First Class Killing (30 page)

I went into my room and fell onto my bed without bothering to change. The next time I was conscious was after eleven. When I sat up, my neck was stiff. I couldn’t turn it to the left without sending shooting pains down my back, and I wondered if I would have to make only right turns all day. I also wondered about the nagging feeling that kept tapping me on the shoulder, telling me I was supposed to be somewhere. It was as if I could feel it, but when I whipped around to see it, it was gone. I chalked it up to oversleeping.

It was eight o’clock on the West Coast, which meant that Harvey’s presentation was in progress. I probably should have felt nervous in sympathy with him, but I didn’t feel much of anything. There was no more that I could do. I thought I should have felt more satisfaction. We were going to nail Angel. But all I felt was spent—physically, emotionally, and mentally. I felt like one of those climbers standing on the summit of Mount Everest. To me, they always looked as if they were dying. They had spent so much of themselves to get there, there was no way to enjoy it. They didn’t always get back all that they had spent, either.

By the time I dragged myself out, it was eleven-twenty. I was headed for the shower when I thought to wake up my computer and check my calendar for whatever important thing I was supposed to be doing. When I clicked up the activities for the day and saw what it was, I froze, then grabbed my backpack and flew out the door, wearing the clothes I had slept in and an expression of sheer panic.

Four people were already lined up at the Boston Police Department shooting range when I stumbled in. They had their weapons ready and their headgear in place. The officer conducting the test patrolled the platform, arms folded over the clipboard trapped against his chest.

He barely acknowledged me when I approached him, which made for an awkward pause as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m…”
Breath…
“Alex…”
Breath…
“Shanahan.”

“You’re late.”

“Yes, I am, and I’m…”
Breath…
“Sorry.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Every cell in his pressed-uniform body said it for him. What kind of an idiot shows up for her range test late, smelling like a locker room, and looking as if she’d slept in her clothes? I had done exactly what Tristan had told me not to do—screeched into the Moon Island parking lot late, rattled, and unprepared. If we had still been friends, he never would have let me do this.

The large-boned, dour-faced officer waited. I figured the fewer words, the better. “I’m a flight attendant, and I had a difficult time setting up this test around my flight schedule. I’m sorry to disrupt things. Will you allow me to take it even though I’m late?”

Either he appreciated the direct approach, he felt sorry for me, or he wanted to see if a flight attendant could shoot. I wasn’t sure which it was, but he pulled out his clipboard and made a notation. “Take the last target. You’ve got two minutes to set up.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

It took the whole two minutes to get settled and two seconds to realize what a mistake I had made. As soon as my hand closed around the .38, I knew I should have rescheduled. My shoulders ached, my hands felt weak, the gun felt heavy, and I could not picture any set of circumstances under which I would pass this test today. I hadn’t fired a shot, and I’d already failed, and I knew it.

When I got the signal, I squeezed the trigger, the gun kicked, and the round was on its way. It missed. I let out a long, slow breath and tried to adjust. Squeezed off another round. Missed. The weapon was like some alien object with a foreign mass and shape that I’d never touched before. I wanted to stop, to tell them right then and there that I could shoot. I really could shoot. I had worked and practiced and refined my skills, but this was a bad day, and I had made a bad decision by racing over here, and could I go away and try another day?

Round three, and it was getting worse. I was starting to shake badly. The cumulative effect of the exhaustion and the missed shots was adding up to a weight I couldn’t bear.
Grow up,
I told myself.
Pull yourself together. If you’re this intimidated by the cops, how will you fare with the bad guys who are not just laughing at you but trying to kill you, to boot?

I aimed the fourth round for the bull’s-eye and squeezed off four, five, and six in quick concession. I was perfect. Not a single one had hit the target. If I could have run out of there, I would have, but I managed to remove my gear, gather my things, and not look at a single soul as I walked out the door. I had failed the test. I didn’t need anyone to tell me.

Harvey called in the early afternoon when I was unpacking from my last trip so I could use the suitcase for my next one. I had dumped the contents on the floor, right onto the pile of dirty clothes that had overwhelmed my laundry basket. I was sorting the lights from the darks and the dry cleaning from everything else, when the phone rang.

