Good to the Last Death

CHAPTER 1

When Tina and Ernie Ramirez rang the doorbell of my apartment in Torrance, California I was preparing dinner for Rigo—my husband and their son. I wasn’t expecting them but I was always glad to see them. They had given me unqualified support when I first had amnesia and didn’t know who I was. When I opened the door I wondered whether I had enough food to invite them for dinner.

They came in and I gave them each a big hug. Then I noticed they weren’t their usual cheerful selves. Their glum expressions gave me a feeling of foreboding. Tina spoke first.

Carol, have you heard from Rigo?

No. Not since he left early this morning. He said he was going to a meeting, but if he couldn’t make it home by six-thirty he’d call me.

I glanced at my watch; it said 6:45. He was late. If he said he’d do something, he usually did it.

Ernie and Tina looked at each other. Ernie spoke next with his Spanish accent. Both Ernie and Tina had been born in Mexico, but Tina had no detectable accent.

It’s probably nothing. He probably got hung up somewhere.

The way he said it didn’t give me a warm, fuzzy feeling. Something had happened to Rigo. Why had they come here instead of just calling me from the company they owned, and where Rigo also worked? They were worried. I invited them to sit in the living room. They both plopped on the sofa. They shook their heads when I offered them a drink.

I excused myself and ran into the kitchen to take the chicken out of the oven. It smelled delicious, but suddenly I wasn’t hungry. When I returned I sat in an armchair. They were usually very loquacious, especially Ernie, but they remained silent. All kinds of alarms were going off in my head.

Would you mind telling me what’s happening?

They looked at each other again. Tina took a deep breath before she started talking.

The meeting Rigo had was in San Diego. He was supposed to be back at the office by mid-afternoon. He’s not answering his cellphone. When he didn’t return by five I called the people he was meeting with. They said he left before two. I checked the traffic reports. No serious problems have been reported on the five or the four—oh—five. He should easily have made it to the office or here by now.

Their office was only a few miles from the apartment. I was wondering whether they were overreacting. Rigo was law-abiding, and didn’t use his cellphone while he was driving.

Maybe his cellphone battery is dead. Maybe his car broke down. I’ve been on his case to buy a new car ever since we got married.

We’d been married almost a year. Mentioning his old wreck of a car almost brought smiles to their faces. Rigo was legendary for his loyalty to it. But they quickly became serious again.

Ernie said, If he had a problem he would have found a way to contact us—or you. He hesitated."

My gut tightened. I was certain they were hiding something.

Ernie and Tina looked at each other again. They didn’t look so much scared as embarrassed.

Tina cleared her throat. I overheard Rigo talking on the phone yesterday. It sounded like he was setting up an appointment with someone for this afternoon. But I’m sure it wasn’t business related.

Ernie cut in. He used to have a girlfriend who moved to the San Diego area. Her name is Barbara, I believe. Cute redhead.

Tina said, I remember now that he did call her Barbara on the phone.

I glanced from one of them to the other. Tina, looking elegant in her pantsuit with her dark hair done just so. Ernie, with his intense look and wide-mouthed smile. Only he wasn’t smiling now. I was tempted to laugh. They were trying to warn me that Rigo might be up to something. Rigo, who was an open book.

I appreciated them doing this, because they could have just as easily covered for their son. I knew this openness on their part was due to the close relationship I had with them, and I was very glad of it. However, I was the secretive member of the family. I was the one who was always running off to the far corners of the globe with barely a word to Rigo. He was the steadying influence.

I wanted to set their minds at ease. The pot, as my grandmother used to say, shouldn’t call the kettle black.

Rigo has spoken to me about a couple of old girlfriends. If he wants to meet one of them for a drink, that’s all right with me.

They looked visibly relieved. I was suddenly hungry. I invited them to dinner.

I’ve got plenty of food. If Rigo shows up he can eat leftovers. Ernie, I have lots of Corona and lime.

Ernie loved Corona beer with a wedge of lime in the bottle.

***

Rigo didn’t show up and he didn’t call. I was beginning to get concerned about him, but I tried not to show it. This wasn’t like him. I kept the conversation going so Tina and Ernie wouldn’t worry. I showed interest in how their company was doing. When Ernie got started he could talk business for hours. They complimented my cooking; I was definitely improving as a cook. I fed them fresh strawberries for dessert, one of the benefits of summer.

