D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

After a quick stop at a convenience store to buy a prepaid cell phone, Chris drove straight to Camilla’s. Ten minutes later his car idled at the ornate gate that solidly blocked access to her home. His window was down and he took a few deep breaths before leaning out the window and pressing the button. Silence. After a minute he pressed it again. This time holding it down for fifteen seconds. Again, nothing.

For the first time, he realized that this trip to California might be pointless. Pell had been on the verge of delirium and had probably given him bogus information. Even if this was her home, who was to say she, or anyone, was home. She probably had houses all over.

He put the car in reverse and started to back out to the street when a voice crackled over the intercom. “Can I help you?”

Chris got out of the car and walked back to the security box. “Hello?”

“I said, can I help you?”

“Is Camilla Haywood here?”

“And you are?”

“Chris Foster.”

“Is Ms. Haywood expecting you?”

He shook his head, and before he could speak the word ‘no’, the voice continued. He was being watched on closed-circuit camera. He scanned for the camera and found it mounted on the side of a palm tree about thirty feet away.

“Does she even know you?”

“Well, not exactly—”

“I’m sorry sir, but Ms. Haywood is out of town on business, and even if she were here, she doesn’t see unexpected visitors – for obvious reasons.”

Chris stared at the little speaker, and blurted out, “I’m with the FBI. I’m looking for an old college friend of Camilla’s. It’s a matter of the utmost urgency. I know that Ms. Haywood probably gets all kinds of fruit-cakes walking up here and I appreciate that you can’t be too careful, but it’s imperative that I talk to her today.”

“Do you have any identification?”

“Yes,” he replied as he reached for Pell’s ID which he had taken from him back at his house. As he flipped the leather case open confidently and held it up to the camera, he hoped it didn’t have a good telephoto lens because if it did, his little ruse would be over.

“I’m out of the Bangor, Maine branch,” he continued, assuming Pell’s identity. As he did, he wondered how Pell was doing. He’d have to make a call to the hospital to see if he could get any information.

Silence ensued, long enough for him to get nervous, and then the voice said, “Who are you looking for again?”

“Actually, I didn’t say who I was looking for. Who are you?”

“Albert James Winslow,” the intercom man replied.

“Albert James Winslow,” he repeated. “Listen to me, Mr. Winslow. I don’t have the time to play games. I need to know where Camilla Haywood is. I just spent the entire night traveling from Boston to talk to her. If she isn’t here, I need to know where she is. Now. Let me in so we can talk.”

After a moment, an electric motor hummed behind the wall and the gates swung open.

“I’ll meet you at the top of the driveway,” the voice said as the speaker went dead.

He turned around, hopped into his car, and raced to the top of the winding driveway where he found Albert standing next to a shiny new full-sized Suburban. All of the doors were open, and it was fully loaded with suitcases and bags.

He walked over to Albert extending his hand as he admired the beautiful grounds and spectacular view.

“Quite a house,” Chris said.

“It is.”

Chris turned to the Suburban and said, “Going someplace?”

“I’m moving some stuff back to the house in Beverly Hills,” he replied. “I’m actually in a rush today, sir. I’m happy to help you, but let’s make it quick.”

“Okay, Albert. Firstly, may I ask what your relationship to Ms. Haywood is?”

“I’m Ms. Haywood’s personal assistant,” Albert replied.

“Excellent. Then this is the deal. I need to talk to Ms. Haywood in relation to an important case that the Bureau is working. It’s imperative that we find an old Harvard buddy of hers, Sarah Burns, and we’re chasing down every possible lead. This is a matter of national urgency.”

Albert’s brown eyes flickered slightly. Recognition? He couldn’t be sure. The name definitely rang some sort of a bell with this guy, but as quickly as it had been there, the look was gone.

“I’ve never heard of her,” Albert replied. “But I’ll be happy to ask Ms. Haywood about her when I see her tonight.”

“Is there any way we can get in touch with her right now?”

Albert shook his head. “No.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you have a cell phone number for her? You must know where she is right now if you’re her personal assistant.”

“I’m afraid I really can’t provide you with her cell phone number. I have a strict non-disclosure agreement in my employment contract that prevents me from giving out those details to anyone. I have to respect her privacy and she has to be able to trust me implicitly. Surely the FBI can find a phone number?”

“Of course but it would be a lot easier if you just gave me her number, or better yet, tell me where she is, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Sorry but I can’t.”

“Let me explain how this works. This is one of those cases where the FBI will open our arms wide and drag everybody in. Then we sift through everyone to see who’s guilty and who’s innocent. Believe me when I tell you, Albert, it’s no fun being accused by us.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I don’t make threats.”

Albert glared at him before saying, “Like I said, I’ve never heard of Sarah Burns. I’ll talk to Ms. Haywood as soon as I can, but until then I’m not going to let you stand here and try to intimidate me or extract personal information about my employer from me. I’m happy to put you in touch with her attorney.”

The words Sarah Burns rolled off his tongue as if he said them all the time. Chris had only mentioned her name quickly in passing, and he not only remembered but repeated it with ease. Albert James Winslow was hiding something.

“Do you really want to go that route?” Chris asked.

“Fine. Is there someplace I can reach you this evening?” Albert asked. “I’ll call as soon as I talk to her.”

“I’ll call you. What’s your mobile number?” Chris entered the number into a new contact on his mobile. He repeated it to Albert to confirm and then said, “And what’s the address you are heading to in Beverley Hills?”

Albert gave Chris the address and he entered that as well.

“I’ll call you around 8.” Chris walked over to his car and was about to get in when he turned to Albert and said, “Do you have any kids, Albert?”

Deep lines appeared on Albert’s previously smooth forehead and his face flushed as he said in a trembling voice. “I had a daughter but she died a long time ago. When she was three. Why?”

Chris had just wanted to see Albert’s expression when he lobbed out that question but now he felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry.”

Albert pursed his lips, shook his head softly, then turned and walked to the mansion. His previously erect stature now slightly compressed.

Chris climbed into his car and drove away. At the end of the street he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and stopped to gather himself. What was he going to do now? Should he head over to this Beverley Hills address? Getting a room for some rest would be a good start; he could certainly use some food and sleep. He also needed a plan. His previously mundane, quite predictable life was slipping completely out of his control.

He bought a Gatorade and a couple granola bars. As he sat in his car eating, he saw Albert drive to the end of the street and stop at the red light. Once it turned green, Albert took a right, driving north up the coastal route. Beverley Hills was in the opposite direction.