Daniel Palmer - Helpless

“Who’s that?”

“Cortland & Associates is a large PR firm headquartered in Boston, but with offices all around the world. They do a lot of standard corporate PR work, but it seems they have a subspecialty in online reputation management.”

“But what you posted about Dee wasn’t a rumor. It was the truth.”

“The Internet is fast replacing television as the disseminator of the truth,” Marvin said. “What’s available online for people to find and read is what the people now believe.”

Tom moved the keyboard to Marvin’s computer over to where he could type.

“You look like you’ve lost another liter of blood,” Marvin said.

“No, it’s the name of that PR firm,” Tom said. “I met a guy at the club the night Boyd introduced me to Frank Dee. His name was Simon Cortland.”

“Interesting.”

“But you just made me think of something even more interesting than that. After I got out on bail, I paid a little visit to James Mann.”

“You did what?”

“I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

“I wouldn’t and I don’t.”

“I suggested Mann conduct a little bit of research. He took the risk. I just supplied him with some names. Anyway, we were talking about who would have framed him and why. He thought it had something to do with an upcoming promotion, but only a few people in the company even knew about that, or so he believed. But they did have the press releases ready to go.”

“The press releases,” Marvin said. “Are you thinking…”

Tom brought up the Web site for Cortland & Associates. He showed Marvin the page listing all of Cortland’s many clients. Using Marvin’s computer mouse, Tom highlighted one name in particular.

PrimaMed Corporation.

Tom and Marvin regrouped at the conference table.

“So Frank Dee is connected to Kip Lange,” Marvin said. “And we’ve got Cortland & Associates connected to PrimaMed Corporation, which is also connected to Mr. James Mann.”

“Lange is connected to me,” Tom said. “And so is James Mann.”

“But from what you told me, the only real connection we’ve established between Dee and Cortland is Roland Boyd.”

“So how is Boyd connected to Lange?”

“Well, he knew Lange,” Marvin said. “Weren’t you guys all on the same military base in Germany at the same time?”

“But he wasn’t involved with what happened to Greeley or with the heroin I took out of the country. Kelly was only worried about one person—the guy who orchestrated the heist and recruited her into his plan. Kip Lange. I can tell you after my run-ins with Roland Boyd that he’s just as dangerous as Lange. Kelly would have been terrified of him if she felt she had any reason.”

“What about Cortland and PrimaMed?” Marvin asked. “Do you think they have any links back to Boyd?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “But it sure seems worth finding out.”

Marvin fixed Tom with a cold, unblinking stare. “I need you to come clean with me, Tom. Not that I don’t trust you after you kept your James Mann rendezvous a secret from me, but is there any other reason for Boyd to have you penned on his permanent shit list?”

“No,” Tom said. “We were friends right up until he thought I was sleeping with his wife.”

Tom told Marvin about his having to break in and rescue Jill from inside Roland’s house.

“Are you and Adriana having an affair?” Marvin asked afterward. “Answer me honestly, Tom. Please.”

“No. God, no. Marvin, you can ask Adriana yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Yes. Ask me.”

Tom and Marvin looked up and saw Adriana Boyd. Their jaws fell open simultaneously. Her truculent stance matched the coldness in her eyes. Tom’s face lit up at the sight of her.

Adriana crossed the room in four long strides. She maneuvered over to where Tom stood, dodging the paper piles with graceful steps.

“Adriana,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Adriana raised her arm. If Tom hadn’t been so surprised, he would have reflexively shifted into a defensive posture. She swung her open palm in an arc toward Tom’s face. The blow landed hard against his cheek, making a thunderclap sound. Tom felt pulses of pain where her hand had been.

“Don’t you dare touch my son again,” she said. Her voice was low and menacing.

“Adriana… you don’t understand….” Tom could only stammer out the words.

“I understand that you laid your hands on my son Mitchell. Roland, of all people, convinced me not to press charges against you. He said it was all some big misunderstanding. You’re lucky I waited outside in my car as long as I did, or I might not be in control of myself.”

“You followed me here?” Tom said, incredulous.

“I came to your house just as you were pulling out of your driveway,” Adriana said. “Believe me when I tell you that I’m much calmer now.”

“Adriana, look, I understand that you’re upset. But something happened between my daughter and Mitchell that you should know about.”

“I don’t want to know anything about anything, Tom. Stay away from my family. I mean it.”

With that, Adriana Boyd turned on her heels and left.

Minutes passed before either man spoke. Marvin broke the silence first.

“Tom, why didn’t Roland Boyd go to the police after you broke into his house? You told him Jill would probably report the incident. This is a guy who locked you in a cooler because he thinks you were sleeping with his wife. Don’t you think it’s a little bit curious that he didn’t want to press any charges?”

“More than a little,” Tom said.

Tom drove Kelly’s eight-year-old Honda home from Marvin’s on autopilot. He was lost in a fog. Only when he neared the house could he vaguely recall having driven there.

Marvin had made Tom swear, with his right hand pressed on his case file, that he’d keep his distance from Roland Boyd and Frank Dee.

“Let me do some more digging before you go charging at them,” his lawyer pleaded. “I’m not convinced this doesn’t have something to do with your trial. I need to learn everything I can about Frank Dee and how he operates. Last thing we need is an incendiary like you blowing things up before I can even piece it together.”

“Agreed,” Tom said.

The first call he made was to Adriana. He dialed her cell phone from the landline in the kitchen. As he expected, the call went to voice mail.

“I’m not looking for redemption here, Adriana,” Tom said in his message. “I value our friendship, and I’m forever grateful for your generosity. But my child was in danger, and you may be as well. Please give me a chance to explain. Call me.”

Tom set the wireless phone back in its cradle. He felt a sudden craving for a cup of tea. He selected a packet Kelly had kept in the cupboard. His head still wasn’t right, and Marvin’s findings, though provocative, cluttered his thoughts and overwhelmed him. Perhaps a cup of raspberry green tea and an afternoon nap would do him some good. Concussions, after all, weren’t overcome by the sheer desire to overcome them. He didn’t need a medical degree to know that a bit of rest was good medicine. He could clean up the kitchen after a quick nap.

Still sensitive to light, Tom lowered the shades in the living room. Teacup in hand, he settled himself onto the couch. Two sips and already his eyelids were shutting. He set the cup and saucer carefully on the floor and laid his body lengthwise on the couch. The quiet was blissful. There was a distinct smell that the late morning sun had baked into the cushions—an odor of sleepiness.

And so the darkness came to him.

“Dad!”

Tom stirred.