The Cassandra Conspiracy (9 page)

Payton sensed that Janet had something else in mind. Exactly what, he didn’t know. But he was relatively sure he was about to find out.

“All right. What do you think?” Payton asked.

“I think it’s a nice time of the year for a country vacation. I hear Pine Lakes is exceptionally pretty in the fall.”

Payton locked Janet’s gaze, trying to determine whether she was simply joking or whether she really intended to drop everything and go to Pine Lakes on a mission of mercy. “Are you serious?” he asked.

“Very.”

“Why in God’s name would you pack your bags and go to Pine Lakes when we don’t even know if this thing’s for real?”

“I have a feeling about this.”

“And you always give in to your feelings?” Payton retorted.

“When the need arises.” Janet crossed her legs again.

“All right. Let’s say that I’m willing to follow you to Pine Lakes. Then what? We don’t have a damned thing to go on, and besides, even if we did, we don’t have the foggiest notion what we’re walking into.” Payton felt the adrenaline surge. “If this message’s real, then someone in Pine Lakes is planning a murder, and you don’t see anything wrong with plunging headlong into a tank of sharks?”

“We won’t take any chances. We’ll spend a few days in Pine Lakes, find out who the likely suspects are, then turn everything over to the police. I’ve got the people over at UniNet watching their system for additional E-mail coming out of or routed through Pine Lakes. If anything turns up, they’ll download the file into my mailbox. Maybe whoever’s behind this will continue using UniNet and the same encryption scheme he’s used up till now. If so, we’ll be able to read his mail. With any luck at all, we’ll have more to turn over in the way of evidence than we have today. It’s worth a shot.”

Payton looked intently at Janet. His days of fighting other people’s battles had ended when he left the Marines. Now he was being drawn, like a mouse to the trap, into something sinister, dark, and foreboding. He needed to think, to consider his options. But Janet would have none of that. Like a
high-speed computer, she had assessed the possibilities, analyzed the probabilities, and decided on an appropriate course of action–all of which she had mapped out in a few choice sentences. If Janet’s assumptions were correct, then his failure to take action would most likely result in someone’s death.

Payton doubted he could live with that. On the other hand, if this was all some kind of practical joke gone astray, they’d find out as soon as Janet’s friends at UniNet pinpointed the source. Besides, he could manage a few days away. Payton only hoped that by going to Pine Lakes, they weren’t walking blindly into a minefield.

“When do you want to leave?” Payton asked. He had recently concluded several of his most active cases. Everything else could wait a few days.

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll pack tonight and meet you out front. How’s ten o’clock?”

“That’s fine. I need to go into the office, which I’ll do tonight, to wrap up a few things. But that shouldn’t take long.” Payton rose and reached for his jacket. “See you in the morning.”

CHAPTER
5

The next morning, Payton was up by seven
-thirty. After his usual shower and shave, he dressed, slipping on a pair of his better jeans, a casual shirt, and a pair of Docksiders. Finally, he searched the back of his closet for the old duffel bag he used for long weekends at the beach. Payton packed enough casual clothes, along with the toiletries from his medicine cabinet, to last him at least a week. His duffel bag in hand, he did a quick check around the apartment. Everything in the condo looked all right. Payton slipped on his sunglasses and headed out the door.

He took the elevator from the tenth floor to the garage, where he had parked his one concession to success–a dark blue Jaguar XJS. As he settled in the bucket seat, Payton savored the aroma of the car’s interior, its Connolly leather smelling as rich as when he first picked up the car.

From the glove compartment he removed his set of maps and shuffled through the stack until he found the one of northern Maryland. With the map folded and resting on the steering wheel, he traced Interstate 83 from Baltimore north to the Pennsylvania line.

Payton turned the key, and listened to the purr of the engine. As soon as the engine warmed up, the tachometer returned to normal idle. Payton put in a cassette of his favorite singer and songwriter, Harry Chapin, and listened to Chapin’s hit “Taxi” as he backed out of the parking space.

.   .   .   .   .   .

Janet was punctual, walking out the door of her apartment building  just as Payton was pulling up to the curb. She wore tan khakis and a white turtleneck sweater. Payton hit the trunk release, then got out to help her with her things.

“Only two suitcases?”

“I travel light. Actually, there’s just a few clothes. Everything else is computer equipment–my portable computer and a modem,” Janet said laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Most women going away for a few days with a man don’t usually bring their computer equipment.”

“This is different,” Payton replied unsure where their conversation was going.

“I know.”

After collecting Janet, he headed for the Jones Falls Expressway. Payton took the northbound entrance, picking up speed while mindful that he was “speeding ticket bait”. Traffic was light and they made good time.

“This is what successful attorneys drive today?” Janet quipped.

