Mortal Faults (10 page)

13

Crandall led her to the squad room, where rows of desks sat nearly empty, only a few agents working the phones or reviewing notes on yellow legal pads. She saw one agent going over a stack of files in the brown and white folders used by all Bureau offices, with a few of the older tan folders from an earlier era. The tan ones presumably related to the original MEDEA investigation twenty years ago. On another desk she saw blue documents, color-coded to signify urgency.

She followed Crandall to the rear of the bullpen, where a secretary gave them permission to enter the office of the squad supervisor.

His name was Hauser, and Tess pegged him instantly as an ex-Marine. He was a tall, no-nonsense hard case with a gray crew cut, and he looked to be pushing the Bureau’s mandatory retirement age

Shell-shocked after her conversation with Crandall, she expected only more hostility and mistrust. She was surprised when Hauser proved friendly.

“Agent McCallum,” he said as his big hand wrapped itself around hers, “I’ve heard a lot about you. You have a reputation for getting things done.”

“My reputation is probably a bit overblown.”

“I’ve looked at the cases you worked—the big ones, anyway. Mobius, STORMKIL ... You impress the hell out of me, I have to say.”

“I’ve been lucky in L.A.”

“Yeah, luck.” He winked at her. “Funny how some people have all the luck, and some don’t. Anyhow, we need all the help we can get. We’ve opened a genuine can of worms, which is a lot less fun than a barrel of monkeys.”

“I read the case report. But it wasn’t very detailed. How exactly did you find the woman, anyway?”

“Wasn’t easy. She did a pretty good job of dry-cleaning herself. We knew she must have gone underground, and she’d probably done it eight years ago, shortly after her release. It was likely she’d used somebody who was active in the Los Angeles area, probably somebody well known, because she wasn’t a person with a lot of criminal contacts. We found a guy who matched the description serving a ten-year sentence in federal prison. Fellow by the name of Rodriguez, who used to run a little identity-swapping operation out of Studio City. Couple of our people visited him in lockup and asked whether our subject had ever been one of his clients. There was the usual bargaining—he wanted to be moved to a less life-threatening part of the facility, which we arranged—and he gave her up. Told us what name she was using now. Once we had the name, we tracked her down easily.”

“But not until last week,” Crandall said. “The GPS surveillance is a recent development.”

Hauser looked at Tess. “How much has Crandall told you about that?”

“Just that you instituted it.”

“Then he left out the most important part. Last night Andrea Lowry drove her car to a political event in Orange County hosted by none other than Congressman Jack Reynolds.”

“Did she?”

“Global positioning does not lie. We know every place that car has been and what time it was there, and one of those places was the high school where Reynolds was addressing his constituents.”

“She’s stalking him?” Tess frowned. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense, under the circumstances.”

“You don’t think she’d have a desire for revenge?”

“If she did, wouldn’t she have taken action years ago?”

Hauser shrugged. Clearly the mysteries of human motivation were of little interest to him. “Sometimes it takes a while for a person to get up the nerve. And you know what they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“After twenty years I’d say it would be ice cold.”

“Well, maybe she has some other motive for going there. Maybe she’s trying to renew her contact with Reynolds. Or just trying to spook him, shake him up a little. Or she wants hush money. It’s campaign season, you know.”

He didn’t have to say more. If the updated section of the MEDEA report was accurate, Reynolds couldn’t afford to have Andrea Lowry talk.

Of course, it was possible that Reynolds was innocent, his misconduct purely a fantasy in a disturbed woman’s mind. The ambiguity was what made the case so radioactive. If word of the accusation got out and was later found to be baseless, there would be many kinds of hell to pay. A sitting congressman would not take kindly to the trashing of his good name.

“She may have been going to his events for weeks, even months,” Crandall said. “And the poor son of a bitch probably doesn’t even know it.”

Reynolds knew, Tess thought. It explained Abby’s involvement. Reynolds had hired her to deal with the threat of the stalker.

“So how are we playing it?” Tess asked.

“We’re continuing the GPS surveillance. Full-fledged mobile surveillance would be preferable, but it’s manpower intensive, and there’s always the risk of detection.”

“And we still make no attempt to contact her?”

“Everything we know about this woman says she’s paranoid, especially where the government is concerned. We don’t expect her to cooperate with any FBI agents who come knocking at her door. We need to keep our distance for now.”

“How about talking to Reynolds?”

“That’s a no-go, also. We’re staying clear of the congressman. We haven’t even initiated surveillance on him.”

“Why not?”

“We’re working with an insider in his organization, someone well situated to be helpful. We can’t risk raising Reynolds’ suspicions. It could mean exposure for our informant. Right now it’s hands-off.”

“If we don’t contact him or her, aren’t we basically waiting for one of them to make the first move?”

