SECRETS AND SPIES
Chapter Four
After a long and uncomfortable flight, I can sense we're dropping altitude at last. The plane has been buffeted by strong winds from the moment it took off and right now I feel like I've been stuck on a three-hour, white-knuckle, roller-coaster ride. In situations like these, I'd automatically reach for a cigarette, only this luxury isn't available for nervous flyers like me anymore. Nicotine-laced gum has been my savior.
There have also been zero opportunities to glimpse Nevada, Utah, or Colorado from my window seat, so the spectacular views of the Rockies which distract me from the terrors of being thirty thousand feet in the air have been hidden by cloud. This pisses me even more and increases my desperation to be safely inside my cabin, where I can view the mountains from my window, or even better from my endless back yard.
The seat belt 'on' sign pings, although I can't imagine there's anybody on board who's had the balls to take theirs off. As we drop another thousand feet and have another near-death moment when the plane lurches several times before steadying again, I'm still not regretting getting on this plane, even though nothing has been resolved regarding dad's death. I know I should have remained in San Francisco where I could've kept pushing Yorkie to reopen the investigation, only I couldn't stay away from Colorado a moment longer. When I'm back in my cabin I'll have the space to think. In the city, I felt like everything was closing in on me.
Despite my threat to go to the media, Yorkie didn't get back to me about dad's car until late the following day. Yorkie stuck to his original reason for not being able to produce the remains of the vehicle, saying that, 'the SFPD never keep records of which wrecker picks them up', and this was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. 'That's bullshit,' I told him, insisting that 'if dad's autopsy report had 'unexplained' stamped on it as one of the options available to the Coroner, the police were duty-bound to store the car, at least until after the inquest.' My fury fell on deaf ears. Yorkie's pathetic excuse has further cemented my belief there is some sort of conspiracy going on involving the police, but with no evidence to substantiate my claim, I might as well be barking at thunder.
After I'd calmed down sufficiently to speak without cursing, I called Jenks to instruct him to initiate legal proceedings against the SFPD for unlawful destruction of my family's property. Jenks offered to take charge of dad's life, car and house insurance claims as well, which was something I hadn't even thought about. Even if Jenks is working for the enemy, which I'm a hundred percent certain he isn't, he's been an incredible help to me as mentally I'm not in the right place to be handling any type of litigation to do with dad's passing.
While I was searching for the number of the news desk at the San Francisco Chronicle, I took a call from Yorkie's boss's boss, who'd been informed of my general dissatisfaction with how dad's death was being handled, and my intention to go to the media. He invited me to his office to discuss dad's case before I went to the press. Consequently, I'd been in the Chief's office from ten this morning for nearly an hour, with still nothing much to show for it. The Chief had been sympathetic, repeating Yorkie's mantra that without any evidence there was no point initiating an investigation unless someone came forward with a lead.
After hearing first hand my evidence regarding dad's personal life and his state of mind, the Chief agreed to keep the case open and also to withdraw 'probable suicide' as a cause of death, leaving 'unexplained' on the report which would go to the Coroner. The Chief also agreed to instigate a more detailed investigation as to the whereabouts of the car and would get back to me when his department found out what happened to it. I gave him a week to make progress or I would definitely take the story to the media. Still seething, I traveled directly from his office to the airport.
The 'clunk' of the wheels being lowered means landing is imminent. This unexpected noise terrified me when I was a kid. Mom would reassure me by pointing to the nearest steward, saying if he or she didn't look concerned then everything was okay. She'd give me a hug, kiss the top of my head, and hold my hand until the wheels touched the runway, and then she would fan her face and pretend to breathe a sigh of relief which always made me laugh, especially as dad would roll his eyes at us each time.
Rain is lashing the window as the aircraft breaks through the clouds, which matches my mood as I'm still wallowing in a black one after my meeting with the Chief. Inhaling the warm scents of the forest behind the cabin and feeling the springy softness of Colorado grass under my feet I know will calm me. I'm also craving the clean taste of the untainted water I pull from a stream that runs through my property which is ice cold even in summer. Most of all I'm desperate to hear true silence again, which is impossible in the city and is the number one reason I escaped metropolitan life.
