Marshall Conrad: A Superhero Tale Read online

  “All right, then,” I said, zipping up my coat. “I’m going to go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you when I’ve rested up.”

  “Take this with you.” She handed me a vial containing a clear liquid. “Sprinkle a drop on your doorstep and your windows.”

  “What is it?”

  “A stealth essence—it will protect against anything that might want you out of the picture, if you know what I mean.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as I stuffed the vial in my pocket. “What about Walter? Should I take him home?”

  “Not yet,” she said, smiling. “He’s got some spying to do.”

  Chapter 9

  “Where’s your cat?” Marnie asked from beneath a plaid blanket on my sofa. “I haven’t seen him all day and I looked everywhere. Oh yeah, I hope you don’t mind that I bought you a universal remote control for the TV.”

  I shrugged as I closed the door to my apartment. “Like I said before, he’s probably hiding under the bed or in the closet.”

  “I already looked there.”

  “Well, as long as you entertained yourself by further invading my privacy in your desperate search for my cat,” I huffed.

  “Entertainment no, boring yes—you don’t even have any porn hidden on your computer,” she chirped.

  “Lovely.” I mumbled as I lifted a hamper filled with Marnie’s neatly folded laundry out of my easy chair. Walter was nowhere to be seen and I hadn’t asked Stella precisely how our cat was able to leave my apartment to conduct his activities as a witch’s familiar. “I’m sure he’ll come out when he’s good and ready.”

  “Well, I got another email. This time the guy actually wrote something instead of sending me a picture.”

  “You all right?”

  “Just spooked.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s why I wanted to come down to your apartment. Thanks, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome. What did the email say?”

  “Here, you can read it,” she said, as she handed me a sheet of paper. “I printed it off for you.”

  I scanned the header and noticed that he’d changed his email address to a free hosting service I’d never heard of.

  “Hey Marnie: I know you but you don’t know me. I know you think about me a lot and that your probably scared becuz I sent you all these emailz. It’s not something to be scared about cuz I don’t know if you like me or not. If you don’t like me then that could be bad cuz I think about you since the time we first met and I hope you don’t call the cops on me becuz of these emails Im sending you. IF YOU WOULD JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE!”

  I glanced at Marnie to get a feel for whether she felt this threat was legitimate or not, then folded the sheet of paper.

  “Apart from being functionally illiterate, the last line jumps out at you,” I said, as I handed back the note. “Do you know anyone with a fondness for text messaging lingo?”

  She clicked off the TV. “Jeez, that would be every person alive today who is under thirty.”

  “Have you recently met anyone new?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any female acquaintances that might be holding a grudge against you? We can’t rule them out either.”

  “Not really,” she said. “I mean, all women get pissy with one another—what do you think so far?”

  I scratched my chin and considered telling her that I too was in the dark, when Walter’s air splitting meow grabbed our attention.

  “There you are!” She jumped from the sofa and swept Walter into her arms. “Where have you been hiding?”

  “Yeah, Walter, what have you been up to?” I asked, half-thinking that Stella Weinberg might be privy to our conversation.

  “God, he’s a heavy one” She sat down on the couch while Walter purred loudly.

  “Don’t remind me,” I said. “Also, stop leaving cat treats all over my apartment. He’s fat enough as it is.”

  “Done! So what do you think about the email?” she asked, as she hid a small can of Pounce behind a pillow.

  “Obviously, your stalker is a guy,” I said. “He possesses some degree of technological savvy because he set up a new email account from an offshore hosting service, which implies that he knows you might be going to the cops. He’s probably trying to cover his tracks. His IP address will probably be untraceable because he’s likely hiding behind one of the hundreds of thousands of anonymous IP addresses which are freely available on the Internet.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yep. I think that you should probably wipe your hard drive in case he’s a hacker or a phreak.”

  “That it?”

  “One more thing. I think we should respond to this email.”

  Marnie glared at me. “Are you insane?”

  “Nope,” I said, curtly. “If we talk to him, we can learn more about the guy, and he may drop his guard enough for us to find out his identity.”

  “No. Absolutely not,” she said angrily. “It’s bad enough that I am afraid to be alone in my apartment. The last thing I want to do is give this guy any more information about me.”

  “Okay, then. You’re content to hide out in my apartment until this guy reveals himself, is that it?”

  She got up from the couch and walked over to the sliding door. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she said quietly, as she peeked out at the street from behind the vertical blinds. “What am I supposed to say? I’ve never been stalked before. I don’t even know if this is some kind of a practical joke.”

  “Get away from the door!” I ordered.

  “I’m just looking, okay? God! I’ve been holed up in your apartment all day. Let’s go out and do something? Anything is better than this.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Why the hell not? He’s not going to do anything if I’m with you,” she said in a tone of voice that came within a whisker of whining. “He’ll think you’re my Dad or something.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. You don’t look like my kid.”

