The Langley Case: A Nathan Roeder Mystery

Getting Beaten Up By a Girl, Moving One Step Closer

I didn’t ask Jessica to come with me instead of Felicia. I knew I didn’t have to. I also knew that Felicia would be the only one to find anything worthwhile. Even asking her to get toys was a long shot. Whatever evidence was here, whatever clue Oliver left behind, no one but Theresa would be able to see it. I just hoped the pictures would be enough.

In the meantime, I figured I’d do my own searching, in the hopes that I might hit it big. Or that I might at least see it coming when Jessica did decide to attack me.

For the first room I went through, the lounge, she didn’t say anything. I kept looking at everything, deciding what would make a good weapon, tensing myself for that first blow. I figured if I could see her coming, I might dodge it and avoid a good deal of pain. But she didn’t attack me in the lounge.

In the dining room, I kept my eyes on the candlesticks, waiting for her to pounce at any second as I looked through things, as if there was something in particular I was looking for. But she just stood there, quiet and with a helpful smile painted across her face.

By the time I got through the kitchen, with all its knives and cookware, without incident, I was beginning to wonder whether or not Jessica really had been sent to kill me. There was a chance she was just sent to watch me. She might have been there just to see what I found, so she could report it to her superiors, and they could kill me. But it seemed like such a waste of a middle man.

Still, when I was flipping through books in the library –Oliver had an impressive collection of paper prints—I couldn’t help but start thinking that she had no hidden agenda. She was wearing her heart on her sleeve, and there was nothing stuck up there.

I’d just about given up on her altogether when, on the way from the library into one of the bedrooms, she kicked me in the lower back.

I’ve been kicked before. More times than I care to admit. But when wearing those smart, sharp heels, something about a well delivered kick shows up that was lacking all those times before. Like the certainty that I’d be pissing blood if I survived the whole thing.

I reached my hand back, ineffectually, to grab at the spot where she kicked, wondering if her heel had punctured anything. She caught my hand, wrenched my wrist up my back so hard and so high that was I sure my shoulder would dislocate. Then she slammed me, face first, into the door frame.

I fell on my hands and knees, and quickly received another kick to the midsection, this one done like she was kicking a soccer ball. I went down, after going up a bit from the impact. I started to get up again, but her knee was stubbornly digging into the space on my back where my shoulders come together.

I thought she was done. I thought maybe she was going to hold me like that until I passed out, which, given the surprising amount of pressure someone as small as her was somehow able to apply, didn’t seem like it would be that long.

That’s when I felt the wire tighten around my throat. It wasn’t razor wire, which is lucky for me, I suppose. But it was the kind of wire that you pass a lot of information through. So it wasn’t going to break before my windpipe would.

I focused myself on getting my arms up underneath me, and bent my back a little farther than it wanted to bend in order to get my fingers underneath the wire. There were burning streaks where my own fingernails cut into the skin trying to get those fingers under the wire, but the more pressure I applied pulling away at the wire, the more breath I could get into my body.

I felt her fingers wrap themselves in my hair, and the next thing I knew, my head had been bounced off the floor. I tried to get up, and her other hand punched me in the thigh, tightening those muscles into a single painful knot.

She hadn’t said anything. I imagined her wearing an I’m-going-to-kill-you smile. Then my face hit the floor again, this time staying there and getting pressed into the expensive carpeting. It felt like my brain was going to explode.

The last time I’d been in a situation like this, Felicia had come to the rescue. But I doubted that was going to happen this time. It was a big house, and I didn’t know where she was. Not enough noise. Maybe if I broke something. Other than me.

I couldn’t stand up. We were in the doorway. Maybe I could—stop thinking about it. I lurched, hard, to the side, just trying to roll, trying to get her off me. I wasn’t looking to turn the tides, just to give myself a fighting chance.

I lurched, she lost her balance. I lurched the other way, and managed to spin over onto my back.

She caught herself and punched me across the chin. I pulled the wire away from my throat and out of her hands. She leaned back and punched me, hard, right in the nuts.

By the way, it was a sadistic smile at that point.

I’ve heard of guys who get this red haze and don’t feel any pain when they’re fighting. Those guys, if they’re telling the truth, are dangerous scrappers who will accept any injury to get the job done. Me, I almost lost consciousness when she hit me there.

I’m not one to hit a woman. But I am an equal opportunity kind of guy. And when the chips are down, and my ass is getting kicked, I say all’s fair. When it’s life or death, I don’t have time to stand on ceremony.

So I clocked her one, right in the face. Then I hit her again, this time between the breasts. I sat up, throwing her off me, and moved in for the kill.

Only to get another foot to the face, knocking me back on my ass.

I kicked, wildly, and felt my foot connect with something that wasn’t wall or floor. Then I felt a hand reaching up my leg with murderous intent. I reached down, grabbed the hand, and wrapped my legs around the arm. I pulled and I twisted. She screamed, and I heard a pop.

I kicked, and I heard a snap. I kicked again, and felt a thud.

Then I realized she wasn’t fighting back. Knowing that, I felt no need to continue. In fact, I think I passed out.

