Days' End (19 page)

“Oh shit!” Alastair muttered under his breath.

“What?” his father asked, sitting up from his prone position on one of the beds.

“This place is a freakin’ fortress. I’m going to be in real trouble if I have to try and break in. Looking at these blueprints of the building, Mr. Scario seems very intent on keeping out any unauthorized people. I’ll know more if I can hack into the security system itself and poke around a bit, but so far it doesn’t look good.”

“You know what they say. Most of the bridges we worry about crossing run over rivers that don’t even exist. We’ll worry about that problem if we get to it. For now let’s just continue focusing on finding the facility. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you? I feel like a slug sitting over here watching TV while you sit at your computer getting things done.”

“Sorry, Dad, I can’t think of anything. Listen, you’ve done enough to help. You deserve a rest. Kick back and relax and rest assured I’ll put you back to work on Monday when the law office opens back up.”

“You’re the boss.” His dad leaned back down on the bed to watch the evening news.

November 11, Castle Rock, CO

After picking up their daily supply of coffee and bagels, Alastair headed back to the hotel. As he approached the door to their room, digging in his pocket for the key, he heard yelling coming from inside. His father was calling for help. Alastair’s stomach clenched and a chill raced up his spine. He ran to the door and burst into the room. His father scrambled backward over one of the beds, covered in blood.

At the foot of the bed stood a man with a large, dangerous-looking knife. The intruder had heard the door open and as Alastair entered the room, the man lunged at him.

Alastair’s survival instincts took over and he stepped forward, thrusting the coffees up and out. Just as the knife blade sliced across his shoulder, the coffee cups exploded into the face of the attacker. The man screamed, raising his hands to his face. He stumbled backward and tripped over a corner of the bedspread, falling onto the bed with Alastair’s father.

Carl jumped onto the man and began striking his head, neck and shoulders. Alastair grabbed the bedside lamp and tore it from the wall. The small night table crashed to the floor. The drawer slid out, dumping the Bible onto the worn carpet. Alastair moved as quickly as he could around the bed to get a clear view of the assailant. His father was still struggling with the attacker, and Alastair had to be careful not to hit Carl by accident.

An opening to strike finally appeared. As Alastair brought down the lamp toward the intruder’s face, the man slashed with the knife. It barely missed Alastair’s forearm. He watched the progression of its arc, seeing it finally slice cleanly across the left side of his father’s throat. There was an explosion of blood as the lamp crashed down on the man’s face and his father’s carotid artery was severed. A red arc splashed against the wall as Alastair’s father collapsed sideways onto the bed, his life blood streaming from his opened artery.

Alastair added to the macabre artwork with small droplets of red as he brought down the lamp again and again, striking the man repeatedly, though he now lay unconscious on the bed. He tossed the lamp to the floor. His father gagged and choked on his own blood and writhed on the crimson bed. He clawed at his throat in an effort to stop the bleeding. His efforts were only making matters worse. Alastair grabbed him and tried to put pressure on the wound without strangling him.

“Help!” Alastair screamed. “Someone call an ambulance! Help!” He looked down at his father. “Keep still, Dad. The more you struggle the more blood you’re going to lose. Just try to relax. Someone will be here soon.”

Alastair held his father in his arms and continued calling for help. His father’s struggles became weaker. Alastair stopped shouting and looked down at his dad. He could see the pain in his father’s eyes. He could also see the amount of blood continuing to pour from his father’s gaping wound. He knew that help would not arrive in time. His father seemed to know, too. There was nothing more that could be done except give his father what little comfort he could.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Alastair whispered. “Go to Mom. She’s waiting for you.” Tears poured down Alastair’s cheeks, and he fought back the sobs building in his chest and the back of his throat. He ran his fingers through his father’s hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. He leaned down and gently kissed his father’s weathered cheeks. “I love you, Dad.”

Carl became still and looked at his son. He moved his lips as if to speak but only a soft gurgle escaped, followed by a dose of bloody coughing. The blood ran slowly down his cheek and on to Alastair’s hand.

