The Rings of Hesaurun Page 6

  “Val,” Angie interrupted suddenly, “you’ve said your dreams have been getting worse. Would you like to tell us what they are like?”

  “Well,” Valerie said, gathering her thoughts. “They never run from beginning to end. The dreams come in pieces and parts. Some parts are okay, but other parts are—scary,” she murmured, then took a deep breath before continuing.

  “The part I hate the most is where I am running from the killer, but he uses something to pull me backward— toward him. He’s like, using magnetism or something, against me. The harder I run, the harder I’m pulled backward—towards him. If I stand still, I can maintain my distance from him, but it’s a struggle, so I hang onto something—a door handle actually—to keep from being reeled in. The force pulling me becomes strong enough to pull me off my feet while I’m hanging hang onto the door for dear life.”

  Valerie paused, digging deeper into her memory. “The man trying to get me in the dream is huge, dressed in black, and with long hair. He’s fearsome. He never moves, just stands there with his arm outstretched. Whatever he’s doing pulls me closer, dragging me down a long dark hallway toward him. He calls my name, tells me to give up, that there no use in fighting. That’s what…” she stopped, sobbing again. Wiping her eyes with a napkin, she breathed deeply, then continued. “That’s what’s scares me the most. It is so real!”

  “That sounds exactly like Stone to me. That has to be him,” Jim insisted.

  “One more thing I want to tell you,” Valerie continued, “besides the big man in black—Stone, I guess— there is someone else, and Orson is with him! I cannot imagine why would Orson would be in these dreams. It’s just so weird, don’t you think? Anyway, this man and Orson are there; they are watching this together but aren’t helping me. Here’s what’s really strange; I get the feeling both of them want to help me, but for some reason, they don’t, and I don’t know why.”

  “I’m guessing, but that man might be Paris,” Jim offered. These dreams seem to have a lot of meaning to them, but I cannot guess why Orson, my cat, would be in them. He’s always there!”

  “Yeah. I mean, I love Orson,” Valerie admitted, “but sometimes I wonder if he is human. Other times I think he must be some kind of alien from a planet full of cats! He can be so weird!”

  Everyone laughed at that, which relieved the tension in the room.

  “Valerie, how often do you have these dreams?” Angie interjected.

  “Until recently? Maybe once or twice a month, but since my birthday, almost every night.” Then she added, “The intensity of the dreams has become unbearable. I can’t sleep!“ she admitted, sobbing loudly. “I’m walking around like a zombie half the time because I can’t sleep!”

  “What can we do, Jim?” Angie turned to her husband, misty-eyed.

  “I don’t know, hon, but now that it’s out in the open, I think we should hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I don’t think this is something we can hide from. Maybe we should hire protection for her. I’m a lawyer; I know people,” Jim suggested.

  “I think that is a great idea, Jim! What do you think, sweetie?”

  “A bodyguard?” Valerie said dismissively. “I don’t want some creep following me around.”

  “I assure you we wouldn’t hire a creep to follow you,” Jim assured her. “That’s not how professionals work. We would hire a specialist who wouldn’t be watching you; he would be looking at what’s going on around you, looking for threats. You would never know he was there unless there was trouble. That’s when he would be there for you.”

  A bodyguard. That doesn’t sound so bad, Valerie thought. I could live with that. And having a little extra protection wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? Considering the danger her guardians might be subject to, she thought it prudent. Breathing easy and settling back in the chair, she felt more relaxed. Then Orson’s piercing blue eyes caught her attention. Valerie noticed the cat’s eyes moved from one speaker to the next, always following the conversation as if he understood everything said. That’s ridiculous! Valerie reminded herself. Yet when his eyes returned to hers, she thought she saw the cat’s pupils dilate just before he looked away abruptly, just as if she’d caught him eavesdropping.

  It made her feel odd, as if she’d been caught coming out of the shower naked. And this incident wasn’t unusual; Orson always seemed to be watching her. The darn cat likes getting attention from other people, but he doesn’t watch them with the same focus or with the same diligence that he watches me.