When I came too, I noticed several things about the situation. First, at least one of my ribs was broken. Second, my elbow was dislocated. Third, I may have chipped a tooth. Fourth, broken nose.

And fifth, Jessica was dead. Her shoulder was really badly dislocated, and her head was at an angle that I could tell was not natural. I mean, aside from the jutting bone.

I don’t know how long I laid there, cradling my own poor broken body and looking at hers. She was not a big girl. She put up one hell of a fight.

Felicia stumbled onto us a little bit later. I don’t know how much later. It was hard to keep track of time.

She yelled something and bent down to check on me. I could barely hear her. I tried to remember if Jessica had hit me in the ear at all. Then I realized I was just losing consciousness again. At least, I hoped that was it.

“Make sure you get the pictures,” I said. “We won’t have another chance.”

That was the last thing I remembered.

When I woke up, I was in a bed. I would have thought it was a hospital bed, but certain things made me think otherwise. For one thing, the sheets were not the hideous hospital sheets I’ve been in more times than I care to count. The kind with the consistency of cardboard. These sheets felt like silk, soft and cool to the touch, more comfortable than the sheets on my bed at home.

The pillow my head was laying against was firm but giving, molding itself to the shape of my neck. I had no idea where I was.

I tried feeling around for clues, before I opened my eyes. I was so comfortable that I didn’t want to ruin it by opening my eyes. So I felt around my body. There were a few bandages, but not the rough gauze I was used to. Soft cloth, probably cotton, with some nice feelings of warmth across my neck, and a firm wrap around my midsection. I’d probably been to a hospital, and was recovering somewhere else. I wondered why.

I knew I’d eventually have to open my eyes, and so I did, as slowly and gently as I could. This further convinced me that I was not in a hospital. The light was a gentle light, almost like starlight, and the room I was in was peaceful, but not sterile. There was a fountain in the corner, with water flowing slowly and gently over stones, making a noise that was as gentle as the rest of the room.

I hadn’t been awake for more than a few minutes before Felicia came in and sat down in a soft leather chair next to the bed. A recliner. Another clue that I was not in a hospital.

“How are you doing?” She asked.

I smiled. “How long have I been out?”

She smiled. “A few hours,” she said. “Our pass hasn’t expired yet.”

“We’re still in the Tiers?”

She nodded. “You’re in the hospital.”

I laughed. No way. “Are you shitting me?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Amazing.”

About that time, the doctor walked into the door. The doctor looked to be about my age, which could mean that he was my age, that he was a few years younger, a hundred years older, or pretty much anything. We were in the Tiers, after all.

“Mr. Roeder,” he said. “My name is Dr. Radcliff. I’ve done a few things I wanted to tell you about, and give you a few warnings.”

“Warnings?”

He shrugged. “I’m told we don’t have the time to do the extensive work I’d like to do, so I wanted you to know what we couldn’t fix.”

“What was wrong with me?”

“Well, your wrist ligaments were torn, your elbow had been dislocated, one of your teeth was broken.” He pulled out his PDA and pressed a button. “Three of your ribs were cracked, there were six minor cuts on your neck, your nose was broken in three places, and one of your eardrums had ruptured.”

I was confused. “I can hear just fine,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes, that’s what we expected.”

“So—okay, what did you fix?”

“The ligaments in your wrist have been fixed, as has your elbow. But both of those will probably be sore for a few days, so don’t put any undue stress on them. We’ve fixed your tooth – re-grew it a little bit. It should also be fine in a day or so. Don’t eat any hard candy.”

“I never do.”

“Your ear drum has been repaired, we reset your nose, and we’ve fixed the scratches on your neck. The ribs have been set, and bound in place. That’ll be uncomfortable, but there’s not much we can do about that. You should be fine after about two weeks.”

I went through the mental tally. “So what didn’t you fix?”

“Well, Mr. Roeder, it looks like you’re going to need to replace your liver sooner or later, and if you continue to smoke, you might want to look into working on your lungs.”

I waved my good hand at him. “I’m not worried about that.”

He shrugged. “Given time, we could have finished fixing everything. But your pass expires in just over an hour.”

It was still better than I would have gotten in Town. I wondered about the bill, but didn’t think I wanted to hear it.

“Is there anything else that I need to know?” I asked.

The doctor shook his head. “Just that you should cut back on the drinking and smoking, you should exercise more, and to be careful for a few days.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“Your clothing is in the bathroom. Just inform the nurse when you want to check out.”

He walked out of the room, and just after the door swung closed, Theresa Langley came in, taking a seat across from Felicia.

“So,” she said.

I winced a little as I sat up straighter. “Yeah,” I said.

“It’s a good thing you asked me to pay for expenses,” she said. “There’s no way you could afford this.”

“Sorry about that,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting to get my ass kicked by a personal assistant.”

“How big was he?”

I was pretty sure I’d told Theresa Jessica’s name. She was just teasing me. “She,” I said. “She wasn’t that big.”

Theresa smiled, a crack in her businesslike façade. “You must be Felicia,” she said, to cover herself. She rose and extended a hand. “Theresa Langley.”

