Our Little Secret Ch. 09

Chapter 9 – Spin

Bobby Dixon knew every car in his nine acre lot. They baked in the hot New Mexico sun while Bobby sold parts out of his shack. It was a dusty old lot outside a forgotten town forty miles west of Albuquerque, with nothing around it except desert and Highway 40 to the north. Bobby Dixon's lot was where old cars went to die.

He didn't even pay for most cars. He had a separate drop-off lot, and people would dump their wrecks there. He recorded the VIN of each car and then towed it to its final resting place in one of his recovery lots. They were mostly wrecks or cars that wouldn't go anymore. Every once in a while some police agency phoned him up and asked him if he had a certain car. That's why he recorded the VINs.

Bobby made his money selling parts. People came onto his lot with their own tools, and unbolted what they needed from an old heap, and Bobby charged them for the parts they took. He kept a detailed map of his site, so when someone came in looking for a part for a certain make of a certain model of a certain year, Bobby could look on the map and tell them exactly where to find it. But he never needed the map. He knew every car by heart. Bobby found that, by keeping the map up to date, it helped him remember later on, so he still marked every car on his map.

Bobby was certain he didn't have a 2015 convertible black Ford Mustang on the map. But there it was as he towed an old heap of a Chevy behind his tractor around a corner in the southwest recovery lot. Damned if it didn't look brand new – not a scratch on it.

He didn't need to look at the map to know it wasn't there last week. And he didn't put it there. People are supposed to leave their car in the drop-off lot, then Bobby tows it into the proper recovery lot. Someone put it in the wrong place – this Mustang was in with all the Chevys. Right away Bobby knew something was up.

He dismounted his tractor and took a better look. It was all locked up, and he didn't see any keys. He always carried a jimmy in the tractor, and before too long, he opened the driver door and ignored the pulsing blare of the horn when the anti-theft system triggered. Still no keys. The inside was beautiful. It smelled new, but there was another smell – something not so new.

One thing Bobby knew was cars. Gerry Tucker owned the only auto mechanics shop in twenty miles, and Gerry would call up Bobby for advice from time to time on how to fix a peculiar problem. Bobby was never a certified mechanic. He didn't even have his high school diploma, so he couldn't get a proper job as a mechanic, but even Gerry Tucker knew Bobby fixed cars better than most mechanics with papers. Locals still bring their cars to Bobby for repairs. He fixes them in the barn and charges half what Gerry Tucker does. Cash only, no service records.

Bobby pulled the hood release lever inside the driver door, and popped the front hood to the Ford Mustang's engine compartment. He pulled out his jack knife and cut the wire to the horn, silencing the anti-theft alarm, allowing Bobby to work in peace. Then Bobby opened the fuse and relay cover over the radiator. He studied the map on the inside cover, and then Bobby pulled the relay for the luggage compartment, leaving an empty socket. He found an old piece of copper wire on the tractor, and used it to short two connectors on the empty socket together, and he heard the trunk pop. Bobby put the relay back into its socket, and closed the relay housing cover, and shut the hood. Then Bobby went around back, lifted the trunk lid, and found two naked, decomposing bodies – a man and a woman. She had a deep cut in her throat, and he seemed to be generally messed up in the stomach.

"Fuck!" he yelled at no one who could hear. It wasn't the sight – he'd seen dead bodies before. And it wasn't their nakedness, or the stink that bothered him. It wasn't even the obvious violent nature of their deaths. "Now this fuckin' new car is worth no fuckin' good to me," Bobby cursed. He pulled out his cell phone and called fuckin' 911.

- - -

As so many of these things do, it started out innocently enough. Trish Marples used to work at the Boston Globe. Now she was a semi-retired a freelance journalist, which most print journalists were since they were downsized from whatever paper they worked at. Trish stayed true to the concept of investigative journalism. She barely made enough money to cover her costs, but that wasn't the point. She lived a decent, albeit frugal life with her husband, Bill, a retired school principal three years ago. Bill always pestered Trish to fully retire.

Trish and Bill were visiting their northern friends. Marla and Grant McKenzie were their neighbors from their Boston years, and they had become good friends over the decades. In the winters the McKenzies would visit Trish and Bill in their modest Arizona retirement home for a week, and in the summer Trish and Bill would return to the city they loved and stay with Marla and Grant in Boston.

