In Front of Your Eyes, Chapters 7-9
Title: In Front of Your Eyes
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Rating: PG
Series: 7/?
Chapter Archive
Lee Scanlon was sitting in one of the empty chairs in Devalos’ office when Allison arrived. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and appeared to be taking a nap against the office-standard beige wall. His mouth drooped open, and a bright orange sucker was just visible over the rise of his white teeth.
Allison stopped three feet in front of him and watched the detective sleep for a moment or two, remembering last night’s dream. It had felt so incredibly real, the flagstones beneath her bare feet, the night’s cool darkness winding about her, Scanlon’s lips plastered against hers, the rising heat she felt in both of their bodies. A flush spread across her cheeks, and she was about to turn away from Scanlon when he sat straight up in the chair. The sucker clacked against his teeth and he grabbed it groggily. “Allison,” he said, and wiped his hand across his face. Was it her imagination, or did he look guilty too?
“Any news on Daniel Rakowsky?” Allison asked.
Scanlon shook his head as he tossed the sucker into a nearby wastebasket. “None. And we didn’t recover any viable evidence from the apartment where they took Abigail, either.”
“Nothing at all?”
Scanlon appeared to reconsider. “We found two things,” he said. “I don’t know if they’re significant or not.”
He reached into his blazer pocket and drew out two plastic evidence bags, which he handed to Allison. “See what you can make of these,” he suggested.
Allison accepted the bags from the detective. In one was a fish-shaped magnet, painted bright green and blue; in the other was a single blood-red rose.
“Look at the back of the magnet,” Scanlon said, and reached to turn over the bag. His hand brushed Allison’s, and a trace of heat flowed through their hands. Allison felt the heat rise up through her face; if she had been younger, she might have giggled. At best, she settled for looking intently at whatever it was Scanlon wanted to show her - a small golden crown, painted on the back of the fish.
“We found her at the Kingfisher Apartments,” Allison said as soon as she had made sense of the clue.
“So the kidnapper’s telling us what we already knew?” Scanlon asked.
“Maybe he wanted to tell us something else,” Allison said. “Did Abigail recognize the magnet?”
“She said it didn’t sound familiar,” Scanlon replied.
“I’ll show it to Rikki; maybe she’s seen it before.”
“And the rose?” Scanlon asked.
Allison pulled open the top of the bag and stuck her nose deep into it. The rose smelled fresh. “I don’t know,” she said.
Scanlon shook his head. “We’re stumped. We don’t have anything else to go on. Abigail Rakowsky didn’t recognize the voice of the man who took her, and it goes without saying that she didn’t see the car he drove, or anything else we could use to track the guy down, except that he was wearing a watch, and that could be any guy in Phoenix.”
“What about the letter?”
“What letter?”
“Yesterday Devalos said the kidnapper sent a letter to the police.”
“Oh, yeah, nothing ever came of that,” Scanlon said. “No return address, no canceled stamp. The font wasn’t special enough to be traceable, neither was the paper. There were no fingerprints on the letter itself, and the two salvageable fingerprints on the envelope got traced back to a man who died in September.”
“What did it say?” Allison asked.
“I don’t remember,” Scanlon said. “I can get a copy for you, though.”
“That would be great.”
Series: 8/?
Allison left Scanlon, who was still waiting for Devalos, and drove across town to the Rakowsky house. It was a three-story rambling Victorian monstrosity painted various shades of cobalt blue, and it sat on a large-ish parcel of land that backed up to a wooded area. There was a detached garage, painted in the same shades of blue as the house. The wrap-around porch had a metal ramp attached to one side of the stairs, and was empty except for two large potted evergreen topiaries, both cut in a spiral.
Allison paused for a moment on the porch and knocked twice on the door. She waited another moment, but no one came to the door. From her pocket she retrieved the key that Rikki had given her and the list they had compiled that morning. The key fit seamlessly in the lock and the doorknob turned silently.
Inside the Rakowsky house, all was still. The TV was off; the computer on the table next to it was dark as well. A bookcase next to the media equipment held several Tom Clancy, Stephen King, and Dean Koontz novels, all of J.R.R. Tolkien’s works, Vanna White’s biography, and two shelves of DVDs. There was a basket of neatly folded laundry on the glass coffee table, along with two “People” magazines, one “Journal of Criminal Law and Prosecution,” an open hard-bound book, and a bowl of peanut M & M’s with all of the yellow ones picked out. A blue and green afghan was folded and set on the dark navy couch. There were no toys on the floor, or pictures on the wall, or any other signs that suggested a happy family of five inhabited the house regularly.
Allison walked through the living room and was about to turn into the dining room when she noticed a gap in the shelf of DVDs. All of the other discs were arranged alphabetically, so the missing DVD would have been something between “Lady in the Water” and “The Matrix.” Allison looked around, but she didn’t find the missing DVD on the TV cabinet or anywhere else in the living room. Everything was so tidy and well-arranged that she was fairly certain that there was a missing disc.
