The Planck Factor

Chapter 25

Jessica Evans

My first thought was of Mom and Dad. They lived in the bedroom community San Rafael and often ventured into San Francisco. The Golden Gate Bridge would be the most logical way in for them.

It must have been a serious threat for the authorities to shut down the bridge. There were other bridges one could take, but the route was substantially longer. And the traffic would be a commuter nightmare. The ferries would make out well.

Fortunately, my Dad could telecommute and Mom worked as a librarian at the College of Marin in Kentfield, so she didn't have to cross the bridge. I was grateful for that, plus the fact that San Rafael is 30 miles north of the city.

I changed the channel quickly, trying to put the matter out of mind. I already had enough to worry about. I didn't need to dwell on disasters that might befall my parents.

After a time, I finally landed on a channel with a movie. An old one, from the looks of it. I turned the sound low enough to hear it, but soft enough so it wouldn't keep me from drifting off. Eventually, I did.

I woke to the phone ringing. It felt like I'd only been asleep for ten minutes, but the light shining through the crack in the curtains told me otherwise.

I picked up. "Hullo," I croaked.

"Jessica? It's me."

It took a moment to register who "me" was. "Hi Cyn. I guess it's breakfast time, huh?"

"Jessica, what have you done?"

Those words jolted me awake. "Huh?" I said. "I explained about finding Fred, right?"

"This isn't about Fred. I'm talking about that man yesterday. Who was he?" 

 "Uh." I was stumped momentarily, then did a mental head smack. Selby. Shit.

"The man at Navy Memorial. It's all over the local news."

Good God. How many more people were going to see me fleeing murder scenes? According to my research, eye witness testimony is so unreliable. Yet, here I was being identified all over the country.

The TV was still on, so I grabbed the remote and flipped through channels until I found a local station. They had a morning show going, so I'd have to wait until they switched to local news or just check the morning paper and see if I'd ended up being featured on page one above the fold. That seemed unlikely given that this was the Nation's Capital, which was also homicide central. Yet a murder in a crowd at the Navy Memorial in broad daylight might get a bit more attention than usual. Needless to say, I wasn't thrilled.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

I'd forgotten about Cynthia. "It's not the way it looks, okay?" I paused to collect myself, before launching into an explanation of the strange phone calls, the two men in the van and my decision to come to DC. Then the call from the stranger, the meeting, the poisoning and—worst of all—seeing my sister with Flattop and Red.

"Okay, so you lied to your advisor," Cyn said. "There's no family emergency. How am I supposed to believe what you've told me about Fred?"

"Why would I kill Fred?"

A protracted silence followed. "Fair enough, but it really looks suspicious. And now this latest murder. I mean, what the hell is going on?"

"If you only knew how many times I've asked myself that question."

"Look, you stay there and I'll bring you something to eat."

I sighed. "That's probably a good idea. I don't need yet another person recognizing me. Apparently, my face is more memorable than most."

"It was probably that silly hat."

"Could be." I had to admit, in retrospect, it did seem ridiculous. My stomach growled and I realized I was famished. I'd had only a bagel and the granola bar yesterday. I'd left the room service food untouched. "Well, whatever. I'm starving."

"All right, then. I'll pick up coffee and some cinnamon rolls."

"That'll be fine. Thanks."

I hung up and kept my eye on the TV, watching for any news about me or yesterday's murder. I flipped around to more local stations. Nothing. Maybe it was already old news.

Then, on one channel, I saw the photo they'd shown of me on CNN. I turned up the sound.

". . . witness noticed Evans talking to the man, moments before he was discovered dead. At that time, Evans wore jeans, a blue T-shirt and a hat. Police are asking that you call them if you see Evans, the woman in this photo."

Super. I muted the sound and pondered the strange ways of fate.

Then, I wondered about the description the anchorwoman had given. Apparently, no one had taken a photo of me at the Navy Memorial, or you'd think they would've used it instead of the one from CNN. The anchorwoman had also mentioned what I wore, but never described the hat and it was pretty distinctive.

I'd left the hat back at Liz's condo, before I took the cab to my hotel. Cynthia had told me she saw me leave Liz's place, but never mentioned seeing me arrive. So how would she know about the hat?