Mule, p.35
MULE, page 35
The cab turned down Main Street. Kerrie instructed the driver to turn right at Ocean Avenue, all the way up to Sea Cove Road, then another right. It was Wednesday afternoon, and they were arriving at the home of Connie Reynolds at exactly 3:30 as she had requested. She had been pretty adamant about that time, so Kerrie didn't want to push things and get there any earlier than that.
They could see that Connie's house was a cute craftsman style, one and a half storey, with a large covered porch. The color of the house had been sky blue at one time, but now looked faded and tired. The grass was sparse and burnt out from lack of watering, and the bushes under the front window had been dead for quite some time. There were no flowers in sight. This house at one time must have been splendid. Not anymore. The condition of the exterior of the house gave them a clue as to what they might have to brace themselves for on the inside.
They walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. Within just a few seconds, the inner door opened and a once-pretty face peered out at them. "Connie?"
"Yes, I'm Connie."
"Hello again, Connie. Do you remember me? Kerrie Joplin?"
"Yes, I do. I remembered you were coming and I've put on some coffee.
Who's he?"
"This is Jack Howser, that friend of mine I told you about. Do you mind if he visits with us?"
A slight pause. "No, I don't mind."
They stared through the screen door at each other for a few more seconds.
Finally Kerrie said, "Connie, could you unlock the screen door so we can come in? Would that be okay?"
"Oh, yes...sorry."
She unlocked the door and they walked into the hallway. Kerrie and Jack looked around. The house was incredibly dark. All the blinds were down, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Strange. In stark contrast to the bleakness of the house exterior though, the inside was spotless. The furnishings were dated, but everything seemed to be perfectly in its place and the décor was tasteful.
Connie led them into the kitchen and pointed to the chairs around the table. They sat down as Connie fussed with the coffee and poured three cups. Jack could see that at one time, probably not too long ago, this girl had been a looker. She had auburn hair just like his Susan had, but it wasn't cared for. Her face was pale, but he could tell that her features were attractive. She wore no makeup, but her face structure didn't seem to need it. She just needed color, natural color. And those dark rings underneath her eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
He noticed that her movements were forced, almost weary. However, her figure was excellent. She was very shapely. Connie seemed, in Jack's view, to be somewhat of a paradox.
Jack and Kerrie looked at each other, puzzled. So far Connie had been, at the very best, robotic. Jack remembered Kerrie's comment, that when she had talked with her on the phone she had seemed stoned. Jack thought that perhaps she was stoned right now also. There were no niceties, no expressions, no smiles. Connie sat down and joined them at the table. They each sipped their coffees.
Then she suddenly raised her head and put down her cup. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she looked directly at Kerrie.
"I loved your father. I really did."
Chapter 31
"They haven't returned here to Bigfork." Sam Summerfield, aka Bob Trundle, was speaking on the phone with his superior in Langley, Virginia. "Gone—no doubt about it."
"They're most certainly in New York, despite our best efforts. We double-checked with the FAA, and they were definitely not on board the Northwest flight. We also checked FAA records on charter flights: one out of Helena filed a flight plan for New York and departed at 2:00 p.m. Monday," Jim Wingate, assistant director of NCS and head of SAD, reported.
"What was the charter booked under?" Sam asked.
"It wasn't in either of their names; it was booked under a corporate entity. And there was a bank transfer from that company on Monday, to the charter company's account in Helena." Jim replied. "But get this, we traced the company to its headquarters in Calgary, Alberta. Just a post office box."
"A dummy corporation most likely. Howser is from Alberta, so that's too much of a coincidence." Sam commented.
"Yes, it's a strong probability that they were on that charter. Though do you think they could have driven?" Jim asked.
"Doubtful, Virginia, unless they rented a car. We found Howser's Audi parked at the airport," Sam replied.
"Well, these two are resourceful. They've shown that right from the start. The 'No Fly' list did not discourage them in the least, and we obviously never thought that chartering an aircraft was within their financial means. We should have checked Howser's financial background a long time ago. I think they were definitely on that charter. Its flight plan took it to Long Island Macarthur Airport," Jim mused. "And we've had tracers out on their credit cards. No transactions recorded yet at all. If they are there, they're being mighty careful to use cash only. No surprise, since the Joplin lady is now on to you."
"What do you want me to do? Stay or go," Sam asked.
"You need to get to New York. You're the lead agent on this case, Montana, and I don't want to have to bring any more agents in on this problem than I have to. You'll see this through to the end. We'll have Colorado camp out at your house in Bigfork again in case they return," Jim instructed. "We'll have four agents meet you at Long Island. They'll know nothing about this case other than the basics and what you brief them on. Use them for surveillance and assistance, but no details other than who we want to grab and their photos."
"Okay, do we have any of our planes out this way right now?" Sam asked. "Yes, we have one on hold for you at Great Falls, fueled and ready as we speak. I've also just sent you an email, with two attachments. The first contains the names and addresses of all of Mitch's old contacts and friends in New York. It's not long—he was a loner. The second lists the closest contacts that his daughter had when she lived there. Rotate your men on these people and we might find them making contact. New York is a big place, but we have to start somewhere."
