Read Online The Same Mistake Twice by Albert Tucher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Albert Tucher
Tags: Crime
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these nasty surprises?
But it didn’t really matter. He couldn’t refuse a call from his divorce lawyer. Her voice told a story of years of martinis and menthol cigarettes. She sounded as tough as any cop of the old, male school.
“Your wife filed an amended complaint.”
“She can always find more to complain about.”
“Yeah, well, if it’s true, it could be a problem.”
“What?”
“An investigator for her attorney has you on film visiting a prostitute.”
She gave Diana’s address.
“This woman is known to be in that line of work.”
“Which is why I visit her.”
“Great. You admitting it is just what we need. Dale, this is no way to get custody of your son.”
“She’s a source. Diana Andrews has solved more cases than I have.”
That was an exaggeration, but he felt like exaggerating. His wife, soon but not soon enough to be ex, brought out the competitive streak in him.
“Is she a registered confidential informant?”
“Nothing that formal. And if she was, I couldn’t say.”
The lawyer paused, and he knew she was lighting a cigarette.
“Okay, we tough this one out. Which is my cue to remind you that hiring me is the smartest thing you ever did.”
Chapter Thirteen
Diana left the mall through Macy’s. In the parking lot she unlocked her Taurus. With one foot in the car and one still on the ground, she paused and looked across the blacktop to the satellite stores that flanked the mall. The CompUSA outlet was the one that caught her eye. She kept looking at it as she finished climbing into the car.
Twenty minutes later she drove away from the store thinking, what have I done?
The cardboard box riding on her passenger seat told her nothing except “Compaq” in bold lettering. She already knew that.
At home she made coffee in the kitchen. She had left the box on her bed. If she put her new toy someplace out of the way, she might lose her nerve and leave it there.
But setting the computer up was easier than she had feared. The hardest part turned out to be clearing the top of her desk in the spare room. She had never thought much about the extra phone jack clinging to the baseboard, but it was right where it would do the most good. She hooked a few cables up, inserted the AOL disc that came with the computer, and followed the instructions. In minutes she had the familiar Yahoo screen in front of her. She searched for James Zakrewsky.
And found nothing. He didn’t exist.
Just for something to compare, she searched for “Diana Andrews.” There must have been over a hundred women with the same name, but she found herself among them with little effort. She read about her successes in high school swimming. Her grandmother’s retirement from the high school cafeteria had earned a story in the weekly local newspaper.
But the Internet had never heard of James Zakrewsky. It wasn’t proof, but it suggested that his life had stopped before it got started.
She tried to find someone who could be a parent or sibling or some other relative, but the surname brought up no one local at all. Maybe his parents had died, or his mother had remarried, but wouldn’t there still be some mention of James?
It was time to call Tillotson. She might have enough to interest him.
But when she had finished her story, his silence lacked enthusiasm. He didn’t even ask her for the name of her informant.
“There’s a problem. The ME’s findings are only preliminary so far, but he thinks our skeleton is much older than, what, sixteen?”
“Is he sure?”
“No, that’s my point. He’s not sure, but for now, I’m going with it. I need that list.”
“I’ll get it to you.”
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but that was what happened when she didn’t plan an escape route.
He hung up. She sat at the kitchen table and wondered what to do next. Maybe she was just being stubborn, but it seemed impossible to her that the disappearance of James Zakrewsky had nothing to do
But it didn’t really matter. He couldn’t refuse a call from his divorce lawyer. Her voice told a story of years of martinis and menthol cigarettes. She sounded as tough as any cop of the old, male school.
“Your wife filed an amended complaint.”
“She can always find more to complain about.”
“Yeah, well, if it’s true, it could be a problem.”
“What?”
“An investigator for her attorney has you on film visiting a prostitute.”
She gave Diana’s address.
“This woman is known to be in that line of work.”
“Which is why I visit her.”
“Great. You admitting it is just what we need. Dale, this is no way to get custody of your son.”
“She’s a source. Diana Andrews has solved more cases than I have.”
That was an exaggeration, but he felt like exaggerating. His wife, soon but not soon enough to be ex, brought out the competitive streak in him.
“Is she a registered confidential informant?”
“Nothing that formal. And if she was, I couldn’t say.”
The lawyer paused, and he knew she was lighting a cigarette.
“Okay, we tough this one out. Which is my cue to remind you that hiring me is the smartest thing you ever did.”
Chapter Thirteen
Diana left the mall through Macy’s. In the parking lot she unlocked her Taurus. With one foot in the car and one still on the ground, she paused and looked across the blacktop to the satellite stores that flanked the mall. The CompUSA outlet was the one that caught her eye. She kept looking at it as she finished climbing into the car.
Twenty minutes later she drove away from the store thinking, what have I done?
The cardboard box riding on her passenger seat told her nothing except “Compaq” in bold lettering. She already knew that.
At home she made coffee in the kitchen. She had left the box on her bed. If she put her new toy someplace out of the way, she might lose her nerve and leave it there.
But setting the computer up was easier than she had feared. The hardest part turned out to be clearing the top of her desk in the spare room. She had never thought much about the extra phone jack clinging to the baseboard, but it was right where it would do the most good. She hooked a few cables up, inserted the AOL disc that came with the computer, and followed the instructions. In minutes she had the familiar Yahoo screen in front of her. She searched for James Zakrewsky.
And found nothing. He didn’t exist.
Just for something to compare, she searched for “Diana Andrews.” There must have been over a hundred women with the same name, but she found herself among them with little effort. She read about her successes in high school swimming. Her grandmother’s retirement from the high school cafeteria had earned a story in the weekly local newspaper.
But the Internet had never heard of James Zakrewsky. It wasn’t proof, but it suggested that his life had stopped before it got started.
She tried to find someone who could be a parent or sibling or some other relative, but the surname brought up no one local at all. Maybe his parents had died, or his mother had remarried, but wouldn’t there still be some mention of James?
It was time to call Tillotson. She might have enough to interest him.
But when she had finished her story, his silence lacked enthusiasm. He didn’t even ask her for the name of her informant.
“There’s a problem. The ME’s findings are only preliminary so far, but he thinks our skeleton is much older than, what, sixteen?”
“Is he sure?”
“No, that’s my point. He’s not sure, but for now, I’m going with it. I need that list.”
“I’ll get it to you.”
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but that was what happened when she didn’t plan an escape route.
He hung up. She sat at the kitchen table and wondered what to do next. Maybe she was just being stubborn, but it seemed impossible to her that the disappearance of James Zakrewsky had nothing to do
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