Tarnished Image (21 page)

“I shouldn’t have touched the photos, should I?”

“You had no way of knowing. Most likely the perpetrator wore gloves anyway. This doesn’t look like the work of an amateur.”

“Do you understand the comments on the pictures?”

“I recognize the one on Timmy’s photo, the one that says ‘To die will be an awfully big adventure.’ It’s from J. M. Barrie’s
Peter Pan.
It’s something that Peter says in the play.”

David cast a quizzical look at Calvin.

“My mother loved that play. We had to watch it every time it came on television. You know, the one with Mary Martin as Peter Pan. I’ve seen it so many times I can almost quote the entire play.”

“What about the other?”

Calvin read the line aloud: “Let us go in; the fog is rising.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t ring any bells with me.”

“I’ve never heard it either, but I feel like it may be important.”

“In situations like this, everything is important.” Calvin picked up the phone and dialed. “Write down that address
and any directions you can give me. I don’t want to waste any time.”

Archer Matthews threw the half-eaten slice of pizza back in its grease-stained box and dragged a paper towel across his face. He studied the image of David O’Neal that appeared on his computer screen.

“Can’t we move a little faster?” Jack LaBohm asked irritably.

“Nope,” Archer replied. “You want the best image possible, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts, Jack. Perfection takes time and cooperation.”

“You know I think you’re an arrogant little—”

“I’ve reached the point in my life where the opinions of others don’t interest me. That happens to people in my situation. We get rather apathetic about such mundane things as the hurt feelings of others.”

“I didn’t say my feelings were hurt. I just wanted you to know that I despise you immensely.”

“See there. And you didn’t think we had anything in common. Now shut up and smile.”

“Again?”

“What’s the matter, Jack, does it hurt your precious little face to smile? Is the process too complicated for you?”

Jack pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. The image of David on the computer did the same.

“That’s a lousy smile, but it’s a good test just the same.” Archer laughed at his little joke. “OK, you can relax for a minute.”

Jack LaBohm leaned back in his chair and mindlessly picked at one of the many white dots on his face.

“Leave those alone,” Archer ordered. Or we’ll have to start over and that would make your boss very unhappy.”

“Elaine Aberdene is your boss too.”

“For the time being,” Archer conceded.

“I’m sick of these dots,” Jack complained.

“They’re necessary. It’s the only way I can transfer your facial expressions into the computer. Without them the digital camera array couldn’t track the movement of facial muscles.”

“So when I smile, O’Neal smiles too. Is that it?”

“Just like before, except I’m being a little more cautious this time. Putting in more detail.”

“Shouldn’t you have done that on the first tape?”

“The first tape is fine. Unflawed. This one is the next step up. No one, and I mean no one, will be able to find fault in this tape. Not even David O’Neal’s mother could tell the difference.”

“Technology is amazing,” Jack said as he looked at the picture-perfect image of David.

“Actually,” Archer corrected. “I’m amazing. Now let’s do it again. This time I want a real smile.”

Jack leaned forward and placed his head in a semispherical device. He could see the tiny lenses of the twenty-four cameras that would track each movement of his face.

“OK,” Archer ordered, “smile.”

Jack complied, as did the computerized version of David’s face.

“No wonder women can’t resist you,” Archer said sarcastically. “Tilt your head to the left. Good. Now the right. Good. Open your mouth. Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?” As Jack spoke, the mouth of the computer David moved sympathetically.

“An open mouth is just a dark cavity on the screen. I’ll have to do a little touch up, but it won’t be a problem. This is going to work perfectly.”

“It had better,” Jack threatened.

“It will. I promise you that. It will.”

The white BMW pulled away from the curb. Aldo had watched as the dapper-looking man escorted Kristen from her home to the car. Before entering the car himself, the man had surveyed the surroundings. He was a cautious one, but that was to be expected. O’Neal wasn’t likely to have some shyster representing him on such a serious matter. Nor would he send just anyone to pick up Kristen. Aldo had been told by his crew that monitored the phone tap on O’Neal’s telephone that Calvin Overstreet would be stopping by for Kristen.

Aldo studied every gesture made by Overstreet. He moved with prudence and forethought. Most likely the man had some training, military or maybe police. Since O’Neal’s phone was monitored constantly, Aldo had been warned of Overstreet’s arrival. Not that it mattered, for he was tucked snuggly away in a van with tinted windows. He did have some concern, however. When the lawyer had looked in his direction, he had frowned at the sight of the van. Did he suspect the surveillance?

“What does it matter?” Aldo said to himself. The photos that had been left on O’Neal’s desk was the tip-off that the LaCroix woman was being watched. What did matter was that she was out of the house. That was no surprise. It was an anticipated event in the plan. There was a better than 90 percent chance that such a thing would happen.

