Paradise Falls (17 page)

“The bodies,” she finished for him.
 

“Take the remains. Everything was handled by people Adam Katzenberg can trust. I’d bet you a million dollars Ellison Carlyle was one of the cops that responded to the call and handled the whole thing.”
 

“It looks very suspicious,” said Jennifer.
 

“It does,” said Jacob. “Too suspicious. Too sloppy. There’s too many holes, too many angles of attack. Somebody panicked, and wanted to put together a tight story to get this to drop as quickly as possible.”

Jennifer shifted in her seat, turned to face him. “Why the FBI, then?”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Good point.”

“The reporters would show up anyway,” said Jennifer.

“Yeah. This will probably be national news. Right in James Katzenberg’s backyard. He’s here to head off the story. He wants to look concerned.”

Jennifer snorted.

“Wait,” she said. “If he’s concerned, he has something to be concerned
about
, right?”

Jacob took the turn up the hill, towards the house. He glanced at her, but said nothing for a while.

“Yes. He was here before the reporters.”

“Somebody called him,” said Jennifer.

Jacob nodded. “And he cared enough to answer. This ties back to him, somehow.”

He pulled the car into the carriage house, stepped out, and came around to help Jennifer out. She didn’t need it, but took his hand anyway. As she stood up he slipped his hand under her arm just below her shoulder and she felt a twin sensation, a flutter in her chest an a twinge of fear behind it as his hand gently but firmly gripped her arm until she was standing. She flexed her ankle.

“I’m not broken. I can manage.”

Faisal pointedly looked away as he dropped into the Aston Martin, then pulled it into its parking spot between the Lincoln and a black car under a tarp. The carriage house had enough space on the first floor for six cars, and there was a second floor, where Faisal lived. The other men that came to work on Jacob’s house lived somewhere else. Jennifer didn’t have a chance to talk with any of them. Jacob cleared them all out when he carried her up to the house. As Jacob opened up the front door, Jennifer looked back over her shoulder.

“Who is he?”

“Faisal?” said Jacob. “My assistant.”

“I know, but
who
is he? He’s not from around here.”

Jacob smirked a little, and nodded. “No, he isn’t. I owe him a debt.”

“You owe him a debt,” said Jacob. “So he’s you’re gopher?”

Jacob shot her a sharp look. “No. He’s much more than my gopher.” He sighed. “It’s complicated. If you keep asking questions, there will be some I can’t answer.”

“Can’t, or don’t want to?”

“Both,” said Jacob.

His expression darkened. He moved through the house and Jennifer followed, not quite sure what to do with herself now.

“We’re going to survey the crime scene,” he finally said, gazing through the window in the kitchen into the back yard. “We’ll leave around one in the morning. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

Jennifer lingered for a moment, fidgeting in place. His reflection in the window was a mask of concentration, his expression dark. There was something she should say, but she couldn’t find what it was. Rubbing her arms to banish a phantom cold, she took the stairs up to the bedrooms slowly, purposefully flexing her ankle.

3.

He woke her at one in the morning with a knock at the door.
 

She ended up lying awake around eleven o’clock, lying on top of the sheets and staring at the ceiling. Her ankle was sore, but the injury was not as bad as she first thought.
 

Jacob knocked once and Jennifer sprang to her feet, ignoring the flare of pain that lanced up through her leg. He was waiting on the other side, holding a bundle of clothes in his hands.

“Change,” he said, then hastily added, “Please.”

Jennifer’s eyebrow shot up and she snatched the clothes out of his hands. He scratched the back of his head and half-turned away, but his eyes remained on her. She fought back a smirk, closed the door and laid out the clothes he brought. Black fatigue pants covered with pockets, a black shirt and black boots. She changed quickly.

Her hair was already braided, and she’d already showered. She took the braid and wound it up into a bun. Forcing her hurt ankle into the boot stung more than she would have liked, but once it was laced up it was almost like a compression bandage and relieved some of the strain of standing.

