Childless: A Novel (28 page)

The bartender
reached for the empty glass. “Another round?”

The question interrupted Tyler’s concentration. “What’s that?”

“I asked if you need a refill.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks. Diet cola.”

The man smirked at an order more suited to a fast-food joint than his establishment. “You sure you don’t want something stiffer? You look like you could use it.”

“Not tonight.” Tyler pointed to his open tablet. “Still on duty.”

The man went away for a moment and returned with a fresh glass of ice. He slid it forward along with an unopened can of soda. “Enjoy.”

Tyler nodded, then resumed his digital doodling, jotting down each new clue found in the latest letter.

Tyler deleted the last line when he realized the differences were too slight to suggest another author. It was probably the same hand more nervous due to rising stakes. He continued reviewing the list.

The first three letters had been sent from the Boulder area. The fourth from Denver. This one had no origination postal code or any other mark suggesting a location. It had come on a delivery truck Rebecca Santiago hadn’t been able to describe.

As in the earlier letters.

Easy enough to find with a simple online search of news clippings.

In short, nothing useful.

Tyler took a sip of his soda to cool a rising anger at Smitty’s decision. At this very moment Jennifer McKay was informing the judge of a vague threat rather than insisting that he correspond with the writer or resign from the case.

He scanned the letter again, resting his eyes on the postscript.

Why not send a short note promising to decide in favor of NEXT? It would neutralize the threat and, perhaps, provide a few additional clues. The judge could ignore the promise and decide the case as he saw fit. By then they might even have caught the culprit.

But Tyler knew the suggestion would fall on deaf ears. Judge Santiago would rather risk his life than undermine his integrity, a fact Tyler found both exasperating and laudable. He wondered what, if anything, he himself would risk his own life to protect. Certainly not his integrity. That was already in the toilet.

Tyler glanced again at the signature line.

It must mean something. But what?

He quickly typed the name into a search field for what must have been the tenth time since taking the case. The same useless list of results appeared.

That’s when it struck him. Maybe the words weren’t a pseudonym at all. Maybe they were a description. Not a first initial and last name, but a title, like A CANADIAN or A DENVER BRONCOS FAN.

He looked at the list of links again to spot any group or organization that might accept members. Perhaps a religious order, or a club, or an online chat association with dues. Nothing fit.

He narrowed the search criteria to anything near Boulder. Twenty results: two of the top five included the name Dr. Thomas Vincent, chairman of the Religious Studies department at the University of Colorado.

“Bingo!” Tyler said aloud.

“Nope,” the bartender responded while wiping the counter. “But we host a poker match every Monday night.”

Tyler chuckled at the misunderstanding, then tapped the first link. Apparently this Dr. Vincent fellow taught a course on ancient religious controversies in the very city from which the first letters had been sent.

He tapped the second link and learned Dr. Vincent had also written a book about Manichaeism. The author’s biography said he was a leading authority on a wide range of philosophies that had been largely rejected by the early Christian church.

Tyler launched another search, this time typing the name Thomas Vincent in conjunction with Boulder, Colorado. A long list of results surfaced: video highlights from prior lectures, free downloads from an upcoming book about something called Gnosticism, and a whole string of spicy photos posted by college-age girls to his personal attention. Tyler pulled up several of the pictures before ordering himself to focus on the task at hand.

He dialed the number listed on the university’s website. A recorded female voice answered, accompanied by a pleasant musical selection. He glanced at the time. Past office hours.

He tapped Smitty’s image to ask for help. Within ten minutes he had Dr. Vincent’s private number compliments of a citizen-watch database law enforcement agencies could access with a proper warrant. A warrant Jennifer McKay had gladly procured from the judge.

He dialed the number. A voice answered. “Thomas Vincent.”

Tyler found himself at a loss for words. What to say? He couldn’t mention the letters. After all, the professor was a possible suspect.

“Hello,” Tyler began hesitantly. “Forgive me for the intrusion, but is this the same Dr. Vincent who wrote the famous book on a religious movement known as Manichaeism?”

A brief laugh from the other end of the line. “I’d hardly call it famous. Academic works don’t sell many downloads. But yes, I’m the author. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

A nice-sounding man. Very respectful. Just like the letters.

“Tyler Cain. I’m doing research on a project and was encouraged to call you for help. I’m told you’re the most respected voice in your field.”

A bit of flattery couldn’t hurt, especially when talking to an academic who seemed more distinguished than famous.