Felicia shook the offered hand. “Felicia Serano,” she said. “I’m Mr. Roeder’s assistant.”

“And his bodyguard?”

Felicia shrugged. “Looks like I should be, doesn’t it?”

I groaned a little. “Can we get down to business, please?”

Theresa settled back. “I would love to. What do you have?”

I looked over at Felicia. “I want you to show Ms. Langley the pictures you took in her father’s apartment.” I turned back to Theresa as Felicia walked over to her. “Theresa, I think your father left a clue that only you could find in one of these pictures. So I want you to go through them and see if there are any pictures there that shouldn’t exist. A place where you’ve never been, an outfit you never wore, anything that would give us a hint to where your father stashed his evidence.”

“Stashed?”

“I think the diary is in code. It tells who is behind all of the murders your father claimed responsibility for. But you have to crack the code. And once you do, you have to follow the chain of clues he left for you to find the evidence to point to whoever it was that was doing it all.”

“That’s pretty far fetched, Nathan.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. “He put codes in the book,” I said. “Ciphers, along with a key. He put in simple things that spelled out clues. I followed the clues and I’ve found at least one real piece that he left just for you.”

“What?”

I pointed to the bathroom. “That ashtray I found,” I said. “It was designed so that no detective in the world would think about it, would care in the slightest. The only person who would ever know it was a fake was you, because you’re an only child, and you didn’t make it. People don’t keep the crappy presents someone else’s kid makes them.” I rubbed my head. “God, I need a cigarette.”

Theresa walked to the bathroom, presumably to go through my clothes and find the ashtray.

Felicia leaned in close. “What about Johnny?” She asked.

I’d forgotten all about him. We were supposed to meet for lunch, at my office. Only he was supposed to call first. But I wasn’t answering, because my PDA was on a train somewhere. I’d made smarter decisions.

“Check the net,” I said. “Find out if my office exploded. If it didn’t, we’ll call him when we’re done here.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” She asked.

I didn’t get a chance to answer. There was the sound of something shattering from the bathroom, something glass or possibly ceramic.

Then Theresa came back into the room, holding a small slip of paper.

“What’s it say?” I asked.

“It says ‘eighteen, fourteen, sixty three, seven, forty five.’” She turned the paper around so I could see the words; the numbers were written out. “It’s his handwriting.”

“Well, that certainly tells us something.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know.”

She frowned at me. “You’re not much help, Nathan.”

“What do you want from me? It’s probably the combination to something. But we can’t find out to what until we get the rest of the clues. That’s why I need you to look through the pictures Felicia has.”

Felicia handed Theresa the pictures she had taken on her way out of the room. I assumed she was going to check the Net. I looked at my watch. Not much time left. Soon, we’d have to head back down to Town. That would mean that I would have to get out of bed and get dressed, something I wasn’t looking forward to.

“Here,” she said. It didn’t take as long as I thought. “This one is wrong.”

She handed me the picture. There was a little girl with her father, standing in Oliver’s office, leaning against his desk. Oliver had one arm around the girl, one arm around an LCD screen.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“He didn’t work in that office when I was that age,” she said.

I scratched my chin. “Keep going,” I said. That one might have just been a clue to help us find the ashtray. At least it convinced her that we were on the right track.

It was a few minutes before she hit big on the second shot. During that time, I massaged my temples a little bit, tried to salve my wounded pride, and thought about getting dressed. I wondered if I should ask the women to leave when I did.

“Here’s another one.” She handed me the picture. It was a house by itself, outside of the city, away from the Sprawl. She was standing holding up a diploma, displaying it with a smile.

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.

“I didn’t go to school there,” she said, pointing at the diploma.

I smiled. Someone else may have found it, if they’d known what they were looking for. So if something had happened to Theresa, and I’d been forced to figure it out myself, I might, possibly, have found it. But only because I had been following the clues in Oliver’s diary. That fit perfectly.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“It’s our family estate,” she said. “We used to vacation there.”

“Can you get me there?” I asked.

“Why?”

“I think the evidence is inside, in a safe somewhere. Or something else that would require the code your father left in the ashtray.”

“It’s really complicated, Nathan.”

I rubbed my face. “Fine. See what you can do. In the meantime, I’ll try to avoid getting killed and see if I can’t figure out who the evidence will point us at.”

She reached out and put her hand on mine. “Nathan,” she said, “I—I don’t know how to say this.”

I summoned up my gumption and gave her a cold look. “Just put the words together and force them through your teeth,” I said.

She smiled, and took a deep breath. “When I hired you,” she said, “I didn’t think I was hiring you to find the truth. I thought I was paying you to manufacture something. And maybe you are, I don’t know.” She stood up and started pacing through the room. “But if you are, you’ve managed to fool me, too. I believe you, I believe what you’re saying. You’ve made me believe that my father was not the monster that the book says he is. I don’t know how to thank you for that. You’ve given me back—” She sighed. “I feel stupid,” she said. “Melodramatic.”

I shrugged. “Melodrama never hurt anyone,” I said.

“But—how can I ever repay you?”

I grinned. “Just make sure your check doesn’t bounce,” I said.