When they left I tried to assure them that Rigo would be fine. I promised to call or text them as soon as he arrived home. I gave them each a hug and a false smile. After they were gone I collapsed in a chair, almost in tears, and feared the worst.

The last contact I’d had with Rigo had been a phone call around lunch time. Actually, it wasn’t exactly a phone call. When I answered the phone all I heard was a series of taps. Rigo had suggested we create our own code language for communicating with each other without talking (or texting), largely because he knew I’d broken several codes, and had even been offered a job as a code breaker in England. It was just for fun, of course, but it was nice to be able to communicate in a language nobody else could understand, in a world where some group or other seemed to know everything we did. He had tapped out I love you and hoped my day was going well. I had responded in kind.

I couldn’t sit still, so I compulsively checked my cellphone for messages, oral, text, or in tap language. Then I checked my email. I knew Rigo’s password, so I checked his personal email. Nothing. I checked several social and business sites he belonged to, not expecting to find anything. I didn’t. I called Rigo’s cellphone for about the tenth time, and got sent to voicemail.

I went to bed after midnight, but I couldn’t sleep. I reviewed the history Rigo and I had together, starting from when he’d found me unconscious and naked in a Dumpster almost two years ago. He’d been a part of my life ever since, even though we’d often been separated for weeks or months at a time. But permanently? How could I live if I knew I’d never see him again? The empty feeling I had in my gut became a spasm.

CHAPTER 2

I called the police.

Tina’s voice on the phone no longer disguised the fear she was feeling. It was only 8:30 and this was already the third time I’d spoken to her this morning. She and Ernie were at their office. I had let her call the police because I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was an admission that something was terribly wrong, and I was still in denial.

Which police did you call?

Torrance. I didn’t know who to call. How many police forces are there between here and San Diego?

Not counting the sheriff’s departments for Los Angeles, Orange, and San Diego Counties.

What did they say?

The officer I talked to—she was a woman—was very nice. She said the police don’t usually get involved until someone has been missing for a longer period of time. I told her Rigo was very dependable. She said she was sure he was, and she made suggestions about what we could do, including contacting his friends. I’ve started to do that. I just spoke to Adam. He hasn’t talked to Rigo for a week.

Adam Loken was Rigo’s best friend and tennis partner. He was also one of my financial advisors, and a very good one. I needed financial advisors because I’d inherited a pile of money from my parents and more from my grandmother. Adam was married with three children, but that hadn’t stopped him from propositioning me when his wife was pregnant and I didn’t know who I was. I hadn’t told Rigo or Adam’s wife this, but I kept an eye on Adam, and as far as I could tell he was being faithful to his wife now.

It occurred to me that Tina was taking steps to find Rigo and I wasn’t. I’d been frozen. This wasn’t like me. I kept hoping Rigo would stride briskly through the doorway with a wide smile on his face, like he usually did. It was time for me to quit feeling sorry for myself and become active. If Rigo was in trouble he needed my help. He had come to my aid often enough. I made a decision, which I relayed to Tina.

I’m driving over to the office. I’m going to work on trying to figure out who Rigo might have been going to see yesterday afternoon.

Tina sounded glad I would be where she could see me. I ended the call. I knew I wouldn’t do anything until I got out of the apartment. I didn’t have a full-time job, and I’d become adept at wasting time. The only appointment on my calendar this morning was a tour of duty at the crisis hotline where I was a volunteer listener. I logged onto the Internet and cancelled it. I left a penciled note for Rigo with the desperate hope he would come home and find it. Then I got into my Porsche and drove to the headquarters of the company my in-laws owned.

***

Adam Loken.

Hi Adam, it’s Carol.

I was Carol to everyone who had known me when I didn’t have an identity. I’d given myself the name Carol Golden, and it had stuck. My legal name was Cynthia Sakai. Of course, Adam knew this since my financial accounts with him were in my legal name, but he still called me Carol, as did Rigo and my in-laws.

Any news of Rigo?

Adam sounded genuinely concerned. Maybe he did have a heart, and didn’t just get off on financial figures. I upped the odds for the long-term success of his marriage. I was glad because I liked his wife and children.

Nothing new since you talked to Tina. I need to pick your brain for a minute.

I’ll do whatever I can to help.

That was also good news. I’d called him at his office, and it was difficult to get his attention about anything except stocks and bonds when he was at work.