  “Then I’ll hold your hand and snuggle up to you.” She grinned. “He’ll think we’re an item. Let’s go shopping! I’ll buy you a new hoodie because the one in your closet has holes in it.”

  “That would just be awkward and I don’t think he’d believe that you’re seeing a middle-aged man.”

  She walked back to the sofa and sat down. “Wanna bet? Two of my girlfriends have already slept with their professors and I’ve been on three dates with one of mine.”

  “Interesting revelation,” I nodded.

  “What? You’re not shocked by the fact that female college students have been known to engage in romantic pursuits with older men, are you?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Good. I don’t want you getting all judgmental on me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Mind you, I think that if I had a daughter in college...”

  “Do not go there,” she warned. “You don’t have a daughter and even if you did, your daughter would know that her dad was a horny twenty-two-year-old guy once upon a time.”

  “Point taken.”

  She scratched Walter’s belly as he rolled onto his back and stuck his feet in the air. “I have a question. Why are you single? You’re over forty, right? I mean, it’s totally cool if you’re gay.”

  “Nope. Not gay.”

  “So why haven’t you married someone? Most men your age have teenage kids by now.”

  “I guess I just haven’t gotten around to it,” I said quietly. “As the nature of our relationship can attest, I don’t do well with women.”

  “We have a relationship?” she asked with a cocky smile.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Here’s what I think,” she said, still smiling. “You’re a deeply private man whose brain works on overdrive and who should probably slow down to enjoy life.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How long have you lived in this building?”

  “I guess about ten years or so.”

&nbs
p; “Well, I’ve spent a lot of time in your apartment over the past couple of days and I’ve learned a great deal about you.”

  “Like?”

  She stood up and waved her left finger around my apartment.

  “There are no pictures of your family,” she said. “Actually, you don’t have any pictures hanging on your walls. You’ve got three boxes of old Fly Fish America magazines in your front closet, but I haven’t seen a fishing rod or a tackle box anywhere in your apartment. You don’t even have fish in the freezer.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nobody calls you...ever. Your phone hasn’t rung once in the time I’ve been here. And I looked on your phone bill. There are no long-distance charges.”

  “I’m cheap,” I mumbled.

  Marnie plopped back down on the sofa and cradled Walter in her arms. “Where’s your family? Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  I blinked at her and remained silent as I considered whether to answer her questions. I’d forgotten the last time anyone showed even the most remote interest in me, but that kind of disinterest was by my own design. As a rule, I generally dislike most people and my preference has long been that people should know as little about me as possible. Yet for some reason, I’d let Marnie in. To make matters even more confusing, she appeared to genuinely like me. I gave her an uncomfortable smile and for the first time in years, I dropped my guard.

  “My mother passed away when I was nineteen. I am an only child and I never met my father.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered, sounding like she actually cared.

  “No worries.”

  “Why no girlfriend? Did you get your heart broken? Did the last one cheat on you?”

  “No.”

  “So what happened?”

  There was another long pause as the burning sensation I’d not felt for more than a decade began to rise from the pit of my stomach and straight into my chest.

  “I was in love, once,” I said. “That was a long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “Ovarian cancer. She was only twenty-eight.”

  “I’m so sorry Marshall,” she said. “What was her name?”

  “Cynthia. She had red hair—just like you.”

  “Red-heads rock!”

  “Yeah, something like that.” I said quietly. “Anyway, she was the love of my life and I think that we only have person that’s meant for each of us in this lifetime, you know?”

  “Marshall Conrad, you’re not a cranky old man in spite of how hard you try. You’re old-fashioned and that’s rare. It’s also kinda sexy.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. I aspire to be sexy in all that I do.”

  “I have another question.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Why do you have so many expired bottles of ibuprofen in your medicine cabinet?”

  “Because I get migraines.”

  “I have another question.”

  “Geez, are you writing my biography? What now?”

  “Where’s your motorcycle parked?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your motorcycle. You’ve got two matching leather jackets and leather pants in your closet. You’ve also got two different pairs of motorcycle boots. Harley Davidsons are wicked cool. Let’s go for a ride!”

  “I don’t have a motorcycle. I drive a Tempo.”

  “So why do you have two outfits? You’re not into bondage or anything like that, are you? I mean, whatever floats your boat, I guess...”

  “No, I am not into bondage.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got handcuffs dangling from the belt loop on both sets of pants,” she said teasingly. “It’s totally okay to be kinky. It’s almost as sexy as your old fashion morals. Sort of contradicts them, but you know...”

  “That’s just about enough,” I snapped, as I got out of my chair and walked to the front closet and closed the door. “I’m not kinky, I’m not into bondage, and I am not old-fashioned.”

  “Chill out. I’m just teasing. You know me.”

  “I have no problem with you hanging out in my apartment, but please respect my privacy,” I said, as I slid the closet door to a close. “You don’t see me asking questions about your personal life, do you?”

  “Ha! You couldn’t figure me out if you tried.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said, as I went back to the living room.