  Valerie’s thoughts rattled on and on about the cat. The big tabby always seemed to be on his favorite perch halfway up the stairs, an undercover spy watching and listening to the goings-on in the house. If Orson was snooping, he chose his post well since it was the only place in the house with a clear view of the entire main floor. His focus in life seemed to be that of a paid observer. Although Valerie was used to it and loved the attention, it still felt somehow odd, as if there was more to it than a cat merely looking at its favorite person. But what more could there be?

  “The man I’m thinking of does this for a living,” Jim continued, breaking Valerie out of her daydream. “I’ve worked with him, he’s good at what he does, and I trust him. Would you be okay with that, Val?”

  “I don’t know… I guess so.” Valerie said uneasily.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jim assured with a squeeze of her shoulder. “Let Angie and I know if you can think of anything else we can do to make you feel safe. Alright?”

  Valerie nodded, warming to the idea.

  “And tell us immediately if you see anyone suspicious, promise?” Angie added.

  “I have a suggestion,” Jim said. “Until further notice, let’s all keep our cell phones on us at all times. And make sure they are charged and with the ringer on. Sound good?”

  “Alright,” Valerie said. “Thank you, Uncle Jim, Aunt Angie. I appreciate it. Really,” she added with a warm smile.

  Valerie went to her room that night feeling much better, appreciative of her guardians’ support and the kindness shown to her. She slept peacefully that night with Orson curled up and purring loudly by her side, the first good night’s sleep in days.

  ________________________

  The Law Offices of Dunne, Morgan & Associates occupied the top floor of a renovated 1920s-era department store in downtown Arlington. The next morning, Jim arrived there an hour earlier than usual. Within ten minutes he had Miles Bigelow, a private investigator and close friend on the phone. The private number rang just once before it was picked up.

  “Hi, Jim. You’re early. What’s up?” said Miles. “Up early for a good reason, Big. I have a job for you. What does your schedule look like?”

  “That, sir, would depend on the three W’s: who, what, and where.”

  “Actually—this one is personal.”

  “Really. Is everything alright?”

  “It is, and we want to keep it that way. I’d like to explain it to you personally. Can you stop by today?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Sixty minutes later, Miles Bigelow climbed the familiar stairs to Dunne & Morgan’s suite. The hardwood frame glass doors led into the carpeted lobby. A sliding glass window provided a view of the support staff area. Miles went to the window and leaned on the counter but didn’t have long to wait before an assistant slid the window open.

  “Hi Mr. Bigelow, Jim is expecting you. He will be right out to meet you.”

  Miles seated himself, but before he could get comfortable, Jim opened the door to a hallway leading to the private offices and meeting rooms, inviting his friend in with a wave of his hand.

  “Come on back, Big,” Jim welcomed Miles in with a friendly smile, then led him to his office where they were seated.

  “Thanks for coming,” Jim said appreciatively. “Can I get you coffee or water?”

  “No, thanks. If I drink any more coffee I’ll have white caps on my kidneys. What’s up?” he asked, getting rig
ht to the point. “Is everything okay with you and your family?”

  “Sure, we’re good, but we want it to stay that way, which is why I reached out to you,” Jim explained, settling back in the big leather chair behind his desk. “How busy are you?”

  “Not too busy to help you if needed.”

  “I appreciate that, but this might take some time, and it could be dangerous.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We believe Valerie is in danger, that a murderer is stalking her.” Jim let that sink in for a moment.

  Miles’ breath caught in his throat, and he frowned. “Really.”

  Jim sighed, then leaned forward in his chair. “I know that sounds crazy, but we have sound reasons for concern. In addition to being close to us, you have a concealed carry permit, which makes you our best bet. To be specific, I’m asking you to observe her, watch for trouble, and be ready to step in should the need arise.

  “This is urgent, Miles,” he added. “We feel that if something bad is going to happen, and likely sooner than later.”

  “I don’t understand,” Miles said, scratching his bald head. ”This doesn’t make sense. How does a straightlaced, no-nonsense high schooler like Val become the target of a killer? What’s the rest of the story?”