“Not exactly.”

“Does that mean that you’re not successful, or that successful attorneys don’t drive Jags?”

“Let’s put it this way. My success, limited though it may be, does not warrant driving an XJS. A local dealer ran into some problems that challenged my professional ability. After all was said and done, I accepted the car in lieu of a check. If it hadn’t been for that, we’d be driving to Pine Lakes in a Toyota station wagon.”

“So tell me, Steve, has there been a Mrs. Payton?”

Payton hesitated for a moment. Janet was like a burglar, picking locks in doors he had long ago secured. It was becoming obvious that his emotional safeguards were falling like so many ancient horsemen–unable to ward off the encroaching Mongols.

“I’m divorced,” Steve said perfunctorily.

“I see,” Janet said, the hurt evident in her voice. “I’m sorry if I stepped on a taboo topic.”

“It’s not that. Sometimes it seems my marriage was a long time ago; other times it feels as if all that grief occurred yesterday. Cynthia and I met at law school, and the match seemed perfect. We dated for several months, got engaged, and then married.”

“What happened?”

“I wanted a family; she didn’t. I can still remember the shocked look on her face when I first broached the topic. Having children was not in her crystal ball. After the first discussion, every time I brought it up, she kept putting me off. Finally, I got the message–no kids.”

“And that was the beginning of the end?”

Payton nodded his head. “It didn’t take long before the only thing we shared was our common interest in the law. Then that changed. I wanted a small practice. Cynthia courted the big law firms. She’s working for one of Baltimore’s more prestigious law practices. Her success was obviously measured in the depth of her office’s carpeting. They’re probably billing her out for three hundred an hour.”

Payton shrugged. “By her standards, she had it made. The rest, needless to say, is history.”

“And your practice?”

“I believe in diversification. It keeps things interesting. I’ll take on any case as long as it piques my interest.”

“Like for instance?” Janet asked.

“Well, I’ve handled routine commercial stuff–leases and acquisitions. There’ve been a few contract negotiations and land sales. That kind of thing. Then, there’s my pro bono work. Enough about me already. Tell me about Janet Phillips.”

Janet shifted in the bucket seat. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with the good stuff. How about important relationships? Any men in your life? ”

“As far as the past, I guess I never was in one spot long enough to have a relationship reach the point where getting engaged and married was in the picture. Of course, there’re been men in my life, but no major commitments.”

“And now?” Payton interjected.

“Nary a soul,” Janet said wistfully.

He drove at a steady pace north through the suburbs of Baltimore County. They were about six miles from the Maryland-Pennsylvania line when he spotted the sign for Pine Lakes. Payton exited the interstate and continued to follow the signs.

As they headed away from I83, all they could see were rolling green fields and fences–farm country. Several horse farms with their sprawling, well
-manicured pastures and modern stables were arrayed to the left of the road. Thoroughbred racing was big business in Maryland, and obviously a major part of the local economy. The miles began to pile up before they saw the beginnings of what he’d term civilization.

Finally, they came upon a traffic light at the intersection of the road that they had been traveling on, and what Payton took to be a major cross street. Although the light was green in his direction, he slowed, looking first left and then right. Off to the left he saw a continuation of another country road like the one he was on. To the right, he noticed a small gas station and a church. He turned right and slowly made his way down what passed for Pine Lakes’ main street.

Payton passed a small lumberyard that probably did barely enough business to stay open given that they also sold hardware and paints. Next door stood a row of stores; no big names were on any of the signs. On the front of the post office, a sign said, ‘Pine Lakes, Maryland’. Welcome to Pine Lakes, he thought. Across the street, a tractor sales and repair store seemed to do a lively business. A couple of other small stores, all of which appeared to cater to the local farmers, followed.

“We’d better get our bearings,” Payton said as they passed the post office. “Maybe we can find someplace in this backwater to grab a sandwich, and someone who knows enough about the town to point us in the right direction. We also need to figure out where the nearest motel is.”

“That sounds fine with me. From the looks of things, Holiday Inn and Ramada have skipped this place.”

Payton saw what passed for the town’s restaurant, and was about to pull over when he noticed the sign on the door announcing that the place was closed while its owner was on vacation. They continued down the street. At the end of the two block shopping area, he noticed a bar big enough to possibly even serve food. A sign directed him to park on the far side of the restaurant. He pulled in and parked the car. They went up the steps leading to the front door and walked in.

Except for the bartender, the place was empty. In front near the entrance, a pool table stood, its worn-felt top telling of too many games being played, most likely on the weekends when there was no where else to go except maybe up to York or down into Baltimore. Two ancient Space Invader machines stood along the left wall up to the first of the bar stools. The dark, pockmarked bar wrapped around from the wall, went out a few feet, and then ran straight to the kitchen door.