“Alex, we did it. We nailed it. We knocked it out of the park.” Harvey was so filled with enthusiasm and clichés I almost didn’t recognize him.

“They were so impressed with us. You were absolutely right about those last exhibits. They made the case so effectively that even I could not mess it up. I wish you could have been here, too.”

“I think it worked out the way it was supposed to.”

“Is everything all right? You sound down.”

“I’m okay.” I thought about telling him about the test, but he sounded too happy. He wouldn’t get it, anyway. “I had a disappointment this morning. I’ll get over it.”

When it occurred to me I couldn’t tell the light clothes from the dark, I got up to turn on a lamp and realized the blinds hadn’t been opened for weeks. I pulled the cord and welcomed the sun and the world back into my bedroom.

“Carl has promised me a check for the balance of what they owe us before I leave here tomorrow.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with Mr. Wolff?”

“He wants to take me to dinner tonight. I think he might want to talk about more work for us.”

“Are you serious? The same people who wanted to fire us two weeks ago are not only paying us but offering more work?”

“I told him we would be happy to entertain any proposals.”

“We’ll have to see if we can squeeze him in. That’s…astoundingly good news, Harvey.” I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in success. I had someplace to be. “Not to spoil the mood, but when do they plan to take Angel out of service?”

“The issue is being discussed, but I think immediately, if not sooner.”

“Good. They should move fast before the word gets out and Angel has a chance to mount a counterattack, which you know she will. The rumors are probably already flying. Not to mention the sooner she’s gone, the sooner I can quit being a flight attendant.”

“They know what they are dealing with.”

“I’m not sure they do. I won’t be here when you get back. I’m going down to visit my brother and his family in New York. I might stay a few days, so if you need me, call me on my cell phone.”

“Alex.”

“What?”

“I was the last one to think we could get to this point, and yet somehow here we are. You made this case, and I will be forever grateful.”

“We made it together, Harvey. Have a safe trip home.”

Chapter

34

J
AMIE’S NEW HOUSE IN
W
ESTCHESTER WAS
impressive. It was not exactly a castle, but with its stone façade, arched windows, multiple chimneys, and massive front door, it wasn’t far from it. It stood, as did all of the dwellings on the street, on a large lot clustered with big, sheltering trees that had been there for generations. There were pumpkins on porches and swing sets in yards and a fading afternoon light that bathed everything in early-autumn gold.

I went down the walkway, climbed the steps, and stood on the porch. I had a bunch of flowers in one hand and champagne in the other. The flowers were for Gina, because I wasn’t exactly sure how else to approach the woman who was married to my brother to whom I had not spoken in almost a year. The champagne I had hoped to break out when I announced my new career, the successful completion of our first case, and the possibility of a long-term contract. But that whole idea of celebrating a prostitution case seemed grossly out of sync in this bucolic setting. This was a place for families.

Before I had a chance to ring the bell, the knob turned, and the massive door swung open. Gina reached out. “Come here, you.” She pulled me into a warm embrace, hammering home the realization that any worries about getting a cold shoulder from Gina were more about my head than her heart.

“It is so good to see you,” she said, stepping back to let me in. She looked the way she always did, as if she could feed Cheerios to the kids with one hand, review a corporate contract with the other, and run straight up Mount Rainier and back before lunch. “You’re staying with us tonight, aren’t you? Maybe tomorrow, too?”

“Yeah.” I realized I had left my overnight bag in the trunk. I handed her the flowers. “These are for your new house. It’s good to see you, too.”

“They’re gorgeous. What kind are they?”

“I don’t know. I picked them because I liked the way they smell.”

She closed her eyes and breathed in their sweet fragrance. “They smell so fresh. Look at these, Maddy.”

