The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (6 page)

“That means nothing,” Willard said. “Anyone could have obtained that information from public records.”

“And Johnny Depp?” Mr. Howard asked.

Willard shrugged.

So you have taken us to a dead draw. Well played, Detective.
“If you believe I am a fraud, why are you here?”

Willard glared at him. “It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

“You are right,” he answered. “All that matters is the girl.”

Willard took several deep breaths. Air whistled through his nose. “So, are you going to get started?”

“These things cannot be rushed. You should take a seat.”

The detectives retreated to the front row of chairs and sat. Killgood leaned back, hands behind his head. Willard rested his chin in one hand while the fingers of his other hand softly tapped on the table top.

Mr. Howard lifted a pink sweater from the box. He touched the soft material and grimaced as the memory of Stephanie’s dead face flashed through his mind. Teeth clenched, he struggled to drive the image away. Massaging the sweater, he brought it against his cheek. His eyes flared as he pretended to be in a trance.

“I see a large house. Mediterranean… no, French. A bedroom, yes, a girl’s room. A high picture. On the ceiling… above her bed. A man in the photograph stares down. Black eyes. No, black around his eyes. Old clothes. Strange hat. Tricorn style, black. Pirate Hat. I see many animals on the bed. Unicorns, bears, and dragons. Pink bedspread with white flowers.” He wrung the sweater faster. “Two people in a room. A pool table. Man and woman. Both middle-aged. Curt and Janice… no, not Curt… Carl. Carl and Janet. Their names are Carl and Janet.” Willard’s mouth gaped open. Inwardly, Mr. Howard smiled. Others are in the room. Three people. Younger. A boy and two girls. Teenagers. Boy is…” He stopped wringing the sweater and tapped his knuckles against his forehead. “Stan… no, not Stan… Steve… Steven, yes Steven. Girl is Mar… Marga…. no, Mary… yes, Mary, and Steven.”

He paused to give the detectives time to register the information. Killgood would need no convincing for he had long accepted his abilities as real. He needed to toss Willard a few bones to chew on other than names of family members. If Willard asked Stephanie’s parents about the Johnny Depp poster on the ceiling above her bed, his resistance might weaken, but the detective probably wouldn’t bother asking.

“What else do you see?” Willard asked in a voice that exposed his skepticism.

“You shouldn’t ask questions while he’s making a connection,” Killgood said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, but you shouldn’t.”

Willard scowled.

“This other girl,” Mr. Howard continued. “Reddish-brown hair, fair skin… I believe she is your missing Stephanie.”

He tossed the sweater onto the desk. “Let me see something else in the box.” He grabbed the stuffed Panda and began to run his hands over it. “I see a young man. Tall, slender, but broad in the shoulders, an athlete perhaps. He plays football… no, soccer. Daniel… no, David, his name is David. He spends time with Stephanie, yes? He kisses her. They are happy together… No, wait… I hear shouting. They are angry. Why are they angry? She is crying. He has hurt her.”

Mr. Howard sat the Panda on the desk and reached for the sketch book. Opening the book, he examined her drawings. The majority depicted unicorns. No surprise, many young girls fantasized about unicorns. Several of the drawings were of Johnny Depp. From his conversations with Stephanie, he knew the picture of a young man was her boyfriend David Rice. Arrogant, conceited, the son of doctors, all-state soccer player, and all around asshole. He did not deserve her.

Mr. Howard closed his eyes. He rocked on the chair to give the illusion of a trance taking over his body. He drew in a breath and released it slowly, the air escaping in an, “Ahhhhh.” Opening his eyes, he watched Willard lean back and shake his head.

“Anytime, Professor.”

Killgood glared at him.

“I see a car. Red, fast, no… not red… white… has red stripes. Two door. Loud engine. Boy is driving. Stephanie’s inside the car. Not on front seat, no… stretched… on her side… backseat. Eyes closed. Perhaps she sleeps. There are mountains. Snow on mountains. Boy drives too fast. He seems nervous. He sweats. Looks around as if watching for something. She still sleeps.” With a loud sigh he pretended to snap out of his trance. He blinked several times. “That is all I have for now. Perhaps if you could bring me more of her personals.”

