Dangerous Games (27 page)

“Or maybe it was a vagrant camping out behind the house.”

“I lean toward the accomplice theory, myself. I’m betting they found out you and Madeleine were talking. It spooked them.”

“There’s no way they could know that.” Tess was irritated that the conversation had gone this far off track. “Besides, there’s no evidence the Rain Man has an accomplice. The Behavioral Science profile indicates we’re looking for a loner.”

“Well, Kolb definitely fits that category. If he’s hooked up with somebody, it’s purely a marriage of convenience.”

The waitress arrived. Tess waved her off, saying, “Give us a few minutes.” She turned back to Abby. “I didn’t say the Rain Man was Kolb.”

“I know you didn’t. But a lot of stuff is pointing in that direction. Kolb’s got motive—he’s royally pissed at the city for locking him up. Feels betrayed, abandoned. He’s obviously got major issues with women. He was planning to kidnap a woman once before, and only got stopped because of some quick thinking and heroic action by yours truly—”

“Is that so?”

“Um, yeah, it’s so. Haven’t you been paying attention? Did you nod off during the third reel? I can give you a quick recap of the plot if you want.”

“I think I’ve been able to figure out the plot pretty well on my own, thank you.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. Sounds like you went out to the lobby for popcorn and missed the whole thing. Though I guess I should stop using the movie metaphors. You’re not a film buff, right?”

“Right. I’m a little too involved in the real world. I deal in facts.”

“Just the facts, ma’am—it suits you. Change your name to Josephine Friday, you might get your own TV show.”

“I met with the deputy district attorney today,” Tess said.

Abby furrowed her brow. “You could have used a segue there. The transition was kind of abrupt.”

“He told me some interesting things.”

“Lay it on me, soul sister.”

“There were tamper marks on the lock of Kolb’s door. Evidence that someone picked the lock. That was sloppy, Abby.”

“I’m only human.”

“Kolb always insisted the evidence against him was bogus. Said he never purchased the items found in his apartment.”

“What would you expect him to say?”

“You discovered the items in his place, right? Hidden away?”

“And put them out in plain sight, like I told you.”

“So you didn’t purchase the items yourself, bring them to the apartment, and leave them there?”

Abby pulled the sunglasses lower on her nose and peered over them. “You’re saying I framed Kolb? I made up the whole thing?”

“Not the stuff on his computer. But the rest of it was your doing. Wasn’t it, Abby?”

“That’s the kind of question a girl could take personally.”

“You wanted Kolb off the street for as long as possible. Intent to kidnap would give the stalking charge more weight, put him away for three years, the maximum sentence. You’d read the e-mail where he described how he would kidnap Madeleine. You bought the items he’d specified, brought them to his apartment, then called in the authorities. You even added a map of Bel Air with Madeleine’s house circled, so the police would be sure to make the connection.”

“Was this before or after I planted the second glove at Rockingham?”

“A maintenance man saw you enter and leave the building. You had a bag filled with items when you arrived, an empty bag when you left. What was in the bag?”

“There wasn’t any bag.” Abby took off the sunglasses and met Tess’s stare. “Really.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you’ve let this vigilante lifestyle go to your head. You’ve decided to act as judge, jury, and executioner.”

“If I’d acted as executioner, Kolb would be dead.”

“Protecting your client is one thing. Tampering with evidence is another.”

“I told you last night I’d done a little tampering. I moved the stuff out of hiding.”

“Moving the stuff would be bad enough. Putting it there in the first place—that’s a whole lot worse, Abby.”

“When you say my name that way, you sound just like my mother.”

“This is the kind of thing people go to jail for.”

Abby twirled the glasses by one temple. “I wouldn’t do well in prison. I have a problem with authority figures. Think I’ll have to pass.”

“You may not have that option.”

“Gonna send me up the river, Agent McCallum? Put me in the big house with the lesbian guards and the shower-stall rapists? I don’t want my life turning into late-night viewing on Cinemax.”

“As I said, you may not have a choice.”

She put down the sunglasses and steepled her hands. “You’re serious about this? Up on your high horse and out for blood?”

