Presumption of Guilt (30 page)

Sally laid her friend's head back down on the pillow and said, “I'll be right back. Would you like something hot to drink? Or a soda?”

Kelly, her eyes closed, shook her head.

Outside, Dan waited for Sally to shut the door. “Let's go out onto the deck.”

It was raining, so they stayed under the awning by the French doors, watching the water pockmark the wooden decking.

“What's up?” Sally asked.

“Bad news,” Dan said without preamble. “I've been listening to the news and eavesdropping on police transmissions. Johnny Lucas is dead.”

She turned on him, her eyes wide. “What?”

He patted her shoulder, never great with soothing gestures. “You didn't do it, sweetie. He was unconscious when we left with Kelly.”

“But maybe he had a concussion or something.”

“No, I promise,” her father stressed. “He was killed. Murdered.”

“How? By who? I don't get it.”

“I don't know the who, but it sounds as if his throat was cut.”

She shuddered involuntarily. “Dad. What's going on?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Sally. It started with those documents I was asked to take.”

She stared at him, her expression angry. “What do you mean, it has nothing to do with me? He had a knife at my throat.”

“And you handled him like a pro,” he reassured her. “It was amazing. You were terrific.”

“But he's dead.”

“I know, I know. That's why we have to lie low, so I can sort that part out.”

She rolled her eyes. “This is a little more out of control than one of your B and Es, Dad. I don't think you can organize it quite so neat and tidy. Do you get that he was going to kill me?”

Dan's eyes darted around, betraying his eagerness to move things along. She'd seen it often enough, whenever he felt his space was being invaded. “He was just trying to get to me, honey. It wasn't that bad.”

“Swell,” she flared, her anger revived. “And how did you know where to find me, anyhow? Were you following me? You said you were going to work.”

“I asked you to stay here,” he argued, looking away, his voice trailing off.

“You
did
follow me,” she railed at him.

“No, I didn't.”

“Then what?” she demanded.

He looked pained. “You know all those electronics I use to monitor people.”

He stopped there, as if further explanation was unnecessary. Sally stared at him furiously until he added, “Well, I was terrified. I was at work. A colleague told me that some man had been asking about you earlier, showing people your photograph, trying to locate you.” He spread his hands in supplication. “I tried to phone you. There's no coverage at the hospital. I drove home as fast as I could.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You cloned my phone.”

He opened his mouth to correct her phrasing, to bring some of the order he cherished to this free-falling moment, but he realized the spot he was in. “Yes,” he said instead.

“How many other times have you invaded my privacy?” she asked, stepping away.

“I was in fear for your life,” he cried out.

“How many times?”

“Never,” he said emphatically. “I have never done that. I would never do that. You are everything to me.”

“But you were able to do it in no time, right? How long have you had it pre-programmed?”

He was anguished by the bitterness in her voice. “Sweetie, if you ever got hurt, my whole world would end. It was like putting you in a life jacket before going out in a canoe. It was a precaution.”

“It was a violation.”

He looked at her, dumbstruck. “I came to save you from being killed. Surely that's an allowable exception.”

Her response was grim. “You didn't know if I'd ever be threatened. You did that to my phone because that's what you do, Dad. You protect your own turf while you trespass onto everyone else's, including mine. And, by the way, you didn't save me. I took that asshole out on my own, thank you very much.”

He couldn't respond. He wasn't even sure his heart was beating anymore.

Sally stared out at the falling rain, composing herself.

“I'm sorry,” she heard him finally say, his voice barely audible.

She fought with her own inner turmoil, balancing her options. She could forgive him, leave him, or meet him on some undetermined middle ground. Above all, she couldn't forget what he'd done for her, over her entire life, or that they'd reached this impasse because some homicidal maniac was still unaccounted for—and possibly still interested in them.

She reached out and touched his cheek. “We'll sort it out. I love you, even if you drive me crazy sometimes. Let's just drop it for now, since we've got bigger fish to fry. A wild guess is you've come up with a plan?”