Willard squeezed out of the desk. He hurried over and gathered Stephanie’s items into the box. Anger and frustration hardened his countenance. “I don’t see how bringing you more of her things is going to help. The information you’ve provided is available to anyone willing to investigate.”

Killgood joined him. “Isn’t Stephanie’s boyfriend named David?”

“That’s right. David Rice. We’ve already talked with him.”

“Have you given him a polygraph?”

“On what grounds? He has an alibi for the night Stephanie went missing.”

“What kind of car does he drive?” Killgood asked.

Willard hesitated. “A white Shelby Mustang.”

“Does it have red stripes?”

Willard picked up the box. “That doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“Have you asked him about a trip into the mountains with Stephanie?”

“I came here hoping for information that might help us find her. All I heard was a bunch of mumbo jumbo.”

Mr. Howard lowered his head and massaged his eyes to give the appearance of fatigue. “I am afraid these things can take time.”

“Time is one thing we don’t have,” Willard said.

He looked straight at Willard and nodded. “If I come up with anything, I will notify you right away.”

Willard considered him for a moment through narrowed eyes and started for the door. He paused in the doorway. “I heard you are something of a Civil War buff.”

“Checking up on me, I see. Have you contacted the Baltimore police yet? They must have dozens of files pertaining to me.”

Willard grunted before disappearing into the hallway.

Mr. Howard turned to Killgood. “Your friend does not like me.”

“No surprise. There’s not a police department in the world that will acknowledge working with a psychic.”

“He considers me a threat.”

Killgood shrugged. “We haven’t talked about you much. Willard’s under a lot of pressure to find this girl.”

“Detective Willard seems to be a most unhappy man.”

Killgood walked toward the door. He stopped. “Are you doing anything on Saturday night? We’re thinking of grilling swordfish.”

“What time?”

“Just come on over when it’s dark enough.”

“Very well. I will see you on Saturday.”

He waited until the door closed behind Killgood and then stood and walked to the window. In the distance, Willard trudged toward the parking lot, hunched over the box.

I will have to keep an eye on this one. Doubting my psychic ability is one thing. Investigating my background to make a connection between me and homicides is something else entirely.

He loved the tranquility of the campus at night after the students were gone. Crickets chirped in the shadows. Thunder rumbled over the mountains with the promise of rain. He breathed in the smell of grass and roses planted near the benches. As he walked, he called to mind the false clues he provided Willard. Would they buy him time? It would take a couple of months for Stephanie’s body to decompose. A couple of months to wipe away the stain of his crime.

The tires on the Mercedes squealed as he peeled out of the parking lot. He became so absorbed in calculating the decomposition cycle of a body he failed to notice a car following him. When he finally spotted the car, it stayed back, weaving in and out of traffic as the driver struggled to keep up. In his rearview mirror, the car turned west to pursue him into the foothills. Arriving at his turnoff, Mr. Howard waited at the security gate. A black sedan picked up speed as it approached. The driver looked away when he drove past, but Mr. Howard had seen enough. He smiled while tapping in the security code. “Goodnight, Detective.”

Willard accelerated past ninety on the freeway entrance ramp and never slowed. He swerved in and out of traffic, hands squeezing the steering wheel
. Son of a bitch knew he had been followed. Why does an uppity college professor need a security gate, and how can he afford to live in a mansion on the side of a mountain?
He found himself more interested in learning about Mr. Howard than finding the girl.

Reaching across the front seat, he snapped open the locks on his briefcase and reached inside. He brought Stephanie’s panties to his mouth and licked the crotch. For a moment, he imagined he could actually taste her. He let out a breath and tossed the panties aside. Nothing, it seemed, would clear his mind of the mysterious Mr. Howard.

How did he know about the Johnny Depp poster on the ceiling in her bedroom? And he nailed David Rice’s car. I don’t think that little prick has anything to do with Stephanie’s disappearance, but I’m covering my ass just the same. I’ll set up another interview with David right away.
His daddy can bring a lawyer along for all I care.

