Fifth Victim (41 page)

She’d looked about to protest, but I’d seen something connect in her eyes. Maybe it was the realisation that here was an opportunity to go forwards into an adult-to-adult relationship with her mother, finally. As equals bound by courage in extreme circumstances, like soldiers.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.

Whatever, she’d nodded a couple of times. There was a long pause that stretched into discomfort, so I’d asked, ‘How’s the ear?’

‘Sore.’ She’d managed a wavery smile. ‘Now’s my opportunity to become a famous painter, huh?’

I’d smiled back. ‘I think it’s been done, but you can always have cosmetic surgery.’

She gave a small shake of her head. ‘I know. Mother’s already suggested it, but …’ she shrugged diffidently, ‘… I’m kinda tempted to leave it as it is. As a reminder. Does that sound stupid?’

‘No,’ I said slowly.
There’s hope for her yet
. ‘It doesn’t.’

‘And I guess I can always wear my hair over it, or a clip-on earring, hide it that way.’ Another pause, more of a hesitation this time. ‘Like you hide your scar – round your neck.’

‘You’ll find that hiding it matters less, as time goes on.’

She’d nodded gravely, then a flash of guilt had crossed her face and she’d asked in a small voice, ‘How’s Joe?’

‘As I told her – McGregor’s going to be off in rehab for about three months,’ I said to Sean. ‘So, we need you back. We’re short-staffed. Hell, I think Parker was even tempted to offer Gleason that job she was angling for. She’s a redhead, by the way, so maybe that explains his interest …’

My voice trailed off and I sat in silence for a while, just watching his face with utter concentration, praying to see some rapid movement of his eyes beneath the almost translucent lids.

There was nothing.

How did I tell him what had happened between Parker and me? What I’d felt could still happen. Did I tell him at all?

He would know, I realised, as soon as he saw us together, he’d know by the way we tried to put distance between us. He always had been able to read me like an open book. And what then?

Caroline Willner had known. When I’d left Dina’s hospital room that day, she’d been waiting for me in the corridor outside.

‘Thank you, Charlie,’ she said to me. As much for what I’d said, I realised, as what I’d done.

I shrugged. ‘It would have been better to stop her being taken in the first place,’ I said. ‘Then there wouldn’t have been the need to get her back.’

‘Not just for that, although I rather think I shall be in your debt for some time.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘And I think you’ll find that I always pay my debts.’

I had no ready answer to that one. People often sounded incredibly grateful in situations like these, but I’d learnt not to set too much store by it. The memory would fade.

She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Charlie,’ she said. She paused, as if working out whether it was her place to say what she had in mind, then plunged on anyway. ‘I realise the situation is awkward, with your young man in a coma, but I hope you and Mr Armstrong come to some kind of understanding between the two of you. I confess I thought you seemed remarkably well matched.’

Would she have said the same if she’d met Sean? I’d told him he would like her. Would the same be true in reverse?

By Sean’s head sat the open cup of coffee I always brought, its aroma gently wafting upwards and outwards, teasing his nostrils.

It made no impression on him.

‘Epps let him go,’ I said out of nowhere, hoping for the shock effect of the sudden swerve. Aware, too, that Sean would know exactly who I meant. ‘The bastard offered to go undercover in a militia group and Epps fell for it – let him walk. He’s been away on his toes for the last couple of months, more or less, and they still haven’t found him.’ I paused again, head on one side. ‘Do you care?’ I wondered aloud. ‘Does any of it really matter anymore?’

‘It matters, Charlie,’ said a voice behind me. I swung round in my chair to see the nurse, Nancy, standing in the doorway. Her face was grave. ‘Don’t you ever give up hoping.’

I rose, gave a shrug. ‘I’m tired,’ I admitted. I glanced down at Sean. ‘Parker said the doctors are losing
their
hope. How can I keep hold of mine?’
Perhaps it’s already lost
.

‘Doctors!’ Nancy sniffed, waving a dismissive hand as she bustled forwards, checked Sean’s vital signs, straightened the covers. ‘What do they know? I seen people come out of sleep way longer and deeper than your boy here. He’ll come back when he’s good and ready.’ She stroked a hand over his hair, but he didn’t stir for her, either. ‘Maybe he’s waiting for something, ain’t that right, Sean?’

