The Vanishing Gary Brown (booksvooks TXT) 📖

“I suppose you’re right,” Martin said thoughtfully. “I guess our natural tendency is to dwell on the bad things that happen to us and not the good. It’s easier to accept our failures than our successes.”

“That’s a reflection of the competitive world we’re living in. And when you’ve chosen a career that focuses on mastering an acute understanding of the worst in people like Mark has, it’s easy to become jaded. To see the darkness instead of the light.”

Martin smiled. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very smart lady, Dr. Prescott?”

Stunned by Martin’s sudden compliment, Claire found she could only smile. She wanted to respond, but the look in Martin’s eyes captivated her, stole her words.

“Has anyone also told you how incredibly beautiful you are?” Martin said.

Those eyes, Claire thought. He could melt her with those eyes. Here she was, a grown woman, staring into the eyes of a man she had known less than twenty-four hours, as speechless and weak-kneed as a teenager on her first date. There was an undeniable quality about him that mesmerized her. She had seen it in his picture the night before at the gala. Martin had the unique ability to communicate his thoughts and emotions with the cast of his gaze. She knew that his heart was speaking directly to hers. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, pressed his lips softly to hers. She felt his hand on the small of her back, cradling her, drawing her closer. Her arms found their place around his back as naturally as if they had been doing so for a lifetime.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you,” Martin confessed. “But now, I have to admit, I’m scared to death to know what you’re thinking.”

Claire took Martin’s hands in hers, brought them to her chest, and smiled.

“I’m glad you did,” she said.

32

MARK’S CHAIR SIGHED as he sat down. He propped his feet up on the corner of his desk, unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water he had taken from the kitchen, took a sip, removed the business card Claire had given him from his pocket, picked up the phone, and dialed the number. The call picked up on the first ring.

“Homicide. Maddox speaking.”

“Inspector, my name is FBI Special Agent Retired Mark Oyama. I’m calling from Sacramento on behalf of Dr. Claire Prescott. Do you have a few minutes to speak with me?”

“Certainly, Agent Oyama,” Maddox said. “You say you’re calling from Sacramento. Is everything okay with Dr. Prescott?”

“She’s fine,” Mark replied. “I’m working with her on a missing person’s case. I told her I wanted to reach out to you on matters which could be important to my investigation. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Fire when ready.”

“According to Dr. Prescott, you were the primary on the incident at the Mendelson clinic. Is that correct?”

“I was.”

“What can you tell me about Joseph Krebeck?”

Maddox sounded puzzled. “Krebeck? No one by that name was involved with the Mendelson situation, Agent Oyama. Just Clarence Demmings, the security guard who saved her life, and Dr. Prescott’s patient, Walter Pennimore. But no Krebeck, I’m afraid.” The inspector paused for a moment. “Wait. The day after the attack at Mendelson, Dr. Prescott mentioned Pennimore told her some cockamamie story about her parents being killed. Murdered, actually.”

“Go on.”

“According to Pennimore, some guy named Kre was responsible for their death. I ran the partial through our computers and checked it out as a first name, last name, or known aliases. I came up empty. Personally, I think the good doctor was taking this Pennimore guy way too seriously. He was a psych patient and a child molester. A real waste of skin.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t telling the truth,” Mark interjected.

“True enough,” Maddox agreed. “But my understanding of Pennimore from the interviews conducted with clinicians and staff led me to believe he was extremely unstable. Voices in his head, hallucinations, that sort of thing. Besides, we scoured the accident scene where Dr. Prescott’s parents were killed. It was a car crash in case you weren’t aware. Dr. Prescott’s father lost control of his vehicle, launched it off a cliff, and had a serious disagreement with the rocks below. He and his wife were killed on impact. Eyewitness reports taken at the scene confirmed our findings. It was an accident, case closed. Dr. Prescott was there. She witnessed the whole thing. It’s all in my report. I can FedEx a copy to you in the morning if you would like to review it.”

“Wait a second,” Mark replied. “You said Dr. Prescott was there, that she saw the crash?”

“Not the crash itself, no. But she did witness the car leave the cliff and the explosion that followed. Like I said, it’s all in the report.”

“I think reviewing your report might be helpful after all,” Mark said. “But let’s go back to Krebeck for a minute. You turned up nothing on him?”

“Not in our database. I told Dr. Prescott I’d make a few additional inquiries though and call some friends in the Bureau as a courtesy to her. Looks like she beat me to it.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve done all you can, Inspector. If I need to check back with you…”

“Don’t hesitate to call,” Maddox finished. “My office will be more than happy to assist you with your investigation. I’ll have that file sent off to you in the morning.”

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

Mark gave the inspector his address and hung up the phone. He thumbed through page after page of Pennimore’s file, looking for something that might jump out at him, a clue in the report, a notation.

“What do you know that I don’t, Walter?” he said aloud as he flipped through the pages. Pennimore’s picture had been stapled to the inside cover of the file folder. He pulled it off and stared into the dead man’s eyes. A lifetime of professional experience had given him a master’s degree in intuition.