyes again.

I stared into her eyes, but I said
nothing.

"What is it? Whatever it is, we can work
through it. If it's something you've done, I'll forgive you." Her
voice had quieted to a whisper. "Don't hide something from me
Ray."

I leaned in and kissed her. She kissed me
back.

"It's involving my work right now," I
whispered. "I really can't talk about it." I was lying. Avoiding
the situation.

We kissed again.

"Let me inside you, Ray. I am your wife."

I nodded. "I will," I said. "I promise."

I kissed her. The kiss grew. We made love
right there next to the babbling stream.

* * * * *

Several hours later, I was back in my car and
in the middle of the city. Night had come, and darkness covered
everything except for where the streetlamps penetrated it.

The situation with my wife and I was
unresolved. No question about it, but after our dinner, there was
no way I could leave her. I needed her, and she was the thing that
gave me strength and sanity in dealing with what I dealt with.

The problem was that she was right. I was
closed to her. She didn't really know me, and she knew it.
Something would have to happen about that, and the idea of kids . .
. there was simply no way that would work. When someone, someone
very powerful, wants you dead, having children is a bad idea.

I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I
would drive myself crazy trying to figure out how I was going to
work that out. I had no idea. It was a true lose-lose
situation.

A few miles per hour under the speed limit, I
continued to roll down the main drag. I was headed to the opposite
side of town.

Sure enough, I was headed back to Brass Works
Wholesale. There was a video of the dead woman the night she died,
and I was determined to find it.

I had this crazy idea that maybe, just maybe
it would show the whole thing, and I'd have the murderer and wrap
up the whole case like that. Maybe something went wrong in the sex
with Carlie. Maybe she was in on the voyeur stuff, and something
went wrong. So they'd have to get rid of the video.

Forgetting to take down the page where the
video was supposed to play was pure sloppiness on their part.

I pulled into the industrial park where Brass
Works was. The first business was some kind of machine shop. I
parked my car there. I chose that place because there was already a
vacant car in the parking lot. All the lights were off in the
machine shop, and it seemed that the car had been left there
overnight.

By parking my car behind it, it made it less
conspicuous. Also, it was far away from the Brass Works
business.

I got out and locked the car up. Using the
key, I opened the trunk and took an axe out. Then with that in
hand, I jogged at a steady pace the distance down to the end of the
drive where the Brass Works building was.

My plan here was to set off the alarm before
going in. But even more than that, I was going to make sure that
the alarm couldn't be reset that night.

Then after everyone left, I'd be free to
spend as long in the building as I wanted.

Back at the overhead door that I'd forced
open last time, I started working on it with the axe.

My idea was to chop the door down. Seriously.
I was going to take the door down and out. The wood was soft and
even a little rotten in parts. With the door gone, it would be
impossible to set the perimeter alarm because of the open point
where the garage door used to be.

Being the middle of the night, I expected
them to leave it be until morning.

So I got very sweaty, and I axed the door
down. Minutes ticked by as I worked. I was still clearing out wood
when I saw red and blue flashing lights coming. I could see their
reflection before the cars showed up.

I kicked at the wood fragments and cleared
out the last bit. The garage door wasn't there anymore. Wood chips,
shards, and fragments lay everywhere. It was like a giant beaver
had gone at the door.

I set the axe down and wiped the handle
clean. Then I went inside leaving the axe behind.

Inside I felt my way around. I'd seen tall
shelving before when I was here, and I was feeling my way to it
now.

I felt it. The shelves started about three
feet up, and it continued up to the roof. There were some vacant
spots high up that I'd seen before, and that was where I was headed
now.

In the dark, I started climbing up the edge
of the metal girder. Up and up I went.

I could hear a cop car coming to a screeching
halt outside. My time was about up. I needed to get out of sight
and do it quickly.

A flashlight beam shown in where the garage
door had been. I pulled myself up onto the closest shelf. There was
a little space behind the crate that was sitting there. It was not
even eight inches, but that was all I needed. I squeezed back in
there and squished down.

There were voices now and car doors opening
and closing. I couldn't see anything, but that was good. That meant
I couldn't be seen either.

About five minutes later all the lights came
on. They were those kind that took a long time to warm up to full
intensity, but even with a dull glow, there was a lot more light in
the warehouse.

I checked to see if I was visible from any
angle. Behind me was another shelf and stuff on it kept me from
being seen there. My front was totally covered. To my right, the
shelf stretched to the wall, and that kept me out of view, however,
I was on the left edge, and I could see the floor somewhat.

Someone looking up at the right angle could
possibly see me. As quietly as I could, I tried to lay myself out,
stretching to the right.

Now I was almost invisible, and suspended
fifteen feet up.

Voices talked around under me. Feet moved
around. Time went by.

Then I heard the voice of Mickey, the owner.
He was talking loudly with several police, but even with his loud
voice, I couldn't make out the words.

I checked my watch to see how much time was
passing. So far, it had been almost thirty minutes since I busted
in.

Another forty-seven minutes passed before the
lights were shut off. Something was scooted in front of the door I
smashed open, and I heard a hammer banging.

They were nailing the garage door shut, and
when they left, the alarm should still be off.

Another fifteen minutes past. Everyone was
gone. The building was dark again. A little stiff, I crawled out of
my hiding place and made my way down.

A little glowing alarm panel was near the
overhead doors. I went over to it and checked the readout. It read
that there was an overhead door fault - alarm not ready.

That meant I was free and clear to roam the
building. Carefully feeling my way, I made my way up to the office
entrance from the shop, and I let myself in. A few safety lights
were on, and it was all I needed to see and move around.