“Sh, Dad. Lie still.”

Alastair pulled his father close and held him as his life slipped away. When the police arrived, Alastair still clutched his father, covered in their mixed blood, weeping quietly. They first checked the intruder’s vital signs and pronounced him dead. The paramedics arrived next and raced into the hotel room to assess the conditions of the two victims. His father was pronounced dead at 10:11 M.S.T. One of the officers stepped outside to request that the coroner be dispatched to the hotel.

Alastair gently kissed his father’s cheeks for the last time and watched in silence as the paramedics placed his father’s body on the gurney, covered him with a white sheet, and slowly wheeled him toward the door. Hot tears plotted their way down Alastair’s cheeks as he watched the white sheet turn red with blood. They removed the body of the assailant and then tended to Alastair’s shoulder. He’d need stitches but that could be done later. They cleaned the wound and put a couple butterfly stitches on to hold it in place until he could get to the hospital. Grimacing in pain as they treated his shoulder, Alastair’s gaze fell to the open Bible lying open on the floor. It was open to Psalm 23. His eyes found and read the words of comfort. “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil.” He didn’t find them nearly as comforting as he’d hoped.

As Alastair stood at the sink washing his hands, two policemen approached and introduced themselves, Sergeants Leslie and Clark. He sat with the police detectives for the next hour and went through the events of the morning, beginning with his trip to get breakfast and ending with the arrival of the police. When he finished, he was once again crying. They gave him time to compose himself before continuing the questioning.

“Did you know the suspect, sir?” asked Sergeant Leslie as she leaned forward and folded her hands on the legal pad sitting on the table in front of her. Alastair noticed how hopelessly empty the pad seemed to be. Surely the few lines of scribble he could see weren’t the only clues they had to investigate, the only evidence to pursue.

“No. Sorry, I’ve never seen him before.” Alastair rubbed at his nose in an attempt to rid his sinuses of the unmistakable metallic scent of blood. He was unsuccessful. If anything he managed to make it worse as there was still blood on his hands. He’d washed them repeatedly after the paramedics arrived, but it didn’t seem to want to rinse off. He could see it caked beneath his fingernails.

“Do you know why he was here? Have you or your father had any arguments with anyone recently? Anything that might give us a clue as to the motive?”

“No, nothing like that,” Alastair said shaking his head. “We don’t even know anybody here.”

The other detective raised his eyebrow and shifted to face Alastair more directly. “What brought you to Castle Rock?”

“I’m looking for my fiancée. I was meeting with a lawyer who knows…excuse me, knew where she was.” Alastair didn’t like the vibes he was getting off of the male detective. He’d seemed disinterested and almost bored at the beginning of the conversation but now appeared not only incredibly attentive, but also hostile for some reason.

“And was that lawyer’s name Gary Stevens?” Detective Leslie asked.

“Yes,” replied Alastair in confusion, looking from one detective to the other. “How did you…oh. Oh, shit!” cried Alastair as he made the connection.

“What’s going on, Mr. Mann? What was Mr. Stevens doing that got him killed? And now your father? We can’t be absolutely sure of that yet, but we’ve had three murders in the last year and two of them have happened in the last month. I’d be willing to bet there’s a connection. What is your girlfriend involved in? Who’s she gotten herself involved with?”

“I…I don’t know exactly,” Alastair stammered.

“Mr. Mann, we need your help. What do you know?”

“My fiancée took a job on a project for a man named Mr. Scario. Mr. Stevens was her contact person. He arranged the flight out here from L.A., negotiated her salary, that type of thing. I’m not sure exactly where she is, but Stevens was trying to arrange for me to meet with her. Last time I spoke with him, he was going to meet with Mr. Scario to ask if I could see her.”

“You say Mr. Scario. Do you know his first name?”

“Sorry, no. I’ve only heard him referred to as Mr. Scario.”

“What type of project is your girlfriend working on?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell her.”

The detective eyed him warily. “What type of work does your girlfriend do?”

