Got the Look (47 page)

Yes. And that is the real reason his friend Richie was out to get her, not me, after all these years. It didn't matter to him that it was self-defense.

It matters to the law, said Jack. But why did she run if it was self-defense?

We had to make a decision. Montalvo's body was in the trunk of her car. She'd just flunked a polygraph examination and the prosecutor was going to drop the case. It was probably only a matter of time before the DA could prove that the wound on her leg was self-inflicted. Who was going to believe she shot Montalvo in self-defense?

You were a witness. You could tell the police what happened.

Yes, but that was the problem that got us into this mess in the first place. If I was her witness, I'd be deported.

Jack felt numb, as if every bit of air had suddenly been sucked from the room.

We just kept driving all night and didn't stop until we got to Miami. Her voice was cracking, and she was no longer looking at him. We buried the body in that nursery, right where you found it. Teresa hired a fishing boat to take her to the Bahamas. I took care of shipping her car off to South America on a freighter full of stolen vehicles.

That makes you an accomplice after the fact.

I don't care what it makes me. I just hope it doesn't make you think badly about Teresa. She's the bravest person I've ever known. She paused, as if she wanted to say more, but she grabbed her purse and rose. I'd better get back upstairs and check on her.

As she walked toward the exit, Jack looked beyond her, through the big plate-glass window in the front. Outside the coffee shop, a Greyhound bus stopped at the traffic light. A little voice inside his head told him to run out, hop that coach, and ride it to wherever it was going - just get away from Miami and everyone in it. He should have known that it was a fairy tale, his thinking that Cassandra would be the one to stand trial for murder and that he and Mia would live happily ever after.

He ordered another cup of coffee and waited, alone, wondering what he would say to Mia when she woke.

Chapter
75

Mia Salazar was weighing on Andie's mind. She didn't like being deceitful, even when interrogating a suspect. But that was exactly what she'd been with Jack and Mia at Ginnie Cottage.

Andie didn't put blind trust in polygraph examinations, but she had grossly understated her level of confidence in the one Mia - Teresa - had failed. The only physical evidence of a sexual assault was a cut on the inside of Mia's thigh, which she was able to replicate on videotape with a broken lightbulb. Sure, the lack of semen, pubic hair, or other physical evidence could have been explained by the fact that Mia had gone home, showered, washed her clothes, and waited over seventy-two hours before reporting the rape to police. That explanation rang hollow, however, in the face of a failed polygraph.

Andie swiveled her desk chair around to face the window. She wasn't at all interested in the cars in the parking lot or the traffic backed up on I-95. She was seeking a distraction of any kind. Her mind's eye could see where this train of thought was leading her, and she didn't want to go there. The little voice inside her head, however, didn't seem to care what she wanted.

She turned back to the papers on her desk, her gaze coming to rest on the bold black letters running across the top of the page: Grand jury to be empaneled in seven-year-old Montalvo murder case. That information wasn't public yet. The DA's office had drafted a press release, which it planned to issue sometime after the FBI's upcoming news conference. As a courtesy, the DA's office had asked for Andie's comments on the draft. Not many details were disclosed, but the major weakness in the prosecution's case was obvious: If Montalvo didn't rape her, why did Mia kill him?

Andie had her own theory. It was viable but personally troubling. It made her ask herself the tough questions all over again, the ones that had caused her so many sleepless nights. The answer, ultimately, had forced her to leave Seattle. It was about families and living with the choices we make in truly life-or-death situations: When two sisters loved each other the way only sisters can, was there anything one wouldn't do to protect the other?

Andie was staring at the phone, thinking. It was hard to say what had motivated Mia - whether she was protecting her little sister, whether Montalvo had threatened her and her sister, whether she was acting at least partly out of guilt, knowing that if she had looked out for her little sister and taken her home that night, the rape never would have happened. In the end, Andie might not have made the same choice Mia had made, but she could at least begin to understand it.

She wondered if Mia could understand the choice she had made.

She picked up the telephone and dialed the number. It was midmorning in Seattle. Her brother-in-law answered.

Steve, hi. It's Andie.

Hey, how are you?

Good, thanks. I'm pretty good.

You sure? You sound kind of down.

I'm fine, really, just a little tired. Listen, there's something I've been meaning to tell you.

He paused, as if the slight quake in her voice made him wary. Is something wrong?

Andie swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn't sure where to begin, so she skipped to the bottom line. I'm sorry, she said, her voice just above a whisper.

Sorry for what?

I'm sorry that I couldn't do more for Susan.

I think we all feel that way, Andie. The truth is, we did everything we could. It just wasn't enough.

She could have argued the point. Steve had been the last one to give up hope, thinking somehow a donor would come through. Andie could have told him about that devil of a man imprisoned in Walla Walla, how he could have led Andie to her biological father and a possible bone marrow transplant that might have saved her sister's life. She could have told him exactly what she didn't do, but she was speechless. No one could fault her for the choice she'd made - no one but herself. Because she knew in her heart that, had she been the one lying on that hospital bed losing the race against time, things would have turned out differently. She would have done it to save her own life. Between sisters - between her and Susan - that was the test.

Finding the words, however, was an impossible feat. She'd never told anyone her secret, and she never would. Period. Thanks, Steve. That's all I wanted to say. How are you doing?

Okay. I have my ups and downs, you know. Just take one day at a time.

Yeah, I think that's all we can do. You take care, all right?

I will. Thanks for calling.

