Point Blank (29 page)

“Which brings us to his motivation, again, Savich,” Dane said. “He wants to kill you because of this woman you supposedly hurt. She must be somehow connected to him, a relative, maybe. We’ve been through sixty-two cases of yours so far, even some that you were only marginally involved with. There were plenty of people who got hurt, including women, but there’s not a trace of any connection to Moses.”

Sherlock said, “Another question. Was there anyone else before he picked up Claudia?”

“Had to have been,” Dane said.

Ollie said, “Look at Claudia—those eyes, cold and blank as the calculus blackboard in high school.”

Savich handed around computer-scanned copies of Annie Bender’s photo that Elsa Bender had given them. “Compare the photo to our artist’s sketch of Claudia.”

Ollie said slowly, “I know Elsa Bender told you and Sherlock Claudia looks like her daughter, but I don’

t see it. General coloring, yes, but that’s it.”

“That’s because the photo of Annie Bender shows a real live person, one who feels and thinks and cares. This girl—” Dane Carver shrugged.

Savich said, “Maybe it’s just time for us to get lucky, and the cops will spot the Aerostar. I’ve called Detective Ben Raven with the Washington PD. He’s instructed them not to bring Moses and Claudia in by themselves. They might be the most dangerous individuals they’ll ever see on the street.” Savich fell silent. “I can’t think of anything else to do except continue going through my old cases. The key is there, I know it. We’ll give it a couple more days, and if we don’t spot the Aerostar by Sunday morning, Mr. Maitland will call a press conference and give the media the sketches of Moses and Claudia.”

Ollie said, “One more call to your cell might help. Wouldn’t it be a gift from the Almighty if it ended that way?”

Agent John Boroughs laughed. “We should be so lucky. Ain’t nothin’ ever easy, that’s what you told me when I joined the unit, Savich.”

There was some laughter, which felt good to everyone. The meeting broke up. As Savich stuffed papers into his briefcase, Ollie asked him, “So what did Dewayne Malloy think of meeting Director Mueller?”

Savich grinned. “He said he was pretty cool, for an old guy. He was so juiced about helping us solve this crime, he asked if he should consider becoming an FBI agent. I told him to go for it.”

Sherlock stood at the door of the conference room with the other agents, one eye on Savich and Ollie. “

Listen to me, guys. I can take care of myself, even though Dillon doubts that. It’s him these people are after. Please don’t let him go off on his own. We have to keep him safe.”

“That’s enough, Sherlock.” Savich spoke very quietly. The other agents glanced at him, nodded to Sherlock, and left them alone.

Sherlock knew this was as important to her as breathing. She looked him straight in the eye. “I told them the truth, nothing more. I intend to discuss this with Mr. Maitland as well. I’m thinking this is winding down, Dillon. I’m thinking we should stay in Washington, together, with all our people. I have this feeling that Moses and Claudia are going to try something very soon, and it’s going to be directed at you. We want to be here and we want to be ready.”

It was odd how often their instincts meshed. He closed his hand around her arm and said quietly, “You don’t need to speak to Mr. Maitland about this. I was thinking the same thing.”

She pulled away from him, started walking down the wide hallway before turning back to say, “Let’s go get Sean. I spoke to Graciella before the meeting. She wants to come home.”

“All right. I’ll call Ruth, tell her what’s going down here. We’re only two and a half hours away if something happens in Maestro.”

She gave him a crooked grin. “Much less by helicopter.”

Dane Carver came trotting up to them, his cell phone still in his hand. “Interesting news, guys. The police found an abandoned white van with a lawn mower and the words ‘Austin’s Gardening Service’ on its side in front of a warehouse on Webster Street. It looks like Moses didn’t just ditch it—he set it on fire.”

Savich sighed. “He knew we probably tracked that call Claudia made and might have a description of it. No point in waiting now. It could be they headed out of town.”

Dane said, “But you don’t believe it.”

Sherlock was silent for a long moment, twisting a lock of curly hair around her finger, a habit when she was thinking hard. “No, Moses isn’t about to leave, not until he takes his final shot at you.”

Savich nodded. “Then we’d better get ready.”

CHAPTER 28

MAESTRO, VIRGINIA FRIDAY MORNING

AT TEN O’CLOCK, Dix called Gordon’s office at Stanislaus.

“…I don’t know why I need to tell you that, Dix. She’s not a student here. I don’t see the point in involving her. Listen, it was nothing, a brief fling, nothing to make the earth move for either of us.”

