Dawson's Web (23 page)

He was aroused and came at her from behind, moving himself gently in between the gap between her thighs.

He didn’t penetrate her, choosing to let her know he was there and needed her simply by his touch.

He wasn’t going to force himself on her.

She responded to the tenderness of his approach by backing into him, reaching around and encircling her hand around him.

The warm water felt good as it cascaded over their naked bodies and they soaped each other, hands exploring, tenderly kissing.

Snake Brain and Sane Brain were ecstatic.

They both wanted her, but they didn’t want her as a brunette.

It just wouldn’t be right.

She had to be blonde.

Jeff left the shower and reentered, brought the bottle of Clairol and began to gently apply it to her hair while she let the warm water envelope her.

“Keep your eyes shut, my love,” he whispered. “You don’t want to get any of this in them.”

Within 45 minutes and after applying the conditioner, her dark brunette locks were a golden blonde color. He could hardly control himself when he rinsed her hair under the shower.

With her haircut, she looked just like the model on the box and was now a perfect match to his stepmother, much more so than Charlene.

He couldn’t believe his luck.  He almost, but not quite, felt a tinge of guilt for what he had done to the CVS clerk. She had given him good advice about the color. It was perfect.

But then he recalled her squeaky—like nails on a blackboard—voice and the guilt faded away.

He picked Stephanie up in his arms, took her to the bedroom and began his games.

Allan Wasson, a 42-year-old gaunt devout bachelor, engineer and homebody sat at his computer terminal in one of the 15 Network Operations Centers for Global Telecom.

He was lucky that he now worked the day shift. But that’s only because he did 15 years working swing and midnight shift earlier in his career, totally foregoing any personal life he might have had, which, on a good day, was nil, and on a bad day was zero.

That’s why he spent his spare time growing, trimming and selling bonsai trees to the local flower shops. He was really quite good at it, and it took his mind off his pathetic lonely lifestyle. It also put over $500 a month; tax free, into his pocket.

His job at Global was to take requests from the local authorities and gather phone records during ongoing police investigations.

A flash message came up on his screen from Los Angeles.

He was in Spokane.

But because the phone system was connected to everything and everyone, it was all one web of data woven together by thousands of computers, and he was the master spider.

He could reach into anyone’s account. He had that super sys-admin privileges which were only granted to him because he was squeaky clean. The background investigation he went through even included an interview with his seventh grade teacher, Ms. Stevens, who actually remembered him.

Yep, the government was thorough in whom they entrusted the ability to access such privacy data. There was only two hundred of his ilk who had such access. He was privileged among the privileged. He knew it and he was happy about it. It paid for his hobbies and an occasional trip to Seattle to enjoy the nightlife, where he would cruise the red light district and satisfy his needs.  He rationalized it was certainly cheaper than a girlfriend or wife, neither of which he would ever have to worry about.

He was a pathetic specimen of a human being.

He had male-pattern baldness, only weighed ninety-three pounds, and had such bad breath from very poor oral hygiene, that even when using the strongest mouthwash the odor could not be entirely eliminated.

With only a few keystrokes, he was able to bring up Jeff Dawson’s 30-day history of his phone locations.

Because every phone has a GPS chip in it, if activated, the data is stored and available to law enforcement, but only through court orders.

Had Jeff not left his location services on his Galaxy 6s, this would have been a little bit more difficult, but not impossible, for Allan to process the request he just received.

He went back to his screen and saved the map locations for the past 30 days. He sent it in an email to the Los Angeles Police Department.

He went back to reading the latest Clive Cussler novel, put his feet up on his desk and waited for another request.

He was making $240,000 a year for what he did for Global. What a great job. And he was on day shift!

The Network Operations Center at LAPD immediately routed Allan’s message to Capt. Palmer and to the lead investigator on the blonde murderer’s case, Fred McCallister.

Fred was on the 110 freeway, which runs north and south connecting San Pedro to Pasadena. It’s one of the oldest freeways in LA. The part he was on passed by the LA Harbor. Off to his left he could see the massive cranes used to lift the cargo from the freighters that came in and out of the harbor like clockwork.

