The violent scene was difficult to watch, but at least Eric was able to gather a sample of blood to compare with Ricky’s.
TEN
SOPHIE USUALLY LIKED WORKING FROM HOME. THERE weren’t interruptions; Gary wasn’t hanging over her partition drooling like a St. Bernard while he pestered her for information about her father. Also, in her apartment, all of Sophie’s forbidden snack foods were within reach. She didn’t even have to answer the phone if she didn’t feel like it. And if she were so inclined, she could work in her pajamas.
What she didn’t like was being forced to work from home. She felt like a prisoner, and she didn’t like the idea of anyone else making choices for her. Mr. Bitterman, however, was her boss, and he had her best interests at heart. Unlike the creep threatening to do her bodily harm. Now she was going to have to reschedule all of her appointments, which included apologizing ad nauseam and begging Raul to change her haircut appointment.
And all of this disruption because of a few crank phone calls. It could be worse, she supposed. She should be thankful she hadn’t been dragged downtown by the authorities. Not yet anyway.
It didn’t matter which agency called on her. They all asked the same questions over and over again. Have you spoken to your father lately? Like she would ever tell them if she had. Has he ever told you how he made his money? She had a lot of sarcastic answers for that one, but she kept silent because even at an early age she had learned never to alienate men with badges, especially if she wanted to go home rather than sit in a smelly interrogation room for hours and hours.
They all wanted to know about a safe, too. Did her father have one hidden somewhere? And where did he keep his important papers? Did he ever tell her secrets?
Nowadays, Sophie took the questions in stride, but that had not always been the case. The worst experience she had was when she was nine years old. A cranky old detective told her that if she didn’t spill the beans—she had no idea what that meant—and tell him where her father was, he would call child protective services and have her taken away permanently and put in foster care. No one would know where she was, and she would never see her daddy or her friends again.
To this day, Sophie wasn’t certain how Regan’s brother Aiden found out about that interrogation. She thought perhaps her housekeeper had called him, but the woman never owned up to it.
Like a knight in shining armor, Aiden showed up at the police station with three attorneys to save her from the detective’s terror tactics. Sophie remembered she cried when she saw him and ran into his arms. Aiden had seemed terribly old to her, but he was barely twenty at the time. He was outraged on her behalf and made quite a few threats of his own, including lawsuits for illegal detention, public humiliation, and heaven only knows what else. He got in the detective’s face and told him that if the words “foster care” were ever spoken again, he would have his badge. Aiden’s attorneys insisted he could do it, too.
Aiden drove her home, gave her the law firm’s private phone number, and made her memorize it. He told her that she could reach them day or night. To this day she remembered that number, and occasionally she used it.
She never told Regan or Cordie what had happened the night Aiden rescued her, and she had asked Aiden to keep the secret, too, to never let anyone know, not ever, that she had cried. She was a worrier, and Aiden recognized that. He somehow tracked her father down as he was flitting from place to place and got him to agree to let Aiden become her guardian in his absence. Sophie was eternally grateful.
Sophie wondered if she was going to have to call Aiden’s attorneys because of this latest round of threats. Her hope was that it would all die down and be forgotten in a couple of days.
When she arrived at her apartment, Alec and Jack went up with her. They stood by as she played the day’s messages, all thirteen of them. None were threatening, but the last one perplexed Jack. The caller identified himself by the name Muffin, and the readout on Sophie’s caller ID indicated he was making the call from the Southside Reserve Soup Kitchen. The deep timbre of his voice was a contradiction to his name.
“Sophie, honey, I wanted to thank you for the beautiful Fendi special edition purse and wallet. I’m looking at them right now, and they’re spectacular, honey, just spectacular. Once again, you’ve out-done yourself. You know how much we appreciate it, don’t you? And hey, rumor has it you’re going for a Birkin next. That’s awfully ambitious, but I know you can do it. You take care now. You know I love you.”
Jack asked the obvious. “You gave a purse and a wallet to a soup kitchen? Did I hear that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Alec, are you going to look in all the corners and make sure no one’s hiding?”
