Chapter 9

His hand dropped to his lap, still clutching the letter that had been stuck behind the windscreen wiper.
His chin sagged onto his breast, as he once again studied the paper with the message.
A clear color photo dominated. It showed an oval medallion with a blue sapphire in the middle, surrounded by small diamonds in a silver frame. The chain fastened to the jewelry was equally made of silver.
It was broken.
Beneath the picture was just one short sentence.
Basis for a business deal?
The memory of the last time he’d seen this jewelry filled his head. Vivian, desirable and expectant, walking to her grave. Literally. Trustful of her lover. The terrified look on her face when she realized the truth. The short fight, the outcome never in question. The frenzy covering her dead body – and the shock afterwards when he discovered her locket on the ground right at his feet. The chain was broken during the short struggle, and the jewelry hadn’t followed Vivian to her grave.
Of course, he should have buried it somewhere safe. But he’d been in a state of shock after the killing and had just wanted to get away immediately, so he’d picked up the locket and taken it with him.
The very last time he saw the medallion, was when he placed it in his safe. He meant to remove it as soon as an opportunity emerged, to get rid of it in a way that made certain it would never be found, and if it did, that it couldn’t in any way be connected to him.
But then a lot of things had happened in his life, and as impossible as it seemed, he’d actually forgotten about it. Until the night he came home and found his house ransacked after a break in.
There was the first shock as he viewed the damage before the thought of his safe exploded in his brain. He hurried into it – to find it had been smashed opened. The safe door had been wrenched from its hinge and hung down, uselessly. The papers from the safe were all there.
Only the medallion was gone.
He hadn’t mentioned the locket to the police, of course. He’d just said that the contents of the safe were intact, probably because it solely contained papers, which couldn’t be converted into cash right away, and so were of no interest to a thief. Various other objects from the house had been stolen, including several antiques.
The two policemen arriving on his alarm call had shrugged their shoulders regretfully. They explained that there’d been a wave of break ins in the city’s surrounding neighborhoods for quite some time, even though the police had made it a priority and had put lots of resources into catching the perpetrators behind what had developed into a true torment for a lot of people.
“The situation being what it is, we’re unfortunately not able to help you. Other than to sign the report for your insurance company, and advice you to get break-in security,” one of the policemen, a young man, said in a sympathetic voice.
As in closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, he’d thought.
Nevertheless, he’d followed up on the advice and found an alarm company who’d secured his home as well as could be done.
His thoughts returned to the present moment. The illustration in this letter was the second time in a short period he had seen a picture of the medallion. First time was actually last evening, when he watched the rerun of Unsolved.
He’d startled when it dawned on him that the police had intensified the search for Vivian Garrett. But he’d assured himself that no one, no one whatsoever, would be able to find any connection between himself and Vivian’s disappearance. How could they? He and Vivian had kept their relationship a secret. Until she’d insisted on… He clenched his hands for a moment in impotent anger and was once again made aware of the paper as it creased between his hands.
Then he pulled himself together, folded the letter and put it back into the envelope, which he placed in the glove box.
Later on, he’d take care of getting rid of it, for even though he was the sole user of the car, he would make sure. As he should have done back then. A year ago.
He sat staring vacantly into space for a while before putting the key in the ignition, started, reversed, and turned the car around.
Leaving the parking lot and joining the closing time traffic he thought it would be necessary to calm down before going home.
He decided to drive out of the city, heading for the green areas, where he could sit in quietness and think things over.
After half an hour’s drive, the green summer landscape opened up on both sides of the main road, and he sighed with relief. Here, he would be able to just sit calmly and think.
He turned his car into the wayside and parked but had only just switched off the ignition when his mobile sounded.
Unknown number, the display informed.
“Yes?” His voice was objective.
“Well, hello. Happy to get in touch with you. Did you receive my little message?” The voice was blurred, as if the person calling tried to distort the sound.
“Who am I talking to?” Despite the icy feeling running down his spine, he succeeded in maintaining a relaxed, unaffected tone.