He was heading towards the departure point for the Catalina express. He heard the distinctive “Bing” of his iPhone and, disobeying corporate policy, he grabbed the phone and looked at the message.

He didn’t want to risk an accident, so he pulled off at the next exit, parking his cruiser on the side of the road and read it.

He found what he was looking for.

Just 24 hours earlier, Jeff’s phone was located at his home. A day before that, his phone was located at the CVS store where the murdered clerk had worked. Two hours later, the location clearly showed Jeff was at Gladstone’s in Malibu.

Although, the data he had was circumstantial, he knew he had him. He got on the phone and relayed his findings to Palmer.

“We got him boss.  I have Jeff Dawson’s cell phone records and locations for the last 30 days.”

Thanks for putting through the paperwork so I could get access. With all of these privacy laws, I know it wasn’t easy. Hell, this is my last case, but I’m going to close it thanks to you.”

Captain Palmer didn’t understand what Fred was saying. He hadn’t signed any paperwork, and there wasn’t a court order.

Captain Dawson came on. “So you have his cellphone records and his locations?”

“Yes, times and locations clearly tie him to the murder of the CVS clerk and his wife. I talked to the boys in forensics and they downloaded his latest texts. The guy was so stupid, he texted from his own home saying he was going to Catalina within minutes of his wife’s death.”

I have all I need.”

Palmer cringed.

“Alert the Sheriff’s Department at the Isthmus. It should only take me an hour and a half to get there.”  Fred got back on the freeway.

“I’m almost to the Catalina Express terminal. The trip will take an hour so I’ll grab him when I get to the island.

What a good way to end a career.

I put in a request to do a search on his phone records for the last six month when all this started. I’ll guarantee you he will show up as having been near or at the actual murder locations.

We have this bastard!

Guaranteed.”

Fred parked his car at the terminal, purchased his ticket and continued talking to Palmer while he boarded. “The son of a bitch is so stupid he still has his location services on so I know exactly where he is. I don’t know what boat he’s on, but the accuracy is within 15 meters. I think I can figure it out.”

Captain Palmer went to the DA and issued an arrest warrant on Jeffrey Dawson. The evidence was overwhelming.  He also tried to explain how Fred got the data without a court order.

Because of the seriousness of the case, the DA ignored the fact that there was no court order. He and Palmer would confer on this later.

They had him!

But could they keep him?

It all depended on the judge who would sign the next search warrant of his cellphone records, which Palmer was rushing through right now.

“By the time you get there, the warrant will be issued. I’ll call the Isthmus.

God’s speed.

Good way to end a career.

Be careful, Fred.”

Palmer hung up.

.

Chapter 39

Giovanni and Fred were on the same Catalina Express to the Isthmus. They didn’t know it, and even if they had it wouldn’t have mattered. They were both searching for different people, who happened to be on the same boat.

The ride would only take them an hour and a few minutes if boarding went as scheduled.

But today, it didn’t.

Mostly hikers and wannabe scuba divers took the Express along with those who would be meeting their yachting friends, but, because of their propensity to sea sickness, preferred an hour trip versus a crossing that would take six times as long.

Taking the Catalina Express was the easiest and cheapest way to get to the Isthmus.

Today there were three troops of Boy Scouts line up at the gangway with their camping equipment spread out like a yard sale. There was also a church group, who would commune with nature and have a service for their lost church member near the accident that took his life three years prior when a helicopter with seven people crashed in between Isthmus and Cat Harbor.

Boarding was not going to be easy.

Because of all the delays, they arrived at 5:30 instead of the published time of 4:45.

Fred saw the sheriff’s boat leaving a sailboat when the Catalina Express pulled into the Isthmus.

He took a mental note, but didn’t think to search Jeff’s location, which was being updated on his smart phone every ten minutes.

(He had his orders. He was instructed to check in with the sheriff by Palmer earlier before he attempted to locate Jeff. This was a precaution to keep him safe and in case Jeff put up any resistance upon being found.)

