Undeliverable (27 page)

Ben snorted. As if anyone could “just” be a psychopath. He reached over and turned off the radio, weary of the second-guessing, the second-rate hack job psychology. The man was a sick bastard, that was all. A sick, murdering bastard. Ben glanced over at the passenger seat frequently, checking to make sure that the gun was completely covered. He wasn’t sure what the gun laws were in Georgia, but he was pretty sure they weren’t lenient.

He had to circle the courthouse a couple times before he found parking, but he finally found a spot and fed the meter. He had about a half an hour before the arraignment was supposed to take place, so he found a bench that faced the courthouse door and sat, his windbreaker draped over the gun in his lap. He kept going over every detail of the case, of his son’s disappearance, of Moscovich’s life, and every point at which they might have intersected and brought this monster into their lives. Every cruel thing the man might have done to his son flickered through his mind. He could only think of one thing that would make it all stop.

After a few minutes, he had to remove his hand from the handle of the gun and stretch his fingers and pop his wrist. His palms were sweaty, as was the rest of him. The bench was in the sun, and the temperature was well over ninety. He leaned his head back, then rolled it around, trying to stretch out the muscles, but snapped upright at an increase of sound coming from the courthouse. He nearly let the gun drop out of the windbreaker but caught it at the last second.

However, the noise was just a bunch of news vans pulling up, readying their equipment for their first live shot of Leonard. Ben checked his watch and found it was just now noon, which meant that it would still be a few minutes before the killer was brought out of the courthouse to return to jail. He figured there was no way he could be released on bail. Not with ten dead boys in the ground. He would be cuffed, with an escort, which would make it more difficult to get close to him, but this needed to be done.

Ben wandered back to the steps of the courthouse and started milling between the news crews. There were radio and television, as well as print reporters of all kinds. Boom mics were being lifted and camera batteries checked. He fingered the trigger of the gun wrapped in the windbreaker in his arms, wondering if Leonard would look at all like his pictures online. He had to be sure that he was taking out the right man, the murderous bastard, who must have made his son’s last moments on this earth a terrifying agony.

When the noise on the steps escalated again, Ben knew for sure it was because Leonard was coming. The reporters descended on the group leaving the courthouse, shouting.

“Leonard, why did you do it?”

“What was the decision?”

“Mr. Moscovich, is it true you killed your mother, too?”

The man was hunched up with his lawyer’s suit coat over his head, the green tweed distinctly clashing with his orange jumpsuit. Ben started to push his way through the throng of people, trying to angle his movement to intersect the besieged party as it hit the street. Abruptly, he was in front of the man and staring into heavily lashed, frightened eyes.

This wasn’t the hard, twisted man Ben had expected. He was a nothing, a scared child in a grown-up body. He clearly could not understand what was happening around him, the noise and the people inundating him in stimulus he couldn’t comprehend. Ben let the gun fall to his side as their eyes locked, Moscovich’s empty of the cold evil that Ben had needed to destroy. Then the crowd swept past him and Leonard was loaded into the waiting police car.

After Leonard had pulled away and the reporters were grumbling about the lack of comments from the publicly condemned, Ben finally tore his eyes away from the direction the car had taken and started to stumble back to his car. He threw the windbreaker and gun onto the back seat, filled with loathing and horror. He peeled out of the parking spot and headed for home instead of work, unable to stomach being around any other people.

His traitorous brain kept going over what had happened, replaying the terrified expression on the round face of the captive, the shouting mob of reporters. He could still feel the steel in his hand, the pressure of his finger against the trigger. And then his mind made the leap, and he started to imagine what would have happened if he had actually been able to fire the pistol. Screaming, running, blood at his feet. He’d never seen anyone shot in real life, but he could imagine it. He might have actually killed him. The blood in his mind was so vivid he could smell it, and his stomach revolted.

He yanked the car to the curb and opened his car door, trying to stop heaving.

He sat with his hazard lights on for another few minutes, head back against the headrest, and tried to breathe normally. When the light-headedness had passed, he pulled back into traffic and changed directions, heading back to work. The desire to be rid of the gun outweighed any desire he had to be alone.