The plane banks to the left so I get a good view of the Denver suburbs I'll be traveling through soon. On the horizon is the striking white roof of the airport terminal; designed to imitate the snowy peaks of the nearby Rocky Mountains. As the plane flattens out again, I'm relieved the end of this uncomfortable journey is only minutes away.
The landing is surprisingly smooth and I breathe a sigh of relief like mom used to do. Switching my cell from flight mode I get a text from Emmett letting me know where he's waiting for me in the parking lot. I'm grateful for the ride, only I'm not looking forward to the hour-long journey ahead of me as I anticipate having to endure a barrage of questions about what occurred over the last twelve days. I offered to get a cab home but Emmett wasn't having any of it, which means I have to accept the silence I'm craving could still be a while away.
It takes twenty minutes to exit the airport and wander over to the parking lot where I easily spot Emmett's bright red Chevy Pickup with over-sized tires that has my company logo emblazoned on the side. Even though the Chevy is impossible to miss, Emmett is flashing his headlamps as I approach as the natural light is already fading. I acknowledge him with a wave.
"Hey!" I say in greeting as I open the passenger door and sling my carry-on behind the front seats. I take a long pull on my cigarette before grinding the remainder into the dirt and hauling myself in.
"You okay, Boss'," Emmett responds as he turns the ignition.
"What d'you think?" I reply, noticing my own voice is wavering slightly. Talking to dad's friends about dad is one thing. Talking to my friends about dad is going to be a different ball game. I guess I'll get emotional when I speak to them about him which could be embarrassing.
As I'm securing my seat belt, already my stress-level is beginning to decrease. A warm scent emanating from the layer of Colorado earth which permanently coats Emmett's boots and covers the floor on his side of the Chevy is invading my senses. For once I'm glad Emmett doesn't keep his vehicle clean like he's supposed to, which means I'm already inhaling the rich aroma of the soil we work with every day. For me, this, combined with the silence that comes with living in the mountains, is the best therapy on earth.
Before we pull away, Emmett clears his throat and turns in his seat to face me. Anticipating this will be the start of the third-degree interrogation I've been expecting, I steel myself for the first question. Incredibly, I'm wrong.
"Ed, I'm not going to make any crass comments like sorry about your Pa; you can take that as given. I'm bettin' you've been real busy since you left, so if you want peace and quiet while I'm driving, that's fine by me."
I can't help sighing with relief and cracking a smile at the same time. A vision of Rosalie ordering Emmett to give me some space comes to mind as her man isn't the most empathetic person on earth. Whatever or whoever put this in Emmett's mind I'm grateful, as I'm not ready to be questioned just yet. That can wait until tomorrow.
"Thanks, Em. I really appreciate it," I reply. "You'll get to hear what happened when we're all together. Quiet is what I really need right now."
"You got it," Emmett replies and grins. "We'll hang on to Mitzi tonight and bring her in with us in the morning. Okay?"
"Yeah, that's okay. She'll smell me on you as soon as you walk in the door though. Be prepared for that."
Emmett laughs as he rams the Chevy into drive causing the wheels to spin on the gravel. As we pull away his hand automatically moves to the radio's volume button but stops in mid-air. I guess he realizes I won't appreciate Country Rock being played full-blast right at this moment.
As we head towards the highway my thoughts turn to the contents of my fridge which will probably walk out on their own accord as soon as I open the door. My appetite has definitely returned, only I live too far away from civilization to get anything delivered.
"Could you stop by a store on the way," I ask as we slip into the fast-moving traffic on the freeway.
"No need, Boss," Emmett replies with a grin. "Rosie filled some bags for you. There's bread, milk, eggs, ham, juice, pizza, and cookies, and waffles behind you, and food for Mitzi. There's beers too if you need help getting to sleep."
