Chapter Sixteen (B): Dead Giveaway

---1---

Charlie promptly closed his accounts and bank authorities put a trace on the transactions, engaging an investigation into all the Eppes' business affairs. Once again, life came to a roaring halt and over lunch, he and his father nervously anticipated Don's arrival and what he had to tell them. Charlie was hungry and tried to enjoy the meal but was stubbornly hounded by a well-known beast who raised its gummy tentacles and forced him to temper his appetite.

"Talk to me, Charlie," Alan said. "What's in your head?"

"Reylott."

"You're thinking he's behind all this?"

It's a feeling, can't fool me. Feelings are often misleading, inaccurate. Logic leads, that's what I'm good at, what I do, what I've done almost everyday of my life. "I'm thinking he's not," he said. "This is developing in a different direction, I can't be drawing conclusions without hearing Don out first."

"That's the spirit." Alan served a spoonful of rice onto his plate. "I've been going over last night, what you did. It was impulsive, but I'm proud of you."

"I assumed he had a lethal weapon," Charlie said. "Don was in harm's way."

"So were you."

"Yeah I was, wasn't I?" His courage pleased him and he polished off a bread roll. "Jacobi's responsible for this. She had access to our documents the whole time you were out. I was gullible."

"You couldn't have known otherwise." The color had returned to his father's face. "What I want to know is who she is. Sad to think she got no heart."

"I just hope we'll be able to get our money back."

Alan said, "I think your anxiety's infected me, too."

"Welcome to the club," he said, reaching across the table for a second roll. He'd been sitting on his shirttails and when he extended his arm the sleeve rode up—enough so the hint of an expanding spot was exposed at the cuff.

His father's sharp eye caught it, asked if it were a stain of some sort.

Charlie put down the roll. "It's nothing."

"You're a bad liar. What is it?"

"It's nothing, Dad," he said. "A smudge."

Alan came to his side. Standing over him, he asked Charlie to pull up his sleeve.

"This is ridiculous." He smoothed down the cuff. "It's nothing."

"You said that already. Now let me see your nothing." He tugged at the sleeve to get Charlie to bring up his forearm. "Up."

Charlie winced; the bruises were sensitive.

"You're in pain?" Alan said. "Let me see."

He gazed up at him; Dad wasn't going to give up and Charlie sure as heck wasn't going to go running off on him, give him more trouble. He was going face it. It'd be harder to run off now anyway with stitches, tender to the touch. But it was unavoidable; he wouldn't be able to spare his father's feelings like he had before.

Still in his chair, Charlie unbuttoned the left cuff, folded it back twice, twisting the wrist so his father could see what he'd done.

Alan gasped, almost inaudibly.

"They'll heal fine, Dad. No lasting scars."

"I know that's true but it feels like…" He cradled Charlie's wrist. "And the other one?"

He lifted his right arm then tucked it behind the chair. "It's nothing."

"Another nothing like this one?" he said. "You've been hiding this. Let me see."

To Charlie, it seemed he was a boy again—caught breaking a rule like not washing up before dinner after being told to do so. Reluctantly, he began to unbutton the second cuff, even less willing to show this arm to his father than the first. Because he'd held the knife in his right hand, Alan had been forced to restrain that side all the harder and the blossoming bruises were twice as bad as on the left. He slowly folded the cuff, pushed up the sleeve, and prepared for the reaction.

"My God." Alan touched the arm tenderly, as though it'd break, and seated himself without looking away. "It hurts?"

"No, it's fine."

"Charlie."

His father's powerful presence begged him to be truthful. "When I move it certain ways, or bump things."

"Maybe we should call the doctor and have him—"

"There's no broken bones. You're strong but not that strong," Charlie said. "They checked at the hospital."

"Thank heaven," he said. "I didn't intend to put a stranglehold on you. I was afraid you'd cut yourself."

Charlie added, "Or someone else."

Alan pushed his plate away, his meal half-eaten. "I could see David strolling in and you lunging towards him."

"Thinking he was Reylott."

"Exactly." He sighed. "I don't know my own strength."

"I didn't either," he said. Charlie meant to lighten the mood but his father didn't seem to be able to avoid staring at the bruises. Hastily, he rolled down the sleeves and rebuttoned his cuffs. "Please don't blame yourself. This is what I get for losing control."