Checking Jeff’s location now wouldn’t matter.

Jeff wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

Fred would do it after checking with the sheriff as he was instructed to do.

He hadn’t been to Catalina, let alone the Isthmus, since he was a young man.

The last time he was there was on a crazy spring break vacation, which is where he met his wife.

Memories of the times they had then flooded his mind as the Express pulled into the dock.  He could still see her struggling trying to get their tent and her suitcase off the boat.  He remembered working hard himself carrying a full dive gear bag, which weighed over 80 pounds.  She had the easier job. All she had to do was get her backpack and the food ashore.

God, he wished she were here with him now so they could enjoy his retirement together.

God wasn’t there to answer, but he had better plans for Fred.

Fred just didn’t know them at the time.

He felt ill knowing she was gone from his life.

He fought off the feelings and focused on his task at hand.

Had he searched Jeff’s location on his cellphone (You used to call me on my cellphone….late night when you need my love…call me on my cellphone….) he would have seen there were only two other boats next to Arachne and the dot on Google maps placed Jeff’s phone between them.

At exactly 8:30 PM, Charlene had had enough.

She had come ashore with John and Randy to chill, not to watch John and Randy make fools of themselves.

Randy and John had bonded.

They were ignoring her and that wasn’t to be tolerated. She had given everything to Randy.

He was her soulmate, or at least that’s what she thought.

Obviously, that was not the case with him.

His actions now were entirely inappropriate to her.

It wasn’t right, in her mind.

Randy and John had been drinking non-stop since they arrived.  They were shitfaced drunk.

She was feeling little pain as well, but that’s not the issue.

From Charlene’s point of view, both men were acting stupid.

It wasn’t as if she were such a prude that she could pass judgment on people, she wasn’t that way at all.

But she had been through a lot that day and she didn’t need to experience what was happening right in front of her.

She wanted to leave Randy. Because of what had happened earlier and because he was being indifferent to her, she was questioning everything.  She could put her goals of being an actress behind her.

She could find another way.

Why was she with him anyway?  Why?

The weekend trip was supposed to be stress free. It was supposed to be fun. It wasn’t.  He made it UNFUN.

Todd, whom she only met recently, was dead.

What’s up with that?

Although she didn’t know him well, his death caused her to question her own mortality and her decisions about the future.

The questions went unanswered.

Randy certainly wasn’t providing any. He was too drunk.

She started to review her own life.

She was reconsidering her choices.

Randy and John were dancing with two bimbos they had bought several drinks for since they got to the Isthmus bar.

John’s date was what looked like a 30-year old model. She was tanned, wearing a string bikini, which was more like dental floss, and had a see-through cover on, which didn’t hide anything.

When they slow danced, it disgusted Charlene.

So much for fidelity!

John was married, but you couldn’t tell it by the way he was fondling the model.

“Men are such assholes, even the married ones,” she thought.

All a woman needs to do is act like they’re interested, and if they are even modestly attractive, they could have any man any time.

(Hell that was her profession. That’s why Randy and she had made so much money over the short time they were together.)

That’s also why they were in Catalina and not New York anymore. Had it not been for Randy’s greed in doing the one last swindle on Hans, things might be different for her.

But they weren’t.

She turned her attention to Randy who had hooked up with a cute girl in cut-off jeans who could be no more than 25.

Seeing this, she erupted.

She was done.

Randy was no better than John.

She repeated under her breath, “All men are assholes” as she got up to catch a shore boat back to Arachne.

She had drunk several buffalo milks, a concoction of several sweet liquors that were the favorites of the Isthmus crowd. People called them alcoholic milkshakes.

She was drunk.

She left the bar and wandered to the dock.

Giovanni had just finished dinner when he walked into the bar. He saw a girl matching Charlene’s description leaving and decided to tail her.

He stood in the shadows and watched as she waited for the shore boat.

He walked back into the bar and asked the bartended who the blonde was that just left.

He said her name was Charlene.

He had her.

Now what?

He waited and watched, seating himself on the park bench that fronted the gangway leading to the shore boats.