A sign over a second doorway in the rear said “rest rooms”. The rest of the place was a combination of tables with chairs and booths, most of which were against the far wall. They took seats at the bar.

The bartender was a big, burly guy. He wore a white apron spotted with stains of every conceivable hue. Payton figured that it probably hadn’t been washed in a week. The man’s hair was of medium length, and from the looks of things, received no more attention than his apparel. His jowls seemed to droop at the same angle as his stomach, the latter hanging down over his belt, hiding it from view.

“Hi, are you still serving lunch?” Payton asked.

“Sure. Serve food all day,” he said, sliding a single-page plastic-laminated menu across the bar. “Take your pick.”

Payton handed the menu to Janet,
and then looked over her shoulder. It was the standard bar fare, a few hot sandwiches–burgers or barbecue you could heat up in a microwave. The rest were all quick fixes and except for the burgers, were cold.

Janet turned up her nose. “I wonder what’s safe to eat?”

“I think we’d better play it safe–soup and a sandwich, something easy like a burger,” Payton suggested. Janet nodded in agreement.

“Have any soup?” Payton asked when the bartender stopped dipping dirty glasses in the sink. From the temperature in the place, no more than sixty degrees, the bartender liked it on the cold side. The soup would warm them up.

“I can whip you up some of the standard forty-seven varieties stuff. Whaddya want, chicken noodle, vegetable . . . ?”

“Whatever’s convenient.
We’re not particular; just make sure it’s hot. And I’ll take a burger if that’s no problem.”

“And the lady?” the barkeep asked, catching an eyeful of Janet.

“She’ll have the same.”

“No problem. Whaddya want to drink?”

Janet opted for an iced tea; Payton asked for a Pepsi.

The soup was ready first. No wonder, since the gorilla had obviously microwaved it right out of the can. Their hamburgers followed a few minutes later. Unsure how old the beef was, he sniffed lightly at the burger.

Given the cool reception, Payton figured on a quiet lunch. He was surprised when the bartender came over to where he was seated. Payton watched out of the corner of his eye as the man pushed his rear end up against the soda cooler, which sat under the rows of glasses and bottles against the wall, then braced his feet against the bottom of the sink behind the bar. It didn’t make any difference whether it was New York or out in the middle of nowhere, a bartender’s a bartender.

“Where y’all from?” the bartender asked inquisitively.

“Baltimore.” The town probably saw few strangers. “We’re taking a few days off and decided that Pine Lakes would be a great place to recharge the batteries.”

“Hell, the noisiest Pine Lakes gets is on Saturday night when everyone comes in to shoot some pool and have a few beers. If you’re looking for a place to unwind, this might be just what the doctor ordered.”

“Any hotels or motels around?”

The bartender scratched his chin,
and then said, “No, I’m afraid we’re a mite short on accommodations.”

“No place at all to stay?” Payton asked. “No boarding house?”

The bartender’s scowl changed to a sly grin. “Well, I might have a place for you.”

Payton's gut feeling told him he was about to be had.

“My name’s Ted, and you’re...”

“Steve Payton. This is Janet.” Payton decided not to advertise the fact that they weren’t man and wife.

“Well Mr. Payton, my old aunt’s place just outside of town been empty since the old biddy met her maker six months ago. It’s furnished and all. Left it just the way it was when she died. Since then, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do with it. Being its empty and all, I don’t see any problem if you was to rent it.”

Janet immediately began to wonder what she had gotten them into. Images of a ramshackle farmhouse that probably hadn’t seen much care flashed through her mind. As Payton hedged, Janet blurted out, “Let’s go take a look at it, Steve. Ted’s probably got a great idea!”

Payton's attention had been fixed on the bartender, but Janet was certain she heard his neck snap when the significance of her suggestion struck home.

“You all go right up there and look the place over. There’s a key under the
flowerpot next to the stoop. If you want it, call me, and we’ll work out the terms.”

Ted went over to the other end of the bar to map out the route to the farm. As soon as he was out of earshot, Payton turned to Janet. “Is that iced tea spiked?”

“Nope. Look, how bad can it be? From the sound of things, his aunt’s farm is the only place available, and we need at least two rooms. A kitchen would be nice as would a living room or anywhere else where we can spread out the computer gear.”

Ted returned, map in hand. “You must’ve come from the interstate, so go back the way you came. Don’t make the turn
. Just keep ongoing. That’ll put you on this road,” Ted said pointing to the thickly penciled line traversing the page. “Follow my map from there on. There’s a mailbox where the road to the house meets the main one. The name’s Stewart. You can’t miss it. This here’s my number,” he said pointing to seven digits at the bottom of the page. “We close at midnight.”