Read Online A Passing Curse (2011) by C R Trolson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: C R Trolson
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That’s what my husband thought, anyway.”
“That’s following a train of thought,” he said and cleaned up the yolk with the last of the toast, circling the plate. “And your husband?”
“Dean A. Everett was a columnist for the Coast Gazette. He was writing an expose’ on Rasmussen’s blood collecting sham in Trinidad, the Hemo Caribbean. He gives those Jamaicans fifty cents a liter for their blood and sells it in America for a few hundred dollars a liter. Dean knew all about it.”
“I note the use of the past tense, Hannah.”
“A grammatical detective.” She stared at him. “Dean was going to a meeting with Ajax when he disappeared. He was getting ready to expose Ajax’s little plan.”
“Poisoning the world, that plan?” he asked evenly. “You didn’t mention that when I returned your call.”
“You would have thought I was nuts. And you just brought up another little question I have - If you’re retired, what are you doing here? The Los Angeles police can’t send a real cop?” She puffed up, indignant, and he wondered why old people were so theatrical. Maybe they felt their words carried little weight. No one listened, anymore. They felt ignored. He knew the feeling. “They don’t think enough of my story to send a real cop?”
“Look at it this way,” he said. “I thought enough of your information to spend a portion of my golden retirement years to come all this way to see you.” It even sounded phony to him and she wan’t buying it.
“I’ll bet you aren’t married. And probably don’t have any kids.”
“None that will claim me.”
“I knew it. You don’t have anything better to do. Nothing to tie you down. I’ll bet the LA cops don’t even know you’re here.”
“You want ID?”
“No,” she said, “I recognize your voice from the phone and the picture, your tiny picture.” She shook her head. “I’m used to playing the hand I’m dealt, and if you’re all I got, so be it.”
“That’s reassuring,” he said. “How long’s Dean been missing?”
“Missing? He’s dead and Ajax Rasmussen got Dean same as he got the others who’ve come up missing. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. You are here to kill Ajax, aren’t you?”
“How long?” he asked her again, ignoring her question about killing Ajax Rasmussen. “How long has your husband been missing?”
“A year,” she said. “He had a meeting with Ajax and that’s the last I heard of him.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“Ajax owns the police,” she said. “Telling them did about as much good as if I’d put Dean’s face on a milk carton.”
“And the police said?”
“Two choices,” she said and counted off her fingers. “One, Dean ran off with another woman. Two, he jumped into the ocean. Suicide.”
“And you think the police were influenced by Rasmussen?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not influenced. They do exactly what he says. To the letter. He runs this town, point of fact, when he’s not trying to take over the world. You talk to our Chief of Police, you might as well be talking to Mr. Ajax Rasmussen himself.”
“So, Ajax is responsible for killing your husband and for Homer killing thirteen women?”
“You’re a quick study,” she said. “I’m not so sure about Homer killing those girls. That’s your story. That’s your alibi, Mr. Policeman.”
“So, in your opinion,” he was on the verge of saying “dreams” but didn’t, “Ajax Rasmussen plans to kill a few million people?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you got it.”
“Maybe you can tell me why Ajax is planning to poison the blood supply? For fun? For profit? He’s got nothing better to do?”
“Because Ajax is the only one with the antidote, and when people start dying, he’ll have all the power. He’ll be one popular boy.”
“Ah, the antidote.” He drank the coffee. It had gone bitter. There was always an antidote in the disease of the week
“That’s following a train of thought,” he said and cleaned up the yolk with the last of the toast, circling the plate. “And your husband?”
“Dean A. Everett was a columnist for the Coast Gazette. He was writing an expose’ on Rasmussen’s blood collecting sham in Trinidad, the Hemo Caribbean. He gives those Jamaicans fifty cents a liter for their blood and sells it in America for a few hundred dollars a liter. Dean knew all about it.”
“I note the use of the past tense, Hannah.”
“A grammatical detective.” She stared at him. “Dean was going to a meeting with Ajax when he disappeared. He was getting ready to expose Ajax’s little plan.”
“Poisoning the world, that plan?” he asked evenly. “You didn’t mention that when I returned your call.”
“You would have thought I was nuts. And you just brought up another little question I have - If you’re retired, what are you doing here? The Los Angeles police can’t send a real cop?” She puffed up, indignant, and he wondered why old people were so theatrical. Maybe they felt their words carried little weight. No one listened, anymore. They felt ignored. He knew the feeling. “They don’t think enough of my story to send a real cop?”
“Look at it this way,” he said. “I thought enough of your information to spend a portion of my golden retirement years to come all this way to see you.” It even sounded phony to him and she wan’t buying it.
“I’ll bet you aren’t married. And probably don’t have any kids.”
“None that will claim me.”
“I knew it. You don’t have anything better to do. Nothing to tie you down. I’ll bet the LA cops don’t even know you’re here.”
“You want ID?”
“No,” she said, “I recognize your voice from the phone and the picture, your tiny picture.” She shook her head. “I’m used to playing the hand I’m dealt, and if you’re all I got, so be it.”
“That’s reassuring,” he said. “How long’s Dean been missing?”
“Missing? He’s dead and Ajax Rasmussen got Dean same as he got the others who’ve come up missing. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. You are here to kill Ajax, aren’t you?”
“How long?” he asked her again, ignoring her question about killing Ajax Rasmussen. “How long has your husband been missing?”
“A year,” she said. “He had a meeting with Ajax and that’s the last I heard of him.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“Ajax owns the police,” she said. “Telling them did about as much good as if I’d put Dean’s face on a milk carton.”
“And the police said?”
“Two choices,” she said and counted off her fingers. “One, Dean ran off with another woman. Two, he jumped into the ocean. Suicide.”
“And you think the police were influenced by Rasmussen?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not influenced. They do exactly what he says. To the letter. He runs this town, point of fact, when he’s not trying to take over the world. You talk to our Chief of Police, you might as well be talking to Mr. Ajax Rasmussen himself.”
“So, Ajax is responsible for killing your husband and for Homer killing thirteen women?”
“You’re a quick study,” she said. “I’m not so sure about Homer killing those girls. That’s your story. That’s your alibi, Mr. Policeman.”
“So, in your opinion,” he was on the verge of saying “dreams” but didn’t, “Ajax Rasmussen plans to kill a few million people?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you got it.”
“Maybe you can tell me why Ajax is planning to poison the blood supply? For fun? For profit? He’s got nothing better to do?”
“Because Ajax is the only one with the antidote, and when people start dying, he’ll have all the power. He’ll be one popular boy.”
“Ah, the antidote.” He drank the coffee. It had gone bitter. There was always an antidote in the disease of the week
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