He could grab her here and now, but that probably wouldn’t be the wisest idea. There was a sheriff standing near the dock.

He took his hand off his gun and continued watching, thinking what and how he would get her. He took his cellphone out of his pocket and took a picture of her.  She had turned her head to talk to the sheriff probably asking how long it would take to get the boat. In that brief moment, he had what he needed for Hans.

He texted it to Hans, telling him he was close to having completed his mission asking Hans if this was the girl he had been with.

Hans saw the picture and immediately replied a single word…YES.

Fifteen minutes later, Charlene climbed aboard Arachne, and went below.

Giovanni waited on the dock and caught the next shore boat toward Arachne.

Charlene heard Jeff and Stephanie moaning in the master stateroom and peeked in.

Stephanie had mounted Jeff and was grinding away on top of him.

Her back was facing Charlene, but because of the angle, she could see Stephanie’s breasts bouncing, and Jeff’s fingers dancing on her nipples.

The sight of them making love, combined with the alcohol made her lose all inhibitions.

She opened the door, took off her clothes and joined them.

She didn’t want to at first, but because all she had been through over the past few years caused her to release her inhibitions.

She knew what she was doing was wrong.

She knew it in her core, but she went ahead anyway.

She couldn’t and wouldn’t stop herself from doing so.

Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the guilt she felt for what she allowed herself to be caught up in with Randy.  Maybe it was the fact she hid the real cause of her father’s death from the authorities when she and her mother were questioned about his death falling (or rather being pushed) down the flight of stairs.

She didn’t know at this point in time.

All she knew is that she needed to be needed.

She wanted to be loved and cared for as she deserved, or thought she deserved.

Jeff was the first to notice Charlene.

He extended his hand as she climbed into the bed next to them.

The slickness of the satin sheets felt nice against her bare skin.

Jeff turned his attention to her and pulled her head close so he could kiss her, simultaneously reaching for her breasts first, followed by exploring between her legs.

Charlene was damp with excitement

Stephanie continued her grinding nearing climax for the fourth time. She focused on her own pleasures first until she finished. Only afterwards did she start stroking Charlene’s face.

She dismounted John and took him in her mouth, pulling Charlene’s head towards hers, kissing and fondling him, encouraging Charlene to do the same.

Snake Brain and Sane Brain had climaxed twice, but with the touch of both women’s mouths, were quickly ready again.

Without saying a word, Charlene pushed Stephanie aside and sat on Jeff, who entered her.

She began rocking back and forth slowly, and then increasing in speed and intensity, their rhythms matched as Jeff arched his back into her thrusts.

Within five minutes, they both reached satisfaction simultaneously.

Afterwards, Jeff got up and went into the galley and poured Stephanie and Charlene a drink, but not before putting a Roofie in each glass.

When he walked in, he wasn’t surprised to see both women kissing passionately.

They were insatiable.

He watched them for five minutes and until each one climaxed again from oral stimulation.

He handed them the drinks, which they finished in three swallows.

“Bravo, my two minxes.  You’re everyman’s dream.  I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

They summoned him to the bed again, and began teasing him using their fingers and hands to encircle him, moving their hands slowly up and down the length of him.

This lasted five minutes, until the drug took effect and they both passed out from the drugs.

Snake Brain and Sane Brain didn’t even need the ligatures.

But, because they were creatures of habit, they used them anyway.

Jeff went and got his gym bag, took them out and tied them both up.

He had the knife in his hand and was seconds from slitting Stephanie’s throat (she bore more resemblance to his stepmother than Charlene) when he heard a noise in the cockpit.

Fred raised his service revolver.

“Drop the knife, Jeff. Drop it now.”

Fred put Jeff in handcuffs and escorted him off the boat just as Giovanni was pulling up to Arachne on the shore boat.

Seeing the police lights, the boat captain asked, “What’s going on with here?”

Giovanni didn’t give it a second thought.

“Oh, shit.  This isn’t my boat. I’m drunk. Take me back to the bar. I need another drink.