The shades were drawn on the two windows in the dining room, leaving it dark and stuffy. The room was dominated by the big oval table in the center, surrounded by blue-cushioned chairs. In the center of the table was a cut-glass vase full of fresh purple and white lilacs. The rest of the room was taken up by two gigantic china cabinets. One held a set of white dishes with delicate hand-painted flowers and a gold rim; the other displayed blue-and-white Chinese dishes with a dragon theme. The drawers in both of the hutches were filled with snowy white napkins. The cabinets below the drawers were locked.
Allison couldn’t find a key for the cabinets, so she stood and went through the dining room and into the kitchen. The kitchen, of all the rooms she had been in, looked the most inhabited. There were two smeary finger-painted pictures on the refrigerator, held in place with two heart-shaped magnets. A chore chart written in print and Braille was taped to the cabinet next to the refrigerator. There was a pile of unopened mail on the tile-topped kitchen table and a pair of muddy sneakers underneath it. One of the cabinets hung open, exposing two boxes of Cheerios and a box of Total raisin bran. There were brightly-colored plastic bowls and plates in the sink.
The kitchen held no more surprises for Allison. She opened each of the drawers, looking for the key or keys that would fit into the hutch cabinets, but wasn’t able to find what she sought. For some reason she felt almost positive that there was something important in the cabinets, and she wanted to make sure before she left.
Off the kitchen, there was a half-bath and a small alcove that was being used as a mudroom. A hand carved wooden bench sat along the right wall, there was a dirt-catching rug on the floor, and several pairs of boots and shoes were lined up under the bench. A coat rack above the bench was draped with several sweaters, windbreakers, and fleece pullovers, and a small shelf above that held three or four well-worn baseball caps. There was also a wheelchair similar to Megan’s in the alcove; Allison figured it was a spare. A door at the far side of the alcove opened out into the dark and empty garage, which she decided to check at the very end, if she had any time.
A short hallway led down to two other rooms, both with closed doors. Allison chose the first door and opened it gently. It was a bedroom, probably Christopher’s. A twin bed was neatly made up with a plaid spread and a single white-cased pillow; a shelf above the bed displayed two trophies, a baseball in a clear plastic holder, and a green velvet jewelry box. Allison opened the box and was surprised to discover a heavy silver pocket watch with the name “Daniel” engraved on the back, along with the year 1975. A small bookcase held a bevy of science fiction novels and some hard-bound Reader’s Digest Condensed Books. Behind white metal doors, the closet was filled with navy, black, and red polo shirts, black and khaki pants, two pairs of jeans, and a pair of leather loafers. The dresser held white and black boxer shorts, white, black, and gray socks, white short-sleeved undershirts, two sets of long underwear (one white, one gray), and a few T-shirts from various organizations, including the Phoenix Run for Rett. There was a small desk wedged into the corner; the drawers contained neatly-sharpened pencils, black and blue ink pens, crisp yellow legal pads, a set of artist’s colored pencils, two gum erasers, and two small keys on a rusted key ring. Allison took the keys from the drawer and put them in the pocket of her blazer.
She shut the door of Christopher’s neat room behind her and turned to look at the other closed door. Checking her watch, she discovered that it was only eleven o’clock. She certainly had time to search the rest of the house before gathering the things that the Rakowsky girls needed.
The second door opened into an office. Heavy bookcases lined the walls; all of them were full of books. Allison noticed The Da Vinci Code and The Handy Physics Answer Book sharing space. There were several shelves of criminal law journals and textbooks, and two shelves full of nothing but paperback romance novels, all of them dog-eared. One of the bookshelves had a locked frosted glass front. Allison took the keys from her pocket and tried both of them; neither of them was a match.
She worked her way through the rest of the office, but found nothing incriminating or helpful. It was obviously Daniel Rakowsky’s private domain; case files relating to the Morales case were spread out on the desk’s blotter, and other drawers were filled with tax returns, mortgage payments, receipts, birthday cards, and family pictures. Everything was neatly organized, dated, and labeled. Allison found no evidence of the former Mrs. Rakowsky, except for a picture of the family on a beach, where a redheaded woman had her arm slung around the man Allison assumed to be Daniel Rakowsky and a boy she assumed to be Christopher. The back was dated and notated in silver ink, like most of the other pictures she had found: “Destin, FL, Spring Break 2001.” In the top desk drawer she found a single key on a piece of blue yarn, and it fit into the glass cabinet, which turned out to be empty.