Ben wandered back into the warehouse and went straight to the long-term bay. There was now overbearing opera music rattling through the warehouse, sounding German in origin. He pulled the clip out, trying to empty it with shaking hands.

Reg’s voice came from behind him. “Hey there, Ben, going over the long-term stuff?”

“Yup.” Ben hastily set down the now empty gun in its drawer and slammed it shut.

“I could have sworn that I didn’t see any guns up in the next little while for auction. Just admiring them?” The auditor strode forward and slid open the drawer. He fingered the pistols for a moment while Ben held his breath. He kept reminding himself he had a perfectly legitimate excuse for handling the firearms. He was their keeper, after all. And nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing. His stomach churned over at the thought of what had almost happened. What kind of person was he if he could even think about taking another man’s life?

“Just checking to make sure there weren’t any signs of rust or anything. You can’t sell a gun that doesn’t work.” Ben’s newly empty stomach combined with his revulsion and his head swam. He put a hand out to the shelf to steady himself.

“Oh, well, this won’t do. Can’t have a man of your stature go down, we won’t be able to shift you out of the way! You eaten yet today, boy?”

Ben gritted his teeth at the now overly solicitous man. Why couldn’t he just remain uninterested and aloof, particularly at this moment? “I am no boy.”

“Well, I guess that crankiness means you could use some lunch. Come on, let’s get that darling little assistant of yours to go get us some sandwiches. I need to do your interview.” He went to grab Ben’s upper arm, but Ben stepped out of his way, giving a mocking bow out of the bay to disguise his shaking.

“She would hate to hear you call her a little darling,” Ben informed the man’s back as they headed toward the desk.

“It is most ridiculous how women take these endearments as something offensive. Reflects nothing whatsoever on them. Harrumph.” Reg stuck his head out of the warehouse. “Sylvia! Sylvia! Oh, there, excellent. Come now, be a good girl and retrieve some sandwiches from the deli. I ordered already. You just need to pick them up.”

Sylvia’s voice echoed from the hallway, “And you need me to pick them up because?”

“Because I’m about to do Ben’s evaluation, and the poor man is falling over from malnutrition!” The auditor shut the door before Sylvia could answer. “Alright now, let’s get down to it, shall we?”

“Fine, I guess.” Ben dropped himself back into his own office chair, gesturing the auditor towards the folding chair propped against the cubicle wall. He didn’t have the patience to pander to the man today, nor the stability to try and balance his large frame on the small chair. How he was going to concentrate on an interview when the image of Moscovich’s frightened face kept flashing across his mind, he had no idea.

“Ha, I see how this is going to go then. Don’t mind if I do.” Reg retrieved the chair and tried to settle into it. “Damn uncomfortable things. And no matter the weather, always cold. Why is that, d’you think?” Reg paused while pulling out a notebook.

“Because they’re metal.”

“Herm? Oh, quite, yes. Now, let’s see. You’ve been here how long?”

“One month, says so on my paperwork.”

“Sure, sure, just easier to ask you. Now. Sylvia is your assistant, correct?”

Ben was unprepared for the question, having been trying vainly to mentally prepare himself for questions about his work, not about Sylvia. “She is more of a Center gopher. She helps me, she helps readers and sorters, she does the shredding. Frankly, I think she secretly runs the place sometimes.”

“I see, yes, but she works closely with the objects and the mail?”

Ben crossed his arms, even in his distracted state picking up on the fact that Reg was asking loaded questions. “We all do.”

“Mmhm. Well, has anything ever seemed to go missing?”

“You mean besides the whole safe full of valuable objects?”

“Actually, seems to be there wasn’t a whole lot that was valuable in there. The last clerk kept an odd assortment of things in there like a voodoo doll, and,” he consulted a list at the back of the binder, “a set of false teeth, several ancient ‘round the world’ letters, and a tiara set with glass stones.”

“Really?” This wasn’t the first that Ben had heard about the missing items; he had seen the list of items that had wandered off and there was much more on it than that. “Nothing valuable at all?”