“Not entirely. We’re making one change. We’re upgrading the electronic surveillance on Lowry. Or I should say, you are.”

“Me?”

“You and Agent Crandall. I’m teaming you up, because you two worked together on the Rain Man. That okay with you, Crandall?”

Crandall uttered a half-hearted, “Yes sir.” The question had been a pure formality, anyway.

Tess was confused. “I assumed Michaelson had arranged some nice, boring scut work for me to do.”

“The ADIC isn’t running this show. This is my case, and I’m not giving you scut work. That would be a waste of your abilities, which I deem to be considerable.” Hauser grinned. “The director and I don’t see eye to eye on everything. He may not be happy you’re here, but I am. I want some of that, shall we say,
luck
of yours coming my way. We can use it.”

Suddenly Tess was almost happy she’d bluffed her way onto the squad. “I'll do my best,” she promised, feeling a bit like a rookie on her first assignment.

Hauser gave her another smothering handshake. “Sounds okay to me. From what I understand, Agent McCallum, your best is very damn good indeed.”

14

Rush hour, which lasted pretty much all day in L.A., was even worse than usual, and it took Abby two hours to get from Santa Ana to San Fernando. She arrived in Andrea Lowry’s neighborhood at five thirty.

 
She cruised past the house and saw the Chevy Malibu in the carport. Andrea was home. No surprise. Clearly she wasn’t the type who got out much.

Abby parked on a side street, figuring that Andrea had few if any visitors, and if the same car was parked in front of the house two days in a row, it might get noticed. At the corner she glanced up and down the block. The neighborhood was deserted except for a few children in the playground across the street.

She approached the house and went up the front walk. The door opened before she had a chance to ring the bell.

Andrea Lowry stood in the doorway. She was unarmed, and Abby was glad about that.

“
You
.” Her eyes were narrowed to slits in her broad, fleshy face. “Do you really think I’m going to give you an interview?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then go away.” The door began to close.

“I’m not here for an interview,” Abby said. “I’m not even a reporter.”

Andrea flashed a glare at her. “You already told me—”

“I lied. I’m good that.”

There was a beat of silence as Andrea took this in. “You lied? And you expect me to believe you now?”

“I’m hoping.”

“You must take me for a fool.”

“I was hired to locate you. I’m a sort of private investigator. Someone thinks you’re stalking him. He put me on the case.”

Andrea drew a slow breath. When she spoke, her voice was softer. “Who?”

“Congressman Jack Reynolds. You
are
stalking him, aren’t you, Andrea?” No answer. “I need to know why.”

“I’m not stalking anyone.” The denial was perfunctory, without conviction.

“You’re showing up at his public events. You have a list of them in your car.”

“You looked in my car?”

Abby ignored the question. “Last night you wore a wig to his town hall meeting to disguise yourself. And you don’t even live in his district. Something’s going on.”

She saw the heavy swallowing motion of Andrea’s throat. “And he ... he hired you to ask me about that?”

“He hired me to track you down and get to know you. It’s what I do. Only last night it didn’t go so well.”

“Track me down?” There was a new look in Andrea’s eyes, a look Abby knew well. Fear. “You’re saying you gave him my address?”

Abby raised a placating hand. “I haven’t given him anything. I don’t trust him. He’s not telling me the truth. I’m hoping you will.”

Andrea shifted her weight uneasily. “Why should I talk to you at all?”

“Maybe I can help you.”

“But you’re working for him.”

“Not anymore.” Abby shrugged. “You going to let me in, or should I take a seat on the front steps?”

Andrea took a hesitant step back. “Come in.”

Abby stepped through the doorway. She’d gotten inside. It was a start.

The living room was dimly lit by a lamp on an end table. The curtains were closed, shutting out the sun.

“You’re a private detective?” Andrea asked.

“More or less.”

“May I see your license?”

“Haven’t got one.”

“How can you do your job without a license?”

“Same way porcupines mate—very carefully.”

Andrea frowned, either not getting the joke or not finding it funny. “You could be arrested.”

“The least of my worries.”

“Are you some kind of vigilante?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“You’re carrying a gun, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“Let me see it.”

Abby wasn’t in the habit of showing her firearm, but she would do so if it gained the woman’s trust. She opened the special compartment of her purse and produced the .38.

Andrea nodded. “Okay. Put it back. Now put the purse on the end table and leave it there.”

“You want me disarmed?”

“That’s right. I don’t trust you. Not entirely. And I won’t talk to you until you give up the gun.”

Abby wasn’t wild about the idea, but she did as she was told. Without the purse she felt suddenly vulnerable.

“You were armed last night,” Andrea said, not asking a question.

“So were you, as I recall.”

Andrea brushed off the comment. “I wouldn’t have really shot you.”

