The Carbon Trail (3 page)

Chapter Five

“What do you have to report, Brunet?”

Claude Brunet glanced at the car-speaker as he swerved the sedan around a corner, struggling to keep up with Karen Mitchell’s Lexus. Mothers shouldn’t be allowed to drive that fast - it went against nature somehow.

“Well?”

Magee’s voice was impatient and Brunet could read his thoughts. He wasn’t Magee’s best agent by a long chalk, a fact that he was reminded of every day.

“The wife collected Mitchell from work an hour ago. They’re heading down the Jericho Turnpike now. The kid’s in the car.”

“Where are they going?”

Brunet squinted at the speaker, tempted to bite back sarcastically with. “What am I? A fucking psychic?”

There was no point. He was too far down the agency’s pecking order for a free shot at Magee, so he hazarded a guess instead.

“Long Island somewhere. Home, or somewhere for the kid. Probably the last one – home’s further north.”

Domesticity while Rome was burning. Magee snorted. It was a deep dark sound, with a slight wheeze signalling ill-health. None of them had seen Magee for years, but Brunet pictured him sitting in an armchair now, like Blofeld in a Bond movie. All that was missing was the cat.

“Try Chapman’s cell-phone again.”

There was no point in Brunet saying he’d already tried it six times that day, so he grunted “OK” and signed off, knowing that he’d be checked-on again in another hour. Roll on retirement.

He followed the Lexus at three cars length just like he’d been trained, and glanced through the windshield at the wet streets. Leaves of differing size and type were strewn across the road, their colours still green. The first fall. Soon to be joined by amber and red of every shade. Some of them floated across Brunet’s view, caught in a breeze that made them soar then fall finally to ground, to be broken beneath the car’s wheels.

Brunet’s reverie was interrupted by the Lexus signalling left, into a cul-de-sac with a single-storey building at its end. Its colourful windows and rainbow sign said that it was a junior school. Brunet parked three cars beyond the junction. A sleek sedan would be too easily spotted in the dead end, amongst the family vans and SUVs. Jeff Mitchell seemed to have missed their surveillance over the previous nine months, but even he couldn’t miss that.

Claude Brunet watched as Mitchell lifted his daughter from the car and followed his wife towards the school, then he unclasped his seatbelt and sat back, resigning himself to a long wait. He clicked on the radio absentmindedly. Sheryl Crow was singing ‘All I wanna do’. He liked the song; it reminded him of feeling young. Brunet listened through one chorus then dialled it down low and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. Punching the numbers on it into the car-phone he listened for the seventh time that day while Greg Chapman’s cell-phone rang out.

***

The kindergarten corridor was long and warm, with bright collages of string and paint displayed along one wall. Names were scrawled beneath each one in crayon. Children’s handwriting; the letters square and jumbled, shifting randomly from large to small. First attempts at writing that most exciting thing of all; their name.

The wall was a rainbow of Kylees and Selenas, Justins, Ryans and Todds. Little people with adult names that they would soon grow into. As Mitchell gazed at the tableau a warm feeling engulfed him and he smiled down at his little girl. Emmie’s eyes ran enthralled across the pictures and she pulled at his hand, straining to be set free. Mitchell unlocked her fingers and she flew down the corridor touching the wall, as each new thing became a joy.

He smiled at his daughter and then his wife and his hand reached instinctively for Karen’s, entwining her fingers. All the excitement of a date swept through him, followed by a faint blush as if it was the first. Why did he feel like this? Their child said that they’d been a couple for years, even if he couldn’t remember a single day of it. Karen gazed at him lovingly and for a moment Mitchell stopped wondering who he was, seeing himself the way she saw him and taking comfort from it. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a high, light voice echoing down the hall.

“Mr and Mrs Mitchell?”

Mitchell turned to see a short woman walking towards them. Karen answered yes and freed her hand, extending it to shake.

“Mrs Baxter?”

The woman smiled. She was dark-skinned, with soft black eyes and a smooth, round face. She could have been any age from thirty to sixty, only her choice of clothes pointing towards the higher end.

“It’s lovely to meet you both. This must be Emily?”

Her accent was as soft as her face, with a music that hinted at a different land. Mitchell wondered where. South America perhaps, or the Caribbean.