Peeking out from behind her was a big-eyed girl whose head came to the back of Gina’s knee, and I realized what a difference there was between a two-year-old and a three-year-old. Madeline looked like a person now, albeit a very small one. I squeezed myself down to her height. She had fine blond hair that recalled her mother’s Swedish heritage, two perfect curves for eyebrows, and deeply mischievous eyes that hinted at my own mother’s sense of rowdy fun. She also had no idea who I was.

“I brought flowers for you, too, Madeline.” I fished around in my backpack until I found the tiny pink T-shirt with a bright bouquet of daisies embroidered on the front. It had looked like a doll’s shirt when I bought it, but when I held it up to her, it seemed that I had guessed right, and I took satisfaction in that. Her entire face smiled when she saw it.

“Is it for me?”

“You’re the only one around here who will fit it.”

She touched the shirt as if it were made of the finest silk; then she filled both fists with wads of it and held it up. “Mommy, look.
Look,
Mommy.”

“It’s beautiful, and so very you. Did you say thank you?”

“Thank you, um…um…do you want to see my new dress?”

“Yes,” I said, honored to be asked. “I do want to see your dress.”

She peeled off and started up a grand staircase in the middle of the foyer. Even at three years old, she moved with the solid confidence of the athletes both her parents were. Even so, judging from the number of stairs she had to negotiate, she would be gone for a while.

“She’s amazing, Gina.”

“Isn’t she?” Gina absentmindedly reached to close the door but misjudged its width by half and laughed at her own confusion. “Have you ever seen such a big door? It’s embarrassing. I feel as if I live in a barn. Let’s go to the kitchen, where I can get my bearings. Bring the champagne.”

Given the design of the house, I half expected to find an open hearth in the kitchen with a rabbit on a spit turning above it. Nope. It was a cook’s kitchen with black marble countertops, a powerful gas stove, and all the sleek, obligatory Sub-Zero accoutrements. It looked and smelled as if Gina had cooked there for years. Whatever we were having for dinner smelled great.

“Jamie should be home any minute,” she said. “He called from the airport.”

“Was he traveling?”

“He had another overnight trip to LA.”

“Your house is beautiful. I like the way it feels.”

“Do you? I’m beginning to like it. Jamie wanted it the minute he saw it. Men are so impressed by size. But I had to be convinced.” She spoke slowly and thoughtfully, as many people do from the Northwest, without the verbal flourishes and smug self-assuredness one might expect of a corporate lawyer. “We don’t have enough furniture, and half the time I don’t know where my children are. You can sit if you want.” She pointed me toward the kitchen table. It was covered with cookie sheets, Ritz crackers, small boxes of raisins, a jar of peanut butter, and pretzel sticks. “You can help me make spiders.”

“Spiders?”

She brought a fully assembled arachnid over, a peanut butter Ritz cracker sandwich with pretzel legs and raisin eyes. “The kids got bored, but I’m still stuck making thirty more for Sean to take to school tomorrow. Couple of smart gals like us…we should be able to knock them out in no time. Don’t you think?”

“I’m ready.”

“Oh, wait. Let me find something for these.” She started a search of her lower cabinets while I rolled up my sleeves and got into assembly mode.

“What are you doing, Mommy?” Sean had materialized at his mother’s side. He put his arm around her neck and leaned against her the way kids do. She pulled him into a quick Mommy squeeze and gave him a big smooch on the cheek. “I’m looking for something to put these flowers in.”

Gina reached up and pulled down the bunch so he could see. “Those are beautiful, Mommy. Where did you get them?”

“Your aunt Alex. Go say hello.”

He turned and looked at me for the first time. He was as I remembered him, only more so—a handsome boy with the kind of openly expressive face that draws the eye of even the other parents at the Christmas pageant. He was blond, like his mother, but his steady dark blue eyes were all Jamie—curious and serious and soulful.

“Hi, Sean.”

“Hi.” He sidled over, flopped an arm onto the kitchen table, and pigeontoed one foot on top of the other.

“Do you remember me?”

“You’re Aunt Alex, only my daddy calls you Za.” He looked everywhere but at me, then searched out his mother, who had found a vase and was now trimming the stems. She wasn’t watching, but she was listening.

“Tell her what grade you’re in, sweetie.”