As far as Aldo was concerned, it was an advantage. Where
else would they take her except back to Barringston Tower? That would put the woman and the retarded kid in the same area.

“Nothing like having all your ducks in a row,” he said to himself. His job was so much easier when the marks did his work for him.

A
NGELINA HELD TIGHTLY TO HER FATHER
’
S HAND AS THEY
stood in the devastated living room. The second half of the storm had been as bad as the first, rattling and shaking the house as if a giant had ripped it from its foundation. The noise of the wind had been horrific and was punctuated with the sounds of exploding glass and cracking lumber. The family had remained crammed into the tiny bathroom for over four hours. The mattresses they had used to cover themselves had weighed heavy upon them as the roof, stripped of its shingles, let rainwater pour in like a waterfall.

Now the storm was gone, and so was much of her aunt’s home. The roof sheeting had remained in place over the back of the house where they had huddled in a desperate attempt to hide from the storm. The same could not be said of the rest of the house. Angelina looked up through rafters into puffy, wounded gray skies. Around her were the fractured remains of a family’s possessions. A bomb could not have done more damage.

“Is it really gone, Papa?” Angelina asked softly, squeezing his hand.

“Yes,” he answered in a whisper. “The storm is gone, but not its effects.”

A muffled sound caught Angelina’s attention. She turned
and saw Maria frozen in disbelief, her hand raised to her mouth, her eyes wide. Around her stood her children, like a brood of chicks. Her husband placed his arm around her shoulders in a vain attempt to console her. Angelina walked to her, being careful not to step on any sharp debris, and gave her a hug. “It will be all right, Aunt Maria. You’ll see. Everything will be all right.” Maria stroked the young girl’s hair but said nothing.

Returning to her father, Angelina asked, “Where is the storm now, Papa?”

He looked at the clouds and said, “Havana.”

The word sent a chill through Angelina.
Havana.
That’s where her home was, where her sister, Juanita, was. Looking around the razed house, Angelina wondered if their own house would soon look the same.

Outside, the damage was even worse. Lumber, fractured and splintered, covered the ground, its sharp spearlike edges pointing in every direction. Dead birds were scattered in the rubble. A lone dog limped by in the distance.

“Look, Papa,” Angelina said pointing down the street. A piece of plywood, just like the pieces that had been nailed to the window frame, was wedged through the windshield of a 1958 Chevrolet sedan and protruded rigidly from the vehicle. Across the street rested a large section of someone’s roof.

The sudden absence of the wind and the crushed and stripped homes made Angelina feel as if she were on another planet.

The stillness was oppressive as the realization of the destruction set in. The fear was gone now, but it had been replaced by another consuming emotion—despair.

No one spoke. Even Maria had stopped her weeping. The
shock of what they were seeing had leveled their emotions as surely as the hurricane had leveled the area. There was nothing to be said. No words could bring understanding or closure. The storm had come and done what it did. That could not be changed.

Sensing the depression that filled those around her, Angelina offered the only words she could think of. “We are all alive.”

Her father looked down at her for a long moment, then surrendered a small, reluctant smile. “Yes, we are, Puppet. Yes, we are.” He picked her up and hugged her deeply. She returned the hug, wrapping her small arms around his brown neck. “Yes, we are.”

“I love you, Papa,” she whispered softly, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “I was afraid for you.”

“I love you too, Puppet,” her father replied. “You were a very brave girl.” He then kissed her on the cheek and wiped away a tear from his eye.

An aching sadness filled David as he watched the woman he loved study color copies of the pictures he had received the night before. She lingered over them, her eyes darting back and forth as if she was memorizing every detail in the photos. She paused over her picture. The crosshairs and symbolic dot of blood forced a noticeable shudder. Despite the personal nature of her photo, she seemed more moved by the one of Timmy. She was oblivious to the others in the room. Calvin and Barringston sat quietly, waiting for the appropriate time to move forward.

Outside, the sun continued to climb its steady path toward midday as it had done for countless years, untouched by the angst of the world below it.

David reached across the corner of Barringston’s desk and took Kristen’s hand. “Are you all right?” he asked softly. Kristen had been invited to the nine o’clock meeting after being told about the photos. She was now as involved in this as David and had as much at stake.

She nodded. “It’s just so … so hard to believe. To think someone is out there right now, thinking about killing me and Timmy. It’s mind shattering.”

“You’re showing a great deal of strength considering the situation,” Calvin offered. “Many people would panic.”

“I’m tempted,” Kristen said with a forced and meager smile. “I see why you were so insistent last night, David. You were right to demand that I stay in Barringston Tower.”

David gave her hand another squeeze.

“We can’t be too careful,” Calvin said. “These pictures aren’t a prank.”

“Is that why we’re meeting in Mr. Barringston’s office instead of David’s?” Kristen inquired.