There was nothing in Daniel Rakowsky’s office, so she left it and went upstairs. There were six rooms opening off the central hallway. Three of the rooms were girls’ bedrooms, and Allison had no trouble deciding which was which. She searched them quickly, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She went through the bathroom in the same manner, peeking in the medicine cabinet but discovering only aspirin, toothpaste, floss, and Sesame Street Band-Aids. There was one prescription bottle for Megan Rakowsky; not recognizing the name of the medication, Allison put it in her blazer pocket along with the keys. A cabinet held towels, extra toilet paper rolls, and bottles of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo and Pantene conditioner. Three decorative baskets (one for each girl) hung above the toilet held hairbrushes, hair elastics, barrettes, ribbons, and headbands. A rack on the sink held a green toothbrush, a pink toothbrush, and a purple toothbrush, all corresponding to the girls’ bedroom colors.
There were no signs of disorder; all of the girls’ rooms had neatly-made beds, well-organized bookshelves, and efficiently-ordered dressers and closets. Everything was clean and neat. So was the large room at the far end of the hall, which obviously served as a playroom, study, lounge, therapy center, and TV room. Like all of the other rooms, it was fastidiously tidy, and there was nothing strange or out of the ordinary. There were no locked cabinets in the playroom, nor were there any keys in any of the drawers. A search through the master bedroom and bath revealed nothing else worth noting. There were, as in all of the other bedrooms, shelves of books, tidy clothes, a made bed. In the bathroom there were signs of only one inhabitant, a man who used Speed Stick deodorant, Crest toothpaste, and Bic disposable razors. Allison wondered how the Rakowsky family kept their house so clean and still managed to live in it; she wondered if she could get Joe and the girls to keep their house so clean.
It was noon by the time she finished, and then went through the girls’ rooms again, checking off items on the list Rikki had prepared and putting them into duffel bags. Five days’ worth of clothes went into each bag, along with two books from Rikki and Abigail’s rooms, and classical cassette tapes and a stuffed elephant from Megan’s room. Allison retrieved their toothbrushes and hairbrushes, then zipped the duffels closed and set them by the front door.
In the kitchen she found a case of Pediasure and a red plastic toolbox, which Rikki had written near the bottom of the list. The last item was “feeding pump: should be near the kitchen table.” Allison looked around and discovered what she assumed was the pump; it was attached to an IV stand and was nearly out of sight next to the shelves holding cookbooks and the microwave. She must have missed it on her first round. Next to the IV stand was an umbrella stand made of some dark wood; in it were several white canes. She chose one and put it next to Abigail’s duffel.
When all of the things the girls had requested were safely in her car, Allison went back up the porch to the front door, intending to lock it. She reached into her pocket for the house key and instead brought out the two keys she had found in Chris’s desk drawer. She went back into the house and into the still-darkened dining room, where she tried each key in the cabinets at the bottom of the hutch. The first hutch was immovable; neither key would turn.
The second key on the ring fit into the second hutch’s cabinet, and it turned stiffly, as though it had not been opened in a long time. Allison kept her fingers tight on the key, trying not to snap it off in the lock. With a low, resounding click, the lock opened. Allison pulled on the cabinet’s knob and swung the door open.
Whatever she had thought was in the cabinets - vases, the good silver, copies of The Kama Sutra - it wasn’t there. Instead, the cabinet was empty except for a blue-and-green fish magnet, and a single blood-red rose. She could hardly believe it, and her hand shot out before she remembered both of the items were evidence. Then she stopped, suddenly cognizant of the fact that the magnet would have to be fingerprinted. With the keys she had taken from Christopher’s desk drawer, she turned the magnet over.
On the back, a sticker shaped like a Chinese lantern marred the back of the painted fish, and there was a single word written in black marker: “Danny.”
Series: 9/?
“Joe?”
Joe looked up. Peter Hathaway was in the hallway, clutching his presentation notes and his fat leather planner. “Mr. Alanson is here,” Peter said.
“I’ll be right there,” Joe said. “I just need to transfer my notes to a disk.”
He waved his disk at Hathaway, who smiled. “Well, okay then. We start in ten minutes.”
Hathaway disappeared from Joe’s doorway, and Joe hurried through the rest of his email, deleting ads for Viagra and 10% off textbooks. Closing the browser, he slipped the disk into the drive and quickly transferred his PowerPoint presentation to the disk’s only folder: “Alanson.”
Two minutes later he removed the disk from the drive and gathered the rest of his presentation meetings, which included two pie charts done on foam-core board and some brochures that he and Hathaway and Clark had prepared.
Hathaway was already speaking when Joe entered the conference room. He liked Hathaway, who was forty-ish, with white-blond hair and a disarming smile. Since they’d all been told to dress up for the Alanson presentation, Hathaway was wearing what he referred to as his “best suit” - a navy blue number with a dark navy pinstripe, plus a crisp white shirt and a solid cobalt blue tie.