She cast me a semi-reassuring smile and left.

‘
Is
she right?’ I murmured. ‘
Are
you waiting for something?’

I reached under my jacket and pulled out the SIG. I put the gun near his head, finger outside the guard, and pulled back the slide to feed the first round out of the magazine, letting the action snap forwards with a sharp metallic sound that would have been as unmistakable as it was familiar – to both of us.

Sean never moved.

I leant in closer, battling to drive the tears out of my voice with anger instead. ‘Get up, soldier. Get up and fight it, damn you. Don’t leave me here without you. What the
hell
are you waiting for?’

But I didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, I slipped the SIG back into its holster, checked the lie of my jacket over it, and walked out without looking back.

Behind me, I left the coffee steaming delicately on the cabinet by his bed.

Outside, it was raining again. I turned up the collar of my jacket, hunched my shoulders to close the gap, and headed for the nearest subway station that would take me back downtown. Parker had offered me use of one of the Navigators after the death of my Buell, but parking was always a problem.

Sean’s bike, a Buell Ulysses, was sitting under a dust cover, itself covered in dust, in the parking garage beneath our apartment building. I suppose I could have used that, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the big Mercedes pull into the kerb just level with me. I even altered my pace a little, but still wasn’t prepared for the sound of my own name.

‘Hey, Charlie!’

I turned, saw Eisenberg’s head of security, Gleason, climbing out of the passenger seat. Today she wore a high-necked cream blouse and black wool trousers, and looked as casual as I’d seen her. I stood my ground and waited for her to cross the sidewalk towards me in a couple of long strides.

She jerked her head towards the building I’d just left. ‘How is he?’

My instinct was fast anger, like she had no right to ask, but I swallowed it down far enough to be civil. ‘No change.’

Gleason nodded at that, as if she hadn’t expected any other reply. As if she’d only asked for form’s sake. I felt my teeth clench with the effort of not telling her to go to hell by the shortest route possible, but she spoke before I could phrase the words.

She nodded to the car, still idling by the kerb. ‘Get in,’ she invited. ‘It’s a lousy day to be walking outside.’

‘I like the rain.’

‘Well, I don’t.’ She sighed. ‘You think I was sent all the way up here to stand around ruining a perfectly good pair of shoes and arguing with you?’

I altered my stance, noticed she’d done the same. Combative. Any moment now, we were going to be brawling. I made a conscious effort to ease off. Besides –
sent
?

‘My mother told me never to get into cars with strange men – or women, come to that.’

‘Yeah? Well, mine told me never to date musicians. Looks like they’re both disappointed.’ There was a trace of dark humour lurking in her eyes that faded as she glanced pointedly towards the building behind me again. Towards Sean. ‘Get in the goddamn car, Charlie,’ she said with quiet intensity. ‘Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

‘Where are we going?’ I asked as I settled back into the leather upholstery of the Mercedes. The driver was another of Eisenberg’s men. From the back seat, he seemed to have no neck, his ears going straight down into his collar with no discernible alteration in width.

‘Nowhere in particular – yet,’ Gleason said as we pulled away and accelerated into traffic. ‘That’s up to you.’ She settled herself. The Merc was a brand-new S600, with enough room in the back for her to cross her legs negligently. ‘As you know, my employer is a very wealthy man. He has contacts, connections, in the highest places, and the money and power to get just about whatever he wants.’

A small smile slipped across the side of her mouth, and from it I deduced that she herself had been one of the things Brandon Eisenberg had coveted and then acquired.

‘Fascinating. How does this relate to me?’
And to Sean
?

Gleason’s face flickered. She’d got this little speech all worked out, and wasn’t going to let me hurry her to the punchline.

‘I’m coming to that. As you are probably aware, I am ex-Secret Service,’ she said, straightening the cuff of her shirt, and there was more than a hint of pride in her voice. ‘I was tasked with guarding the President.’

‘Let me guess,’ I drawled. ‘Bill Clinton?’

Her mouth tightened, but she ploughed on doggedly. ‘As such, I, too, have friends in … interesting places. Including Homeland Security.’

My expression gave me away, I know it did. She saw my reaction and smiled.

‘You know Epps?’ I said. It hardly needed to be a question.