“I’m serious about the law.”

“Wasn’t it against the law to show me the FBI report?”

“I’m not proud of that.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Abby nodded slowly. “Got the old guilt pangs pretty bad, don’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“They’re like gas pains, only harder to get rid of. Still, there is one time-tested way to find relief. It usually involves that handy convention of tribal folklore, the scapegoat.”

Tess had no idea what the woman was talking about. “I think you’ve gone off the deep end,” she said. “I mean that.”

Abby paid no attention. “The scapegoat was just an ordinary goat, but the community pinned all their guilt on him. Or her. Then they ran that poor goat right out of town. Ran her up the river into federal prison, for all I know. Once the goat was gone, so was all the guilt, and the people felt okay again.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “You see what I’m saying, Tess?”

“No. And don’t bother to explain it. I don’t give a damn. I’m through working with you. And you are not to have anything further to do with this investigation. Do you understand?”

Abby shrugged. “I understand. I’m not saying I’ll comply.”

“Any further activity on your part relating to William Kolb will be carried out on your own personal initiative. I’m not sanctioning it in any way, shape, or form. I don’t want to hear about it, and I won’t help you with it.”

“Like I need your help.”

“You seemed to need it last night.”

“I needed to see the report. There’s nothing more you can do for me.” Abby stood, donning the shades again. “Unless I need some expert advice on how to sit behind a desk. In that case, I’ll be on the phone to you in a jiffy.”

Tess knew that to remain seated put her at a psychological disadvantage, but she refused to rise. To rise would be to follow Abby’s lead, and she’d done enough of that. “I would advise you,” she said quietly, “to break off your involvement in this case.”

Abby leaned on the table, staring down through the black lenses. “I would advise you to stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

“If this man Kolb is dangerous—”

“Oh, he is.”

“Then by continuing to pursue this avenue of investigation, you may be endangering yourself.”

“Well, duh.”

“Is your own safety that unimportant to you?”

“Some of us have higher priorities than our own safety. The rest of us just like to think we do.” Abby took a step away.

Tess wouldn’t allow her the dramatic exit. “I’m not going to let this drop. I think you framed a man by planting evidence. I intend to prove it.”

“Do what you have to do. I’ve got a date with the Rain Man—even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

“He’s not the Rain Man, and you know it. You’ve been stringing me along, looking for a way to put Kolb back in jail. You’ve been telling stories. Maybe that’s all you’re good at.”

“If so, I’ll have a hell of a story to tell tomorrow.”

“You’re on your own now,” Tess warned. “No backup.”

Abby shrugged. “So what else is new?”

She walked away, and Tess noticed that she didn’t look back. It seemed she’d found a way to make a dramatic exit after all.

Slowly Tess sank back in her seat and released a breath. That had gone about as badly as expected. She decided she was a poor judge of character. She’d assessed Abby as honest and competent, a straight shooter by her own lights, even if she disregarded the rules that governed other people. As things turned out, Abby was neither competent nor honest. It had been sloppy to leave obvious tamper marks on the lock and to be spotted by the maintenance man. It had been inexcusable to falsify evidence that put a man in prison. What Abby had done—what she’d all but admitted to—had been wrong on every level.

And she would pay for it. Tess would see to that.

Her cell phone rang. She answered, “McCallum.”

“This is Larkin. Where the hell are you?”

She had no ready reply. “Out,” she said lamely.

“Yeah, I know you’re out. That’s why I’m calling. You’ve been out-of-pocket too long. The AD wants you back at the FO.”

“ASAP?” she asked, just to use another acronym.

Larkin didn’t get the joke. “That’s right. The AD’s starting to think you’re working some angle on the side. He doesn’t like it.”

“I’m not working any angle.” This was true—now.

“Tell it to him. How soon can you get back?”

The field office, or FO as Larkin put it, was only a couple of miles from the diner. “Ten minutes,” she said.

“I hope you have an explanation for what you’ve been doing all day.” Click, and the call was over.

“I do,” Tess said into the dead phone.