“Well, I’m happy to do what I can,” Dr. Vincent said. “Who recommended me?”

Tyler felt a slight panic. What to say? “I’m embarrassed to say it, but I forgot the person’s name. We met on a plane and struck up a conversation.”

“A student of mine?”

“I think so.”

“Hmm. A young woman?”

Tyler thought for a second. Play the odds. Other than in the movies, killers tend to be male. “A man.”

“Really?”

“Is that surprising?” Tyler asked.

“I don’t give this number out to many of my male students.”

Tyler glanced back at the spicy pictures.
What a life
! he mused.

“Well, no matter,” the professor continued. “How can I help?”

“I was hoping you could point me in the right direction on something.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Should he risk mentioning the signatures? Without eye contact Tyler would have no way of sensing the professor’s reaction. What if Dr. Vincent had written the letters? Or delivered them? Would this call ruin any hope of cornering the culprit? Maybe. But Tyler was running out of time and options. He decided to chance it.

“Do you know anyone who would call himself a Manichean?”

“A Manichean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, yes. Of course.”

“Really? Who?”

“Well, the most notable would be Augustine.”

Tyler quickly grabbed his tablet. “Could you spell that name?”

The professor laughed at the request. “Certainly you’re familiar with Saint Augustine.”

“Saint?”

“Fourth century. Bishop of Hippo.” Dr. Vincent’s voice sounded suspicious; he had been tipped off by Tyler’s appalling ignorance.

“Truth is,” Tyler began, “I don’t know much about ancient religions or philosophy or anything of the sort.”

A brief silence. “What’s this about? Who gave you this number?”

“The police.”

“The police?” Dr. Vincent said with alarm. “Why would the police give you my private number? Come to think of it, why do they even
have
my private number?”

Tyler couldn’t see the professor’s eyes, but his voice carried no hint of guilty avoidance. Tyler decided to come clean by telling Dr. Vincent about the letters.

“I see,” the professor responded after listening in silence.

“Do you have any idea who would be eager for NEXT to win its appeal and describe himself as a Manichean?”

Dr. Vincent thought for a moment before mumbling something beneath his breath. Possibly a name.

“What’s that?” Tyler asked.

“I had a student this past year who seemed particularly interested in Manichean philosophy. As it happens, he also has a transition inheritance tied up with his late mother’s estate. I think he might have mentioned something about the NEXT lawsuit, but I couldn’t say for sure.”

“What’s the student’s name?”

The professor hesitated. “I can’t imagine this young man doing anything so stupid. He wants to be a teacher. And he’s worked very hard.”

“You’d be surprised what people will do when they get desperate,” Tyler said. “I just want to ask the guy a few questions. Can you please tell me his name?”

Another pause. “His name is Matthew. Matthew Adams.”

“Thank you, Dr. Vincent. Does Matthew Adams live in student housing on campus?”

“He’s no longer a student. He plans to return to school next year if he can—” The professor stopped short.

“If he can what?” Tyler pushed, sensing the professor knew more than he wanted to reveal. “If he can get the money?”

“Yes.”

Double bingo!

“Which will happen if the transition inheritance is released?”

“I suppose,” Dr. Vincent agreed grudgingly.

“Do you have any idea where we might find Mr. Adams now?” Tyler asked. “Please, Dr. Vincent, this could be a matter of life and death.”

The professor explained that Matthew had left Boulder to take an elder-care job in the Denver area.

“And when did you last speak to Mr. Adams?”

“Last week. He came to me for advice on dealing with his client.”

“Did he mention an address? Give you a phone number? Anything like that?”

“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Vincent replied, as if relieved by his own ignorance. “Like I said. Somewhere in the Denver area.”

Tyler thanked the professor and left the door open for a follow-up inquiry before ending the call.

He had a name.

He had a general location.

And he still had two days.

Tyler smiled in self-congratulation as he reached for the soda can to refill his glass. Then he paused, motioning toward the bartender, who was refilling a collection of empty nut bowls.

“I think I’ll have that stiff drink now,” he said. “I’m suddenly in the mood to celebrate.”

It felt
good to receive Maria’s long embrace, the sorrow Julia had managed to conceal from Troy for the past thirty-six hours finally erupting into her sister’s nurturing arms. It had only taken three gently spoken words.

“I’m sorry, Sis.”