He was waiting for her in the kitchen. He was dressed identically, except his clothes fit better. He was putting on a utility harness and belt covered in pouches and little bags. When he saw her he stopped.

“What?” she said, glancing down at herself. “Did I put something on backwards?”

“You look good in black.”

Jennifer’s stomach did a backflip. She started to smile, but forced her face neutral, not that it would help. She was blushing. Jacob coughed and went back to stuffing his pouches.

He slid something across the table to her.
 

“A smartphone?” said Jennifer. “I’ve never had one of these. I always get the cheap flip phone.”

“Encrypted satellite phone. Let me show you how to set the passcode.”
 

He stepped over and ran through the steps with her. As he did, he leaned over her. She held the phone in her hand and he cupped her hand in his to hold the phone still, and her throat went dry. He smelled like cheap soap, but under that she could smell
him
, and breathed it in. He moved even closer, but all at once pulled back and returned to gathering up his gear.

She made the code Katie’s birthday, and slipped the phone into a pouch on her belt.
 

“That phone has two-fifty-six encryption, so it’s a brick without the code. It’s got some useful numbers in it- me, Faisal, some other people that work for me, and I can track its location.”
 

Jennifer glanced down at the pouch on her belt. “You just gave me a tracking device?”
 

He shrugged, and smirked a little.
 

Jacob had more stuff than she did. Four slender objects made out of rolled steel and about eight inches long, both ends tapering to points, went in a holder on his thigh. He saw she was staring at them, hefted one and tested its balance in his hand.

“You throw these,” he said. “Either way they hit, they stick. They can do a lot of damage.”

 
He carried little pouch that held three small black knives on either forearm. She’d already seen how unerringly accurate he could be with those, even in the dark.

Last was a pair of masks- he tucked his over the top of his head like a watch cap, ready to pull down, and gave one to her.
 

“We have to be careful about your hair.”
 

“Why?”
 

“It won’t take DNA to match a three foot long red hair to you.”
 

“Oh.” Said Jennifer.
 

“Shall we?”
 

Faisal, Jacob’s assistant, was waiting outside. He was still wearing a suit, despite the hour. He yawned behind his hand as he watched the pair descend the front steps.
 

“The area is clear, sir. You should have no trouble.”
 

Jennifer looked at him. “We haven’t really met. Thank you for helping me.”
 

He nodded, and coughed into his hand. “It was nothing.”

“Thank you, anyway.”

“Let’s go,” said Jacob.

He led the way into the old carriage house, past the Aston Martin to a beaten up, mid eighties Plymouth.
 

“We’re going in this?”

“We can’t exactly go on a covert mission in the Aston Martin.”

Jennifer punched his shoulder. Lightly, but it happened before she was aware she did it. She looked at her own hand, and looked at him. His mouth was hanging open.

“I know that,” she snapped. She stuck her hands behind her back and folded them together. “I mean, we’re going in this thing? What if we have to get away or something?”

Jacob suppressed a little smile and popped the hood. Jennifer was no gearhead, but the engine wasn’t original equipment. The motor probably cost significantly more than the car.

“Better to blend in,” said Jacob. “If things get serious, I’m putting the finishing touches on another car.” He smirked, a little secret smile.

Jennifer cocked her head to side and smiled. Jacob looked away from her quickly and headed around to open her door.

The car was oddly quiet, even as he gunned the motor on the hill road, taking the curves so hard it made Jennifer grasp at the windowsill to steady herself. Crossing the new bridge was the only way into town, but after the crossing he quickly turned off and started down a back road, towards the school.
 

Are you sure you want to see this?” said Jacob.

She nodded, but said nothing. He kept looking at her.

“I know she meant a lot to you,” he said. “There’s going to be blood. We’re going to see where she died. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

Jacob sighed.

He stopped down the street from the tow lot. MacHeaney’s, or Mac’s, repaired most of the used cars in Paradise Falls, towed cars for the city and had a self service garage. A generation or two ago, all the boys with hot rods rented stalls and tools for $25 a month to work on their cars.