If she was going to pursue an official investigation of Abby’s activities, she would have to tell Michaelson about it. He wouldn’t be happy with her, but the prospect of putting a vigilante behind bars, with the favorable publicity it would receive, might serve to mollify him.

Not that Tess cared. This wasn’t about Michaelson, or even about Abby.

It was about doing what was right.

25

Kolb took a call on the reprogrammed cell phone as he was driving into Westwood. He answered, knowing it could be only one person.

“Okay,” his partner said, “she’s in the field and coming back to the office.”

“You’re sure?”

“Michaelson—that’s the director—just had one of his flunkies call her. He wants to know where the hell she’s been all day. She said she was coming in.”

“ETA?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Got it,” Kolb said, snapping the phone shut.

There were two bitches on his trail. Soon there would be just one.

He cut over to Wilshire Boulevard and pulled into the parking lot of the Federal Building, maneuvering his Oldsmobile into a space strategically close to the building’s rear door. He expected McCallum to go in that way.

Now it was just a matter of waiting. McCallum would park her Bureau car somewhere in the lot and walk toward the building’s entrance. If no one was with her, he ought to have a clear shot.

He removed the pistol from his waistband and clicked off the safety. Had he remembered to wear gloves when he loaded the magazine? Yes, he would have known not to get fingerprints on the shell casings. Anyway, the ejected shell would fall inside his car. There wouldn’t be any casing for the crime scene experts to collect—only the bullet in McCallum’s body, and it would be mashed and pulped on impact.

He wasn’t the world’s greatest marksman, but he’d earned respectable scores at the police academy range. He could nail her from the car, then speed away before anyone knew what had happened. He kept the engine idling for a quick escape.

It wasn’t exactly the way he would have wanted it. When he’d imagined this moment, he’d pictured something up close and personal, and preferably slow. There was a lot to be said for inflicting pain. He would have liked to make her beg, hear her scream. But life demanded certain compromises. He was practical. He could adjust.

A single round to the back of her head. She would never know what hit her. Which was too bad.

In a perfect world, she would have known.

Tess hit Wilshire Boulevard and headed east. Westwood, and the Federal Building, were less than five minutes away.

She tried to concentrate on what she would say to Michaelson, but other thoughts kept getting in the way—stories from Sunday school, stories of the dark days of the Hebrew judges, when the people, lawless, took justice into their own hands. Civilization had begun that way, in blood feuds and vigilante raids. Maybe it would end that way, as well. Maybe Abby was not an aberration but a harbinger.

No doubt Abby believed she was doing what was right. But there were some judgments she wasn’t entitled to make.

She forced herself to focus on more practical matters. Her talk with Michaelson. How much could she reveal?

She would have to admit to holding back the Madeleine Grant call-in, but maybe she could play it to her advantage. She could say she’d never seriously intended to cooperate with Abby, but had been stringing her along to get more information on her methods. There was no way to disprove this unless someone found out about the transmitter she’d attached to Kolb’s car. Even then, unless the Denver surveillance squad supervisor talked, nobody could link the bug to her. It would be assumed that Abby had planted it. Abby would deny it, but who would believe her? She was a habitual lawbreaker, after all.

That could work, Tess decided. Of course, she would have to get rid of the rest of the equipment she’d received from Denver—the receiver, the tools. Stop and dump them in a trash bin or…

She blinked. What the hell was she thinking of?

This was how she stood up for law and order—by lying to her superior, disposing of evidence, falsifying the record to make herself look good?

“She trusted me,” she whispered.

It was true. Abby had risked everything by revealing herself to a federal agent. Behind her mask of insouciance, she had to know she was taking a terrible chance.

But if she’d framed Kolb…

Could
you frame a guilty man? Yes, if you made him appear guiltier then he was.

The Federal Building rose on her right. She only had to pull into the parking lot, enter the building, and tell her story, and she would cost Abby her career and, quite possibly, her freedom.

But she wasn’t ready to do that yet. She needed to know more. Needed to talk to Madeleine again. A real talk, this time—no artful evasions permitted.