“I’ll do that now.”
“Hold on,” Jack said. “You aren’t at all curious about Muffin’s phone call?”
“Not really,” Alec replied, smiling as he walked into Sophie’s bedroom.
Jack didn’t want to let it go. “Explain why you would give a soup kitchen a purse and wallet.”
“Because I wanted to,” she answered. “Don’t look so worried, Agent MacAlister, the purse and wallet aren’t code words for anything illegal.”
Sophie left Jack looking bewildered and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
Alec finished his inspection, got a bottle for himself, and tossed one to Jack. “Promise me you’ll stay in tonight and tomorrow,” he said to Sophie. “I’m not leaving until you give me your word.”
“I promise. Don’t forget that you already gave me your word you wouldn’t tell Regan about the threatening calls.”
“I won’t tell her.”
“Thank you. You know what a worrier she is.”
“You’re not worried?”
“Not at all.”
“Regan might stop by later.”
“No,” she blurted before she realized it was a trap.
“But you’re not worried,” Alec said dryly.
“I just don’t want to take any chances with my friend’s life, that’s all. I’m being cautious. Besides, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “Lock the door behind us.”
Jack waited until he and Alec were in the elevator and then asked, “You’re just gonna leave it at that?”
“She has protection. She just doesn’t know it. Whenever her dad’s in the news, I hire Gil, and he gets a couple of his friends, all retired cops, to help watch round the clock. No one will get to her. She’ll be okay.”
“The threats…these happen a lot?”
Alec nodded. “Yes, but this is the first time Bitterman has gotten any calls about her. That’s new. But like I said, she’ll be okay.”
Sophie really wasn’t worried. As soon as Alec and Jack left, she changed her clothes and went to work on her computer. Time got away from her, and it was almost seven when Cordie called. “It’s on,” she said. “Start watching.”
Sophie didn’t waste any time. She ran to the television to make certain she was recording the reality show. It was one of her favorites. The truth was, she and Cordie watched and loved almost all the reality shows. Regan called her friends reality junkies. Neither Cordie nor Sophie was offended.
Ten minutes later, Sophie called Cordie. “How can John and Sara think they’re in the desert? There isn’t any sand.”
“They’ll be the first to go,” Cordie predicted.
Five phone calls later, the show was over and real life resumed. Sophie stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Deciding to turn in early, she switched off her computer and headed toward her bedroom. There weren’t any sheets on her bed. She had only one set of king bedding, and they were in the washer. While she waited for the sheets to dry, she ate half of a cold pizza, then went to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
The phone rang. Seeing that it was Cordie, she picked up.
“Oh my God, Soph,” Cordie laughed, “have you looked at YouTube yet?”
“What for?” Sophie mumbled through the toothpaste.
“Jack MacAlister. You’ve got to see the video.”
“Okay, I will.” She hung up the phone and went back to the bathroom to gargle.
The phone rang yet again. “Oh good grief, Cordie…” She plodded back to her bedside table. Caller ID displayed an unfamiliar area code. She hesitated for two rings, then decided to answer.
“Is this Sophie Summerfield?” Summerfield. Good. He wasn’t calling for Sophie Rose, and he had a friendly voice.
“Yes.”
“My name is Joe Rooney and I’m a police officer here at Prudhoe Bay. You know where that is?”
She knew it was somewhere in Alaska, but she didn’t know which part. Fortunately, she didn’t have to admit it.
“We’re in Alaska, way up at the tip.”
“Must be cold” was all she could think to say.
“Yes. It’s already chilly here,” he replied. “Unusually so, this early in the season. The reason I’ve called…”
His hesitation made her all the more curious. “Yes?”
“We found your card. Your business card. It’s the only identification, so I thought I’d call and ask if you knew the man we found.”
“He can’t tell you who he is?”
“No, he can’t say anything, ma’am. No easy way to tell you. He’s dead. We found your card inside his red sock.”
It couldn’t be, could it? Sophie needed to sit. “Did you say a red sock?”