Clark, full name Andrew Patterson Packard Clark, the other member of their presentation team, was in his early twenties. He was the company’s newest “hot shot,” and he liked to live up to his reputation. Sometimes he was worthy of his interactions with the older scientists, and sometimes he just looked like a fourth grader infiltrating a high school sex ed class. Dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender shirt underneath, his tie was a darker shade of purple with a small blue dot pattern. His boyish face looked flushed in the conference room lights, which shone on the very white part in his dark brown hair.
“… And here’s our last team member, Joe DuBois,” Hathaway said as Joe shut the conference room door behind him. “Joe, this is Davis Alanson.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Joe said, extending his hand towards their guest. Davis Alanson was in his late fifties and bore an air of old money and new disinterest. With him was a small, bespectacled woman with a timid expression on her face.
“This is my lawyer, Janine Bernhard, and my son will be joining us for the presentation,” Davis Alanson informed them. “He should be along shortly.”
Davis had barely finished his sentence when the conference room door was banged open and a gawky man in his twenties half-ran, half-fell into the room. Unlike his father, who was wearing a classically tailored black Italian suit with a light blue oxford shirt, or the lawyer, who was somber in a black pantsuit with a small gold brooch on the jacket, the younger Alanson sported a wrinkled white oxford, rumpled khakis, black-and-white tennis shoes, and a Bugs Bunny tie. “Uh! Sorry I’m late!” he exclaimed. He stuck out his pale, bony-wristed hand in Joe’s general direction. “I’m Jacques Alanson. But you - uh! - can call me Jacky.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Joe repeated.
“If you’re ready, we can begin,” Hathaway suggested. Joe handed him the disk with their presentation, the three scientists gave one last tug to their best ties, and they were off and away. Clark spoke first, mostly because he had recently graduated from Yale Business School and had a better head for the logistics of a business proposition. Joe had to admit that Clark could have sold a sauna in Hell, and wondered if the young up-and-comer would have been happier selling something.
Twenty minutes of what Hathaway referred to as the “opening act” later, and it was time for Joe to give his part of the presentation. He put his pie charts on the flimsy metal easel in the corner and gave the Alansons and the lawyer some of the brochures. “Now, we’re aware that you’re attempting to start an aerospace program at the Polytechnic Magnet Institute in Seven Palms. The curriculum we’re presenting here today is designed to be the best you will find at any comparable institute.”
Hathaway took over, clicking to the next slide on the PowerPoint presentation, and they continued on for forty-five minutes. Davis Alanson took several pages of notes in his leather-bound notebook; his lawyer took at least twice as many notes. Jacques Alanson fidgeted in his chair and did not much else.
At the end of the presentation Joe felt as though he could have used a few good belts of something strong. Davis Alanson, who had been incredibly impressed with the presentation, clapped when Hathaway read through the last slide. The lawyer, whose name Joe had honestly forgotten, gave a small smile, which seemed to be the height of her emotional attachment. Jacques Alanson leapt out of his chair as soon as the presentation was over and shook hands, limply, with everyone in the room except for his father and the lawyer, who took the time to whisper to each other.
“That was excellent, just excellent, gentlemen,” Davis Alanson declared when he was finished whispering to Janine. “That was the most well-done presentation I’ve seen.”
“Dude,” Jacques Alanson said. “Uh! Your PowerPoint was sweet.”
Davis Alanson looked down at his gigantic silver watch. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. We’ll call you within the next few days to make our decision final.”
“Our president, Mr. Clay, wanted to meet with you before you left,” Hathaway said. “He asked if you would wait in his lounge.”
Davis gave Hathaway a smile. “Excellent. I’ve looked forward to discussing our next golf game!” He smiled. “Jacques, Janine, I’ll meet you in the lobby. Janine, will you phone Blumberg and let him know I’ll be late for the next meeting?”
Picking up his wool overcoat, Davis Alanson swept out of the conference room, Hathaway and Clark in his wake. Jacky followed him, slinging his leather-sleeved varsity-style jacket over his shoulder. Only the lawyer, Janine, was left in the room with Joe, who had begun picking up the brochures and pie charts. She busied herself putting papers into her black leather briefcase. Then, as though realizing that she wasn’t in the room alone, she looked up at Joe. “Your presentation was well done, Mr. DuBois.”
“Thanks,” Joe said.
“I suppose you could loosen your tie now,” the lawyer suggested.
Joe gave her a smile. “Is it that obvious that we don’t dress up that often?”
“You would probably be a bit more at home in a T-shirt and jeans, is that correct?”
“I do like dress down Fridays,” Joe agreed.
“Mr. DuBois, I’m not officially authorized to tell you this,” Janine said, “but Mr. Alanson would like to meet with you on Wednesday to discuss the future of the aerospace program at the Polytechnic Magnet Institute. Please be at the Alanson Complex at six-thirty on Wednesday evening.”
Having finished putting her papers into the briefcase, she snapped it shut and gave Joe a smile of her own, exposing a mouth of perfect white teeth. As she stepped away from Joe, she said, “And please, wear something a little more comfortable.”