I can only mutter a thank you as I'm genuinely blown away. The guys in my company are like family to me and I'm lucky to have their help and support. But the words of dad's letter come back to me again, warning me that I can't trust anyone.
Anger and resentment rumble in me once more as how could I not trust Emmett, or Rosie, or Alice, or Jasper, or Jake? They're not merely 'employees'; they're so much more than that. We're a close-knit team who work incredibly hard together. We also play hard and have done so for years now. Even though I'm technically their boss, meaning if there's an issue the buck stops with me, they're equal partners in every aspect of my business, and they certainly don't treat me like a boss when we're were out having fun. Emmett calls me 'Boss' as a joke, but we're more like brothers.
And then I think about Bella. She's the only one I don't feel guilty about being suspicious of. Reluctantly I've had to accept she could be an industrial spy and could be watching and waiting for my guard to drop if she, or whoever she's working for, is after dad's secrets. I can't think of ever being in a situation where I'd spill what I know about dad's work, or divulge what I'd seen on the computer. My heart is thumping again, but is this due to misplaced anger because of the position I'm in, or the desire for her I've been experiencing since before all this happened?
I've been wondering how I'll feel when I see her for the first time in thirteen days. Will she excite me like she's done for the last four weeks? Even if she does, this is a situation I'll have to steer clear of, at least until the mystery surrounding dad's death has been resolved and she's in the clear.
As these thoughts are going through my mind, I realize I've been staring at but not actually seeing the suburban landscape flashing by. The evening light has faded completely and been replaced by darkness and swirling bright lights which seem extra intense because of the effect the driving rain is having on the windshield. I try to remain focussed on what my next move should be and whether I can do anything constructive now I'm twelve hundred miles away. It's impossible to think rationally though, as frankly, I'm exhausted.
Emmett keeps to his word and stays mostly silent as he weaves in and out of the traffic on the 70, only cursing when a 'dick-less whack-job' gets in his way. We stay on the 70 until Silverthorne where we turn onto the 9 and head south towards Breckenridge before heading west into the mountains.
The glaring lights get the better of me and I'm asleep when the rough terrain Emmett is driving over jolts me awake. There are no street lights where I live so I can only see what comes within the range of Emmett's main beam. Even without opening my eyes and looking around I know I'm close to home because of the gradient we're climbing. Thankfully the rain has stopped, and by the time we're approaching the cabin, the clouds have already cleared enough to see stars.
As the front windows of the cabin come into view I raise myself from my previously slumped position as there's a light on inside. My first thought is that the cabin may have been broken into, especially after what happened after the funeral, until I remember being woken by the crack-of-dawn call from the police. I'd sprinted out the door without a backward glance, which means there's a good chance the light has been on the whole time I've been away.
The events of that morning come back to me vividly. I'd got dressed quickly, flung some essentials in my carry-on bag, grabbed Mitzi so I could drop her off at Emmett's, and ran to the cab to catch the first flight I could get a seat on to San Francisco. Coming back to where the nightmare first started, it feels much longer than twelve days since my world began to fall apart.
"Do you want me to check the cabin?" Emmett asks as he grabs the bags of groceries off the back seat.
"It'll be fine," I mumble as I search for my keys. "Can you wait until I'm in before driving off? I guess I left the light on by mistake."
Remembering what I walked in to when I got home from the funeral, it's understandable that I feel nervous putting the key in the lock. At least I'm not on my own this time. Emmett dumps the grocery bags on the veranda and wanders back to the Chevy, totally unconcerned that anything untoward may have happened in the cabin.
After gingerly pushing the door open, I quickly scan the open plan living area and kitchen and listen for any sounds that would indicate someone was inside. At first glance, I can't see anything out of place. Most tellingly, my laptop is where I left it; on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. The paperwork scattered around it hasn't been moved either so my instincts are telling me that no-one has been in here since I left. I turn in the doorway and give the thumbs-up sign to Emmett who flashes his lights and drives off, leaving me alone at last.
After picking the groceries off the step and dropping them on the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area, I make my way through the cabin, checking both bedrooms and the bathroom on the way. Even though I've lived here mostly on my own for almost eleven years, I still consider this to be mom and dad's cabin, and I sense their presence in each room even more acutely now.
