Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
M el stood in the lobby of the cheap hotel, barely listening as Helen handled their checkout. Her mind kept circling back to their failure to solve Abramson’s disappearance. Something nagged at her. It felt like there was a detail she was missing, a connection she hadn’t made. The morning sunlight streamed through the lobby’s windows, catching dust motes in golden beams that seemed to mock her inability to see what was right in front of her.
“The taxi should be here in about ten minutes,” Helen said, touching Mel’s arm gently. “Are you all right? You’ve been quiet all morning.”
Mel managed a weak smile. “Just frustrated,” she admitted. “Thirty years of solving cases, and this one...” She shook her head. “I feel like we have all the clues, but something doesn’t add up.” They moved their luggage outside to wait in the warm Hawaiian morning. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, their fronds casting shifting shadows across the hotel’s entrance. A young couple emerged with matching floral leis, clearly just starting their vacation, while Mel and Helen’s was ending in uncertainty.
Suddenly, Mel straightened. “Rear Window,” she said, more to herself than Helen.
Helen blinked, clearly confused. “Rear window?”
Slowly, everything seemed to fall into place. “Yes,” she said. “Have you ever seen the old Hitchcock movie with Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly?”
Nodding, Helen still looked puzzled. “Yes, of course,” she said. “Jimmy Stewart in a wheelchair with a broken leg, watching his neighbors out the window all day. I remember it being quite the dramatic mystery, trying to figure out if his neighbor murdered his wife.” She shook her head. “But why are you bringing it up—” Suddenly, she stopped, and Mel could see the woman’s mind working out the answer. “You don’t think…”
“I do,” Mel said, reaching for her phone. “We need to find out when Abramson is supposed to be leaving. Mickey said Abramson had booked a flight to Singapore for today.” Her fingers flew across the phone’s screen, typing a quick message to her old friend. “But I never asked what time.”
Helen moved closer, lowering her voice. “What do you intend to do?”
“I don’t know yet.” Mel’s mind raced, connecting fragments of information they had gathered over the past few days. Abramson always leaving the blinds open as if he wanted them to see him. The mysterious “find the story” statement he made to Mel. The lack of any signs of forced entry or struggle in the apartment. The way the wallet was left out in the open on the kitchen counter. Her phone buzzed. Mickey’s response was brief: “Flight leaves this morning. 11:45 A.M.”
Mel checked her watch. It was 8:30 A.M. “Helen,” she said slowly. “I have a crazy idea, but what if we are being used?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if Abramson staged his own murder?” The more Mel thought about it, the more it made sense. “Think about it. He needed to disappear, but in a way that would protect him from whoever he was exposing in his book.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “And he did it when he knew we would be watching.”
“It’s perfect,” Mel said, warming to her theory. “He gets sympathy instead of suspicion. Nobody looks for a dead man.” She quickly typed another message to Mickey, asking for the flight number. Their taxi pulled up, the driver hopping out to help with their luggage. “Slight change of plans,” Mel told him. “Take us to the airport, but now we need to go to the international terminal.”
As they settled into the back seat, Helen took Mel’s hand. “Walk me through this,” she said. “How would it work?”
Mel squeezed her hand, grateful as always for Helen’s willingness to follow her instincts. “I have no idea when he planned it, but Abramson stages a scene where he appears to be attacked, expecting us to be witnesses.”
“But what about the pale man?” Helen asked though Mel could see she was already following the logic. “How does he fit in?”
“I’m not sure,” Mel answered. “Yet.” The taxi wound through Honolulu’s streets, palm trees and ocean views flashing past. Mel’s phone buzzed again. Mickey had sent the flight details.
“But why go through all this?” Helen asked. “Why not just leave?”
“Because someone powerful wants to stop his story,” Mel said. “Someone who would keep looking for him unless they thought he was dead.” She paused, remembering something. “Remember what Brigitte said? About her mother’s death?”
Helen nodded. “The car accident three years ago, when he was investigating college basketball.”
“What if it truly wasn’t an accident?” Mel said softly. “What if Abramson learned his lesson then? That these people would hurt his family to stop him. This way, Brigitte’s genuine reaction helps sell his disappearance, and she’s protected by his apparent death.” The airport appeared ahead, its control tower rising against the blue Hawaiian sky. Mel felt her pulse quicken. If she was right, Abramson would be there somewhere, preparing to board a flight to freedom while his explosive story circulated through Mickey’s dark web contacts.