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Rating: PG
Series: 7/?
Chapter Archive
Lee Scanlon was sitting in one of the empty chairs in Devalos’ office when Allison arrived. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and appeared to be taking a nap against the office-standard beige wall. His mouth drooped open, and a bright orange sucker was just visible over the rise of his white teeth.
Allison stopped three feet in front of him and watched the detective sleep for a moment or two, remembering last night’s dream. It had felt so incredibly real, the flagstones beneath her bare feet, the night’s cool darkness winding about her, Scanlon’s lips plastered against hers, the rising heat she felt in both of their bodies. A flush spread across her cheeks, and she was about to turn away from Scanlon when he sat straight up in the chair. The sucker clacked against his teeth and he grabbed it groggily. “Allison,” he said, and wiped his hand across his face. Was it her imagination, or did he look guilty too?
“Any news on Daniel Rakowsky?” Allison asked.
Scanlon shook his head as he tossed the sucker into a nearby wastebasket. “None. And we didn’t recover any viable evidence from the apartment where they took Abigail, either.”
“Nothing at all?”
Scanlon appeared to reconsider. “We found two things,” he said. “I don’t know if they’re significant or not.”
He reached into his blazer pocket and drew out two plastic evidence bags, which he handed to Allison. “See what you can make of these,” he suggested.
Allison accepted the bags from the detective. In one was a fish-shaped magnet, painted bright green and blue; in the other was a single blood-red rose.
“Look at the back of the magnet,” Scanlon said, and reached to turn over the bag. His hand brushed Allison’s, and a trace of heat flowed through their hands. Allison felt the heat rise up through her face; if she had been younger, she might have giggled. At best, she settled for looking intently at whatever it was Scanlon wanted to show her - a small golden crown, painted on the back of the fish.
“We found her at the Kingfisher Apartments,” Allison said as soon as she had made sense of the clue.
“So the kidnapper’s telling us what we already knew?” Scanlon asked.
“Maybe he wanted to tell us something else,” Allison said. “Did Abigail recognize the magnet?”
“She said it didn’t sound familiar,” Scanlon replied.
“I’ll show it to Rikki; maybe she’s seen it before.”
“And the rose?” Scanlon asked.
Allison pulled open the top of the bag and stuck her nose deep into it. The rose smelled fresh. “I don’t know,” she said.
Scanlon shook his head. “We’re stumped. We don’t have anything else to go on. Abigail Rakowsky didn’t recognize the voice of the man who took her, and it goes without saying that she didn’t see the car he drove, or anything else we could use to track the guy down, except that he was wearing a watch, and that could be any guy in Phoenix.”
“What about the letter?”
“What letter?”
“Yesterday Devalos said the kidnapper sent a letter to the police.”
“Oh, yeah, nothing ever came of that,” Scanlon said. “No return address, no canceled stamp. The font wasn’t special enough to be traceable, neither was the paper. There were no fingerprints on the letter itself, and the two salvageable fingerprints on the envelope got traced back to a man who died in September.”
“What did it say?” Allison asked.
“I don’t remember,” Scanlon said. “I can get a copy for you, though.”
“That would be great.”
Series: 8/?
Allison left Scanlon, who was still waiting for Devalos, and drove across town to the Rakowsky house. It was a three-story rambling Victorian monstrosity painted various shades of cobalt blue, and it sat on a large-ish parcel of land that backed up to a wooded area. There was a detached garage, painted in the same shades of blue as the house. The wrap-around porch had a metal ramp attached to one side of the stairs, and was empty except for two large potted evergreen topiaries, both cut in a spiral.
Allison paused for a moment on the porch and knocked twice on the door. She waited another moment, but no one came to the door. From her pocket she retrieved the key that Rikki had given her and the list they had compiled that morning. The key fit seamlessly in the lock and the doorknob turned silently.
Inside the Rakowsky house, all was still. The TV was off; the computer on the table next to it was dark as well. A bookcase next to the media equipment held several Tom Clancy, Stephen King, and Dean Koontz novels, all of J.R.R. Tolkien’s works, Vanna White’s biography, and two shelves of DVDs. There was a basket of neatly folded laundry on the glass coffee table, along with two “People” magazines, one “Journal of Criminal Law and Prosecution,” an open hard-bound book, and a bowl of peanut M & M’s with all of the yellow ones picked out. A blue and green afghan was folded and set on the dark navy couch. There were no toys on the floor, or pictures on the wall, or any other signs that suggested a happy family of five inhabited the house regularly.
Allison walked through the living room and was about to turn into the dining room when she noticed a gap in the shelf of DVDs. All of the other discs were arranged alphabetically, so the missing DVD would have been something between “Lady in the Water” and “The Matrix.” Allison looked around, but she didn’t find the missing DVD on the TV cabinet or anywhere else in the living room. Everything was so tidy and well-arranged that she was fairly certain that there was a missing disc.