The door leading to what can only be loosely described as my back yard, opens onto a covered veranda that matches the one at the front. This is where I breathe in my first lung-full of mountain air, following which I kill any good this has done me by lighting a cigarette. My own Adirondack chairs have stayed dry, so I drop into the nearest one and put my feet up on the rail while I breathe deeply and puff nicotine. The rain clouds have headed east and are now over the city, which allows me to gaze at a newly-washed, spectacular cosmos; one which isn't marred by light pollution. The residents of foggy San Francisco have no idea what they're missing.
As the last visible features on the mountain behind the cabin turn black, and the stars above its peak blaze even brighter, I can feel my body loosening, like someone is undoing the screws that hold me together. The effect is immediate. Tension falls from my neck and shoulders. My jaw relaxes where I didn't realize I'd been clenching my teeth. My limbs feel heavy and tired, like I'm lying in a warm bath.
The only sounds I can hear are the breeze rustling the pines, a lone coyote somewhere in the distance, and the creaks and groans my cabin makes as it dries out after its soaking. The air smells of rain and grass and wet earth, and I breathe in deeply. This is what I've been missing and what I can't function without. Colorado is my drug of choice and I know I'll never be able to give it up. As the warm wind picks up and wafts away my smoke rings before they have a chance to linger in the air above me, I feel totally relaxed for the first time in twelve and a half days.
It would be nice to imagine my reunited parents are staring down at me from the darkness above, only I don't believe in the hereafter and neither did dad. Mom had been devout and I'd been baptized Catholic, but I'd never voluntarily attended church since I was a child apart from weddings and funerals. The only message I'm ever going to receive from beyond the grave is the note safely tucked in my back pocket, and that was written while dad was still alive. Colorado already heaven to me, even though I feel as though I'm in some sort of limbo. I won't be able to move forward until I know what was going through dad's mind during his last hours and minutes, whether he was murdered or not.
As I'm watching the faint outline of the Milky Way creeping over the top of the mountain, I think about which Titan could be responsible for dad's death. I know two of their names as dad had referred to them in his letter.
Like working out a cryptic clue in a crossword, it came to me yesterday that the 'smallest fruit' had been dad's way of naming Microsoft and Apple, and it was his way of warning me to steer clear of them. I'm guessing now that dad's latest gadget/device/creation, whatever they want to call it, is what they're fighting over. Winner takes all. In this case, the 'all' would be total domination of the technology industry and a world where all ethical standards would be cast to the four winds. Even though I haven't had the chance to think this through, my instincts are telling me dad only used this play on words to warn me off all technology companies, and not the two most famous ones.
I don't want to think of this now though. Tonight I have to concentrate on re-charging my batteries. Mental exhaustion is not good for clear thinking and I'll have to be doing a lot of that in the days to come.
After about twenty minutes of silence and mountain air, I'm feeling a hundred percent better than when Emmett dropped me off, so I stub the end of my second cigarette on the edge of a plant pot, haul myself out the chair, and wander into the kitchen to get something to eat and drink. The beers are still chilled despite being in Emmett's Chevy for at least two hours so I flip the top of one and down half of it in one go.
After trashing the gone-off food in the fridge, I refill it with fresh supplies and open a pack of cookies. As I'm devouring the whole pack between mouthfuls of beer, I notice the orange light flashing on the cabin's landline, which means there are messages waiting for me. Picking up a second beer and another pack of cookies I wander over to the sofa and hit the play button.
"You have twenty-two messages stored; message one," the machine's soulless female voice informs me. I can't help sighing as I press the button, anticipating what's coming.
There follows a string of condolence messages from various acquaintances of mine and dad's; the male voices invariably leaving four or five words along the lines of, 'Sorry for your loss, Ed', or 'Holy Shit, Ed, call me'. The female messages are more empathetic. Variations on, 'I can't imagine what you're going through', or 'If you ever need to talk, I'm always around.' I can tell some of the ladies are offering a bit more than a shoulder to cry on. Possibly they're aware that recently I've become a free agent again.