According to Tina and Ernie, Rigo used to have a girlfriend named Barbara who moved to the San Diego area. They don’t remember her last name. I wondered if you—

Rigo would never cheat on you. I’m positive about that.

I’m not concerned about him cheating. Tina thinks he may have met her after his lunch meeting in San Diego yesterday. We’re trying to track his movements. If he was meeting his old girlfriend, I’m thinking you probably knew her. He apparently dated her for quite a while.

Stay on the line. I’m going to put you on hold for a minute.

I was left listening to music that was supposed to soothe me but didn’t. From where I sat in Rigo’s office I could see Tina in the office across the aisle. She had started the frightening process of checking with hospitals in the San Diego area. She’d already called the San Diego police, and an officer had told her they had no record of Rigo being involved in any wrongdoing or accident, but she wanted to make sure. She was a tiger when she was aroused. I could see why she was a good businesswoman and a good mother. My efforts so far had been puny compared to hers.

The music stopped and Adam came back on the line.

Carol. Her name is Barbara Mortenson. I have an address and phone number for her in San Diego. Do you have a pencil?

While I wrote down the information I wondered why Adam had it at his fingertips. Had he been hitting on her? I was tempted to ask him a question when he answered it before I had a chance to say anything.

She’s one of my prospects. I send my newsletter to her. Unfortunately, she’s never had enough money to make investments. I talked to her on the phone about six months ago. I don’t know anything about the crowd she’s been running with, but she’s acquired some weird ideas.

Like what?

Like saving the earth, global warming, stuff like that.

Neither of us had time for a political or environmental discussion, so I thanked him for the information and ended the call. I immediately called the number he’d given me. It went to voicemail after a couple of rings and I heard a chirpy voice.

Hi, this is Barb. Leave a message, but don’t leave any footprints.

I didn’t leave a message. Now what should I do? I got on one of the office computers and Googled Barbara. Nothing came up that looked like the correct Barbara Mortenson. I also checked social media, thinking I might learn more about her. I drew a blank. Maybe she used a different name.

Tina was tied up making phone calls. She was more competent than I was at doing that sort of thing. Ernie was keeping the business going and trying to maintain a brave front. Several other employees were hard at work in front of computers. I was at loose ends. I wasn’t built to sit at a desk. I could pace around the office, disrupting people. I could go out for a run. Or…

***

Fortunately, traffic on the 405 and the 5 was moderate, and I made good time on the drive to San Diego. In a little over two hours I was parked near the apartment building I had been guided to by my GPS, one of the perks of owning a new car.

I fed a meter and approached the entrance to the building. The multi-story stucco affair was quite new and close to the harbor. From my own experience with California rentals I knew that the rent was high enough to make anyone without a good income think several times. Maybe this Barbara didn’t have any investments, but she must have a source of money.

The entrance was locked. I found her name on the list of tenants and followed the instructions to ring her apartment on the intercom. There was no answer. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I’d been hoping. Now what? I found a listing for the apartment manager and rang that number. After a reasonable period of time someone answered.

I said, I’m looking for a place to rent.

We’re full up. No vacancies.

The voice was curt and low. I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman. How could I get inside? I doubted he or she would give information about one of the tenants.

I’m new to San Diego. Could I come in and chat with you about what’s available in the area?

I’m busy right now. Sorry.

The line went dead before I could come up with another reason to talk to her or him. This was maddening. For once in my life I wished I were a cop with a search warrant. Then I could break down the door and go where I pleased. I decided to stake the place out and talk to whomever came in or out of the building. My car wasn’t parked close enough to sit inside it and observe what went on, so I had to remain on foot.

I walked up and down the sidewalk, getting hungrier and hungrier and hotter and hotter. It was lunch time. I also had to pee. I walked to the first intersection and looked along the side street. I saw a fast-food café, which would serve the purpose of fulfilling my bodily needs. I could get takeout and be back here within ten minutes.

Before I crossed the street I took a look back in the direction of the apartment building. A man was approaching it on foot. I didn’t have time to wait and see whether he was going up the several steps to the front door. I started jogging toward him, and then when he did negotiate the steps I broke into a run. I arrived at the bottom of the stairs just as he swiped a card through a slot to open the door.

I felt silly accosting him like this, and I also didn’t want to scare him. Fortunately, as a runner I was in good shape and not panting hard, but I took a couple of seconds to catch my breath before I spoke.