The shades were drawn on the two windows in the dining room, leaving it dark and stuffy. The room was dominated by the big oval table in the center, surrounded by blue-cushioned chairs. In the center of the table was a cut-glass vase full of fresh purple and white lilacs. The rest of the room was taken up by two gigantic china cabinets. One held a set of white dishes with delicate hand-painted flowers and a gold rim; the other displayed blue-and-white Chinese dishes with a dragon theme. The drawers in both of the hutches were filled with snowy white napkins. The cabinets below the drawers were locked.
Allison couldn’t find a key for the cabinets, so she stood and went through the dining room and into the kitchen. The kitchen, of all the rooms she had been in, looked the most inhabited. There were two smeary finger-painted pictures on the refrigerator, held in place with two heart-shaped magnets. A chore chart written in print and Braille was taped to the cabinet next to the refrigerator. There was a pile of unopened mail on the tile-topped kitchen table and a pair of muddy sneakers underneath it. One of the cabinets hung open, exposing two boxes of Cheerios and a box of Total raisin bran. There were brightly-colored plastic bowls and plates in the sink.
The kitchen held no more surprises for Allison. She opened each of the drawers, looking for the key or keys that would fit into the hutch cabinets, but wasn’t able to find what she sought. For some reason she felt almost positive that there was something important in the cabinets, and she wanted to make sure before she left.
Off the kitchen, there was a half-bath and a small alcove that was being used as a mudroom. A hand carved wooden bench sat along the right wall, there was a dirt-catching rug on the floor, and several pairs of boots and shoes were lined up under the bench. A coat rack above the bench was draped with several sweaters, windbreakers, and fleece pullovers, and a small shelf above that held three or four well-worn baseball caps. There was also a wheelchair similar to Megan’s in the alcove; Allison figured it was a spare. A door at the far side of the alcove opened out into the dark and empty garage, which she decided to check at the very end, if she had any time.
A short hallway led down to two other rooms, both with closed doors. Allison chose the first door and opened it gently. It was a bedroom, probably Christopher’s. A twin bed was neatly made up with a plaid spread and a single white-cased pillow; a shelf above the bed displayed two trophies, a baseball in a clear plastic holder, and a green velvet jewelry box. Allison opened the box and was surprised to discover a heavy silver pocket watch with the name “Daniel” engraved on the back, along with the year 1975. A small bookcase held a bevy of science fiction novels and some hard-bound Reader’s Digest Condensed Books. Behind white metal doors, the closet was filled with navy, black, and red polo shirts, black and khaki pants, two pairs of jeans, and a pair of leather loafers. The dresser held white and black boxer shorts, white, black, and gray socks, white short-sleeved undershirts, two sets of long underwear (one white, one gray), and a few T-shirts from various organizations, including the Phoenix Run for Rett. There was a small desk wedged into the corner; the drawers contained neatly-sharpened pencils, black and blue ink pens, crisp yellow legal pads, a set of artist’s colored pencils, two gum erasers, and two small keys on a rusted key ring. Allison took the keys from the drawer and put them in the pocket of her blazer.
She shut the door of Christopher’s neat room behind her and turned to look at the other closed door. Checking her watch, she discovered that it was only eleven o’clock. She certainly had time to search the rest of the house before gathering the things that the Rakowsky girls needed.
The second door opened into an office. Heavy bookcases lined the walls; all of them were full of books. Allison noticed The Da Vinci Code and The Handy Physics Answer Book sharing space. There were several shelves of criminal law journals and textbooks, and two shelves full of nothing but paperback romance novels, all of them dog-eared. One of the bookshelves had a locked frosted glass front. Allison took the keys from her pocket and tried both of them; neither of them was a match.
She worked her way through the rest of the office, but found nothing incriminating or helpful. It was obviously Daniel Rakowsky’s private domain; case files relating to the Morales case were spread out on the desk’s blotter, and other drawers were filled with tax returns, mortgage payments, receipts, birthday cards, and family pictures. Everything was neatly organized, dated, and labeled. Allison found no evidence of the former Mrs. Rakowsky, except for a picture of the family on a beach, where a redheaded woman had her arm slung around the man Allison assumed to be Daniel Rakowsky and a boy she assumed to be Christopher. The back was dated and notated in silver ink, like most of the other pictures she had found: “Destin, FL, Spring Break 2001.” In the top desk drawer she found a single key on a piece of blue yarn, and it fit into the glass cabinet, which turned out to be empty.
