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Novkey > Library > Crime > Number One Fan

Number One Fan

CHAPTER 7

Author: issabacsa Total hits: 5037 User hits: 24 Date: 05-15-2014

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  WHO IS NUMBER ONE FAN? Could it be David? Or could it be the old man I saw looking at me that night?

  I looked at David’s workstation but he had gone.

  Did he send me that mysterious note last week?

  I immediately went to his table. But I never expected to see my photograph lying on his desk.

  Where did he get that?

  Then someone tapped my shoulder that yanked me back.

  “Sorry,” said David. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. You’re becoming too jumpy.”

  I could not speak, still recovering from the shock.

  “If you’re here to thank me for the flowers, you’re welcome,” he said and winked at me.

  I just nodded and smiled. I could not help but stare at my picture on his table.

  “By the way,” said David as he picked my photo, “may I have your autograph? I asked for this copy from the IT Department. They said that this would be your picture on our new website. It looks nice. May I have this as a souvenir?”

  He handed me my picture and his sign pen.

  What is it with David that I could not say no to him? Was it because we had a beautiful relationship back then?

  “It’s been years, I know,” he continued. “I just want something to remember you by.”

  I signed my picture and returned them to him. I was about to return to my seat when I remembered to ask him my true purpose.

  “How about those flowers…” I was about to ask him.

  “Those sent to you last Monday?” David finished my question. “How I wish those came from me. I never sent those. I sent you flowers, though, on Tuesday, Valentine’s Day.”

  I went back to my workstation wondering how David guessed what was in my mind.

  Was he just being defensive? Was he hiding something from me?

  

  

  “FLOWER KING, GOOD AFTERNOON, this is Jules speaking,” answered someone on the other line.

  “Hello, Jules, good afternoon. This is Regine Sta. Maria of RMBN,” I greeted. “May I speak with the owner or manager of the flower shop, please?”

  “I’m the owner and manager, how may I help you?” he asked.

  “Hi! I would like to ask if you have any record of who sent me flowers last Monday night,” I said as I tapped the pencil that I was holding on my notepad. “The security guard said that it came from your shop.”

  “Let me check,” he said. “One moment, please.”

  “Thank you,” I said as he put me on hold.

  “Who is this again?” he asked.

  “This is Regine Sta. Maria of RMBN.”

  “Oh, you’re the reporter,” he said. “One moment, please. Your name is familiar and I’ve seen that name here.”

  I heard rustling of paper over the phone. Maybe he was looking on his record book. I prayed for a positive answer.

  “Last Monday night, you said?” he asked again.

  “Yes.”

  “Here, two dozens of red roses.”

  “May I know who ordered those?” I asked.

  “The name written here was just N. O. Fan and the address entered was Quezon City. That’s all,” he said.

  “Do you remember how he looked like?” I asked again hoping to get a clue.

  “Hmm, wait a minute,” Jules said thinking. “There were many customers that day, yet one of them stood out because he was the only one riding a motorcycle.”

  “Motorcycle,” I repeated to myself.

  “Ah,” said Jules, as he seemed to remember something. “He was the handsome man wearing a black sports jacket and shades. He was in a hurry that time. He ordered and settled the bill immediately and gave a card, and instructed my staff to send the flowers to the TV station by six o’clock.”

  “The card, was that from your shop?” I asked, remembering that it has no phone number of the flower shop on it.

  “No,” Jules answered on the other line. “My staff said that he gave a gift card to go with the flowers instead.”

  “I see,” I said thinking about it.

  “And someone also ordered red roses the next day, February 14,” Jules continued as I heard some rustling of paper over the phone. “The name here is David Lim.”

  I already knew that. David admitted that information.

  “And this morning, ma’am,” Jules continued. “A handsome man wearing a black sports jacket and shades ordered flowers. The name written on this record is David Lim.”

  I felt cold water poured over me when I heard David’s name after the flower shop manager described him.

  “Do you think that David Lim and the one who ordered last Monday was just one and the same person?” I asked.

  “Hmm…,” he said thinking again. “Maybe because they both have the same built and height. I could not remember the man who ordered last Monday. As I have said, we were busy that time. I think they were just the same person because both of them ordered two dozens of red roses on a Monday and delivered to your office. Is that his habit, sending you roses every Monday? It is so sweet of him.”

