Fatal Connections

Chapter 31

While I drove back to my apartment, I tried not to obsess over the bits and pieces of information about the Harcourts I had picked up. Not having my flowchart while driving down the road made it harder to fit things together. And the pounding in my head? I thought it had tucked tail and run, but it was back now with a vengeance.

On top of which, after I parked in my building's basement garage, I managed to knock over my shoulder bag. And since, like an idiot, I hadn't zipped it, the contents spilled all over the floor of the car. I gritted my teeth. Not really in the mood for this. After corralling most of what had spilled, I saw my little notebook in the farthest corner. Frustrated, I lunged for it. That was a huge mistake. My back twinged so painfully, it was all I could do not to shriek like a banshee. I managed to reach the notebook though.

"Goddamn it." I gripped the book and slowly pushed myself back in small increments. Each movement sent a small jolt up my spine and straight to my brain. Then, over the course of a few minutes that felt like hours, I gathered up all my crap, stuck it in my shoulder bag, and zipped it shut. For once, I bypassed the stairs and took the elevator up two whole floors.

Back in my apartment, after stretching for almost fifteen minutes, I lay on the floor, contemplating my stash of Oxy. I considered crawling to the bathroom where the pills were hidden among the rolls of TP stored below the sink. But I dismissed the thought in favor of lying there for the rest of my life.

"On your feet," I muttered.

I held my breath as I raised my upper body, inhaled as I felt the twinge in my lower back. But the pain was less intense this time, so I powered through it.

Back at my workstation, in an effort to focus on a non-Harcourt matter, I turned toward my paying clients. A deeper search into the deadbeat debtor's assets revealed possible connections to offshore accounts. The creditor had provided one account number in an almost offhand way, suggesting that it might be important. I managed to connect the numbers with an account in Cyprus and was on the way to unearthing more.

I also shuffled through Troy Fairchild's paper trail again. This time, I noted the locations printed on each receipt. Then, I checked an online map to find the ones I didn't know and organized them by area. Most of them were depressingly close to The Void. Oddly, there were a few from the food court in Columbia Mall.

On a positive note, I got an email from a potential new client who'd been referred by an old client. All my clients come by referral. A man who was, as he described it, a "small business owner" sought to hire me to conduct surveillance on an employee claiming disability.

I took a moment to consider the potential scenarios one could tease out of the terse message. Trying to think really sucks when you have stabbing pains in your back and hammering pain inside your head. I replied that I would be willing to discuss his request by phone and inquired about the best day and time to do that. I wondered if the employer even carried workers' comp insurance.

On a hunch, I checked the dates on Troy Fairchild's Columbia Mall receipts. They were all within a two-week period. That was a clue. So for two weeks, Troy Fairchild hung out at Columbia Mall. Or worked there. I checked the dates again. All in January. Two months ago. He apparently hadn't been Christmas shopping.

How could I use this information? You don't Google "Troy Fairchild" and "Columbia Mall" to get the answers. But there were no public records connecting Fairchild to the area. Would it be worth the time to go there and ask people about him? I had my doubts about the food court employees remembering much about one customer, but you never know.

And then I remembered something. The license plate photos. They should have been the first thing I checked. That knock on the head had obviously messed with me.

So I checked my phone. The photos from The Void were still there. Another thing I should have checked right away. What with the pounding in my head and a stabbing pain in my back, it was hard to concentrate. I figured whatever came next would keep, and I decided to give myself a small treat.

It was midafternoon. The store shouldn't be crowded and I was ready for anything chocolate. The more calories, the better. The promise of some good chocolate motivated me to get moving in spite of exhaustion and pain, so I did a slow shuffle out the door and took the elevator down to the garage.

I eased my car partway through the exit, but then I paused to look around. By now, I was quite familiar with certain vehicles that normally parked here because this street had several regulars. Every now and then, I'll get a bad vibe from a non-regular. This was one of those times.

I kept the suspect car, an old brown Dodge sedan, in view as I turned onto the street. No movement. Maybe I was paranoid. Maybe not. When I reached the corner, I made the turn so slowly, I expected to hear honking or a few choice words. Nobody honked or swore, but I had just enough time to see the plain brown sedan pull away from the curb.