It was over dinner in Boston one night that Marla told Trish about three wide-eyed, naïve, young girls who had just become clients of the firm she worked for, McTavish, Taylor, and Strong. Marla was in accounting and payments. She made sure the money was handled properly, and so she knew the arrangement surrounding Christina, Kelsey, and Mary. Most clients in her firm played the system – they hired a heavy hitting law firm to evade the law, but not these three girls. They were so overwhelmed by their unfamiliar circumstances, it was heartbreaking just to watch them. Even more curious, some man they claimed not to know ponied up the whole fee. Marla handled the escrow account he opened with over a quarter million dollars in it, and he signed an agreement to put over two more million in if needed.

He turned out to be that catnap passenger, the one who saved that stewardess's life. He paid the whole bill. He claimed a benefactor put up the money, but the escrow account was in his name – a benefactor never just trusts money to someone like that. It was his money, and he was hiding that fact.

Marla found that peculiar. She didn't think it a violation of confidentiality telling Trish this story, as Marla didn't mention any details of the girls' legal situation, and Joel Winkman wasn't the client. She did relate what was in the newspapers; that the girls just jumped up on the bar where they worked, stripped off their clothing, and danced naked. They were later quoted as saying they had no idea why they did it.

Trish and Marla chalked the girls' indiscretion up to another example of exuberant exhibitionism common among the younger generation – something the elder ladies never understood. But the story haunted Trish back in Tucson when she heard about the Albuquerque orgy, where women reported they didn't know why they went along with it. The stories shared oddly similar qualities.

So Trish asked Marla to email everything she could about the Boston case, and she started looking into both cases in greater detail. Finally, she drove to Albuquerque, and stayed with friends there to look around some more. When she went to the Lovelace Woman's hospital, Joel Winkman's name came up again. One of the nurses said he was working with the police, and Joel himself was interviewing the victims.

Trish immediately knew she was onto something. Joel Winkman's involvement in two cases separated by two thousand miles was not a coincidence. It was one thing if he was a traveling therapist for hire – are there such people? But this guy put up a quarter million dollars for legal fees, and therapists don't make that kind of money.

He either was some hero helping the police, or he was atoning for sins. Trish's experience told her those two factors were often intertwined.

She researched Joel Winkman. He was basically a nobody before the catnap flight. Now he ran his own investment firm out of Boston. His web site listed two employees: himself and Barry Silcove.

On a hunch, Trish searched all news sources for all people ever connected with the catnap flight, and cross reference to anything strange. William Fieldman, a catnap passenger from Savanah, Georgia, went missing, last seen in El Paso. That was probably nothing. Brent DiGarnio was arrested for child pornography. Again, a dead end. Samuel Hilton was registered on the Oregon deadbeat dad's database. Another dead end. Clark McDonald was another catnap passenger. His wife was shot in the head by a dinner guest, who then turned the gun on herself.

Any one of these events alone seemed irrelevant, but it bothered Trish that crime, including one disappearance, was following catnap passengers. So she plotted them out on a timeline, and noticed DiGarnio was arrested after the three girls dancing episode, and Fieldman went missing days after the Albuquerque orgy.

She picked up the morning's newspaper, and her heart nearly stopped. Clark McDonald had gone missing. He was last seen in his home. As far as anyone could tell, he just vanished. That was four for four, although she didn't know what Samuel Hilton did to be registered on the deadbeat dad's list. She was willing to bet it was not for failing to pay child support.

Trish phoned Samuel Hilton, and left a message saying she was willing to talk to him if he really had paid all his child support. He phoned back ten minutes later. He said he made every payment on time, and he had proof of every payment. The Oregon Division of Child Support admitted they made a mistake, but by then it was too late. His passport was revoked, his license suspended, his accounts emptied and frozen, and he lost his job. His mortgage is in arrears, the bank is foreclosing, and his seized money has not been returned to him.

The irony is, now Samuel is a deadbeat dad, because he can't afford the child support payments he was making before DCS ruined his life. He can't even afford a lawyer to recover his money the DCS seized

"Mr. Hilton," Trish asked, "I don't know how to ask this without sounding ridiculous, but have you ever used extraordinary powers to force a woman to do something against her will?"