  I did not know if I would smile at his last two statements.

  “Thank you for that information, Jules,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  

  

  MY PEN STOPPED WRITING every time my eyes glanced at the red roses on my table that came from David. Thoughts circled inside my mind.

  If Number One Fan killed Professor Anacleto, then I have an exclusive. But I needed to talk to Number One Fan.

  “Please, call again,” I prayed while staring at the phone.

  Still the phone kept silent.

  Now that I am a news anchor, Management might grant me my own TV program. I could feature the death of Professor Anacleto and the prank caller who wanted to be Number One in a TV documentary. Then we would all shine --- Number One Fan, the program, the station, and me. When that happens, I could regain the respect of my grandfather.

  

  

  “RMBN NEWS, GOOD AFTERNOON,” I greeted as I picked up the receiver.

  “How are you, Regine?” asked Number One Fan. “Aren’t you guilty of what happened to your favorite Journalism professor?”

  I looked at David’s workstation. He was not there.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “The initial findings said it was suicide. Yet by the tone of your speech, it seems like you killed him. And I don’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Didn’t I say before if you told someone about me or what we have talked about someone will die? Remember?”

  “How did you know I told someone?” I asked. “You saw me talking to someone?”

  Number One Fan laughed.

  His laughter terrified me. I tried to remember the persons I saw at the restaurant that evening. I have noticed nothing suspicious.

  Or was I engrossed talking to Alex not to notice it?Wait a minute; David was dining with Prof. Anacleto that night!

  “You told something to Alex, am I correct?” he asked.

  “Okay, I admit,” I said. “I told Alex about your call last Monday.”

  “See? I’m right. You just could not shut your big mouth,” Number One Fan said over the phone. “Didn’t we agree that when you say something about me or what we talked about, someone will die?”

  I was speechless.

  “Did something happen between you and Alex that night?”

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “I saw you and Alex enter your house. What could a man and a woman do inside the house if they’re all alone?”

  “You have followed us there?” I asked.

  I could not believe that Number One Fan followed us until my house.

  “I just want to know if something SEXUAL happened…,” he said.

  “You don’t have any business with my personal life.”

  

  

  “IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO ADMIT IT, it’s okay,” said Number One Fan as he talked on his cell phone. “Let’s change the topic. How old is Joyce?”

  “Do not include my sister here,” Regine said on the other line.

  “Why don’t you answer my question? Have you forgotten that I’ll be the one interviewing you?” he laughed.

  “I want to know why you killed Professor Anacleto,” Regine said.

  “Relax, Regine,” Number One Fan said. “We’ll come to that later. Answer my question first, how old is your half sister, Joyce?”

  He heard Regine sighed and answered, “Eighteen,” on the other line.

  “She is taking up Nursing, isn’t it?” he asked. “Did you know what her subject is right now?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “It seems you’re not close as sisters, why?” Number One Fan asked.

  “It’s our problem, not yours,” Regine said. “Stay away from her, please.”

  “Just imagine if her subject is P.E. and it is swimming,” said Number One Fan.

  He put his other hand on the V of his pants, preventing an accumulating desire.

  “She’s beautiful and sexy in her one-piece swimsuit,” he continued and whistled. “Maybe, she’s sexier if she’s wearing a two-piece swimsuit… or better yet, if naked.”

  “Whoever you are, please, I beg you,” Regine said on the other line. “Do not touch my sister. Do not involve her in this.”

  “I will not touch your sister if you follow my instructions. Is that understood?” Number One Fan said.

  “Promise, I will not tell anybody.”

  “That should be the case,” he said. “Because if you tell the media what we’ve been talking about, someone will die after Anacleto.”

  Regine kept silent on the other line.

  “I’ll give you a clue,” he continued. “Let’s see if you are intelligent, Regine: tan-tan/ tan-tan/ tan-tan-tan.”

  Number One Fan ended the call.

  

  

  I REALIZED how Number One Fan could be that scheming. He followed me from the TV station, to the restaurant, up to my house. Now, he followed my half sister.

  Moreover, he sang the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. I repeated the nursery rhyme inside my head. Star… up above the world… looked up… idol… famous…

  Famous journalists like Professor Anacleto.

  Who would be Number One Fan’s next victim?

  

  

  

  

  

  

  
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