I skip through the next few without listening to the whole message, and as I'm mentally switching off, an unexpected female voice makes me pull my hand away from the delete button, almost like the machine has given me an electric shock.
Hey, Edward; Bella here …
Ummm … look … errr … I'm no good at the condolence thing. I'm doing this on your landline coz I'm chicken. It's easier to say what I want to say when I can't see or speak to you, in case you get emotional and shit.
What I'm trying to say is ... errr… oh fuck it … look, I'm sorry your dad died like that. That's fucking horrible, and it would totally mess with my head if my dad did anything like that and I'd be fucking angry with him, which would also be fucked-up … Shit! That came out wrong. I'm sure you're not angry with him … I warned you I wasn't any good at this.
Ed … Edward … If you want me to hold the fort for a while longer while you get yourself together, that's okay; I can manage. We've had some enquires about new projects while you were gone and I'll bring you up to speed on them when you're ready. There's a couple of interesting ones that'll take a deal of planning so I'll email the photos if you want to stay home for a while longer. I'll leave it for you to call me.
Okay, that's it. It'll be good to have you back though. I've had no-one to steal ciggies from or anyone to smoke with, and without a guilty conscience as well. So see ya!
I can't stop my face cracking into a smile after the last sentence. Bella and I are the only smokers in the company and we have to endure Alice and Rosalie's 'tuts' on a daily basis. I've been trying to give up, only now isn't the time to persist as I need my frequent hits of nicotine to keep me calm.
I don't delete Bella's message. I like hearing her voice, especially when she curses which to be fair she doesn't do so much at work. Also, of all the people who'd left messages of sympathy, she's the only one who's touched on how dad died. 'Fucking horrible' is how she'd described it, and she's right. Also, she's presumed I'm angry, which is exactly how I felt before reading dad's note. Nobody I've spoken to since dad's death has asked me how I really felt about what happened; they've all presumed I've just been wallowing in grief.
I'm tempted to call her to thank her for her message but decide against it. I'll speak to her alone tomorrow and see how she reacts, and what she says. Somehow I'll have to find out if she's working for one of the Titans so my guard will have to remain up until then. This is annoying, as I really need someone to talk to, and the only person who's guessed what I'm actually feeling inside is my 'Suspect Number One'.
I hit the play button again to hear the rest of the 'Sorry for your loss'; 'Thoughts and Prayers' messages, deleting most before they finish. The red numerals are saying there are three more left and as the next one clicks on, I instantly sense this one is different. There's silence, no words, nothing; apart from the sound of slow, purposeful breathing and a faint, muffled noise in the background.
This doesn't feel right, and as the seconds tick away I get the same prickly feeling I had when I walked into the house after the funeral. Even though everything in dad's hall looked in order, I knew for certain someone had been in uninvited so was immediately on my guard, like now.
The caller remains silent until the machine automatically times-out and the next message begins. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath during the silence or that I'd raised myself from my slumped position on the sofa. As the next caller rattles through his condolence message, I automatically reach for a cigarette. My hands are shaking as I try to light it and when I finally get to inhale, I flop back into the sofa and listen until the machine runs out.
It's absolutely silent in the cabin now apart from the sound of the external window shutters rattling and the occasional shriek or howl from nocturnal wildlife. I blow smoke rings, drink beer, and eat more cookies while I think about the mysterious caller and why he or she didn't speak. I'm certain this person's aim was to intimidate me. The last thing I feel though is intimidated. I'll admit I'm shaken, but my determination to find out what happened to dad is now stronger than ever. The caller hadn't tried to disguise the fact that he or she was there, plus there was something going on in the background I presume the caller wanted me to hear, so what was it?