Good-bye, she said, but her voice was barely audible. As she hung up the phone, she could feel her eyes welling, but she quickly pulled herself together. She was in Miami now. The past was behind her.

She gathered her papers and left the office, headed for the press conference.

Chapter
76

Jack watched the FBI's press conference on television from a king-size bed in a hotel room. Several cable news networks carried it live in its entirety. Paul Martinez did all the talking. Jack didn't see Andie anywhere on-screen, and he wondered if she was staying out of the limelight by choice.

It had been Jack's idea to get a hotel room. He knew his home phone would be ringing off the hook - maybe even a few journalists would be camped outside his front door - just as soon as Martinez's Q&A session ended. The SAC declined to comment on whether Mia Salazar was under investigation for the murder of Gerard Montalvo. Inevitably, the media would promptly follow up to see if Jack had anything to say.

Jack sat up against the headboard and switched off the remote. Finally, Mia emerged from the bathroom.

How do I look? she asked, twirling like a runway model.

He smiled sadly. I'm not the person to ask. I always loved your long brown hair and dark brown eyes.

She jerked her head, a little motion that used to toss her hair from one shoulder to the other. Being a short-haired blonde would take some getting used to, probably even more than the blue contact lenses. Do you at least like the clothes?

The clothes are great, he said. He'd bought them himself at one of the hotel's boutiques while she was dying her hair. Jack climbed off the bed, took a few steps toward her, and stopped. They stood in silence for almost a minute, she looking at him, and Jack looking at a woman he barely recognized.

I know you don't agree with this, she said.

You have other options.

Going to prison for the rest of my life is not an option.

Self-defense is a complete defense.

No one will believe me. I lied about the rape. I ran and started a new life as a new person after I shot him. Those are two big strikes against me.

That doesn't mean a jury will convict you.

You can't guarantee me that they won't.

No. There are no guarantees in any trial. But if you run again, the police will come looking for you, and there's no guarantee that they won't find you.

And if they do, then I'll stand trial. I don't see a downside.

Jack blinked hard, as if she were overlooking a little something, like the guy who had risked his own life and laid out fifty thousand dollars to save her from a psychopath. He wondered if she was running not because she feared a murder conviction, but because she simply preferred a fresh start, a clean slate, a new life.

I'm sorry, Jack. I love you, and after what you did for me, I know that you love me.

He didn't answer, didn't even confirm the truth of what she was saying about their feelings for one another. He could have launched right into a heart-to-heart discussion about truth and trust, but what was the point? Her mind was made up.

I'm not running away from you, she said. Don't ever think that.

It doesn't have to be this way.

You're right. A devious smile came across her lips. She took a step closer and said, Come with me.

What? I can't do that.

Why not?

Because I can't.

Because it's crazy? she said.

Yes. It's crazy.

Does that mean you don't love me and don't want to be with me?

No, it means that's a crazy idea. That's all.

Now you understand. To me, staying here and standing trial is crazy. That's all my decision to leave means.

Jack tried hard to think of another counterargument, but he'd done his best. If you change your mind, he said, you know where I am.

If you change yours, I'll be -

He put his fingertips to her lips, stopping her. I don't want to know, he said.

She removed his hand, then grabbed him by the back of the neck and pressed her lips against his in one of those long, sad kisses that definitely felt like good-bye. Finally, she pulled herself away.

Gotta go now. Boat leaves in thirty minutes.

He didn't have any details, just enough to know that someone with a Cigarette boat would drop her in the Bahamas before nightfall. From there, it was off to anywhere in the world. Just like seven years ago.

Good luck, he said.

She forced a meager smile and kissed him again quickly. Jack could see the tears clouding her eyes - those strange, phony blue eyes - as they took one last look at each other. Then she turned and headed for the door.

Jack didn't watch her go. He just listened as the dead bolt unlocked with the sound of a shotgun shucking. The door creaked as it swung open. There was a pause, and he wondered if she was having second thoughts, or if she had stopped to take another look back at the man she was leaving behind. It didn't really matter which.

The door closed, and Mia was gone.

Jack didn't even know her name anymore.

Epilogue Three weeks passed, and Jack heard nothing from Mia. He tried not to think about her too much, but he often found himself wondering where she might have gone. Australia, Russia, or maybe somewhere in South America. Anyone who said it was a small world hadn't looked at a globe lately.

When he wasn't thinking about Mia, he tried to focus on his work. Inevitably, however, the thing that weighed most heavily on his mind was Theo's bar and the quarter million dollars that was still missing.

Sparky's Tavern wasn't much to look at, the last eyesore on U. S. 1 before the entrance to the Florida Keys. It was an old gas station when Theo bought it. Most of the money was tied up in the land and liquor license, which is to say that the garage was converted into a bar much in the same way that Jack's high school gymnasium had been converted into Margaritaville on prom night. The grease pit was gone but the garage doors were still in place. There was a long wooden bar, a TV permanently tuned to ESPN, and a never-ending stack of quarters on the pool table. Beer was served in cans, and the empties were crushed in true Sparky's style at the old tire vise that still sat on the workbench. Some said Theo was too good for his own bar. They were referring to his passion, of course: the saxophone.

Jack watched from a barstool as Theo belted out a solo worthy of the Blue Note. He played an old Buescher 400 that had been passed down from the man who'd taught him how to play. His great-uncle Cyrus was once a nightclub star in old Overtown, and it would have pleased the old master to see Theo blowing the same horn in his own bar.