The line went silent for a long time. Trish thought maybe he hung up. "Mr. Hilton?"

"What kind of thing?" he asked shakily.

"Did you ever use extraordinary powers to do something that ruined a woman's life?"

"I have to go," and he hung up. Trish turned off her voice recorder.

That's four for four – she just didn't know what Hilton did. She guessed Joel Winkman was at the center of it all. She didn't know if his role was malevolent or benevolent, but there was no doubt in her mind he was intricately involved in every one of those four incidents."

She phoned her friend, Marla, and asked how can she get in touch with one of the girls in the dancing bar case. Marla gave her the number of the PR firm – she apologized, but anything more detailed would get her fired.

It was time for Trish to play her trump card and a bluff at the same time. She went for the weakest link in the chain. She phoned the PR firm. She left a message explaining she was a reporter, and she knew Christine Carroll, Mary Wilson, and Kelsey Danton, who were clients of the PR firm, were in fact forced to dance on top of that restaurant bar against their will by Brent DiGarnio, who was a catnap passenger with extraordinary powers, and was now facing charges of child pornography. She also knows Joel Winkman paid for all their lawyer fees, and he was connected to three other catnap passengers getting in trouble. She asked if the Mojo ladies would like to tell Trish their side of the story before she goes to print. She left her name and number, and told them to call within twenty four hours.

Five hours later, four US Air Force soldiers wearing full battle fatigues and side arms from the Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona arrived at Trish's front door. Trish and Bill looked out their living room window. Another dozen soldiers armed with semi-automatic assault rifles had surrounded Trish and Bill's modest retirement house. The four soldiers did not ask permission to enter.

- - -

Joel went into the FlashCap office on Monday morning on August 24. It was two blocks away from his phantom office, as set up by Sylvie. There were two weeks before Jen was scheduled to start working at Google.

He spent most the week working with Barry Silcove. He had been so preoccupied with the OSI over the past week, he had let things slide in his investment firm. Barry complained he needed more staff. He needed a financial analyst to crunch numbers, and he needed a support analysis to do all the grunt work while Barry did the thinking. Joel told him to ask Sylvie to hire whom he needed. By now Sylvie was running both offices, and she had hired an assistant to run the day-to-day details in each of Joel's two businesses.

Joel also asked Sylvie to immediately hire a short term assistant for Jenny. She needed someone to help her around the house with all the moving preparations. Sylvie said she had interviewed just the right person – she didn't think she would work out in the office, but she would be perfect supporting Jenny. Joel said he wanted to meet this person today, so Sylvie set up the meeting for early afternoon.

Joel explained to Sylvie he was moving to California in two weeks. He wanted her to take on more management responsibilities, especially on the investment business. He would hire someone else to look after the phantom business. He asked Sylvie to let him know if she was comfortable with that, and how much more money she would want. Sylvie said she would research salaries and come up with a suitable number. Joel also asked her if she thinks moving the investment office to California was a good idea, or leave it here. She said she would think about it.

In the afternoon, Joel met with April Orman – Sylvie's recommended assistant for Jen. April was wiry, like a gymnast, blonde hair, brown eyes, with a compact, slim torso. She wore a business dress and heels. Joel explained that attire was completely inappropriate for her work.

Joel said he wanted her to work for two weeks, starting today, to help his girlfriend get ready to move. She would be doing all sorts of things, from packing boxes to running errands to cleaning and he didn't know what else. It was short term, and he would pay well.

April said she wanted to meet Jen first, and Joel invited April over for dinner tonight. Joel said to come over to the house at seven thirty wearing jeans and a casual shirt and sneakers. He gave her the address and told April to use Uber, and he would reimburse her for the expense. Joel commanded her to show up on time, and be helpful and nice to Jenny when she got there.

The rest of the afternoon was consumed by details and emails that had piled up over the past week. At five Joel texted Jen and asked if he should bring a pizza home – she said that was perfect. He arrived at six, and told her about April arriving at seven to start helping Jen out. Jen wasn't warm to the idea, but didn't reject it either.