“Oh, really? Shouldn’t we just skip all that nonsense. You know exactly to whom you’re talking – or rather, let’s say what relationship you and I have. I’m the person in possession of a locket you lost during a break in some time ago – does that ring a bell?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about!” He tried to avoid his voice from trembling.
“Are you sure you’ve got the right number?”
“Well then – if that’s the case, I’d better send my little picture to the police. Together with your name and address and the info on how I found the jewelry that has become quite famous, having been shown on the telly in connection with a certain Vivian Garrett’s disappearance. The police did ask people with any further information in the case to come forward. And as a good citizen that’s probably what I should do, really. I just wanted out of pure kindness to ask you first. But of course, if you’re not interested…” the muffled voice was icy.
He felt chilled to his bones. Still, the sweat ran from his forehead. Cold sweat.
“If you go to the police, you’ll reveal yourself as the much-wanted housebreaker. I fail to see how you can then benefit,” he tried.
“Well, benefit… I’ve no intention of giving them my own address. Just yours. And your name. And the circumstance in which…”
“What do you want?”
“Well, as I mentioned in my letter – I think you and I between us have the basis for a business agreement, right?  An arrangement that of course implies I won’t take my information any further. That must be worth something, right? But of course, there must be some sort of reciprocity in an agreement like that – like in any business transaction, right?” the voice chuckled.
“So, your intention is to blackmail me – after having broken into my home!” His voice expressed the cold anger rushing through him.
“Well now, ‘blackmail’ is such an unpleasant word. I prefer the expression ‘business deal.’ An agreement just between you and me, right?”
“So, what are you saying?”
“Yeah well, my suggestion is this: We make a kind of a contract with a monthly payment. Or we agree to a sum to be paid once and for all. With the first mentioned type of pact, the monthly fee, I hold on to the little thing. Or you take the locket off my hands, buy it back. That of course will cost you somewhat more – quite a deal more to talk straight.”
He didn’t manage to give an answer. After what seemed an eternity of silence, the blackmailer spoke again.
“Hello? Are you there?”
He managed a confirming grunt.
“Okay then. If we’re talking a monthly payment, I suggest a figure of 10,000 dollars.”
He uttered a gasp. “I don’t have that kind of money!”
“Now, don’t give me that! Of course you do. Your car alone is worth a fortune. And your job is probably one of the best paid in the country, so don’t tell me you can’t afford my demands.” The voice was hostile.
“Even so, I can’t withdraw that kind of sum without explanations,” he argued, to his own disgust in a tone that had become pleading.
“Oh, I’m confident an experienced businessman like yourself can easily find a way to transfer that kind of money into an account. Really, it’s merely a drop in the ocean to you. Alternatively, we might agree to an amount that settles our score once and for all.” The voice mentioned a sum that made his victim feel faint.
“But you know what – let’s say you take some time to think it over, and then I’ll contact you later. As you can tell, I’m not quite inhuman.” There was a chuckle, and then the connection was cut off.
Removing the cell from his ear he stared at the display for a moment in disbelief.
Then he tried to press ‘recall.’
Nothing happened. It was impossible to get in contact with the caller.

Charles Garrett turned the key in the front door lock and pushed the door open.
Following routine he bent down to collect the envelopes from the mat in the hall. Solely uninspiring window envelopes of a businesslike appearance.
He placed the post on a small dresser near the entrance door before pulling his jacket off and hanging it on the coat hook.
Passing the dresser his eyes caught the mirror on the wall. He stopped, and for a moment, dejected, studied his mirrored image. The once so assured expression had over time been replaced by lines that all pointed downwards. His grey eyes most of all reminded him of a low-pressure area, forecasting imminent all-day rain, and the previously shining black locks of hair now had more than a hint of grey.
It wasn’t surprising, though. Each day after work he returned to a house resonating with desolation.