“Yes, it is,” he answered, sounding relieved.
Harrington. Oh my God. William Harrington. She remembered he had taken her card and tucked it in his sock. He’d shoved it way down to his ankle and then pulled the sock halfway to his knee. Who else could it be? But it didn’t make sense. Prudhoe Bay? What would William be doing in Prudhoe Bay? He was in Europe.
“I’m sorry to be calling with such terrible news,” Rooney said.
Sophie needed to be sure before she gave the caller William Harrington’s name. “Tell me what he looks like.”
A long sigh came through the phone. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“The problem is…we only found a piece of him. We found a foot and part of his leg.”
“A leg and a foot?” She couldn’t take in what he was telling her.
“A foot and part of a leg, not all of it,” he said. “It was his right foot. Would that help you identify him for us?”
“Are you saying…my God…how did he die? And where’s the rest of him?”
Another sigh came through the phone. “No easy way to say this,” Rooney said. A slight hesitation and then he blurted, “We’ve got polar bears up here.”
“Oh my…”
“A polar bear did him in.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 187
CHICAGO
It’s great to be back in Chicago. We spent eight months together in Alaska, survived a bitter winter cooped up in our housing, and I accumulated enough data on the behavior of my coworkers to begin my paper.
The pecking order in our little family shifted over the course of our stay. Brandon could not handle disagreement of any kind, and Kirk became passive in every argument. Eric and I became the alphas, though admittedly Eric is too busy to lead anyone.
The foundation was impressed with our reports and has agreed to fund another two years. In three months we will head back north.
Eric is spending his time off in his lab. I brought with me a few early blood samples from each member of the pack—all but Lucy and her pups, that is—so I’ve also taken time in the lab to see if I can isolate the hormone Eric found in Ricky’s blood. So far I’ve come up with some amazing and startling conclusions. I will have to wait until I return north to show Eric my discovery. I’m anxious to hear what he has to say.
ELEVEN
HOLY CRAP!
A foot and part of a leg were all that was left? Could it be William Harrington? Her business card had been tucked in his sock, his red sock. It had to be him.
Sophie’s mind raced. She was so rattled by what she was hearing, she couldn’t think of a single question to ask.
Rooney broke the silence. “It was a male.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The polar bear was male,” he explained. “Had to weigh in around twelve hundred pounds, give or take a hundred.”
“Did anyone witness the attack?” she asked, mentally cringing at the possibility.
“No, but there were telltale signs. Can you identify the victim for us?”
“It must be William Harrington,” she said. “I gave him my business card, and I saw him tuck it in his sock.” She gave him Harrington’s home address and said, “He lived alone. His phone has been disconnected, and I was told that he had left for Europe.”
“He evidently changed his mind,” Rooney said. “How did you know this Mr. Harrington?”
“I didn’t know him really. I just met him a couple of days ago. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about him. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been a real help just giving us a name,” he assured her.
“You will find a way to verify that it is Harrington before you notify his relatives, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes. They’ll send the remains to the morgue, probably in Anchorage. I’m new here, so I don’t know the exact procedures they’ll follow, but I can tell you the body parts will be kept in the morgue until positive identification has been made and instructions are given for the disposal.”
Disposal. What a horrible word to use.
After promising Rooney she would call if she had any information that could help him, Sophie hung up the phone. The shock from the news about William Harrington’s demise quickly evolved into puzzlement. Why was he in Alaska and not in Europe like she was told? She thought back to the events of the last couple of days, replaying what Harrington had said as well as what she’d found out at his condo. None of this made any sense.
Within an hour of receiving the call from Joe Rooney, the phone rang again. The second call also came from Alaska, and this time the caller identified himself as Paul Larson.
“I work for a security company up here,” Larson said. “We’re primarily responsible for the population at the oil fields, but the police are pretty shorthanded in these parts, so we help them out when we can. Joe Rooney told me about the death of your friend.” Larson’s voice became sympathetic. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I told Joe I’d do a little investigating to learn the circumstances surrounding the bear attack, so I hope you won’t mind answering a few questions.”