“Such a pretty girl. And what a nice dance.”

Mitchell turned to see his daughter pirouetting down the hallway with a confidence that said she took ballet; another thing that he didn’t know. Emmie travelled the full length of the corridor, turning slowly, her gold curls catching the light. Mitchell smiled at how much she looked like Karen. The teacher’s next words said that he was wrong.

“Goodness, but she looks like her Dad!”

Karen laughed. “That’s what everyone says”

Mitchell peered at his small daughter and saw that they were right, feeling a bond that hadn’t been there before; it was as if he’d been looking at her through glass. He’d had few feelings for anyone he’d met that day. Was he in shock from seeing the blood that morning, or was it something else?

Emmie spun to a stop and smiled up at him with the bluest eyes Mitchell had ever seen. They were his eyes, and the simple genetic fact made him want to hold her. He scooped her into his arms and she snuggled in, totally safe, then they walked into the kindergarten to view her new world.

***

Claude Brunet yawned loudly and glanced at the time. Five-thirty. He yawned again then gazed through the sedan’s tinted windows at the narrow suburban street. It was filling with cars of every sort and children of differing ages were spilling out of a door beyond the kindergarten. They clambered into the cars and Brunet watched as they chattered about their days to a varying level of parental interest. He smiled nostalgically. His own kids were grown now but he could remember them at every age, even though Magee hadn’t allowed agents time off for the school run.

A cool breeze made Brunet shiver and he watched as it ruffled the branches of a tree overhead. The light was fading quickly, heralding evening. He cranked up the heating and dialled Greg Chapman’s cell-phone again; call number eight. This time it cut straight to answerphone; switched off or a dead battery? Where the hell was Greg? This wasn’t like him. He never missed a check-in; he was almost anal about them. Now he’d missed twenty hours’ worth.

The flash of a car indicator made Brunet jerk upright and he readied to pull out. The Lexus emerged quickly from the cul-de-sac and drove past with the woman driving. Mitchell was reading something on his lap, completely oblivious to their tail. Brunet knew he was good but he wasn’t that good, Mitchell should have spotted the sedan that time. Something was distracting him.

Brunet waited until the Lexus reached the junction then he followed at a distance, relaxed. He knew where the Mitchells were heading. The kid was in the car, and it was getting late. They were going home. He followed slowly, resigning himself to hours more in the car. With Greg gone he’d have to wait for Richie Cartagena to relieve him at nine o’clock. As the Lexus pulled into the driveway in Glove Lane, Lloyd Harbor, Claude Brunet settled back and turned the heater high, resigned to a long evening watch.

Chapter Six

“Jeff, can you get some tomatoes from the fridge? I thought we’d have pasta.”

Mitchell set his daughter down on the kitchen floor and watched as she danced into the family-room. She’d be lying in front of the box watching cartoons until dinner. He wondered how he knew that and then shrugged. Pretty much every kid did it, and besides, information had been popping randomly into his head all day. He’d given up looking for ‘the why’.

Mitchell scanned the bright kitchen and finally found the fridge, yanking its steel door back. It was packed with food. Meat and vegetables crammed in beside children’s yoghurts and chocolate treats. He smiled at the good motherhood that it implied.

“What do you think?” Karen’s voice rang out across the large room.

“About what?” Mitchell wondered whether it might be a trick question.

“What do you think of the kindergarten?” She carried on, not waiting for a reply. “I liked Mrs Baxter, didn’t you? She was cosy.”

Mitchell gave a loud laugh and its suddenness caught Karen unawares. Cosy. The word was perfect for everything about the ‘Rainbow Kindergarten’ and he said so.

Karen talked on brightly as she chopped the tomatoes and Mitchell reached automatically for the pasta jar, set high up on the wall. She smiled as he poured a glass of wine and then sat on a stool chatting to her as she cooked. Jeff looked better than he’d done for weeks. Perhaps she’d been worrying about nothing.

After dinner they told Emmie she was starting school and she ran around the kitchen gabbling happily that she was a ‘big girl now’. After her bath and story she fell quickly asleep and Karen snuggled up beside Mitchell on the settee and dozed. He smiled to himself. Married life felt good. It would feel even better if he could work out why it all seemed completely new.

