Leonard received nothing from his late brother. Disappointment overwhelmed him. It had been that way for quite some years until Lawrence's death. Leonard felt it, like a terrible weight that affected him physically and emotionally. No one had to call him, though his father did, for he knew Lawrence was dead and had already made arrangements to come back to the United States. It was as though a part of Lawrence had tried to make one last desperate effort at reaching out to him. Leonard walked into another room and flipped on the light switch. He was in the library. The room measured at least twenty-five feet by twenty-five feet and contained volumes of books from end to end, ceiling to floor, and in between. The exigency was here. The vibe was so strong it was physical.
'But where?' Leonard wondered.
If it were in one of the books it would take him months to find it. And now he felt another vibration – this one a warning!
Agents Dobbs and Kawalski remained in the car half a block away inconspicuously watching Lawrence's house. Kawalski munched on a protein bar. He was a devout health food enthusiast, maintaining a regimen of only two full meals a day. This day however was an exception he told himself to justify his consumption of a fourth protein bar. Dobbs sipped on a twelve ounce bottle of now warm Pepsi, the exact opposite of a healthy eater himself.
"How you can eat that crap I don't know," Dobbs said.
"Same way you eat pizza," Kawalski shot back. "And caring what I put into my body helps. Unlike some people I know."
"Pizza taste better, let me tell you," Dobbs challenged. "Hell, pizza at least has taste. The crap you call food, you may as well eat hay, like a horse. All substance and no damn taste."
"Yeah, and with every bite of the shit you eat, you shorten your life at least a few years," Kuwolski argued. "With your diet, or lack of one, that might be all the time you have left and don't even know it."
"Says who?" Dobbs wanted to know.
"Coroners."
"Yeah, right. Jesus… what's he doing in there?" Dobbs glanced at his wristwatch; his attention deficit disorder was creeping in.
"Go ask him why don't you," Kawalski jokingly suggested.
"Hell, yeah. Not a bad idea," Dobbs agreed.
"I was kidding," Kawalski said.
"I'm not. Really."
"No, Dobbs. Twenty feet, remember?"
"Aren't you even curious?" Dobbs asked. "Seriously. Get an idea of what this guy's about. What he looks like? Read him a little up close?"
"Oh, I'm curious alright," Kawalski admitted. "Just not curious enough to break protocol."
"Protocol," Dobbs fired back. "Who'd know?" He surveyed the surroundings. The quiet street offered nothing suspicious outside of their own presence. Two blocks away an aged woman walked her dog.
"And what if he makes you?" Dobbs quizzed.
"He won't. We'll pretend we're looking for someone else but we just have the wrong address."
"We?" Kawalski said firmly.
"We're a team, aren't we partner?
"Yeah," Dobbs replied sharply, "But not stupid. At least one of us."
They sat quietly for a while. Kawalski finished his protein bar. Crumpled the wrapper in a tight ball and used his pant pocket as a temporary waste receptacle and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Dobbs sighed impatiently and waited until the woman and the dog were at an appropriate distance away…
"Be right back," Dobbs said, opening the door.
"Dobbs. Dammit."
CHAPTER 8
Dorothea stood in the mirror admiring her image. She loved the way she looked. It was a total transformation physically and psychologically. So much so that she would hardly be recognized by those familiar with her. The first time Jack saw her like this he was beside himself with disbelief. He was gone now as were the guest. It was getting late. On the bedroom wall the brass and wooden clock showed 9:30 PM. It was a perfect hour for Michele' to make her rounds. Jack said he had something very important to handle and that it could not wait another day. Of course he did not elaborate as usual, but that did not prevent Dorothea from sensing the errand had something to do with that mysterious man in the woods. Though she accepted Jack's urgent need she was well aware it would not have made a difference either way, and she was angry with him for leaving her alone in such a time of need. By now she should have grown used to loneliness. Jack's years in the military was her introduction to the oft times lonely life of a military wife. For now, she smiled. She could hardly believe the transformation herself. Her skin was smoother, tighter; her shape more hour-glassed and the symmetry and curves of her calves and thighs would make the most gorgeous of women envious and she looked at least ten years younger. Her short curly hair had a lustrous sheen and framed her features perfectly. She was always an attractive woman, but this woman in the mirror was a sex goddess of beauty. Dorothea had missed her alter ego. It had been so long since she paid a visit and now it was time Michele' had some fun. She slipped on her coat, took up her purse from the dresser, car keys and headed out the door.
CHAPTER 9
Jack knew the game. He knew he was being watched and followed. It didn't matter. If it came down to it, he could shake the tail. For now, his concern was finding out whether or not Lawrence had been murdered. He made an informal appointment to speak with the coroner that performed the autopsy. Jack was aware that if Doctor Samuel Newsome falsified the death certificate it was because he was coerced, and that would of course complicate if not damn near make it almost impossible to get the truth out the man. But Jack had experience in all forms of interrogations. Not that he planned to use any of those techniques on the good doctor, but he could tell when most people were lying, especially if they've never been trained in how to lie. He just needed to question the doctor and watch for signs in his body language, tone of speech and so forth. For now, who he may have lied for and why wasn't as important as getting the truth. Doctor Newsome didn't mind having the meeting at his home. Perhaps that's because he knew secrecy was an absolute waste of time and effort. Jack was certain the people he would think he could avoid already knew more about the doctor than he knew about himself.
The Long Island neighborhood was quiet; the naked tree-lined, suburban-like streets empty of even the occasional moving vehicle. Jack rang the doorbell, which sounded the normal Ding-Dong chime instead one of those fancy, ridiculous musical chimes for which modern day folks have developed a fondness. Jack felt something in common with the man already. Doctor Newsome opened the door. He was tall and thin, around fortyish with mildly handsome features, a subdued demeanor and a smile that could charm snakes. He put out his hand to greet Jack. His fingers were long and slender, delicate like they ought to be gliding across the ivory keys of a piano playing out a concerto instead of surgically mutilating bodies for the good of science, medicine and the law.
"Mister Strahm," Newsome's voice was soft and sincere in tone. "Glad you could make it. Come inside, please."
"Thank you," Jack said, as he stepped inside Doctor Newsome's home.
The two men proceeded to the living room. The house was warm and cozy. A fireplace burned. Jack did not see Doctor Newsome's wife, but there was a feminine touch in much of the décor that hinted he had one.