"Virginia, we don't know why they're in New York, but why would we grab them before we let them lead us to something, or someone. I strongly suggest that if we do locate them, we just watch them for now," Sam advised. "Otherwise, we'll have nothing. We should manage the problem, and let it work for us."
Jim paused, thinking over Sam's suggestion. "Yeah, I think that's wise. Follow your own good judgment. But I do not, repeat do not, want these two turning into loose cannons. Do you read me?"
"Loud and clear."
*****
Kerrie got up from her chair and walked over to Connie's. She put her arms around her and gave her a gentle embrace, while at the same time giving Jack a subtle motion with her hand for him to leave the room. Jack got up quietly and went into the adjoining dining room.
Kerrie knelt down and looked straight into Connie's eyes. The poor girl was sobbing and shaking, and her eyes were bloodshot. She looked back at her in a way that Kerrie sensed was a plea for help. At that moment Kerrie felt overwhelming compassion for Connie Reynolds.
Connie laid her head on Kerrie's shoulder. "I don't understand what's wrong with me. I can't continue like this."
"Connie," Kerrie said softly, "it's okay for you to have loved my dad. I loved him too. He was just that kind of guy. He had that effect on people."
"But I don't know why he did this to me. We were so close, even though we always had a bank counter between us, but we shared things, you know? I must sound crazy because he was sixty-five and I was only twenty-three."
"You're not crazy, and age has nothing to do with these things. Sometimes people we meet only briefly in life make a huge impact. There must be a bigger, perhaps more spiritual reason that you and I will never understand," Kerrie soothed. She gently wiped Connie's eyes, and handed her a tissue to blow her nose.
"Kerrie, I've only met you once before, but I feel close to you. Probably because you remind me so much of your father."
Kerrie smiled at the touching comment. "That's nice. My dad would probably be happy that you and I are spending some time together."
"I told him things about myself, things that I wouldn't tell a stranger. He knew that I had been through a terrible time after my parents' deaths. He gave me advice and seemed to really understand. He was always concerned about me." Connie reached for another tissue.
"That sounds like my father—not telling anyone too much about himself, but always concerned about others."
"He knew I was angry after the World Trade Center attacks and he helped me deal with that. I don't know how I would have handled it without his shoulder to cry on."
Kerrie came more alert at this last statement. Did Connie have a personal story about 9/11 just like Jack? She noticed that Jack hadn't missed this either, as he peeked around the corner from the dining room. She shooed him back with her hand.
"You know, I blamed every goddamned Arab I saw on the streets. As far as I was concerned, they were all guilty of killing my parents. Mitch helped me handle that anger. Despite what he did to me at the end I'll always be grateful for his compassion. I truly loved him for that."
Despite Kerrie's attempts to keep him out of the room, Jack obviously couldn't resist any longer. He came back into the kitchen, sat in one of the old wooden chairs and pulled it beside Connie on the other side of where Kerrie was kneeling. He took her hand in his.
"Connie, you don't know me, but you and I have something tragic in common. I heard what you just said about your parents. I lost my wife in the World Trade Center. Kerrie and I had no idea that your parents died there too."
Connie reached over with both hands and framed them around Jack's face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "My God, you poor man. You know what I've been going through, then. It never goes away, does it?"
Connie's hands wrapping around his face brought back an instant poignant memory to Jack of his loving mother and how she used to console him. It felt so comforting. "No it doesn't. To lose someone that way is so graphic and so public. Every year in September during those tedious memorial services and with every stupid, insensitive news organization that has to show it to us all over again, we victims have to live through it all over again."
Connie nodded quickly, as if Jack were speaking her own thoughts.
Jack continued. "Most people aren't forced to relive the deaths of their loved ones in that fashion. So go easy on yourself. Your parents and my Susan were the ultimate victims of that terrorist attack, but you and I were victims too. It's okay for us to feel like victims, but we have to try our best to feel other things too. We can't let it consume us or control our lives."
Connie was staring down at the table and wiped her tears away. Then she looked up, wincing as if she were in physical pain.
"I was starting to recover from it quite nicely, I really was. It's true what you say and I was able to re-focus on other things. And Mitch helped me deal with the anger. But then he did what he did that day in the bank and I fell apart. I can't seem to bounce back. Maybe because I was in love with him— my own little secret—and couldn't explain in my mind why he would do that to me. I felt betrayed. And then he just died. And I never found out why he terrified me like that. I know he wanted to broadcast something, but why did he choose me to be his hostage and make me wear that horrible bomb vest? I thought he cared about me."
"Have you sought out some professional help, Connie?" Kerrie asked. She still had her arms around her shoulders, and Jack had taken hold of her hand again. She had stopped shaking. It was evident from her willingness to talk about her tragedies, and cry so openly, that human contact was helping. That and the common horror she shared with Jack, were helping her to open up. She no longer sounded like the zombie Kerrie had heard over the phone, or even looked like the person who had opened the front door just an hour ago. She actually now had color in her cheeks, and instead of being aloof she actually seemed to have warmed up to the interaction with the two of them.
