Polar Quest

15

Lloyd Sutton pulled his car into the driveway of Faye Olson’s home.

‘Thanks for dinner, Lloyd,’ Olson said.

‘My pleasure. I’ve been wanting to try out that new Cajun place.’

‘I know it’s getting late, but would you like to come in? I can put on some coffee or get you something to drink.’

‘That sounds great. If I went home now, I’d probably end up messing around with some new algorithms. Given the choice, I’d rather stay up late talking to you.’

Olson smiled as Sutton walked around the car and opened her door. At her front porch, Sutton reached into her purse to retrieve her keys, but they weren’t there.

‘That’s odd,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I would have sworn I put them in here. Have you and Oz found that early Alzheimer’s gene yet?’

a’No. Maybe,’ Sutton said blankly. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Lloyd, you are so bad.’

Olson pulled a spare key from its hiding place in the carriage light and opened the door. Sutton followed her inside. The living room was cozy, filled with books and pictures of family and friends. A few included Sutton with Eames and Olson from their Stanford days.

‘What can I get you?’ Olson asked.

‘How about a bowl of popcorn and a beer?’

‘You never change. Here, let me take your coat. You know where the fridge is. There are some Coronas on the bottom shelf. Get one for me, too.’

Sutton stepped through a rounded archway into the narrow kitchen. In the corner, he saw the same round table he’d shared many meals at with Eames and Olson when they were still married. The door to the basement stairs and the backyard stood ajar. The landing was dark.

‘Lloyd,’ Olson called out from the bedroom. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I change into some sweats, but I’ve had about all of those parity hose I can take in one day.’

Sutton laughed warmly. ‘Go right ahead. It’s not like we’re trying to impress each other.’

As Sutton grabbed two bottles of beer and closed the refrigerator door, he heard a footfall behind him. Before he could turn, a muscular arm reached around and clamped down hard on his chest. The bottles slipped from his hand and shattered on the linoleum floor. Sutton turned his head, but was unable to catch sight of his attacker. Then he felt a knife slice through his neck back to the bone.

‘What was that?’ Olson called out from the bedroom. ‘Did you drop something?’

A gurgle of air bubbled up from the wound. The killer dropped Sutton’s body on the kitchen floor and blood pooled around his feet. He retrieved a partially filled black plastic garbage bag from the stair landing and moved into the living room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind.

The killer stood at the bedroom door and peered through the narrow opening. Olson’s skirt and blouse lay on the back of a chair, and she was seated on the side of the bed removing the hose from her legs. He pressed his hand against the face of the door and pushed it open. The door squeaked loudly.

‘Lloyd!’ Olson said, shocked and embarrassed, ‘I’m half-naked here.’

As Olson turned to grab the robe off her bed, she saw that it was not Sutton who had entered her bedroom.