Reg waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, of course there was about seven thousand dollars worth of jewelry as well. It was just the other stuff that seemed odd.”

Ben shrugged and tried to force himself to relax, knowing that his defensiveness was only going to get himself, if not Sylvia, in trouble. Focusing on how much the little man across the desk irritated him seemed to help him get the image of Moscovich’s terrified face out of his head. “Well, if it’s gone, it’s gone. I haven’t particularly noticed anything else.”

“Alright. How does Sylvia seem to you? Mentally, I mean.”

Ben shifted his weight back and forth on his chair, picturing his assistant’s flighty outbursts and dramatic over-reactions to such questions. “I thought this was a review about me.”

“Why so agitated?”

“I just…I really don’t like talking about people behind their backs; it’s dishonest.”

Reg nodded sagely and made a note on his pad of paper. “I quite understand, honor and all that, refreshing to find someone around here with your principles. Especially as some might question the relationship between an older man and his young pretty assistant.”

For the first time, Ben was thankful that he and Sylvia were unhappy with each other. It made it easier to lie to this man about them having slept together. “Frankly, you’ve seen how cold she is to me.”

“Yes, yes. But one never can tell in situations like this.”

Ben rubbed his hands briskly over his face and sat up a little straighter, willing the auditor to believe the line of border-truth he was about to deliver. “Well, we’re nothing but colleagues. I thought we had been working towards being friends, but now I’m not so sure. I think perhaps she was simply taking pity on the new guy for a bit there.”

“She’s a girl. They all have their unreasonable moments. It is probably just
that time of the month.
” The auditor whispered the last to Ben.

Appalled at the man’s lack of tact, Ben decided to just agree with him. It was easier than trying to point out where Reg had gone wrong in his entire philosophy of dealing with women. “Sure. Right. Whatever. Is there anything else?”

Reg laughed and leaned back in his folding chair, obviously uncomfortable but trying not to show it. “Of course, haven’t even made it to your questions yet.”

Ben made an expansive gesture and settled back into his desk chair, willing the little man to hurry up. “Well then, please, let’s get this over with.”

“Alright, why do you think you are qualified for this job?”

Ben snorted. “Besides the fact that I was hired?”

Reg didn’t even bat an eye, just repeated the question. “Yes, why are you qualified?”

“I was a library science major, and I spent a long time working in an antique shop. It’s given me a unique take on organization and research.”

The auditor scribbled a few notes and then looked back up. “Sounds like a good enough set of reasons to me. And how do you run your days? What’s a typical day like?”

The auditor asked question after question, all about the minute details of Ben’s days, his methods for handling the property that came through his office. At one point, Sylvia returned with the sandwiches and handed them to Reg. The two men ate in relative silence before Reg picked his pen back up. “So, onwards and upwards, eh? You have access to all these powerful search programs. Are you ever tempted to misuse them?”

Ben crumpled his sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the trash before responding. “What do you mean by misuse?”

Reg leaned forward, eager. “For your own purposes. That sort of thing.”

After a split-second hesitation, Ben responded, “No sir, I do not. I mean, not all of the searches so far have been strictly related to the items going up for auction and the like. I’ve been getting to know the system, trying random searches to see what comes up. So that as we move forward I know exactly how to best utilize my resources.”

The man nodded, making more notes. “Well, that makes perfect sense, accounts for some of the things I was noticing. Nothing related, perhaps, to the search for your son?”

Ben went cold. He wanted this man and his chauvanistic antagonism as far from the search for his boy as possible. “What about my son?”

“I hear you’ve a bit of an obsession going.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. And no, I’m not using the programs in that fashion. If my preliminary searches trying to figure out the software have seemed related, it’s in a strictly subconscious fashion, I assure you.” This seemed to satisfy the auditor and they meandered around other subjects for a half hour before the auditor declared their interview was done.

“I think that’s all for now. Could you be a gent and send your lady friend in? It’s her turn for the grill next.” Reg stood and stretched his back, waiting just long enough for Ben to get out of the more comfortable desk chair before commandeering it again.