Despite her embarrassment, Julia thanked Maria for listening, for caring, and for promising not to say anything to Troy.

The two now sat on a large rock in silence, holding hands as they had when they were little girls during a thunderstorm. A streak of early-morning sunlight peered over the nearby mountains, brightening the stony trail they intended to hike.

Maria spoke first. “Are they certain? No chance at all?”

“Not much. The doctor mentioned a surgical option. But that rarely helps.” Julia paused to swallow back another flood of tears. Then she continued. “She said most couples in our situation use a sperm bank.”

“Would Troy be open to that?”

“He wants a child badly.” Julia wiped her nose with a tissue she had retrieved from her jogging suit pocket. “But he wants
our
child. How would he feel about a baby that was half me and half some other guy? Could he love that child like he would his own flesh and blood?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. And I’m afraid to ask.”

Maria placed her hand on Julia’s shoulder. “What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid he’ll say yes. You know Troy. He’ll do whatever he thinks would make me happy. But would it make
him
happy? I’m afraid I’d never really know how he felt about a child that his wife had with a complete stranger.”

“Julia!” Maria said sternly. “You make it sound like you’re contemplating a one-night stand. It’s not like that. Couples use sperm donors all the time.”

Julia laughed self-consciously. “I know, I know,” she said with a sigh. “I’m probably being silly. Of course it’s not wrong. But it still doesn’t feel quite right. At least not for Troy. Or for me.”

Maria nodded quietly, waiting a few seconds, then stood up. “Do you still want to go?”

Julia nodded, glad to move beyond self-pity. She loved nothing more than a brisk walk along Bear Creek Lake to help clear her head and regain perspective.

Neither said anything for thirty or forty paces. Then Maria asked, “Have you thought about adoption?”

The question raised a different cloud over Julia’s demeanor. Not personal grief, but the memory of a disturbing discovery. While researching dark zone trends Julia had learned there was a five-year waiting list for adoptable infants. Five years!

“There aren’t any babies available,” she said without explanation.

“You can’t be serious. There must be some babies in need of a good home.”

“Very few. It seems harvesting pays better than delivery.”

The comment appeared to startle Maria. She stopped walking and turned toward her sister. “What did you say?”

“Fetus harvesting. It’s become a fairly large industry supporting the embryotic supply chain.”

“The what?”

“You know: surgical repair material, cosmetics, health supplements. That sort of thing.”

It took a moment for Maria to connect the dots. “Wait. You mean that’s what they mean when they say ‘embryotics’?”

Julia nodded. “You can sell a two-month-old fetus for a few thousand dollars. So, unless you want to raise a child, what’s the motivation for women to invest nine months getting fat, visiting doctors, and buying prenatal vitamins? It’s illegal to sell a live baby due to human trafficking laws. But embryos can be sold without hassle or questions.”

Maria appeared every bit as troubled as Julia had been when confronted with the naked facts. But the process had never been a secret. It had just remained hidden in plain sight thanks to naïve indifference, or perhaps willful ignorance. In the back of Julia’s and Maria’s minds they must have known that someone, somewhere had been harvesting embryos. Like everyone else, they had chosen not to ask where the raw materials fueling the public’s enhanced appearance and extended years came from. The look on Maria’s face reminded Julia of her own earlier epiphany. They were like two children stumbling upon a suspicious dog kennel beside their daddy’s butcher shop.

Eager to move beyond the depressing and dark, Julia raised a lighter subject as they continued their walk. “So, tell me about your date. How was the reunion with the high school mystery suitor?”

Maria smiled, then frowned. “Well, despite your worst fears he didn’t turn out to be a mass murderer hoping to rape and strangle me.”

Julia laughed at the reminder of her overprotective warnings. “That’s good news. So, what’s his name?”

“Matthew.”

“And?”

“And we met for coffee.”

“A public place. Very good. You listened to me. Did you meet during daylight hours like I—”

Maria slapped her sister’s arm.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Love pat,” Maria said playfully. “Yes, Julia, we met in the daytime. Now will you quit with the hovercraft questions?”

“Sorry. Tell me about him.”

“I didn’t remember him at first. But he sure knew me. He could tell you what I was wearing the day we sat together in the cafeteria, what I said when I refused his invitation to the prom, and how many pictures I’ve posted online in the past year.”

“Sounds creepy to me.”

“It wasn’t like that. At least not at first. I thought it was kind of sweet. Flattering.”