“That’s comforting to know. Was the gun loaded?”

“Well ... yes.”

“You point a loaded gun at somebody, there’s always a chance it’ll go off. You should know that.”

“I just wanted you out of my house.” This seemed like an understatement.

Abby smiled. “Message received. I wouldn’t have come back, except I need answers.” She settled on the couch. “What’s with you and Reynolds? There’s a history. I’m sure there is.”

Andrea reluctantly took a seat, placing herself near the end table within reach of the purse—and the gun. “I knew him once. Twenty years ago.”

“You haven’t been stalking him for twenty years, I assume.”

She looked away. The laughter of the children in the park was audible through the curtains. “I’m not—not stalking him. I only wanted to see him again.”

“Get back together? Renew old ties?”

Andrea shuddered. “No, no, nothing like that. I literally wanted to see him. Look at him in person, hear his voice. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.”

“I don’t. It makes no sense. There’s no logic to it. From a rational standpoint, he’s the last man I would ever ... The whole thing is crazy. It’s almost ...” She let her words trail away.

“Yes?”

“Miss Bannister ...” She frowned. “Is that your real name?”

“No, but it’ll do. You can call me Abby.”

“I suppose that’s an alias also.”

She ducked the question. “It’s a name I answer to. You were about to say something.”

Andrea faced her with a searching gaze. “Do you believe in demons?”

Abby kept her voice and expression neutral. “Do you?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Are you having demon problems?”

Andrea got up, embarrassed. “Now you think I’m a lunatic.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“You think I’m saying evil spirits drove me to seek out Congressman Reynolds. But that’s not it. By demons, I mean ... dark forces inside us. They move us to do ... inexplicable things.”

Abby selected her words with care. “I believe we all have motivations we don’t understand. I wouldn’t think of them as demons.”

“But what’s a demon, if not a dark part of yourself that can take control? Possess you, make you do evil?”

Abby didn’t stir. But she was beginning to wish she had held on to her gun.

“Have you been planning something evil?” she asked gently. “Something that involves the congressman?”

Andrea shook her head in violent denial. “No, not him—not anyone—not anymore. It was years ago.”

“What was?”

Andrea didn’t seem to hear. She paced the room, arms crossed over her chest, hands squirming fitfully.

“I only showed up at his events because I wanted to be in the same room with him. I had no intention of doing harm. Something just made me do it. Something ...”

Abby ventured a guess. “The same thing that made you buy a gun?”

Andrea shook her head violently. “No. No, nothing like that at all. I bought the gun for self-defense. There’s a lot of crime in this area.”

Paranoia about crime would not be inconsistent with the woman’s psychology, but somehow Abby suspected there was more to the story. “Have you ever used a gun?” she asked.

“That gun? No.”

“But you’ve used another one?”

“I used—I’ve done—” Andrea whirled, flushed with sudden anger. “I don’t have to answer these questions.”

Abby sat motionless, aware that any shift in her position might be read as a threat. Her voice was low and steady, uninflected, almost hypnotizing.

“Andrea, you admit you’ve been seeing the congressman. You admit there’s a history of some sort between the two of you. You admit you own a gun, and you seem to know how to use it. And you talk about demons that drive people to evil acts. Now, am I wrong to be a little concerned?”

The tone worked. Andrea was calmer. “I told you,” she said quietly, “I have no intention of harming anyone. I’ve never intended ...”

“What?” Abby asked.

“I’ve never intended to do any harm.”

Abby nodded. “You have, though. Haven’t you?”

Silence for several heartbeats. “Yes.” A whisper.

“You harmed someone?”

“A long time ago.”

“Twenty years?”

Andrea didn’t answer, but assent was written on her face.

“Who was it, Andrea?”

Abby waited. She was pretty sure she would hear it now—whatever the secret was.

“My name”—Andrea spoke slowly, each word pulled from her with painful reluctance—“isn’t Andrea Lowry. At least it hasn’t always been. It used to be ...
I
used to be Bethany Willett.”

The statement hung in the room between them, heavy with a significance Abby couldn’t grasp.

“So?” Abby asked finally.

Andrea blinked. “You don’t know me?”

“Should I?”

A mixture of sadness and relief passed across Andrea’s face. “I suppose not. You’re too young. But twenty years ago I was quite a celebrity.”

“Were you?”

“Why, yes.” Suddenly she smiled, a cold smile empty of amusement. “I was the most evil woman in the world, or so they said.”

“Why would anyone call you that?”

The words spilled out in a rush. “Because twenty years ago I took a gun and loaded it and carried it into the nursery where my babies were asleep. Twin boys, ten months old.”

She raised her head defiantly, as if inviting judgment.

“And, well, I killed them, you see. I shot them both to death.”