  “Sorry, Miles, I can’t tell you that. But that doesn’t change the truth or her reality. I can tell you this: the guy has a record and should be considered extremely dangerous. You need to be safe, too.“

  “Tell me about the threat, Jim, who is he?”

  “All we have is a description and a name; Stone. He is white, unusually tall, close to seven feet. Forty to fifty years old with long graying hair. And one more thing, he always wears black, nothing else. I think he would be pretty hard to miss in a crowd.”

  Miles thought for a moment before answering. “Alright, sounds fun,” he stated, smiling, leaving no doubt to his level of commitment, “When do you want me to start?”

  “Yesterday. Last week would be even better.”

  Miles narrowed his eyes, rubbing his chin. “I’ll have my calendar cleared by the end of the day. I can see this is going to require a lot of time, so I’m going to give you the good-guy discount on this.”

  “Oh—you don’t have to do that,” Jim insisted.

  “Naw,” Miles said, concerned. “This is personal for me. This thing could put a lot of time on the clock, and I want to keep the cost down for you.”

  “Alright then, bill it to the firm.”

  Miles smiled, then got up to leave. “Oh, by the way,” Jim added, “Valerie usually walks to and from school with her friend Darcy Ewen at around 7:30. They leave school just after 3:30. I consider her to be highly vulnerable at those times.”

  “Got it,” Miles agreed and shook his friend’s hand. “Don’t worry, Jim. I’ll see to it Val stays safe.”

  “Thanks, Big, we appreciate it. Let me know right away if you see Stone.”

  “Will do,” Miles said on his way out the door. ________________________

  Four days later, Valerie left the house at 7:30, dropping by to pick up Darcy before school. The fifteen-minute walk was uneventful. The two friends walked together along the smooth sidewalk, animatedly discussing upcoming graduation activities.

  Neither girl noticed the man in a white minivan monitoring their movements for the better part of a week. His position in front of the unoccupied split-level provided him with an unobstructed view of the Dunne house and approach to the high school. Miles Bigelow observed the girls’ movements and what was happening around them from behind darkened windows at the back of the van.

  Neighborhood residents assumed no one lived in the vacant house on the corner. For as long as anyone could remember, groundskeepers and meter readers came and went, but no one seemed to live there, and no one knew who owned it.

  In truth, Corell Paris had purchased the house and another one directly behind it fifteen years earlier. An access tunnel between the two properties allowed personnel, supplies and equipment to move between the two properties undetected. No one in the neighborhood knew that the place was occupied 24/7 by no less than three Secret Service agents at any given time.

  Paris had connections in high places, and this post proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. The second floor was a showcase of cutting-edge electronic surveillance equipment. Everything that moved in the neighborhood was automatically tracked, recorded, identified, and cataloged. A drone was in the air 24/7, monitoring and recording everything that moved and some that didn’t. For fifteen years running, the Glen Eagle neighborhood had been the most secure area in Washington State.

  “What’s with the white minivan?” Paris asked, watching suspiciously as it pulled up to the curb outside and parked.

  “Guy has been showing up here all week, watching the kids walk back and forth to school,” Agent Flores responded with a knowing smile.

  “We thought he was a degenerate at first,” Agent Graham added with a laugh. “We expected to see the door slide open and hear him ask the kids if they like candy— but the guy checks out. According to the State Patrol database, the van is owned and registered by Bigelow Security, a private security firm.”

  “Miles Bigelow is a private investigator,” Flores corrected. “According to Quickbooks, Jim Dunne hired him. Once we connected the dots, we knew Dunne hired Bigelow to keep an eye on the subject.”

  “Seems prudent,” Paris observed. “After all, he isn’t aware of this post.”

  “I would do the same if I was in Dunne’s place. Smart move, if you ask me,” Graham conceded.

  “You guys ready? It’s about that time,” said Paris.

  “Yes, sir,” Flores and Graham acknowledged simultaneously, immediately followed by a third resounding “Yes, sir!” through the sound system.