He looked abashed, but her comment drew a slight smile. “I think I have.”

“Let's do it, then,” she encouraged him.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“What is that?” Linda Lucas asked.

Walter was wiping a length of wire between a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, which he'd found in Johnny Lucas's well-stocked remote cabin.

“Something I got dirty. Your husband keeps a tight ship here. Impressive. He ever bring you for an overnight?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” she said bitterly.

He laughed dismissively. “I actually don't give a shit. You flew your real colors when you helped me find Johnny, telling me about his favorite hangouts around town, like that coffee shop where I picked up his tail. Lost his touch, giving in to habits like that.” He finished, placed the wire in his pocket, and turned in his chair to face her. She was sitting on the sofa with her ankles and wrists duct-taped.

“Did you meet him?” she asked. “Is he all right?”

Walter gave her a comforting smile. “He's all set. You were a big help, and I'll get you two back together soon.”

“Where is he?”

“Out of trouble. I told you I'd make sure of that, and I did. But I'm not quite done—coupla loose ends, still.”

“If you don't need us anymore, then let me go. We won't bother you.”

Walter's expression hardened. “You're not in our league, Mrs. Lucas—Johnny's or mine. That ain't a bad thing. Trust me. I don't know or care what he told you about his past, but I'll guarantee it wasn't the whole truth, or you wouldn't've hooked up with him. You're a civilian. You'll always end up like this—doing what you're told. If I tell you I'm gonna fuck you, for instance, you'll go along, 'cause people like you—civilians—always think that'll save your life. People like Johnny and me know different. That's why we go down fighting, and why other people kill us instead of trying to take us alive.”

“What do you want?”

“Johnny tell you about the visitors you two had a few nights ago? They came over twice.”

She looked baffled. “We didn't have people over. Johnny doesn't like it.”

Walter gave a small grunt. “Didn't think so. Don't worry about it. Anyhow, they represent a small cleanup job I have to do. Then I'm outta here, and you get your life back—what's left of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Walter crossed his arms and studied her appraisingly. “You'll find out soon enough. You know what? Johnny did pretty good choosing you. You're a fine-looking woman. He ever tell you that?”

She didn't answer, her fears compounding by the second.

“I may have to take advantage of that,” he mused, as if considering the purchase of a kitchen appliance. He waved his hand in the air. “Be a shame to waste this little love nest, after all.”

*   *   *

“What're we doing, Dad?” Sally asked in a near whisper.

Dan patted her back. “I'm sorry. You asked if I had a plan. Well, this is it. We wait here. It won't be too much longer, and we are safe. That I promise.”

She had once found such statements comforting. Lately, not so much. As gap years went, this had been a lulu—fun and thrilling and unexpectedly revealing at first; now a lot more disheartening. In her eagerness to better understand her enigmatic father, she had found herself—not unlike Icarus—imperiled by the proximity she'd been yearning for. He had become more human and frail in her eyes, despite his proven talents. And certainly his manipulation of her phone—while understandable—had shaken her badly.

“I wouldn't promise too much,” a clear and quiet voice said from the pitch-black depths of the parking garage. “You're not the invisible man anymore.”

Sally shivered at the message, straining to see its source and alarmed at how it echoed her very thoughts. The setting helped the frightening impression. The municipal garage—a multilayered, low-ceilinged stack of concrete slabs—had the same appeal late at night as a dead-end urban alley in a bad neighborhood. Add to that the steady beat of a heavy rainstorm outside, the mist of which permeated the air through the structure's open sides, and the place took on the feel of a film noir thriller.

Slowly, without a sound, a shadow separated itself from the surrounding gloom, and Willy Kunkle stepped into view—the only man she knew who could move more quietly than her father.

“That's why I called you,” Dan said calmly. “That and the fact that this all started because I did you a favor.”

“Do tell,” said another voice.