“Should we try to stop him?” Helen asked as their taxi pulled up to the departures level.
Mel considered Helen’s words as they unloaded their luggage. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “If I’m right, he did what he had to do to protect himself and his family while making sure the truth got out.” She smiled slightly. “Besides, we helped make that happen.” They rolled their bags toward the terminal entrance, the automatic doors whooshing open to release a blast of cool air. Mel scanned the crowd, looking for either Abramson or perhaps even the pale man. She still wasn’t clear on that connection.
Her detective instincts were humming now, telling her she was finally on the right track. “What do we do now?” Helen asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We wait,” Mel said, guiding them toward some seats near the Singapore Airlines check-in counter. “And we watch. If I’m right, we might see something interesting before we have to go to catch our own flight.”
Helen settled beside her, their shoulders touching. “You know what amazes me?” she said softly.
“What’s that?”
“How your mind works. How you put all these pieces together.” Helen’s brown eyes were warm with admiration. “I love watching you solve puzzles.”
Mel felt her face warm slightly. Even after six months together, Helen’s praise could still make her feel like a teenager with a crush. “Well,” she said. “We’re not sure I’m right yet.”
“Oh, I think you are,” Helen replied, gently squeezing her hand. “And even if you’re not, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here with you, waiting to find out.”
* * *
Helen’s heart skipped a beat when she spotted him. If she hadn’t spent days studying James Abramson from their balcony, she might have missed him entirely. The baseball cap and sunglasses were obvious disguises, plus he had dyed his hair brown, but it was his changed posture that truly transformed him. He had gone from nervous energy to purposeful movement. “Mel,” she whispered, touching her partner’s arm. “By the currency exchange. Baseball cap.”
Mel’s subtle nod told Helen she’d seen him too. “Yep,” she whispered back. “In a pretty decent disguise.” They watched as Abramson checked his phone, then headed toward a partially renovated section of the terminal. Construction barriers created a maze of temporary walkways, most passengers avoiding the area in favor of clearer paths.
He was about to disappear from view. “Should we follow him?” Helen asked though she was already starting to stand.
“Yes,” Mel replied, gathering their carry-on bags. “But carefully. If I’m right about him staging everything, he’s cleverer than we thought.”
They maintained a discrete distance, letting other travelers provide cover. The construction area was quieter, the sound of their rolling luggage seeming unnaturally loud against the temporary flooring. Abramson disappeared around a corner where plastic sheeting created a tunnel-like effect. When they rounded the same corner, he was waiting for them.
“I wondered if you’d figure it out,” he said, removing his sunglasses. “Though I admit, I didn’t expect it quite so soon.”
Helen felt Mel step slightly in front of her, always her protector. “It took me longer than it should have,” Mel said. “I should have been suspicious when everything seemed to happen so conveniently for us.”
“I suppose that’s fair,” Abramson said. “I counted on you both being smart and clever, and luckily, you were.”
Narrowing her eyes, Helen studied the man. “I still don’t entirely understand,” she said. “Why the elaborate deception?”
Abramson nodded, glancing at his watch. “We don’t have much time,” he said. “But I admit I owe you an explanation.”
“Damn right you do,” Mel said, her voice was tight with anger.
Abramson held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I know you’re angry,” he said. “You have every right to be. But everything I did, including letting you think I’d been attacked, was necessary.”
“Necessary?” Mel asked. “We thought you’d been murdered. We investigated, put ourselves at risk—”
“Which is exactly what I needed,” Abramson interrupted. “I needed witnesses I could trust. People with the skills to understand what was happening but who weren’t connected to anyone involved.”
Helen felt understanding dawn. “You were watching us too, weren’t you? From the beginning?”
Abramson nodded. “Once I saw Mel’s detective instincts kick in that first day on the balcony. Coupled with your intelligence, Helen, and well, you were perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Helen asked though she was beginning to understand. “To be your unwitting investigators?”
“To be credible witnesses,” he explained. “When you reported my ‘attack’ to the police, it created an official record of my disappearance. When you discovered the thumb drive and ensured the manuscript would be published, it came from sources no one could trace back to me.”
A plane passed overhead, and Helen used the moment to process what he was saying. All their amateur detective work, their genuine concern and fear, had been orchestrated. She should have felt manipulated, angry even. Instead, she felt a strange sort of admiration for the intricacy of his plan.
“The pale man with the suitcases,” Mel said. “Was he part of your plan too?”