“I can keep you nice and warm in my jail, Gordon, until you tell me what I want to know. Is the woman you left out Cynthia, Tony’s wife?”

“Cynthia,” Gordon said. If Dix wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of distaste in Gordon’s voice.

“Well, good for you,” Dix said. “That’s a relief. Talk to me, Gordon.” The silence dragged on. Dix said, “

I’m thinking handcuffs would make a nice visual for all your professors and students—”

“No, Dix! You can’t do that. I’m simply trying to protect a woman’s reputation, nothing more. You think I would sleep with Cynthia?”

“A woman’s reputation?” Dix asked. “Not a girl’s? Could it be there was maybe even a thread of gray in her hair?”

“No, she’s gorgeous and she’d sue me—”

Dix shook his head. “And here I thought Ginger would have the good taste not to sleep with a man her father’s age. You never know, do you? At least it wasn’t Cynthia. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Gordon finally gave it up. He told Dix he’d slept with Ginger Stanford two years ago, and all right, her mother, too, if they were interested, but the two of them lasted only a couple of months, hardly enough time to even regard it in the grand scheme of things.

When he paused to take a breath, Dix asked, “Who broke things off?”

“We ended up not liking each other very much. Ginger told me she’d expected more from me because she’d heard I was experienced, and that I didn’t give her what she wanted. She told me to take myself to a sex education class. Can you imagine the gall? Sex education! Me!”

“And Gloria Stanford? Was she unreasonable in her demands, too? Like mother, like daughter?”

A ruminative pause, Dix thought. “She’s immensely talented, you know that, Dix, but the fact is we were never really that attracted to each other. She never criticized me like her bitch of a daughter.”

Before he punched off, Dix warned Gordon, “Don’t even think about calling Ginger, Gordon. If you do I won’t give you an extra blanket in your cell.”

“SHERIFF, AGENT, WHAT are you doing here?” Henry O was on his feet, the question out of his mouth the moment Dix and Ruth came into the office. “Oh, I see. You don’t know anything more than the last time you were here, do you?”

Good, Dix thought, Gordon hadn’t called. Henry O looked natty in a crisp white shirt and well-made dark gray wool trousers, belted high.

“Actually, Henry, we’re here to arrest Ms. Stanford,” Ruth told him. She gave him a little wave and kept walking, Dix behind her.

“Are you nuts? You don’t arrest a lawyer; she’ll sue your socks off. Wait, wait! Oh, lordie, Ms. Ginger, they rolled over me!”

“Hard to believe,” Ginger Stanford said, rising slowly, dropping her beautiful black pen on the desktop. “

It’s okay, Henry. They’re not going to snap on the cuffs, I don’t think, are you, Dix?”

Dix gently shoved Henry out and closed the door. “Good morning, Ginger. Time for you to tell us about your short, uninspired affair with Gordon Holcombe.”

Ginger laughed. “Oh, sit down, both of you. You pried it out of him, did you? Yes, I slept with Gordon, and what a colossal mistake that was. No, simply a waste of my time. I really thought he’d be good. I can’t tell you how many times he gave me this intense, hungry look, but he was just a fumbling old man. I gave him a couple of chances, then kissed him off. End of story. You don’t actually think I had anything to do with those horrible murders, do you?”

Ruth asked, “Did you tell your mother about it?”

“Actually, I did. She only laughed and said she slept with him a couple of times herself, and agreed with me. Men of a certain age, she told me, usually aren’t adventurous or innovative, just happy if everything goes smoothly. She told me she lost her rose-colored glasses long ago, that there are very few men who know anything, and if they do, they usually don’t care, just hope for a fake orgasm to let them off the hook. She said the only thing she got from Gordon was a good interpretation pointer on Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin.” Ginger laughed.

“Why do you call your mother Gloria?” Ruth asked.

“What? Oh, Gloria. Well, the thing is she was gone practically all of my growing-up years, touring, you know. My dad checked out when I was ten, couldn’t take his wife being gone, couldn’t deal with me anymore, whatever. I was raised by two nannies, both of whom I still call Mom. She’s always been Gloria. Don’t get me wrong, I love and admire her, and she is my mother, when all’s said and done. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Why did you move to Maestro when she did? What was it? Six months after Christie and Dix moved here?”

She cocked her head at Ruth, poured some water out of a Pellegrino bottle into a crystal glass and sipped. “Christie and I went to school together. We were close.”

Dix pointed out, “But you had a very nice practice in New York City, didn’t you?”