There was nothing in Daniel Rakowsky’s office, so she left it and went upstairs. There were six rooms opening off the central hallway. Three of the rooms were girls’ bedrooms, and Allison had no trouble deciding which was which. She searched them quickly, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She went through the bathroom in the same manner, peeking in the medicine cabinet but discovering only aspirin, toothpaste, floss, and Sesame Street Band-Aids. There was one prescription bottle for Megan Rakowsky; not recognizing the name of the medication, Allison put it in her blazer pocket along with the keys. A cabinet held towels, extra toilet paper rolls, and bottles of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo and Pantene conditioner. Three decorative baskets (one for each girl) hung above the toilet held hairbrushes, hair elastics, barrettes, ribbons, and headbands. A rack on the sink held a green toothbrush, a pink toothbrush, and a purple toothbrush, all corresponding to the girls’ bedroom colors.
There were no signs of disorder; all of the girls’ rooms had neatly-made beds, well-organized bookshelves, and efficiently-ordered dressers and closets. Everything was clean and neat. So was the large room at the far end of the hall, which obviously served as a playroom, study, lounge, therapy center, and TV room. Like all of the other rooms, it was fastidiously tidy, and there was nothing strange or out of the ordinary. There were no locked cabinets in the playroom, nor were there any keys in any of the drawers. A search through the master bedroom and bath revealed nothing else worth noting. There were, as in all of the other bedrooms, shelves of books, tidy clothes, a made bed. In the bathroom there were signs of only one inhabitant, a man who used Speed Stick deodorant, Crest toothpaste, and Bic disposable razors. Allison wondered how the Rakowsky family kept their house so clean and still managed to live in it; she wondered if she could get Joe and the girls to keep their house so clean.
It was noon by the time she finished, and then went through the girls’ rooms again, checking off items on the list Rikki had prepared and putting them into duffel bags. Five days’ worth of clothes went into each bag, along with two books from Rikki and Abigail’s rooms, and classical cassette tapes and a stuffed elephant from Megan’s room. Allison retrieved their toothbrushes and hairbrushes, then zipped the duffels closed and set them by the front door.
In the kitchen she found a case of Pediasure and a red plastic toolbox, which Rikki had written near the bottom of the list. The last item was “feeding pump: should be near the kitchen table.” Allison looked around and discovered what she assumed was the pump; it was attached to an IV stand and was nearly out of sight next to the shelves holding cookbooks and the microwave. She must have missed it on her first round. Next to the IV stand was an umbrella stand made of some dark wood; in it were several white canes. She chose one and put it next to Abigail’s duffel.
When all of the things the girls had requested were safely in her car, Allison went back up the porch to the front door, intending to lock it. She reached into her pocket for the house key and instead brought out the two keys she had found in Chris’s desk drawer. She went back into the house and into the still-darkened dining room, where she tried each key in the cabinets at the bottom of the hutch. The first hutch was immovable; neither key would turn.
The second key on the ring fit into the second hutch’s cabinet, and it turned stiffly, as though it had not been opened in a long time. Allison kept her fingers tight on the key, trying not to snap it off in the lock. With a low, resounding click, the lock opened. Allison pulled on the cabinet’s knob and swung the door open.
Whatever she had thought was in the cabinets - vases, the good silver, copies of The Kama Sutra - it wasn’t there. Instead, the cabinet was empty except for a blue-and-green fish magnet, and a single blood-red rose. She could hardly believe it, and her hand shot out before she remembered both of the items were evidence. Then she stopped, suddenly cognizant of the fact that the magnet would have to be fingerprinted. With the keys she had taken from Christopher’s desk drawer, she turned the magnet over.
On the back, a sticker shaped like a Chinese lantern marred the back of the painted fish, and there was a single word written in black marker: “Danny.”
Series: 9/?
“Joe?”
Joe looked up. Peter Hathaway was in the hallway, clutching his presentation notes and his fat leather planner. “Mr. Alanson is here,” Peter said.
“I’ll be right there,” Joe said. “I just need to transfer my notes to a disk.”
He waved his disk at Hathaway, who smiled. “Well, okay then. We start in ten minutes.”
Hathaway disappeared from Joe’s doorway, and Joe hurried through the rest of his email, deleting ads for Viagra and 10% off textbooks. Closing the browser, he slipped the disk into the drive and quickly transferred his PowerPoint presentation to the disk’s only folder: “Alanson.”
Two minutes later he removed the disk from the drive and gathered the rest of his presentation meetings, which included two pie charts done on foam-core board and some brochures that he and Hathaway and Clark had prepared.
Hathaway was already speaking when Joe entered the conference room. He liked Hathaway, who was forty-ish, with white-blond hair and a disarming smile. Since they’d all been told to dress up for the Alanson presentation, Hathaway was wearing what he referred to as his “best suit” - a navy blue number with a dark navy pinstripe, plus a crisp white shirt and a solid cobalt blue tie.