‘I guess just about everybody knows Conrad Epps,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘Unfortunately.’

Oh yeah, you know Epps all right
…

‘Word is that he’s been attempting to track a certain fugitive for the past couple of months – without success. Until now, that is,’ she continued. ‘It would seem that the guy they’re after has just popped up on the radar in Omaha, Nebraska, of all places.’

I was aware of a burning sensation in my chest, which I recognised as both relief and resentment. So, they’d got him back again – maybe. But for how long? Looked at coldly, how could Epps actually charge him without having to admit his own mistakes? And if his guys slipped in and grabbed him again, quick and quiet, who’s to say he’d ever be called to any kind of account anyway?

I sighed. ‘Look, this is all very interesting, Gleason,’ I said. ‘And I appreciate Mr Eisenberg feeling the need to keep me informed, but I don’t see—’

‘I have it on very good authority – the best, as a matter of fact – that nobody will be going to check out this lead until Monday,’ she cut in. ‘We’ve confirmed that one of Epps’s guys is booked on a flight out of LaGuardia early Monday morning.’

Today was Friday. That gave the whole of the weekend for something to spook the guy. For him to disappear, escape, evade. Again …

‘So?’

Gleason studied her fingernails. ‘Mr Eisenberg believes you would like the personal satisfaction of being the one to bring this fugitive in yourself,’ she said. ‘Or … taking whatever alternative action you deem appropriate.’

‘Why?’ I seemed to be reduced to speaking in monosyllables, but it was the best I could manage.

Gleason found a rough edge on her thumbnail and frowned over it, as she said casually, ‘Because you caught the man who killed his son.’

‘That was something of a team effort.’

She shrugged. ‘He still reckons he owes you, for some reason,’ she said. ‘Take some advice – if a billionaire reckons he owes you, don’t argue. I think Mrs Willner may have put a word in for you, too.’

She reached into the seat pocket in front of her and pulled out a plain manila packet, handed it across. It weighed heavy in my hand.

‘The intel reports are all in there – I’d burn the whole lot when you’re done, if I were you,’ Gleason said, conspiratorial. ‘Mr Eisenberg’s private jet is waiting on you. The pilot has a take-off slot booked in about an hour, and a flight plan to the West Coast has already been filed.’ She paused, her tone blandly conversational now. ‘By coincidence, that would take you right over Nebraska. I’m sure no one would object to an unscheduled stop.’

I was silent, staring at the unopened packet in my hand. A real Pandora’s box. What would be let loose if I opened it?

For what seemed like a long time, I sat there and thought about actions and consequences, about scars and grief, about justice and death.

Gleason was looking out of the car window, her head turned away as if to give me privacy. Her body was relaxed, belying the importance of this decision. The thick-necked driver continued to circle aimlessly through the busy streets. The rain continued to fall.

Eventually, I glanced across. Gleason must have caught the movement reflected in the glass, because she turned back to me, nothing but polite enquiry in her face.

‘I’ve always wanted a ride in a new Lear 85,’ I said gravely.

Only then did she allow herself a smile, as if she’d won some small internal bet, but she didn’t make the mistake of allowing satisfaction to creep into her voice. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It’s a very nice airplane.’

CHAPTER SIXTY

Omaha was deceptively warm. I sat under the awning outside a small delicatessen in the historic Old Market district, drinking espresso and watching a lazy afternoon fade towards evening amid the old brick warehouse buildings and chic boutiques.

I’d been in Nebraska for two days and been pleasantly surprised by the place. It was an area of the States I’d never visited before, and seemed to be somewhere even Americans flew right over on their way from one coast to the other.

It was a good place to disappear.

As soon as I’d made my decision back in New York, Gleason had taken me to Eisenberg’s private plane, with only a brief stop-off at the apartment so I could throw some clothes into an overnight bag. I’d hurried through packing, as though I knew I’d change my mind if given more time to think things through.

Before I left, I’d carefully locked my SIG away in the gun safe in the bedroom – a precaution against being tempted to use it. Almost as an afterthought, I’d placed my cellphone alongside it, but first I’d sent Parker a short text message, telling him I was taking a few days’ personal time, that I’d be in touch, and not to worry about me. I shut the phone off and locked it away before he had chance to send a reply.