***

11 p.m.

“You’re late. You were meant to be here two hours ago.”

Richie Cartagena paused halfway into the car and squinted sceptically at Brunet. The words that followed were said in a deep New York accent.

“You want me to take over or not? I can go away again you know.”

Brunet waved him in, irritated. “Stop messing about and get in. You’re letting the heat out.”

The young man glared at him, unimpressed by his colleague’s mood.

“Listen. It isn’t my fault that Greg’s gone AWOL and we have to cover for him. I’ve done nine shifts already this week. How do they expect us to stay alert if we’re wrecked? Magee needs to find us some help.”

The grey-haired Brunet shrugged, disinterested. He wanted to get home, not have a debate.

“Take it up with him. Mitchell’s in bed and everything’s quiet. I’ve tried Greg’s cell eight times now. The first seven it rang, now it’s just cutting to answerphone. He’s forgotten to charge it.”

Richie snorted. “Or switched it off. He’s probably shacked-up with some woman and doesn’t want disturbed.” He couldn’t hide the envy in his voice.

Brunet shook his head. “Not his style. Greg might be single but the job comes first. Besides, he’d have phoned in sick. Something’s happened to him, I’d lay my life on it.”

“Like what?”

“No idea. He reported last night at twenty-two hundred then nothing since. He was outside Scrabo Tower and Mitchell was working late.” Brunet hesitated then said the words no-one wanted to hear. “I think he’s dead.”

Richie’s hand flew instinctively to his gun. “You think Mitchell did it? That means Greg must still be at Scrabo.”

“Probably. But Magee won’t let anyone search; just said Mitchell’s to be watched around the clock.”

“How could Mitchell get the better of an old hand like Greg? He’s just a scientist.”

“We both know that he’s more than that.” Brunet indicated the notebook sitting on the dashboard. “He went to the café again today.”

Richie raked his black hair slowly, then he reached into his jacket for a packet of cigarettes, tapping one out. “OK. Go home. I’ll take it from here.”

Brunet stared pointedly at the no-smoking sign then opened the driver’s door. Richie waited until he’d disappeared into the waiting van then he lit up, thinking about Greg Chapman and preparing for a long night.

***

Mitchell woke at a sound in the back yard, instantly alert. He slipped out of bed and went to the window, searching for the source, but there was nothing to see. Moving quickly through the house, he turned each corner sharply, prepared to do whatever came next. A minute later he found the cause; a bin had blown over outside. He smiled and relaxed his fists, wondering which instinct had taught him such stealth, then he went back to bed and slipped between the covers, gazing at his wife’s outline in the dim light.

Karen turned towards him in her sleep and Mitchell could just make out the curve of her cheek. He peered hard through the darkness until all her features appeared. Tendrils of blonde hair strayed across her face and he stroked them back gently and gazed at her. Her nose was small and fine, turned up slightly at the end. Her mouth was full and soft and he wondered what it would feel like to kiss it, suddenly shy at the idea. As if Karen read his mind her eyes opened, surprising him. She gazed at her husband for a moment, gauging his thoughts as he tried to gauge hers, then she moved closer, until she lay so close that they almost touched.

Her dark eyes urged Mitchell on and he reached out tentatively towards her in the dark then stopped, still too shy to touch. Karen stared into his eyes, puzzled, then she leaned forward, closing the gap between them. After a moment she kissed Mitchell softly, until instinct overcame his shyness and he took her in his arms, kissing her deeply. Mitchell drew her against him until she could feel his desire, then he slipped her t-shirt quickly over her head, gazing at her full breasts in the moonlight.

He found them with his lips and tongue, circling them gently and sucking just hard enough until Karen moaned. He didn’t question how he knew what she wanted, he just did. Mitchell slid his tongue between her thighs until Karen was wet and begged him to take her, but instead he returned to her breasts, slowly running his tongue across her nipples until she could bear it no more and begged him for release. Finally he entered her in one hard, smooth movement, thrusting in a way so rhythmic and familiar that Mitchell knew they’d been lovers for years. Building together in a steady, forceful dance they both came, their sighs filling the night air, then they fell back into a dreamless sleep, oblivious to their watcher in the street below.