  “Was that Agent Severn? Who is in the nest today?” Paris asked, puzzled.

  “Severn here,” the voice reported through the speakers again.

  That’s good, Paris thought, glad to know Severn had the scope.Severn could shoot the eye out of a pigeon from half a mile.

  “Thought I left you at the farm yesterday, Severn.”

  “You did. But I like you— I like you a lot, so I followed you here.”

  Paris chuckled. “Has there been any sign of threats?”

  “Not so far,” Flores reported.

  “What are the other shifts reporting? Anything unusual?”

  “Just one thing,” said Flores. “But it might be a coincidence. Yesterday, third shift reported seeing a State Patrol car—”

  “Subject is on the move,” Graham interrupted.

  “Confirmed,” Severn reported.

  Flores whipped around to his workstation facing four big flatscreen monitors. Two seconds of tapping the keyboard and he had thirty-six images, nine different viewpoints on each screen all focused on Valerie and Darcy strolling along together.

  “I have the subject and Ewen-3 on screen,” Flores confirmed. “All assets are operational.”

  “We have a good overhead,” Graham reported. “Drone on the move. Armed and ready.”

  Fantastic sound quality, Paris thought. I never get used to it. Every sound the girls make, including their conversation, footsteps, breathing, even the rhythmic swishing of clothing, is audible. I’m surprised I can’t hear what they are thinking!

  “You comfortable up there, Severn?”

  “The subject has a cookie crumb on her chin,” Severn joked.

  The banter ceased as the team focused on their work. Other than the chatter of the girls’ conversation and their movements, the room was silent. Paris stood behind Flores and Graham, scanning their monitors for any sign of trouble.

  Graham’s aerial views encompassed an eight-block area around the Dunne residence, moving slowly, keeping pace with the girls. The cameras focused in and out as Graham scanned the streets, automobiles, and pedestrians for any possible threat.

  Meanwhile, Flores busied himself clicking between thirty-
six seperate camera angles. The cameras recorded Valerie and Darcy’s every move, every word until they had safely crossed Highway 9 and walked under the covered bridge on Arlington High School’s approach.

  When the girls were out of range of Flores’ cameras, he edged his chair back and joined Graham, watching the drone’s images on his monitors. Only after the girls had entered the building did the men relax.

  “Now, what were you saying about that State Patrol car?” Paris said, pulling up a chair next to Flores.

  “Yesterday, third shift reported seeing a State Patrol car pass by the subject’s house twice in a twenty-minute time frame. That may not seem noteworthy until you look at State Patrol’s log. That same car was reported missing from the Marysville station. Then it mysteriously reappeared two hours later.”

  “Do they have surveillance cameras on the lot?”

  “Not according to the report. Only inside the station.”

  “This is the twenty-first century!” Paris exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You’d think they would surveil their own station, for God’s sake.”

  “One would think so, sir,” Flores agreed.

  Flores and Graham’s eyes followed Paris as he paced the room, hands shoved in his pockets, jaws tightened, clearly upset.

  “That was no coincidence,” Paris declared. “That had to be Stone.”

  He glared at the ceiling for a moment. Stone’s getting better at this game, he thought. Although the big man had yet to make an overt appearance in the neighborhood, he knew it was only a matter of time before he showed up. He expected reconnaissance would come first, most likely from inside a vehicle. And what better vehicle to use than a cop car?

  Some might judge Valerie’s habit of walking to and from school as an unnecessary risk. However, Paris considered it a blessing in disguise. His goal was to bring Stone out into the open where he could deal with him. He expected Valerie’s carefree predictability to lull the culprit into a false sense of security, making anticipating his actions that much easier.

  His biggest worry had always been that Stone might anticipate his plan to transfer the fifth ring to Valerie and get to her first. If that happens, Paris mused, things could get complicated. A hostage situation seemed plausible, but he doubted Stone could sneak past his security team.But if he did, he was unlikely to kill her before he had her ring on his finger. Until then, Valerie Dunne is worth far more to Stone alive than dead, making early detection the key to her survival.