Sir?

The man had the door open. For a moment I thought he was going to ignore me and go inside, closing the door behind him. Then he turned and saw me. He was middle-aged with a kindly face, and wearing glasses. I figured I had about five seconds before he disappeared.

Do you happen to know a woman who lives here named Barbara Mortenson?

He glanced at me, a bit shyly, I thought, and then looked away. I was afraid I was losing him, so I spoke again.

I’ve been trying to get hold of her. She isn’t returning my calls. That’s not like her. I’m afraid something might have happened to her.

That was my attempt to add some urgency to the situation. I started up the steps, but when the man reacted by grabbing the doorknob I stopped. Was he afraid of me? He appeared to think, still not looking at me.

He said, Is she young and, uh, redheaded?

I didn’t know what she looked like. Perhaps Ernie and Tina had mentioned red hair. I should have tried to get more information from Adam. I hedged.

Sounds right.

I-I’ve seen her around. I don’t really know her. His voice was high-pitched for a man, and he stuttered a bit.

He wasn’t going to be any help. Or perhaps he could be.

I’m thinking I should tell the manager about my concerns.

Oh, you mean Martha?

So she was a woman. What apartment is she in?

S-she’s right inside here—one-oh-one.

I took that as an invitation and climbed the steps, slowly enough so I wouldn’t scare him. He hesitated, and then he became a gentleman and held the door for me. The alternative was to slam it in my face. I preceded him into the building and waited for him in the hallway. It was dark enough that after having been in the bright sunlight I could hardly see. He closed the outside door, walked over to the first door in the wall, and knocked.

I stayed a couple of steps away from the man. I was still worried about spooking him. I didn’t hear any noise inside the apartment. Nothing happened for endless seconds. This silence could become awkward. I decided to break it.

How do you like living here?

It’s all right. C-Close enough to my office that I can come home for lunch. That’s what I’m d-doing now. I come home for lunch every day.

By the way, I’m Carol.

H-Henry.

He still wasn’t looking at me. He didn’t offer to shake hands. I finally heard locks being unlocked on the other side of the door. It opened a crack. I was at the wrong angle to see who’d opened it. The person who spoke was the same one I’d talked to on the intercom—Martha.

Henry. She sounded surprised. It must be lunchtime. Are you checking about your sink? I’ll get it fixed tomorrow. I promise.

No-no. This young woman here—she’s asking about B-Barbara Mortenson.

The door opened wider and Martha appeared in the doorway. She looked me up and down. Her hair was in curlers and her thin body was encased in some sort of dressing gown. The unmistakable odor of cigarette smoke wafted out of her apartment into the hall. I started to say something, but she talked over me.

We don’t allow solicitors here.

I tried to be assertive. I’m not a solicitor. I’m worried about Barbara. She isn’t returning my phone calls.

Did you use the intercom?

Yes—there was no answer.

Then she must be out. She has a job.

A door opened halfway down the hall. A woman came into the hall, spotted the three of us, and marched toward us with long strides. She was wearing dress slacks and a shirt suitable for an office job.

As she approached, Martha said, Good afternoon, Emma. Are you off to work?

Emma stopped beside Henry. I have to feed Henry his lunch first. He doesn’t eat properly if I don’t feed him. Then to Henry: You’re three minutes late. I was worried that something had happened to you.

Henry turned his head and almost looked at me. I-I was helping—

"Who are you?" Emma interrupted Henry and focused her sharp gaze on me. Her eyes looked like lasers, and I thought they were going to drill holes in me.

I’m trying to locate Barbara Mortenson.

That trash? Emma stuck her nose in the air. Every time I see her she’s got a different man with her. Martha, what kind of a place are you running here?

Martha protested. This is a high-class residence.

Before she could say anything else, Emma said, Come along, Henry. She took Henry firmly by the elbow, and escorted him back to what was apparently their apartment. Wearing two-inch heels, she was taller than he was. I turned to Martha.

I take it they’re married?

Martha sniffed. One thing I’ll never understand is what people see in their mates.

I wanted to find out as much as I could before she threw me out.

When was the last time you saw Barbara?

Martha looked disdainful. How should I know? I don’t go around spying on my tenants. Probably several days ago.

I had brought out my smartphone; I put a picture of Rigo on it and showed it to her.

"Did you by any chance see this man