Clark, full name Andrew Patterson Packard Clark, the other member of their presentation team, was in his early twenties. He was the company’s newest “hot shot,” and he liked to live up to his reputation. Sometimes he was worthy of his interactions with the older scientists, and sometimes he just looked like a fourth grader infiltrating a high school sex ed class. Dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender shirt underneath, his tie was a darker shade of purple with a small blue dot pattern. His boyish face looked flushed in the conference room lights, which shone on the very white part in his dark brown hair.
“… And here’s our last team member, Joe DuBois,” Hathaway said as Joe shut the conference room door behind him. “Joe, this is Davis Alanson.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Joe said, extending his hand towards their guest. Davis Alanson was in his late fifties and bore an air of old money and new disinterest. With him was a small, bespectacled woman with a timid expression on her face.
“This is my lawyer, Janine Bernhard, and my son will be joining us for the presentation,” Davis Alanson informed them. “He should be along shortly.”
Davis had barely finished his sentence when the conference room door was banged open and a gawky man in his twenties half-ran, half-fell into the room. Unlike his father, who was wearing a classically tailored black Italian suit with a light blue oxford shirt, or the lawyer, who was somber in a black pantsuit with a small gold brooch on the jacket, the younger Alanson sported a wrinkled white oxford, rumpled khakis, black-and-white tennis shoes, and a Bugs Bunny tie. “Uh! Sorry I’m late!” he exclaimed. He stuck out his pale, bony-wristed hand in Joe’s general direction. “I’m Jacques Alanson. But you - uh! - can call me Jacky.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Joe repeated.
“If you’re ready, we can begin,” Hathaway suggested. Joe handed him the disk with their presentation, the three scientists gave one last tug to their best ties, and they were off and away. Clark spoke first, mostly because he had recently graduated from Yale Business School and had a better head for the logistics of a business proposition. Joe had to admit that Clark could have sold a sauna in Hell, and wondered if the young up-and-comer would have been happier selling something.
Twenty minutes of what Hathaway referred to as the “opening act” later, and it was time for Joe to give his part of the presentation. He put his pie charts on the flimsy metal easel in the corner and gave the Alansons and the lawyer some of the brochures. “Now, we’re aware that you’re attempting to start an aerospace program at the Polytechnic Magnet Institute in Seven Palms. The curriculum we’re presenting here today is designed to be the best you will find at any comparable institute.”
Hathaway took over, clicking to the next slide on the PowerPoint presentation, and they continued on for forty-five minutes. Davis Alanson took several pages of notes in his leather-bound notebook; his lawyer took at least twice as many notes. Jacques Alanson fidgeted in his chair and did not much else.
At the end of the presentation Joe felt as though he could have used a few good belts of something strong. Davis Alanson, who had been incredibly impressed with the presentation, clapped when Hathaway read through the last slide. The lawyer, whose name Joe had honestly forgotten, gave a small smile, which seemed to be the height of her emotional attachment. Jacques Alanson leapt out of his chair as soon as the presentation was over and shook hands, limply, with everyone in the room except for his father and the lawyer, who took the time to whisper to each other.
“That was excellent, just excellent, gentlemen,” Davis Alanson declared when he was finished whispering to Janine. “That was the most well-done presentation I’ve seen.”
“Dude,” Jacques Alanson said. “Uh! Your PowerPoint was sweet.”
Davis Alanson looked down at his gigantic silver watch. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. We’ll call you within the next few days to make our decision final.”
“Our president, Mr. Clay, wanted to meet with you before you left,” Hathaway said. “He asked if you would wait in his lounge.”
Davis gave Hathaway a smile. “Excellent. I’ve looked forward to discussing our next golf game!” He smiled. “Jacques, Janine, I’ll meet you in the lobby. Janine, will you phone Blumberg and let him know I’ll be late for the next meeting?”
Picking up his wool overcoat, Davis Alanson swept out of the conference room, Hathaway and Clark in his wake. Jacky followed him, slinging his leather-sleeved varsity-style jacket over his shoulder. Only the lawyer, Janine, was left in the room with Joe, who had begun picking up the brochures and pie charts. She busied herself putting papers into her black leather briefcase. Then, as though realizing that she wasn’t in the room alone, she looked up at Joe. “Your presentation was well done, Mr. DuBois.”
“Thanks,” Joe said.
“I suppose you could loosen your tie now,” the lawyer suggested.
Joe gave her a smile. “Is it that obvious that we don’t dress up that often?”
“You would probably be a bit more at home in a T-shirt and jeans, is that correct?”
“I do like dress down Fridays,” Joe agreed.
“Mr. DuBois, I’m not officially authorized to tell you this,” Janine said, “but Mr. Alanson would like to meet with you on Wednesday to discuss the future of the aerospace program at the Polytechnic Magnet Institute. Please be at the Alanson Complex at six-thirty on Wednesday evening.”
Having finished putting her papers into the briefcase, she snapped it shut and gave Joe a smile of her own, exposing a mouth of perfect white teeth. As she stepped away from Joe, she said, “And please, wear something a little more comfortable.”