Baiting & Fishing Page 25

Chapter 25

  The next morning Ray sat at his desk reading the newspaper, or pretending to. Mainly he was staring off into space listening for his phone to ring. He dreaded meeting with the FBI, but he also wanted to get it over with. Even though he was expecting it, when his cell phone rang, he jumped. He picked it up and tried to keep his voice calm. Steve Johnston suggested Ray come to his office, and bring with him whatever information or notes he had. It was a ten minute walk from Ray's office. He had all his notes and printouts of the emails from Karen in his briefcase. He had known Steve would want to keep the originals, so he had made scanned copies of them which he saved on his computer at home.

  Steve met Ray at the reception desk and ushered him into a conference room. Ray was pretty sure there were cameras in the room. He tried not to think about that. Steve offered coffee. Ray told him he'd take a glass of water. The agent left him there alone for a few minutes while he went to get the water. Ray noticed there was a person standing outside the door the whole time Steve was gone. He sighed, wondering for the first time, what kind of evidence might have been planted to implicate him in Marcella's criminal activity. For a minute he felt as if he might panic. He wanted to leave, but knew the officer, now leaning casually against the wall outside the door, would make sure he stayed put.

  Steve returned with a pitcher of water and some glasses. He also had a woman with him who was carrying stenographic equipment. Steve sat down and said, “Ray, I want to make this as easy as possible for you. We'd like to transcribe your statement. We'll go through this very carefully once. If we are careful and thorough, we will not have to trouble you again.”

  Ray nodded. “How do you want to do this?”

  Steve said, “You're a writer. You tell me the story from the beginning. Take as long as you need. When you're finished, we'll go back and I'll ask questions. I have all day. I hope you do, too.”

  Ray took a sip of water and began, “I don't know how to separate out what I know about Marcella Wilson from the relationship I had with her at the time the information became available to me. It also just occurred to me that if someone is trying to frame her, they could also have put out some incriminating evidence about me. Therefore, I am going to include the parts about my personal relationship with her. I sure as hell would love it if you did not need to use the personal parts in any reports you write.

  “Anyway, I managed to get an invitation to the Yacht Club fund raiser, where I met Marcella.....”

  He went through the story in chronological order, referring to his notes. When he finished with a page of notes, he slid it face down across the table to Steve, like a poker dealer. Steve placed the notes, face down in the growing pile in front of him. The keys of the stenographer's transcribing machine clicked softly. Johnston took copious notes, written in pencil on a yellow legal pad. Ray found the scratching of the pencil on the pad irritating; he tried to drown it out with his words.

  When Ray finished his narrative, Steve referred to his notes and led Ray back through the story, asking a lot of questions about certain events. Ray found it especially interesting that Steve asked very few questions about Marcella's involvement with Techtron. He asked a lot of questions about Collonia.

  They went through the story three times in all. By then Ray was sick of talking about it, and he felt the agent had every bit of information he had. On top of that the agent had managed to solicit every opinion or theory Ray had come up with to explain the craziness.

  Mercifully by early afternoon, they were finished. Johnston asked Ray if he wanted to go out for lunch. Ray shook his head and said, “No, thanks. I have lunch plans.”

  He walked out to his car and called Victoria to let her know he was on his way. Then, on a hunch, he called Marcella's home number. The number was disconnected. He called her cell number. It, too, was disconnected. He called Karen Thompson's cell. He knew she didn't answer her cell phone at work but he left a message asking her to recheck her sources on Marcella's various identities, and to call him as soon as she had done so.

  He drove to Victoria's house on automatic pilot. They talked little about the events of the morning. Mostly they chatted about the kinds of local news and gossip they ordinarily discussed. Ray knew he needed to get back to normal. Now was as good a time as any to start that. Victoria seemed to understand that as well, so she chattered on about a variety of subjects.

  Too soon, he found he had had enough. He was preparing to leave when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and flipped open the phone. “Hello, Karen. What's up?”

  “You caught me on a day off. I did what you asked. Your hunch was correct. I can't find any record of a Marcia Pappas or M. V. Papillon. Even Marcella Pappias is gone. Once again Marcella Wilson seems to have not existed before she married Roland. It's kind of creepy. Those records are just gone.”

  Ray said, “So is she.”

  “Where'd she go?”

  “What does it matter? She's gone.”

  In the next few days, he waited for news of her arrest. There was nothing. He called Steve Johnston's office and learned that Johnston had been transferred to another post.

  One day on a hunch he called the Captain of the fishing vessel he had chartered in Marathon. The guy did not remember him at all. He had no record of the charter. Ray gave him the date and the name of the boat. He laughed and said, “Nah, you must be confused. At that time that boat was chartered out for a week to a guy from New York. He took it to the Bahamas. I took advantage of the opportunity to go on vacation.”

  Ray put down the phone. It had all been a lie. That fishing trip was a set up for the purpose of corroborating the tale Marcella had told him about her background, to convince him she was telling the truth.

  Why?

  He wondered and worried and wracked his brain about that, and most of all he wondered why on earth she had picked him, of all people, for whatever it was she was up to. He could come up with no possible explanation for that.

  The days and weeks rolled by with no news about Marcella Wilson at all. He couldn't understand it. He had been certain the FBI would arrest her soon, but nothing appeared in the press.