They ate Pizza and talked about each other's days. This time, Joel could actually discuss what he did at his office. He told Jen Barry was working out, but he needed more help.

April arrived at seven sharp in a pair of crisp jeans and a plaid shirt. Put a cowboy hat and boots on her, and she'd have fit in at the rodeo. She was instantly helpful to Jen, and started going through Jen's clothing with her, suggesting what she should take to California and what to leave behind. She neatly folded things into piles. She said she moved a lot as a child, and always loved the packing part.

Half an hour later, Jen took Joel aside. "Where did you get her?" she asked whispering.

"Sylvie interviewed her," Joel shrugged. "She didn't like her for the office, but when I mentioned this, Sylvie said she'd be perfect."

"Tell Sylvie thank you," Jen smiled. She let April continuing going through Jen's clothes, while she started going through all her books and DVDs.

At nine April said she was ready to leave. She said she could come by tomorrow morning and get started right away. Jen said she had morning meetings – she had to leave by eight. April insisted she would be returning for work at seven in the morning.

Joel paid her April a hundred dollars cash for the two hours and for the Uber fares. After April left, Joel hugged Jenny, and started rubbing her back. When he slid his hand down to her ass and caressed it gently, Jenny looked into his eyes. "I'm so tired, and I have a long day tomorrow," she kissed him quickly, and then pulled away, shutting down his libido. "You should have asked April to stay," she smirked as she walked into the kitchen, leaving Joel to shake his head. Jenny was not prone to that kind of humor.

April arrived at seven as promised, and made a proper breakfast for Jen so she would have a good energy level throughout the day. Jen had made a long list of things for April to do during the day. "I noticed last night you have some nice silk dresses in your closet," April offered. "They'd be perfect in California. Do you want me to take them to the dry cleaners?"

Jenny's mouth actually fell open. "Yes please," she finally said. April added it to Jen's list. Joel told her to use Uber, and keep track of all the costs. "I can do shopping for you too, if you want," April offered. "Or I can cook supper so it's waiting for you when you get home."

"Let's discuss that," Jen hesitated, wondering how much was too much to ask. Jen collected her things, and kissed Joel goodbye at the door. "Can we take her to California?" Jen smiled, only half kidding. She kissed him again, and left for work.

Joel readied for work, and commanded April to be reliable and trustworthy, and make Jen proud of her. He spent another day getting FlashCap organized, setting up a schedule for upcoming meetings that Barry would attend.

Jen arrived home ten minutes before Joel, just past five. Jen stood at the entrance to the house in disbelief as the corgis spun and leapt with unbridled joy at her feet. The house was spotless. April had spent the whole day cleaning, and still had time to go through Jen's entire to-do list, including taking in the dry cleaning. "Do I smell something cooking?" Jen asked April.

April paused, lowering her eyes. "I know you said to wait and see, but I saw some chicken in the freezer. I made a tetrazzini. I hope you're not mad," she grimaced.

"April, look at me," Jen said with authority. April looked at Jen's face. "In this house, we only reward and thank initiative. We never punish it," she nodded affirmatively, thinking how the opposite was true at Quinton. Jen softened her voice. "April, thank you for everything you have done, I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I'm so glad you're pleased," she beamed with relief.

"You must be exhausted," Jen offered. "Have a seat."

"Oh, no," April shook her head. "I'll get out of your way, and you have a nice evening. I called the Uber when I saw you pull in." She stepped into the vestibule. Jen saw Joel pulling into the driveway, so she went with April, shutting the glass door behind her, securing the dogs safely inside. They were standing on the front porch when Joel climbed the stairs.

"April did everything on my list, and she cleaned the house spotless, and she cooked dinner," Jen announced. Joel figured she had been there nearly eleven hours, so he paid her three hundred dollars cash, which included cab fare. "Joe, that's not enough," Jen warned him in an unmistakable tone. He gave April another hundred. Joel had never heard Jenny call him Joe before.

"Thanks," April smiled to Joel. Then she turned to Jen. "Please leave all the dishes. I'll clean up tomorrow morning when I get here. I'll make you breakfast again." Her Uber pulled up. "And tomorrow I'll go shopping," she called back as she walked toward the car.