  “I would, huh? Prove it.”

  “Not in the mood.”

  “No-no—you brought up the fact that you’re a mind reader,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Read my mind, oh psychic one. I dare ya!”

  “All right, then,” I said, curtly. “You’re the youngest of three daughters. Your father is a real estate developer and he’s worth about five million dollars. Your mother is an attorney for a midsized Boston law firm.”

  “Big deal. You can get that on the internet.”

  “You’re the only daughter who reached twenty years of age without getting pregnant, or so your parents think.” I continued. “But they’re not as quick on their feet as you are because they don’t know you had an abortion when you were nineteen, and that your last serious relationship ended when you were hospitalized for what you called a ‘nasty car accident.’ They believed you broke your nose when your head hit the steering wheel, but hey—what do I know, right? You just didn’t tell them that your ex-boyfriend used you as a punching bag.”

  “Stop, Marshall...”

  “You think you’re fat and you’ve been known to up-chuck your meals as a means of keeping that fabulous figure. You try to befriend those who don’t fit into your social circle—much to the chagrin of that same group of friends who label you as doing charity work. You recently befriended a zit-faced junior because you felt sorry for him after your best friend Renee wanted to screw with him by asking him out and then standing him up. That Renee is a nice one, isn’t she? You covet her sultry good looks and built-in tan, and you secretly like the fact that her boyfriend hits on you.”

  “Stop it, Marshall!”

  There was an awkward silence as she stared at me with a look of shock on her face. “How did you learn all of that about me?”

  “Hey, you wanted a clairvoyant—now you’ve got one.” I said with a smirk. “Not a lot of fun, huh?”

  “Now i know what you do for a living!” she shouted, as if she’d just invented the light bulb. “You’re a psychic for the cops! That is sooooo cool!”

  “I don’t work for the police, and if I were a psychic, I’d have found out the identity of the person who is stalking you by now.”

  “I’ve read about this. You’re like that guy on TV who talks to dead people.”

  “Don’t get me started on James Van Praagh!”

  “So do you see dead people?”

  “No.”

  “So what do you do for a living?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Private investigator?”

  “Bingo,” I lied.

  “You’re not going to bill me for this whole stalker thing are you?”

  “Nope. Though your family could afford it.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t need them to know about this. Don’t contact them. I mean it.”

  “All right, then.”

  “Marshall Conrad, Psychic P.I.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey, can I be your secretary? I can pretend to be a bimbo.”

  “No thanks. I work alone,” I said.

  “So... now what do we do?”

  Walter jumped onto the top of my easy chair and began kneading my scalp. “We don’t do anything about your stalker because the ball is in his court. You can still hang out at my place but stay out of my stuff.”

  “Done.”

  “I mean it, Marnie. Stop snooping around.”

  “I will,” she said. “Hey, I forgot to tell you that someone stuck an envelope under your door while I was having a nap on the couch. It’s on the kitchen counter.”

  “You didn’t
open it, did you?”

  “No—but it’s an official looking envelope from something called The Guild.”

  Chapter 10

  The yellow police tape stretched along the bumpers of thirteen vehicles in the culdesac. Each car or minivan was covered with blue plastic tarp, and four Sheriff’s deputies blocked the entrance to the crime scene. A large crowd of onlookers and local residents gathered at the barricade as Sheriff Don Neuman gave an impromptu statement for the news media.

  “I’ll just provide a short update on what we know thus far,” Sheriff Neuman said, as he wiped his brow with the sleeve of his tan uniform. “The coroner is on-site because of the condition of the crime scene. My office has this morning been in contact with federal authorities who will assist as we conduct the investigation.”

  “What’s under the blue tarps, Sheriff?” asked Bill Sparks, WGBC’s crime reporter.

  Sheriff Neuman’s jaw clenched tightly, and he flashed a contemptuous look at the reporter. “I think it’s obvious that we’re treating this as a homicide.”

  “Yeah, we get that—what’s under the tarps?”

  “I’m sure you can surmise why these vehicles have been covered. Next question.”

  “Lara Pinter from the Greenfield Examiner. Sheriff, is this homicide connected with the murder of Stephen Hodges?”

  “At this point, we’re treating them as separate homicides,” he said.

  “Sheriff Neuman,” she continued, “has the discovery of thirteen spiral-engraved rocks found in front of each car offered any clues about the motive behind this homicide?”

  “We’re exploring every lead.”

  “People are talking about a serial killer. Is there any truth to the rumor that a spiral-engraved stone was found at the Stephen Hodges crime scene?”

  “Again, we are exploring every lead. Our forensics team is combing the crime scene, and it would be unwise to speculate on either a suspect or a motive,” he said, wiping his brow.

  The Greenfield Examiner reporter looked unimpressed. “If this isn’t a serial killer, then who else could it be? How can you expect Greenfield residents to feel at ease when there have been two murders and there’s no suspect?”