Joe Gunther joined them as Dan looked from him to his subordinate guiltily. Kunkle was unperturbed, having invited his boss, for once.

“Sorry,” Dan said softly. “I thought we were alone.”

“Don't be sorry,” Gunther said, glancing at Willy. “He just thinks I'm a complete idiot.” He stuck out a hand to Sally. “You may not recall meeting me a few years ago, but I'm Joe Gunther. I'm supposed to be this one's commanding officer.”

“I remember,” she said. “A pleasure.”

“Glad somebody thinks it is.” Joe eyed all three of them like a disappointed father, removing a hat dusted with raindrops, dimly sparkling in the red light from the exit sign at the top of the garage's ramp. “I'm here because at least two of you have colluded in carrying stupidity to new heights, and breaking several laws in the process.”

Dan opened his mouth to respond, when Joe interrupted him with a raised palm.

“Not yet. Unlike some law enforcement representatives here, I take my oath of office seriously. With that in mind, I urge you to phrase what you're about to say very carefully. To clarify: What I'm dealing with right now—within the confines of Vermont only—is the homicidal death of a man named Johnny Lucas. Focus on what I need to know.”

“I didn't do it?” Sally phrased it as a question.

“You're on the right track,” Joe told her. “Now, give me the slightly more elongated version and we'll see where we stand.”

The three men remained silent as Sally began speaking slowly. “I got a text from my friend Kelly, saying she was in trouble and would I come over. I did, and was ambushed by this guy.”

“You know him?” Joe asked.

She paused thoughtfully before saying, “No. A bald man with a short beard.”

“Okay. Keep going.”

“Anyhow, he grabbed me from behind. Had a knife at my neck. Then my dad showed up, and I took advantage of the distraction to take the guy's legs out from under him. He hit his head, lost consciousness, and Kelly and we took off. That's it.”

“What did he want?” Joe asked.

Sally didn't answer, glancing at her father. Dan spoke smoothly, “We'd made inquiries into Mr. Lucas's background, on behalf of Mr. Kunkle. Lucas apparently took exception.”

Joe smiled slightly, not as used to Kravitz's syntax as the other two. “Nicely put. You can no doubt figure out my next question.”

“As Sally just stated,” Kravitz continued, “he was alive when we left him.”

“You saw nobody else nearby, who might've played a role in his death?”

“No, but my guess is that he was watching the apartment building. I have no idea if it was Sally or I who stimulated him to enter the place. It had to have been one or the other, since Lucas was already in the apartment with the young woman, waiting to spring his trap.”

“And where is the aforementioned young woman?” Joe asked. “You said her name was Kelly?”

“Kelly Doane,” Dan confirmed. “We took her to our place to recover. You should be able to find her there to confirm all this.” He recited the penthouse's address.

The conversation trailed off after that, the awkwardness emphasized by the steady drum and hiss of the rain, which swelled inside the resonant hard-walled garage.

Joe spoke to Dan directly. “Mr. Kravitz, I am not unaware of your extracurricular activities. I also know that Willy has found your services helpful in the past. But I gotta tell you: While I'm too busy right now to go after you, I think I've reached my limit in turning a blind eye. You pull any of this shit again, I will do everything I can to throw your butt in jail. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Dan said subserviently.

Joe looked at Sally, adding, “I don't know what your role is here, but I doubt I'd like it. So the same goes for you. It's all very romantic to be acting out some
Father Knows Best
fantasy with your old man—assuming you even know what that means—but trust me, sooner or later, somebody like me's bound to mess it up, if you're lucky. Having Johnny Lucas hold a knife to your throat should give you a hint of the darker alternatives.”

He stopped and took all three of them in before ending with Willy. “I'll leave it to you. I'm glad everyone's okay, but I never want to refer to this, or”—he glanced at the Kravitzes—“see you two in this context again.” He said to Willy before walking away, “Make sure they go by the PD tomorrow morning to make sworn statements about all this. Tell Dispatch to expect them, and Kelly Doane.”