Since Vivian was gone it didn’t feel as if there was really any reason to come home. It was lucky that as chief of the marketing department in his firm he had to travel a lot, being away from home for several days a time. Like the evening where he’d seen her for the last time.
Charles tore himself away from the mirror and walked on through the spacious house, into the living room with its comfortable furniture and to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of whiskey, swallowing it in one gulp before pouring another.
The glass in one hand he opened the fridge to see what it might offer in terms of a dinner.
Hm. Well if nothing else it was easy to see. He had to go shopping for food one of these days. Even though food wasn’t his first priority these days. He might pop over to ‘Dario’s’ yet again and have his dinner there. He’d used this solution quite often during the last year, when he wasn’t travelling for his firm. And at least he’d have some company during his meal.
He returned to the living room and sank down on the comfortable sofa, snatching the remote and turning on the TV without actually perceiving what was on the screen. The program most of all functioned as a background of sound for the thoughts he sank into.
Even so the TV had a certain social function: It assured his unconscious mind that he wasn’t all by himself.
He knew he had to deal with the subject of loneliness very soon, do something about it. At 34 years of age, it was way too soon to give up on life. He had to make a new life for himself. But as long as the police didn’t seem to have a clue about what had happened to Vivian, he could hardly think of starting new relationships. He’d planned to sell the house as soon as possible, but wouldn’t that send a wrong signal…?
So, now they had reopened the case as it appeared from the broadcast Unsolved the other evening.
He himself just felt the need of closure. Though he had this feeling of uneasiness. Not in the least after this policeman from the homicide department had called him earlier today, asking him to visit the station the following morning for what the guy had called ‘an elaborating talk in connection to his wife’s disappearance. There was nothing new at this point. They had found neither Vivian – nor her dead body. Even so…
He stared at the wall, uneasily, while pictures from the last evening with Vivian slid through his mind. Things, he for good reasons hadn’t shared with the police.
That evening he’d packed for his business trip to Washington and was on his way out, when she’d said there was something of importance they had to talk about before he left.
He’d tried to defer, partly because he had to catch his flight, and at the same time because he had a bad feeling about what she called ‘important.’
Over the last months, Vivian had become more and more distant in their relationship as husband and wife. It was one thing that throughout their marriage she had over and over postponed the matter of children – allegedly because she was afraid a pregnancy might ruin her figure.
For a moment he imagined her: And what figure indeed.
She’d always looked fantastic, and it was first and foremost that which had attracted him at the beginning.
Eventually it dawned on him that this wasn’t the best basis for what was meant to be a lifelong relationship – the marriage. Gradually he understood that their goals and approaches in life were very different. Vivian’s main interest in life was appearance: Her good looks and the influence it offered her in relation to other people. Status and money. Preferably a lot of money. On this last evening together the truth, that had probably simmered for quite a while in his unconscious mind, struck him like lightning: She was an empty-headed cow. And so, had given up a normal family life to maintain a look that in any case would change with age. Vivian had, as it turned out, given a lot more thought to their relationship than just the considerations of starting a family:
“Chuck,” she’d said, “I’m leaving you. Now. Tonight! You must, as I have realized long ago that we’ve grown apart. And I for one want to get on with my life!”
She’d found someone else, she told him, without the statement adding so much as a twitch to her pretty face.
He’d been furious. Partly because of the heartlessness in the whole story – and partly because she seemed to think that ending their lives together could be over and done with so easily, just a minor irritation, that had to be gotten over.
They had a huge row, and he’d demanded she tell him who this new guy was. She refused to give him the guy’s name, and also refused to say for how long the new relationship had been going on.
Charles didn’t give any of these details when he reported her missing. No reason to muddy the waters and direct suspicion toward himself, he’d thought.
Now, he felt an increasing need to get it over and done with, to see the case closed, so that he might be able to get on with his own life.
He felt a vague disquiet at the thought of the interview with the detectives the next day. Damn, couldn’t they just let it be, just declare her presumably dead and let him get his freedom back?
And – what had they found out that made them summon him for an interview – yet again?