“No,” Abramson’s expression darkened. “He was very real. A fixer who was sent by people who want my story buried. That’s why I had to move when I did, stage my disappearance before they could make me actually disappear.”
Helen thought about all the pieces falling into place—Brigitte’s conflicted behavior, Felicity’s aggressive pursuit of the manuscript, the threatening phone call they’d received. “But your daughter,” she said. “Brigitte seemed genuinely worried.”
“She was. Is.” Abramson’s face softened. “She knew I was planning something but not what. It was safer for her that way. Just like it was safer for you not to know the full truth until now.”
“So, you hired someone to attack you,” Mel said.
“Yes,” Abramson said, suddenly looking tired. “He’s an actor friend of a friend. Someone who could help make it look convincing.”
“But why?” Helen leaned forward. “I still can’t quite see why you needed to go through all this elaborate staging?”
“Because they killed my wife.” The words hung in the air between them. “Three years ago, when I was investigating college basketball corruption. It wasn’t an accident. They made that clear afterward. Said next time it would be Brigitte.”
Helen felt her throat tighten. “So you needed to appear dead to protect her.”
“And to ensure the story got out.” He looked at Mel. “I knew you were a detective the moment I met you. Retired LAPD, you said. I hoped you’d be curious enough to investigate, smart enough to find the thumb drive.”
“You left your wallet on purpose,” Mel said. “So we’d have the key.”
Abramson nodded. “I needed someone trustworthy to find the story, someone who would know what to do with it, but I didn’t know how. But when I saw you watching from your balcony that first day…” He gave them a small smile. “I knew you were perfect.”
“You used us,” Mel said, but her tone had shifted so that it held more admiration than anger.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But for a good cause. The story needed to come out, but I couldn’t risk anyone tracking it back to me. This way, it appears I was killed to prevent publication, which makes the story more credible, not less.”
A distant announcement reminded them of where they were. Abramson checked his watch again, and Helen noticed how his movements betrayed an underlying anxiety despite his composed explanation. “Your flight to Singapore,” Helen said. “Is that also part of your misdirection?”
Abramson smiled slightly. “You really don’t miss much, do you? Yes, I needed people to think I was planning to run. It made my disappearance more believable.”
“And now?” Mel asked. “What’s your real plan?”
“Now I disappear for real,” he said. “But I won’t be staying in Singapore. Just passing through. This morning I saw hints that the story was breaking, so thanks to you, the manuscript is out there and spreading through channels no one can stop. My story will be told, but I’ll be safely away before anyone realizes I’m still alive.”
Helen felt Mel shift beside her, and she knew the woman was struggling with the ethics of letting him go. “The people behind the game-fixing,” Helen said carefully. “They’ll still look for you.”
“Yes, but they’ll be busy dealing with the fallout from the manuscript first,” Abramson said. “By the time they realize what really happened, I’ll be long gone.” He checked his watch again. “Which needs to happen soon.”
A family’s laughter echoed to them from the main terminal. Helen studied Abramson’s face, seeing both fear and determination there. “Was it worth it?” she asked softly. “All this deception?”
“To expose corruption that goes to the highest levels of professional sports? To show how games are being manipulated, how people’s livelihoods and dreams are being traded like commodities?” His voice carried absolute conviction. “Yes, it was worth it.” Helen watched as he replaced his sunglasses. “Thank you,” he said, looking between them. “For helping bring the truth to light. And for understanding why it had to be this way.”
Mel offered her hand. “Good luck,” she said as the man took it to shake a moment before turning to disappear into the main terminal.
Helen felt Mel’s arm slip around her waist. “Well,” Helen said softly. “I suppose that solves our mystery.”
“Mmm hmm,” Mel agreed. “Though I’m not sure how I feel yet about him using us as unwitting allies. Although I can admit it was clever.”
Helen turned to face her partner, seeing the mix of professional appreciation and personal concern in her eyes. “Are you angry? About being manipulated?”
“No,” Mel said after a moment. “He did what he had to do to protect his daughter and expose the truth. I can’t fault him for that.” Pulling their carry-on roller bags, they made their way back to the main terminal, where their own flight would board soon. The morning sun had risen higher, streaming through the windows and making the terminal bright.
“You’re a good person, Mel Nelson,” Helen said as they found seats at their gate.
“Why do you say that?”
“You can appreciate the solution to a mystery even when you’ve been part of someone else’s plan.”
Mel smiled, bringing Helen’s hand to her lips. “Well, it helped that I had you by my side,” she said. “It makes everything better.”