"Oh sure, lots of talk and clinical crap. And pills, tons of them. For depression, anxiety, and agoraphobia. The agoraphobia means that I can't let myself go outside that often, or be with strangers, or be in strange places. Panic attacks can happen at the drop of a hat, and they're bad when they come—chest pains, can't breathe. Just horrible."
"We're basically strangers, Connie, and you're talking with us just fine," Kerrie said.
Connie smiled as if this was a revelation that she hadn't been aware of. "Yes, you're right. That's unusual for me. It feels kind of nice, believe me."
For the next several hours, the three of them chatted. Connie seemed to have cast her shell aside, and was freely opening up to the two of them. The connection between her and Jack was real. It was clear she was glad to have someone to talk to who had gone through exactly what she had gone through eight years ago. And she was very warm towards Kerrie; the fact that she was Mitch's daughter seemed to have opened up a channel.
It was getting late in the evening and they had all forgotten to eat. Jack suggested ordering a pizza. Connie and Kerrie were all for it, but to Jack's chagrin they both loved anchovies.
As they sat in the dining room eating pizza, which Jack thought was the best he had eaten in a long time despite the anchovies, Kerrie started probing a bit more about her father. "Connie, do you remember much about my dad? You mentioned earlier that some memories over the last few years had become a bit fuzzy."
"I know we shared things between us, and I remember some, but there should be more. It feels as if I was very close to your father, and I can't stand this void. Almost like back in my college days when I sometimes had too much to drink, and then the next morning struggled to remember. It's kind of like that, like I've been drunk the last few years. And I should clarify, I'm not much of a drinker." Connie chuckled.
Kerrie leaned across the table and gently rubbed Connie's hand. "Can you remember if my father ever gave you anything?"
Connie ran her fingers through her hair. "I only remember one thing he gave me: a locket necklace. He suggested I put my parents' photos in there and keep them close to my heart." She patted her left chest.
"Would you be able to show that to us?" Jack asked, excitement building. "Sure, glad to."
Connie went off to her bedroom and came back a few minutes later with the necklace. It was beautiful, white gold, the locket encrusted with diamonds around the edges, and in the shape of an abstract heart. Connie opened the locket to reveal two miniature photos of her parents, one on each side of the shell. They were smiling and looked like such nice people. Connie started to cry again. Kerrie examined it, to see if there was a key perhaps hidden behind one of the photos. She looked at Jack, shook her head, and closed the locket.
Then she went behind Connie and helped her put the necklace on. It looked beautiful on her.
They had all sat in silence for a few minutes when Jack asked, "Do you recall if he ever gave you a key?"
"A key? No, I don't recall that at all. He did give me a poinsettia that last Christmas before he died. That's the only other thing he gave me that I can recall. Why did you ask about a key?"
Jack told her about the message on the chip and how they thought they had figured out the clues, which brought them to her doorstep. He didn't share with her any of the misadventures they had had. Connie didn't need anything else to be stressed about.
"We're just curious if he left you something he was keeping secret through this coded message."
"I wish I could remember, I really do. I wish the last few years would open up for me. If he did leave me something else to pass along to you, I would want to know." She paused. "I'm worried now that I may be letting him down." She started rubbing her eyes. The crying had left them bloodshot.
"No, don't think that way. We're probably just grasping at straws here anyway. Perhaps we misinterpreted the clues that he gave. Perhaps he even meant the other teller that he used that day, the Hispanic girl?" Kerrie said.
"Conchita passed away about a year ago. Breast cancer." Connie said softly. Silence again. That was the kind of statement that would usually throw a wet cloth on any conversation.
"That was sure one good pizza," Jack blurted out awkwardly. Connie started giggling first, then Kerrie, and Jack finally joined in. He hadn't intended it that way, but the pizza turned out to be a good icebreaker.
Connie looked at both of them once the laughing had stopped. "Be honest with me. Do you think Mitch's message may be about something serious?"
Jack answered. "Yes, but we don't want to alarm you. That's not what we came here to do. You've asked for honesty, so you deserve to hear how we feel. We do believe it's serious. We think it may have something to do with what he did that day in the bank and why he did it. And there are other people who are trying to find out what that message means also; people who aren't too nice. The things those people have done to us have convinced us the message involves something troubling."
Connie stood up, and looked down at them with an almost defiant look in her eyes. "Then I want to help you. I need to help you. If he was referring to a teller in the message, he had to have meant me. He didn't know Conchita at all, so there has to be something that I'm just not remembering."
Kerrie stood up and squeezed Connie's shoulder. "Don't feel obligated. If you don't remember anything about a key, then there's not much we can do. But I'll leave you our hotel room's phone number if you remember something after we leave." Kerrie took a pen and some paper out of her purse, wrote down the number and handed it to Connie. "Don't hesitate to call us, anytime day or night, okay? We're staying at the Lamplighter Hideaway near the airport. This number will connect you right to our room, so you don't have to phone the front desk."
"Okay. I'll think very hard tonight, I promise."
They hugged at the door and said their goodbyes. Connie seemed much more human now, more alive. Smiles had come easier to her in the last couple of hours. The talking had done her some real good, and the connection with Jack over 9/11 appeared to have been a godsend for her.
