Wallflower by William Bayer Read Free Book Online

terrific."
    Aaron grinned. "That's grand, Frank. Congratulations. When do I get to meet her?"
    "It's going to be complicated. She lives in Germany."
    "Oh. . . ." There was nothing Aaron could say to that. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" Aaron put out his hand. Janek ignored it and embraced him.
    "Thanks for sticking with me, Aaron. Thanks for everything."
    "Don't worry, Frank. Whoever did this, we'll get him for sure."
    Aaron spoke with such conviction that for a full minute Janek sustained belief. But then, as he stumbled into the gloom of his apartment, the notion faded fast.
    It was a simply furnished place, mostly with pieces inherited from his parents, including the workbench from his father's accordion repair shop strewn with a half dozen accordions in various states of disrepair.
    When Janek entered, he turned on a couple of lights, opened a window, placed his bag on his bed, then went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Unfortunately he splashed too fast; the water, unused for two and a half weeks, ran a nasty rusty brown.
    After he unpacked, he placed Monika's wineglass on a table near his living-room window so it would catch the morning light. Then he rewound his answering machine, sat down in his easy chair, and listened to his messages.
    There were the usual utilitarian calls amidst the hang-ups. Shoes he'd left for repair were ready for pickup. A friend had Jets tickets if he was interested. His ex, Sarah, complained he hadn't bothered to inform her he was traveling. Then, as a familiar voice came on, Janek felt a chill.
    "Hi. It's Jess. Please call me soon as you get back. There's something I want you to—can't explain it now. But it's important. Call me. Please. Okay?"
    It was the last message on the tape. He rewound it and played it again. She sounded worried but still in control, as if she had something on her mind and was turning now, as she had all her life when something bothered her, to her godfather, whom she trusted above all other men.
    He played her message a third time, striving to decipher each inflection. Then he played it a fourth, at high volume, listening acutely to the background noise. After that rendition he felt fairly confident that she hadn't called him hastily from a public phone. And that meant she probably hadn't called him in a panic. When he played it a fifth time, checking for subtext, he heard the same basic message he'd been hearing all along: This is Jess; I need your help .
    He removed the cassette from the machine and stored it safely in a drawer.
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    I t was only eight-thirty, but he was too exhausted to go out and eat. And it was too late now to call Monika—past two in the morning in Europe. He'd read an article that said the best cure for jet lag was to go to bed the moment you got home. But now, with Jess's message running through his brain, he knew sleep would be impossible.
    He dialed Kit's home number. There was only half a ring before she picked up.
    "I've been waiting for your call, Frank. Feeling lousy?"
    "Of course."
    "Understandable." She paused. "I spoke to Boyce this morning. Did you see him?"
    "About half an hour ago. Maybe he's okay, I don't know yet." He hesitated. "Hate to ask for favors, Kit. You know I've been careful about that. I wasn't that keen about going to Europe. And I'm not all that anxious to be your special assistant or whatever you have in mind."
    "Hey! Hold it right there!"
    "Uh-uh, Kit—let me finish. People know we have a past. Or whatever they want to call it. Who cares, right? So we bend over backwards, and I'd probably bend further than you just so people wouldn't be tempted to say anything. You know how much I hate office politics and all that kind of crap. Well, this time I'm asking because I think what we got here is a set of special circumstances. I was the one headed the investigation on Tim Foy. So here you have someone just as close, in the same family, and it only seems right—know what I mean? Who'd