My other concern is how this person got hold of the cabin's number. This could be confirmation someone close to me is feeding information to 'the enemy'. Very few cabins in the mountains have landlines, especially ones this far away from civilization. Dad had the line installed when he purchased the cabin before I was born. No-one had cell phones back then so dad had a phone line put in at the same time as the electricity cables. It cost a fortune he said, but this was at the time when one of his inventions was worth millions to the burgeoning tech industry. Dad, for once, took advantage of the money on offer and had the cables laid instead of payment.
My supply of beer has dwindled to nothing so I wander into the kitchen to make coffee. As I'm opening the carton of milk the landline rings. Ignoring it is my favored option as I don't want to talk to anyone tonight so I let it go to the answering machine. When the message service clicks in there's absolute silence apart from the sound of someone breathing.
I sprint over to the phone and snatch it off the machine. Before I have a chance to speak, I'm distracted by the sound of a vehicle approaching the cabin at speed. As I turn to look out the window, the room is filled with dazzling light and I freeze with the phone next to my ear. Even though the noise is getting louder every second, I can still hear a man's voice speaking.
"Back off, Cullen, or you'll end up like your father; burnt to a fucking crisp."
"Who is this," I yell as I move away from the window as far as possible. My free hand covers my eyes to protect them from the glare as I listen for a response, but instead of getting one, the line goes dead.
The headlamps dim so I fling the phone on the sofa and dash towards the outside door. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the darkness but I'm able to make out the shape of a heavy SUV-type vehicle rapidly reversing down the slope and then spinning on the parking brake. It stops completely for a few seconds before roaring off across the bumpy terrain towards the track and heading towards the city.
"Holy shit!" I yell as I slam the door and bolt it, and then laugh at this pathetic action as a pitifully inadequate lock wouldn't keep anyone out who's determined to get in. Blood is pounding in my ears and my heart is racing. I guess this is an adrenalin rush mixed with fury rather than a full-blown panic attack but I still feel the need to sit down. I make it to the sofa where I light another much-needed cigarette. As I drag in as much nicotine as possible I try to analyze what just happened. Because of this, everything has changed.
Even though the experience was frightening and has exposed how vulnerable I am living here on my own, those two phone calls and the menacing SUV have provided me with confirmation that my first instincts about dad's death were justified. I know now for certain that dad didn't commit suicide.
Strangely, having corroboration that he was murdered has removed a huge weight from my shoulders. Even though I never believed dad committed suicide, the niggling one percent chance that he had poured gasoline over himself and lit it, would've been a burden I'd carry for the rest of my life.
If the caller murdered my dad and is using intimidating tactics to stop me from investigating his death, it seems clear to me that he's aware he can only threaten me, and not 'burn me to an effing crisp' like dad. Having one unexplained death in the Cullen family could easily be passed off as suicide or an accident. Two Cullen deaths would compel the police to take action. This leads me to believe that whoever was driving that SUV knew they could've brought the cabin down around my ears or bumped me off in some other way if he'd actually wanted to kill me. He didn't, so I'm guessing for the moment that I'm safe.
Even though my hands are still shaking I can't help smiling. I'm only a landscape gardener, and my brain doesn't function anywhere near dad's level of intellect, but I am Carlisle Cullen's son which counts for something. Whether I'm up against one of the Titans or many Titans, there's not a person or organization on this planet that will stop me from trying to find out who murdered my dad.
As I stare at the framed picture of mom and dad I took from the dungeon, I say, "Sorry, dad. I'm just going to have to disobey you one more time."
So Edward' is confident now that Carlisle didn't take his own life. This is a huge leap for him and understandably a great relief.
Next time Bella will come into the story properly. Will he be tempted to tell her and or any of his other colleagues what's going on? There's definitely some wavering going on in his head which is understandable, especially now he's been threatened in the cabin.
Congratulations to everyone who got the password right. For those of you who want to keep guessing, don't look at the reviews! You will find out fairly soon so please don't slap your foreheads too hard when you do. Laura is proving very popular as a dubious character - leaving the scene at a convenient time to introduce Bella. Hmmm! Mitzi is going to bounce into the story next chapter too. Awwww.
Loving the guesses where this is going - do keep them coming.
Joan xxx