Page 29 of Lorna's Savior
“Ball.”
“Mr. Ball? This is Jarvis, Mr. H.’s private pilot. I received his call. I can have the jet fueled up and ready in an hour.”
“That would be perfect. Which airport are you at?” Andy wrote down all the information, and told Jarvis he’d be there in an hour. After walking through his apartment to make sure everything was shut off, and that no food would spoil, he grabbed his bags and headed out. Out in the hall, he paused, and studied Lorna’s door. With a sigh, he whispered. “Don’t hate me, I’m doing this for you.” Then, he strode toward the elevator with his head held high.
Two hours later, he was in the air heading to New York. He figured he’d go to the farthest point away first, and work his way back home. He was going out of order of the marriages for Kirsten Hepplewaite, but he didn’t care. He was only gathering information. When he could make a phone call, he called the last-known number of Raoul Hernandez, and was able to garner information that he was rehearsing for a play. He next called and was able to set up an appointment with Randall Fife in Philly. Satisfied, he sat back and enjoyed the ride.
Andy checked into a hotel, and went to his room to freshen up, before looking for Hernandez. After coming out of his shower, he opened his laptop, and frowned at the e-mail he’d received.
“Holy shit,” he said as he read it three times, before the information sank in. Looking at the time, and doing the calculations, he knew he had plenty of time. Dialing his phone, he asked to speak with one particular person.
“Ashford speaking.”
“Ashford, this is Andy Ball. I just got your e-mail. Could you please explain to me what the hell I’m reading?”
“Yeah, thought you’d want to know that little tidbit of information.” Ashford laughed into the phone and explained everything in detail. After they hung up the phone, Andy felt he was scrambling to catch up.
“Holy fucking shit,” he said again as he jumped to his feet, ran his fingers through his hair and pulled. He paced the limited space in his room. Feeling caged in, he grabbed his phone, and laptop. For some reason, after being told what had been discovered back home, he had an urgent need to clear up other matters. Armed with his information, he set out to find the first ex-husband on the long list of men. Downstairs as he went to leave, the doorman opened the door for him. Andy tipped him, then showed him an address.
“Would you like a cab?”
“Please.”
The doorman flagged one down, and leaned in to tell the driver where to take Andy. After stepping back, the man waved and Andy had a death grip on the handle above his head after the first three seconds of riding in the car. His driver was a maniac. Shaking his head, he held on for dear life, but he finally arrived in one piece.
On the sidewalk, he looked around, and realized he was standing directly in front of the address he needed. Doubtful, because of the blackened windows, Andy tried the door, and didn’t know if it surprised him or not, when the door opened. Andy stepped inside, and allowed his eyes to adjust before he looked around. After seeing a sign pointing in a certain direction, he went that way. After opening a door, he found himself in an auditorium, and started down the aisle. There were several people on the stage, rehearsing, and several people sitting in the front few rows.
Standing off to the side, Andy waited until he felt it was appropriate to interrupt. He didn’t have long to wait. Thirty minutes after arriving, someone from the fifth row called out that everyone was to take a break. When the people onstage came off, someone stopped and stared at Andy.
“May we help you?”
“Yes, I’m looking for a Raoul Hernandez.”
“You a disgruntled husband?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.” The man turned and called out. “Hernandez, visitor.”
Andy watched as a man sitting in the front row, who had been there the entire time Andy had waited, rose and headed forward.
“I’m Raoul Hernandez, how may I help you?”
“Is there someplace we can talk privately?”
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“No, I just want to ask you a few questions. That’s all.”
“Sure,” Raoul said, and had Andy follow him. They ended up on the other side of the auditorium, halfway up. They sat in two different rows. Andy withdrew his pad of paper, and a set of divorce papers.
“I’m a private investigator. You are not in any trouble. I just have a couple of questions for you.”
“About?”
“Kristen Hepplewaite.”
“That fucking bitch?” Raoul reared back and glared at Andy. “What is she accusing me of?”