He smacked the steering wheel. Cases involving the wealthy were a pain in the ass. He foresaw hours of sitting in the courthouse if this thing ever went to trial while high-priced lawyers argued over legal technicalities.

He’d been a cop long enough to anticipate the outcome of almost any investigation. Stephanie was dead, of this he was certain. She might have become angry with her parents and taken off to go see David, but she wouldn’t run away, not with so much to live for. Good looking, captain of the volleyball team, honor student, cheerleader, scholarship to Stanford. Stephanie Coldstone had everything. And now she had him licking her panties.

He arrived home to a dark house—a blessing. The last thing he needed was Doris sitting down in front of him, stuffing her mouth with Ding Dongs while telling him about her exciting day at the real estate office. He opened the front door as quietly as possible and slipped into the family room. His heart sank when he saw a light on inside the kitchen.

I hope she didn’t wait up for me.

A smile slowly moved over his lips upon discovering the kitchen empty. She had left a sack of fast food and a soda large enough to quench the thirst of an elephant on the table along with a note.

Honey,

I bought you a happy meal to make you happy. When you’re done eating, I have a surprise for you in the bedroom that will make you smile.

Love

Doris

He crumpled up the note and shot it into the trash can.

The only thing that would make me smile is if someone filled you with helium and you floated away.

He imagined little kids pointing into the sky as Doris sailed past. “Look, Daddy, there goes a blimp.” After his unhappy meal joined the note in the trashcan, he walked to his bedroom. Doris lay on her back, lips quivering as she snored.
How would she sound with a pillow pressed down on her face?
She rolled onto her side away from him, taking the sheet with her. Wearing thong panties, her Jell-O butt glowed brighter than a full moon. His stomach dropped as if he’d just gone over the first big hill on a rollercoaster and he made a hasty retreat.

Inside his office, he entered his computer password. Soon the website of Swingers Just Wanna Have Fun opened. He scrolled to the link for women seeking men. Leaning close to the screen, he scanned the photographs of desperate women who would do anything to get laid, girls who looked like high school freshmen, women old enough to be their great grandmothers, white girls with nasty tattoos on their butts, black girls sticking their junk in the trunk close to the camera and skinny Asians who could almost pass for boys.

What’s wrong with these people? Don’t they have any pride?

He pulled up his profile page, which featured a photograph of him standing sideways in the nude, with an erection. Everything cropped out above his shoulders because he didn’t want to be thought of as an exhibitionist. Clicking on the inbox, he frowned upon discovering no messages. Three weeks on the website and not one offer for his services. He’d used the money he inherited when his father died and worked part-time jobs for nine years to secretly buy a foreclosed house to use for sex adventures. It was time to finally put the house to use, if he could just find someone willing to accompany him.

He scrolled through the profiles until coming to the one which had previously caught his eye. His tongue ran over his top lip as he focused on her photograph. She was perfect, exactly what he was looking for. Not beautiful in the traditional sense, but unusual, like the woman from his youth. The strange woman from the circus who haunted his memories. Should he send her a message? What if she didn’t respond? Blood rushed into his penis. He unzipped his pants and reached inside to pull himself out. An image of Doris’s big ass popped into his mind and his erection begin to melt away. He stared at the woman on the screen and the blood returned.

Fuck it, I have nothing to lose.

As he masturbated, he used his free hand to type a message to the woman. He hesitated for only a moment before hitting the send button. Eyes closed, he pictured himself with her. A low moan escaped from his throat as his hand moved faster. Everything was perfect. And then he recalled Mr. Howard sitting inside his classroom, massaging Stephanie’s sweater as he spun another tale of bullshit. “Goddamn it!” he said.

He shoved his penis inside his pants and zipped them closed. The woman on the computer screen beckoned. He longed to drift back into his fantasy, but Mr. Howard held on like a leech.

I’ve got to learn more about that son of a bitch. You can’t hide behind your security fence forever, Professor.

Willard entered the Detective Office holding a case file in one hand and a cup of nasty convenience store coffee in the other. Heather, the young secretary with sexy eyes, looked up from her work and smiled. “Good morning, Detective.”