Jennifer’s father used to tell her stories about working on his Mustang in one of those stalls. He always spoke of the car wistfully, and tried to mention that her mother made him get rid of it. Now it was mostly empty, except for a couple of boys from the high schools that ran souped-up little Japanese hatchbacks.
 

The lot itself was surrounded by an eight foot fence topped with razor wire, gleaming in the harsh light of high pressure sodium lamps. Jacob stepped out of the car.
 

“I’m going to do recon. Look around, I mean. I want to double check that the area is clear and we can get in. Slip into the driver’s seat.”
 

Jennifer inched over the bench seat until she was behind the wheel.
 

“You can drive, right? I mean, you only have a bike.”
 

She tightened her grip on the wheel. It had been years, the last time she drove was Franklin’s car, and when it was destroyed in the collapse she never replaced it.
 

“I’m rusty.”
 

“That’ll have to do. If you see me coming running back, start it up. If I’m not back in ten minutes, get out of here.”
 

Jennifer nodded.
 

He jogged down the street, sticking close to the backs of the other buildings, half of which were empty, and pulled down his mask. Jennifer squeezed the wheel and silently prayed a cop didn’t roll up and ask her why the English teacher was sitting in a car she didn’t own, on a darkened street, at two in the morning. She watched the clock, feeling every ticking second as a pulse in her neck.
 

After a breathless few minutes, Jacob came jogging back and motioned her out of the car. Jennifer flexed her ankle, and walked over to him. He stopped her, turned her to the side with his hand on her shoulder, and fiddled with the back of her mask, tucking it down to her neck. Once it was on, it made her breath tickle her eyes. She looked at herself in an empty, blackened window. The big ball of hair tucked under the back of her mask made her look ridiculous. Jacob was unconcerned.

“Good,” he said. “Stay low, stay quiet, and follow me. I found a blind spot in the cameras.”
 

Jennifer swallowed. Her belly was a ball of ice, and her legs were trembling. How was he so calm about this?
 

The shadows concealed them as they moved down the street. Jacob cut down an alley next to the empty small engine repair shop that butted up to MacHeaney’s and peeled back a section of the chain link. He’d removed the steel rings that held the fence to the posts and placed them in a neat pile. Jennifer ducked under and he followed, closing it behind them, then stopped her.
 

“Move with me,” he whispered.
 

Jennifer kept almost close enough to touch his back as he crouch-walked behind the shop itself. There was a car sitting lopsided under a canvas tarp in one of the old rental garage stalls, behind reflective police tape warning DO NOT CROSS. Jacob moved quickly and skirted under the tape. Jennifer stood up next to him.
 

“You’re sure,” he said.
 

She nodded.
 

Carefully, he lifted the tarp and moved it back, tossing it up over the roof. It was a mid-nineties Jeep Cherokee, dark green. It leaned drunkenly from one flat tire which lay in a sad, shredded fan on the concrete. Jennifer covered her mouth despite the mask and fought the nauseous turn in her stomach. The first thing she saw was the blood.
 

Dried gore coated the driver’s side of the truck. The window was gone, and the door was dented in three dozen places around rings of chipped primer and holes. There were more marks on the hood, and the windshield was broken, tented in around a gaping, jagged opening. It looked like someone smashed it with a sledgehammer.

Jacob removed a very small camera from his belt and started snapping pictures.
 

“At least two shooters. I think three.”
 

“Why?” said Jennifer.
 

He nodded at the windshield.

“Somebody was standing in front of the car.” He pointed to the shattered windshield, “Another person, maybe two, stood where we are and fired into the car from the side. They reloaded. This was cold, methodical. Planned.” His voice caught a little. “I need to go over these pictures, but going by a quick look at the blood spatter on the dashboard, the boy was in the driver’s seat. He tried to shield the girl with his body.”
 

Jennifer made a strained sound and turned away. A wave of nausea ran through her and it felt like every muscle in her body contracted at once, and she swayed on her feet.