"No. I should've stood back, gave you space until you calmed down."

"Then where would I have been? Up a tree? On the roof? Darting around the garden in my PJ's, screaming and waving a knife in the air, you chasing after me with a net? What would Mrs. Lenns think?"

Alan barely smiled. "She'd be on the phone with a real estate agent, pretty quick."

"You made a good call. It worked, didn't it?"

"I suppose," he said. "Until now, I was okay with the way I handled everything, but seeing you..." He slumped back in his chair. "I should've been more careful. I don't like bruises on my sons, especially ones there by my own hand. I'm so sorry, Charlie. I never, ever meant to do that."

"Stop with the shoulds," Charlie said. "That's the only apology I'm asking for."

Alan placed his elbow on the table, kneaded a knuckle against his thumb. "Will you forgive me?"

"Dad, come on, I'm the one who—"

"You're not a father yet," he said, adamantly. "You won't know how badly I feel about this until you are. Will you forgive me?"

Charlie crumpled his napkin. "There's nothing to forgive."

"There is. You're not the only one who lost control."

"No, we don't need to…"

"Yes," Alan said. "I was scared for you, for me, but I was also tired and angry and stressed and maybe I could've been a little less rough."

Charlie disagreed. "I don't believe that."

Falling silent, Alan rubbed his neck and swept his utensils aside, hitting a plate.

The silence was unbearable and Charlie got up, circled the table. "I don't want to upset you anymore," he said, and his father turned to him, seemed prepared to hear what he had to say. "And if it'll stop you from blaming yourself, help me make it up to you, then, all right, I forgive you."

Alan took a deep breath, his eyes shedding their worry, specks of tears. "Thank you."

Charlie went to his father, knelt on one knee and stretched to hug him. "Thank you, Dad."

---2---

An hour later, the news was grim but could have been grimmer. Each of the Eppes men had several thousand missing, traceable to a Phoenix bank account and others in neighboring states. Jacobi was a busy girl.

At the dining room table, Don updated Charlie and Alan, asking them to listen closely: "His name is Robert Altintop," he said, nursing a beer. "He's got a handful of arrests on his record but no criminal convictions. Not exactly squeaky clean, just never served any time. He's been a suspect in a few burglary cases over the last decade and has a three-year-old son named John, and he wants him back.

"About two months ago, his ex-wife, who's recently been going by Jacobi Long—she never used the name Altintop—took off with the boy. He lost track of her then hired a guy, some loser named McGann, to find her—and he did about a week ago. Altintop had him keep an eye on her, hoping she'd lead him to John. Problem was McGann hadn't been paid everything he was promised on schedule and he ran out on the job without telling Altintop he was quitting. By the time Altintop figured it out and got himself here he'd lost a couple more days. He knew Jacobi was in the city but not where."

"How'd he find her?" Charlie said.

"I'm getting to that." Don yawned, hand shielding his lips. His injury had spread, blooming into a wreath of bruises.

"Feel okay?" Alan said. "No blurry vision?"

"I'm good," he said, soothing his eyes. "Just hurts when I smile, don't mind if a don't." He went on, almost smiling after all. "Jacobi and him have a bizarre relationship. She likes to provoke him, he says, sends him letters or text messages, goads him on. While she was seeing you, Charlie, she was playing him, too. Saturday, a few hours after she left here, she called him and they argued. They hate each other and she told him he'd never see John again, later sent him a message saying if you want to find me ask Dr. Charles Eppes, intending to send you trouble."

Alan asked how Don knew this last part and Don said he'd explain in a minute.

"Altintop tracked you down pretty easily on the internet and cased the house that afternoon hoping she'd show up. He watched you and Dad, David, whole letter thing. After dark, he snuck into our yard from Mrs. Lenns' place."

"That makes sense," Charlie said. "His hands stunk. I knew I'd smelled it before—it's Mrs. Lenns' ginkgo tree. The falling fruit reeks every year, like garbage."

Don nodded. "He had a penlight on him, told us your long hair was a dead giveaway."

"Didn't hear anything." Except cats. "I was exhausted."

"And I didn't hear a thing until I heard a voice over the commercials. Thought you were talking in your sleep." Don stretched out a leg, continued. "Jacobi goes by a lot of names. Her specialty and now Altintop's—thanks to her—is identity theft. Jacobi Long's a stolen name. They weren't only husband and wife, they were partners. He knows her by Katherine, Katherine Reylott."