“Maria,” Julia said severely. “That’s how it always starts with you. They look. They like. They flatter. They enjoy. And then they leave.”

“Not this time. I ended it before reaching the ‘enjoy’ phase.”

Julia was genuinely surprised. “Really? Just like that? What happened?”

“He didn’t pass the Jared test.”

“The what?”

“Jared made me promise I would introduce him to any guy I liked enough for a potentially serious relationship. So he came with me on my second date with Matthew. It didn’t go well.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing really. Jared just got bad vibes. He wants me to marry someone like your Troy. This guy didn’t come close.”

“Was he mean?”

“No. Quite nice actually.”

“Then what?”

Maria appeared to be searching for the right word. “Needy. No, weak. That’s the word. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would put me before himself. At least that’s how Jared read him.”

“I see. Disappointed?”

“A bit. He was cute. And it was my first real date in six months. But I’m learning not to trust my own first impressions.”

They walked another quarter mile before either spoke again.

“I’m proud of you, Sis,” Julia finally said. “I bet it made Jared feel good knowing you respected his opinion enough to end the relationship.”

“It did.” A sigh. “I’m OK with the decision. There was something odd about Matthew anyway. It kind of gnawed at me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. At least not until after Jared gave him the thumbs-down. Then I remembered feeling something was off-kilter when he first contacted me. He used a really weird online handle.”

“A lot of guys do that when using online connection services.”

“I know. But most use something fun like ‘Lover Boy’ or ‘Dream Man.’ Matt used something pretty strange. I can’t remember it exactly.
A Manichu
or
A Mannequin
. Something like that.”

Julia stopped in her tracks.

Maria took several steps before noticing, then turned back. “What?”

“Was it
A Manichean
?”

“That’s it!” Maria said with surprise. “How on earth did you know?”

Six minutes later both sisters were sitting in Julia’s car.

“That’s the same name I got from a Dr. Vincent I called last night,” Tyler Cain’s voice was saying through the stereo speakers. “He’s a professor on ancient religions in Boulder who said Matthew Adams recently moved from Boulder to Denver to take an elder-care job. Triple bingo!”

“An elder-care job?” Maria said. “He told me he was in town on business.”

“Did he mention an address?” Tyler asked.

“No. I assumed he was staying in a hotel.”

Tyler cursed. “Well, I already tried the address change information service. They list the Boulder address he left but nothing on this end.”

“No mail-forwarding mailing address?” Julia asked.

“One of those rental box places. I had planned to try tracking it down this morning.”

“But there must be a hundred of those places in the Denver area.”

“Three hundred and twenty-seven, actually. Smitty said the police have no record of credit card use since Matthew moved from Boulder. He seems to have gone underground. No address. Cash purchases. So I have to start with what I’ve got.”

“Who’s Smitty?” Maria asked.

“My former partner with the Denver police.”

“Did you check for an active bank account?” Julia suggested. “Surely that would have his new address.”

“I couldn’t get any information over the phone. My call routed to somebody named ‘Jeremy’ in one of those foreign call centers in North Korea or Vietnam. You know how they talk. Anyway, I plan to stop by the major bank branches when they open this morning, right after I get a compulsory cooperation document from Smitty.”

“Wait a minute,” Julia said while looking at her sister. “Maria was in touch with Matthew last week.”

“A few days ago, actually. But I told you. I sent him a Dear John message. It’s over between us.”

“I bet you said goodbye in a way that would keep the door open in case you ever changed your mind.”

“Julia!” Maria reacted with offense.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

A nod.

“I thought so.”

“That’s perfect!” Tyler interjected. “Maria, I need you to send Matthew Adams another message.”

“Saying what?” she asked. “Matt’s not likely to respond if I tell him the police want to talk to him.”

“No,” Tyler agreed. “But I bet he’d respond if you told him you would like to see him again.”

“That you’d
love
to see him again,” Julia corrected as she shoved her tablet in front of Maria.

She reluctantly accepted the device. “I’m not so sure about this. What if he—”

“Please, Maria, just type whatever Mr. Cain suggests.”

She did, carefully following Tyler’s wording to request a rendezvous later that afternoon.

Just before Maria hit
SEND
, Julia placed her hand on her sister’s arm, then suggested one last action. She reached for the tablet and pointed. “Wink.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said wink at the camera. We’re attaching a snapshot.”

Maria glowered at her sister. Then dutifully obeyed.