Ginger said at last, “You’re a bulldog, Dix. Okay, there was a man in New York. It didn’t work out. Yes, he was married and I was stupid enough to believe him when he swore the marriage was over. He set the fool’s cap right on my head. I thought moving far away would make everything better—and it did, for the most part. May I ask why Gordon told you about me and my mother? Why is that any of your concern?”

Dix asked, “Were you angry that he slept with your mother?”

“Good heavens, no. Look, Dix, Gloria didn’t see that many men after my father went walkabout. Gordon is a talented man, and he can be a real charmer. I had no reason to mind. It might even have turned out well for her if he’d been different. He probably slithered out the door because Gloria didn’t fawn over him like he wanted her to, and why should she? She’s not twenty-two years old and ignorant as a stump. She’s more talented, more famous, and far richer than he’ll ever be.”

Ruth said, “You don’t think Gordon broke it off because he thought your mom was too old for him?”

“Hmm, I never thought of that. What a thought, Gordon dropping her because she was too old? He said that? Talk about the pot and kettle.” She grinned. “Well, duh.”

Dix and Ruth left her office ten minutes after they’d entered it. Dix said to Henry O on their way out, “

We forgot our handcuffs. Can you believe that? You keep an eye on Ms. Stanford for us, all right, Henry? Make sure she doesn’t try to make a break for it.”

Henry O stood tall. “You’ve got to pay me more if you want me to be your deputy, Sheriff.”

CHAPTER 29

MAESTRO, VIRGINIA FRIDAY AFTERNOON

DIX AND RUTH could hear Cynthia Holcombe’s voice a good fifteen feet from Tara’s front door. Dix placed a finger to his lips, stepped off the flagstone walkway before they reached the Gothic columns, and walked over the snow-covered lawn toward the side of the house. “The only person she yells at is Chappy. Well, usually. I’m betting they’re in the library. Let’s go see if I’m right.”

It was forty-one degrees under a sunless, steel-beam sky, fat snow clouds huddled over the mountains in front of them. A library window was cracked open and Cynthia Holcombe’s voice boomed out, loud and clear.

“You miserable old codger, there’s nothing wrong with me, and Tony would never divorce me! We’ve been trying for a year to have a grandchild for you. And stop talking to my mother, she doesn’t know anything about it. Another thing, I don’t sleep with other men. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“She knew enough to tell me you don’t like children. As for my poor son, he’s at his wit’s end, said you were lying to him, taking the pill on the sly and telling him you’re all excited about getting pregnant.”

“I’m not on the bloody pill! Why do you keep making these things up? Are you that bored? Why don’t you consider getting yourself a life? At least go spew your venom on someone else for a change.”

“Your mother insisted I couldn’t trust a thing you said, she—”

There was the sound of glass crashing against a wall, then Chappy chuckling. Cynthia was panting as she yelled, “Anyone who listens to my mother deserves what they get, you hear me? You want the truth, old man? I’m beginning to wonder if I want to have a child with your weak-willed son! I can’t believe he’s even able to walk since he has no backbone. He lets you kick him around until I want to scream.”

“Oh dear,” Ruth said.

Dix said, “Not quite what I expected. Time to break it up before she connects a vase to Chappy’s head. Then I’d have to arrest her, and that thought scares me.”

Ruth put a smile on for Cynthia when she jerked the front door open. “Well, what do—Dix, hello. Do come in. Oh, you. So you’re still here? Sorry, but I don’t remember your name. You’re some kind of police officer, too, aren’t you?”

“Some kind, yes,” Ruth said agreeably. “Agent Ruth Warnecki. I believe we had lunch together, what was it, two days ago? They say memory is the first to go.”

Cynthia said, “Yes, I’ve heard that, too. But why would I even want to remember you?”

“Good one,” Ruth said.

Dix said, “Ruth and I heard you and Chappy fighting from outside. You should have closed the library window.”

Cynthia shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. “Well?”

Dix walked right at her, and she moved at the last instant so he wouldn’t mow her down. He headed toward the library, Ruth at his side, Cynthia reluctantly trailing after them. The thing about the library, Ruth thought, looking around, was that it wasn’t a room for books, it was a room for CDs, hundreds of them, scrolled labels categorizing them—jazz, blues, three or four dozen classical composers listed by name. What books there were appeared to be the oversized coffee table sort. Dix waved her to a deep burgundy sofa. He sat on a hundred-year-old pale green brocade chair next to her. Cynthia sat opposite them, looking like she’d rather be in a dentist’s chair. Chappy wasn’t in the room. Dix said to her, “You and Chappy developed some new material. I never heard you insult Tony before. I