“She’s a scientist. She used to do DNA extraction for UCLA.”

“So she quit her job at UCLA to work for Mr. Scario, but had no idea what she’d be doing?”

“Um, yeah,” he replied, knowing how bad that sounded.

“And now you don’t know where she is?”

Alastair could see that the conversation was taking a turn for the worse. Rather than have the detective think he was hiding something, Alastair told him about the e-mails from Scario, the meetings with Stevens, and the conditions of her employment. He glossed over the part involving his hacking into the airport’s logs, figuring there was nothing to gain from disclosing that information, but plenty to lose. When he finished his story, he answered a couple more questions for the detective before wrapping things up.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Mann,” stated the male detective. “Your information has been helpful. I’ll keep in contract with you and keep you up to date on how the investigation is going. If you plan on going anywhere I’d appreciate it if you’d let us know.” Both of them handed Alastair their business cards.

Alastair stood and shook hands with the two investigators. “I will, detectives, and thank you. If there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”

After the detectives left, Alastair was taken to a different hotel room while the police finished collecting evidence in his. When they were finished, the detectives let Alastair know so that he could collect his father’s things. Later that evening he called Suzy on her cell phone. He filled her in on the events of the day. Although she offered him more time off in light of his loss, Alastair politely declined and resigned his position instead. He took a long hot shower to wash the rest of the blood off and collapsed into bed. He fell asleep immediately. His dreams were filled with death, chaos, and destruction.

November 13, Castle Rock, CO

Alastair called Detective Leslie to let her know he would be leaving town for his father’s funeral service. He gave her his cell phone number as well as the number to his father’s house in case she needed to contact him.

Carl’s body had been shipped back to Texas and would be buried next to Alastair’s mother and brother on the eighteenth. Alastair had taken care of all the arrangements with assistance from his late father’s congregation. He had called his father’s church the previous day and told them of his father’s death. They had been kind enough to make the preparations for the service and burial, leaving Alastair with the task of picking out the coffin and flowers. He flew down to Texas and drove to Grapeland, arriving at his father’s house shortly before dinner. He took his things into the house, grabbed a quick snack from the fridge, then left and went to his appointment at the funeral home to select the casket and floral arrangements.

The selection of the coffin was far more difficult than Alastair had anticipated. He had known already what type of coffin he would be selecting. His father had been a simple man and would have wanted a simple coffin. The plain pine coffin was the cheapest of the lot, and that was the dilemma. Alastair felt as if he were disrespecting a great man by choosing the least expensive of the lot. In the end he finally convinced himself that it was for the best, and it was the coffin his father would have wanted to be buried in. His opinion would have been that his immortal soul was in the most beautiful place imaginable, what use was it to bury his shell of a body in anything expensive and ornate?

The flowers were an easier selection for Alastair. What he hadn’t spent on his father’s casket, he used to purchase the most elaborate and expensive arrangements he could find. He could honor his father’s wishes for a plain casket, while at the same time not feeling like a complete Scrooge.

When he was finished, he picked up some dinner and headed back to his dad’s place. Sitting down at the kitchen table, memories of meals eaten here with his father played through his mind like a movie. His appetite disappeared quickly, and he got up to brush his teeth and go to bed. He’d had enough for one day and couldn’t even bring himself to do the dishes before getting ready for bed. He left the food sitting where it was, hoping he’d have the will to take care of it in the morning.

November 15, Grapeland, TX

The services went as well as could be expected. They were held at the church where Alastair’s father had preached. He’d sat quietly and alone in the front pew as Carl’s friends and members of the congregation spoke of their fond memories of his father. The room was filled with the most fragrant and beautiful flowers that Alastair had been able to find, yet the only odor he could identify was the phantom smell of his father’s blood. Alastair looked up from his hands where he imagined he could still see the crescent lines of blood under his fingernails. He looked at the casket sitting at the front of the room, a large picture of his father sitting on the lid. Although he’d been given the option of having an open casket, Alastair was glad he’d declined. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit and look at his father’s corpse and not break down.