It was early hours of the morning and Rayman lay in the back seat of his rental car with his head propped up looking out the window behind the driver’s seat. He had been watching detective Dixon’s flat for over an hour from across the street. There were no lights on and no signs of life. Rayman knew Cale had been released from the DC hospital and should be home by now, if he was coming home. He thought of the woman at the DC hospital that had been sitting with Cale and keeping him company. Rayman played with Cale’s business card, rolling it lengthwise between his fingers like a poker chip while studying the construction of the building and decided there wasn’t an original alarm system in the structure. He pushed the passenger seat forward and got out of the car, crossed the street and went up the stairs to Cale’s flat. Rayman didn’t knock on the door he immediately jimmied the lock. The door clicked open and he entered the apartment silently. The only light came from the answering machine on a table, a red flashing light at the end of the entry hall. Shadows began to form as Rayman’s eyes adjusted to the dark. He could make out the kitchen and walked in and opened the refrigerator. It stunk. The milk had gone sour; the cheese and bread were beginning to grow green mold and the meat looked iridescent and smelled rank. Rayman was familiar with the fetid aroma; on two occasions at the ranch house, his father’s abduction and then again a few years later when his uncle disappeared; the ranch house was found locked up and reeked of rotting flesh. The only thing in Cale’s refrigerator that hadn’t gone bad was the six-pack of Beck’s standing at attention on the bottom right side of the shelf. Rayman pulled out a beer and searched the drawers for an opener. He popped open a beer then closed the refrigerator door and leaned against the counter in the dark waiting and thinking. He walked over to the message machine and pushed the message button.
“Hi this is Cale Dixon. I’m unable to take your call. Please leave a message or call me at work at (415) 788-2677 or try me on my cell, (415) 502-2253.”
Rayman felt for Cale’s card in his pocket.
The machine continued, “You have two new messages;”
“Hi Cale, this is Captain Hooker. I don’t know if Victoria told you but I’ve given you next week off. But, Martin thinks he has some research leads for you to check out, if you’re up for it. I want you to report to my office Tuesday at nine o’clock. You are still in the research department and your detective status is in upper level bureaucratic purgatory. For what it’s worth, through further investigation, we found no negligence on your part; in other words, you’re not at fault for the events that took place during your case. Think about what you want to do and mind the suits don’t corral you. Let’s consider your options over donuts and coffee, my buy.”
Rayman walked into the living room and looked out the sliding glass door through a space between the curtains. The street was dark, statuesque street lamps and no movement. The message machine beeped the second call.
“Hello Cale, its Paula Henderson. I bet you didn’t expect to hear from me so soon – or at all. The prodigal daughter returns to her homeland after a fifteen-year hiatus to South East Asia. I’m in LA seeing friends on my way back to New York. I thought, if you weren’t terribly busy, I’d come up and see you in San Francisco before I flew home. I’ll be here for a while or I may come up that way. I don’t know what I’m doing yet. Oh and I don’t have a phone so I’ll call you back in a couple of days. I look forward to seeing you. Bye.”
Rayman smiled to himself and whispered hypothetically at Cale’s situation, “And she wants you. Boy, you are going to have some explaining to do when you get home.” He pulled out a penlight from his pocket and turned his attention to the table littered with photographs of Won Chanyu’s body at the scene of the crime, the layout at the Cho Museum, both etchings on the Un Jangdo blade and Won Chanyu mouth full of Moguk rubies. Rayman shuffled the pictures about and stared in disbelief at a small group of previously buried photos of the vault map Cale found in Won Chanyu’s belt. Rayman sat down and began peeling through them turning them this way and that, trying to decipher some of the cryptic notes of the past to no avail.
Leave a Reply