Charlie heard the name, saw Don staring at him, but didn't absorb the connection right away. "The sister?"

"She had this planned. To make you suffer for her brother."

He sat back in his chair, gripping the seat on either side. "Oh crap."

"But she's not a killer, Charlie," Don said. "She's a thief, a hacker. In fact, her goal at one time was to join the Bureau's NCCS, National Computer Crime Squad. They rejected her citing psych reasons. She has a lot of self-control, lot of guts, but when it comes to her personal life she loses it. I mean, she could've lain low, incognito, and taken it easy, instead, she knew if she set Altintop after you she could make you suffer a little longer, even if she wasn't there."

Alan said, "We never saw it coming. She seemed nice."

"Yeah, she's clever. Altintop thinks her full plan was to make you fall for her, then dump you flat, but she didn't have the chance, knowing he was onto her, so she took our bank info and ran with it, ahead of schedule no doubt."

I was falling for her. "And your apartment?" Charlie said. What a fool I've been.

"Another spiteful act, more an attack, I'd say. To get back at me, steal my account numbers and anything else to break us down."

"We're lucky we didn't lose more than we did," Alan said. "How'd we catch up with the theft?"

"The real Jacobi—Jacobi Long—is no slouch, she'd hired a financial investigator who finally caught up with Katherine and stopped her from accessing accounts or opening new ones. They were onto her. Most of our money was in those accounts, transferred electronically the day she disappeared. She didn't have time to take advantage of it all before she was blocked from getting into them."

Charlie mentioned the man with the dog in the park, asked Don if he could've been Altintop's snoop, McGann.

"Maybe," he said, "if he seemed a tad too friendly."

"Who broke the window?" Alan said.

"Altintop's pointing the finger at Jacobi," Don said. "You know, to mess with Charlie's head." He sipped his beer. "It didn't take much."

Charlie bristled. "Run that by me again."

Don seemed stumped. "What'd I say?"

"Boys," Alan said, intervening. "You've been through too much to start—"

"You're suggesting I was easy prey?" Charlie asked. Don never seemed satisfied.

"I'm not. But even before the window you were having all those nightmares and panic attacks. I'm only pointing out what's already been obvious to you for a long time. You told me yourself. That's why you were going to see that Volkov guy."

"Whom you wouldn't see."

"Are you still on that projecting stuff?" Don said. He sounded annoyed. "I thought you were over that."

Alan cut in. "Can we stop this now, before either of you say something you'll regret?"

Charlie got up quickly and the chair wobbled. "I'm a scaredy-cat, right?"

"You called him that?" Alan said.

Don asked his father to stay out of it.

"How could you? Altintop almost killed him in his sleep—Charlie went after him."

"I didn't say anything to Charlie about Altintop." Don looked to his brother, evidently waiting for him to clear up their father's confusion. "He did all right even if it was foolish."

"Foolish?" Charlie said, distracted and a little unnerved when one of the lookouts zipped by the dining room window on his rounds. "The truth comes out. I protected you, Don. Again."

"I appreciate it, but you should've let me handle it." He finished his beer with a noisy sip. "And seriously, Charlie...it's crossed my mind what you told this girl about yourself that let her know exactly which cards to play with you."

"Donny," Alan said. "He didn't know she was a criminal."

"She had a line on your state of mind from the start. Made it easier for her."

Charlie had a hand on his hip, unexpectedly sensed pain. "You're mad about the money."

"No," Don said. "I just want you to be careful with what you tell strangers next time."

"Then this is my fault?"

"Boys…"

Don dragged the empty beer can across the table. "Dad, please."

"You have everything figured out, don't you?" Charlie wrapped his arms snugly over his chest. "That's why you don't have a job."

Alan admonished him. "Charlie, that's not fair."

With one fist, Don crushed the can. "So Dr. Eppes, when's your next lecture?"

"Gentlemen, this has gone far enough," Alan said, rising. His face was flushed.

Charlie felt bad; he'd waltzed right into it again, unintentionally stressing out his father. He quickly curbed his aggravation, moved away from the window. "I agree—and I apologize, I didn't intend to…" Fed-up in Charlieland. "Excuse me," he said, darting to the stairs. "I'm feeling really tired all of sudden."

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