Rogue Justice (31 page)

Now all she had to do was go out and capture one.

Shortly before closing, Zora packed up her things and left the library. She then strolled down the block toward Sweet Laurette's, a charming French bistro she'd just discovered online. The reviews were excellent, boasting of locally grown, organic food prepared from scratch. As she crossed the street, she kept an observant eye on her surroundings. There was a fine mist in the air, making it feel colder than it was. She surveyed the parked cars and scanned the mostly deserted streets. No one suspicious. Zora had only picked at her lunch and wasn't all that hungry now, but knew she needed to keep her strength up. If these past few days were any indication, the days ahead would be positively brutal. After grabbing a table near the back, she ordered grilled Alaskan salmon and a glass of Chardonnay. The wine had a crisp, clean taste and she finally began to unwind a bit.

Reflecting back on the day, it had been a good one, all in all. The shaman, at least from what she could pick up over the phone, was smart, level-headed, and surprisingly down-to-earth. And the detective was solid as granite. Who better than an unconventional cop named Cloyd to exact justice? Of course, justice was hardly guaranteed when dealing with the likes of Mitchell Chandler—a man with unlimited resources and an army of high-priced lawyers at his disposal.

Precisely why I need a backup plan.

At the moment, however, Zora had no idea what that plan would be. After much thought, she ended up long on questions and short on answers. Then dinner arrived. It looked and smelled almost too good to eat, but eat she did, savoring every bite.

Less than an hour later, she was back in her car. Still no sign of any suspicious characters. After a short drive, she turned right off Hastings Avenue and headed west on Cape George Road. It was now eight thirty. The sun had set, and she wasn't sure she could find Mickey's place in the dark. The house was tucked into a secluded wedge of land down a long dirt road near Discovery Bay. At least that much she remembered. She slowed as the winding road turned sharply south, an area that now seemed oddly familiar.

Did I travel this stretch when I left early this morning?

The next two-track road looked familiar and she took it. Moments later she happened upon Mickey's place, more from sheer luck than any innate navigational skills. She saw no sign of his truck and the house was dark except for a night light burning in the foyer. A curve of moon provided the only other illumination, bathing the area in an eerie blue-white glow. She pulled onto the asphalt siding next to the driveway and stepped out of the car, bracing herself against gusty winds that rattled around, making the giant fir trees appear to come alive. Walking to the front door, she reached inside her leather bag, fumbling for the spare key Mickey had given her. The temperature had dropped and her breath fogged the air as she looked down.

Then movement... a blur of motion... and powerful arms around her chest.

An instant later, she was dragged to the side of the garage, the cold steel of a pistol pressed firmly to her temple. She froze at the click of the hammer.

"Don't move and don't turn around," the man said.

"Who are you, what do you want?" Zora snapped.

"The
who
is none of your concern," he said. "The
what
is easy. I need to know the nature of your discussion with the cop in Seattle. So happens I was there during your little luncheon get-together. On the other side of the room. You were probably looking for someone a bit younger, a goon the size of an armoire maybe?"

Zora closed her eyes, flashed back on the lunch crowd, but the faces all blended together. Her next thought was to retaliate. The man stood directly behind her at six o'clock. She thought about spinning around and unleashing a kick to the groin, maybe the knee. Yes, the knee, that intricate web of ligaments, muscles, and tendons most susceptible to a swift, direct strike. But even if she did gain the upper hand, it wouldn't change anything. Her mother would still be in grave danger. Instead, she tried to breathe normally and go along.

The man loosened his hold a bit. "You were told not to go anywhere near the police, but obviously that warning did not register. So here's what happens now. I'm going to ask you some questions. Your job is to answer them. And don't even think
about lying. If you do, believe me you'll regret it." He shoved her toward the garage.

Zora stumbled, nearly fell, regained her balance. "Jesus," she said. "Take it easy."

The man barely took a breath. "First question: what's the nature of your relationship with the Kincaid woman?"

This had better be good,
she thought.
If I screw up Mother will pay with her life.

Zora inhaled deeply and started at the beginning, telling him how she and Katrina had met, about their meeting, and the awful phone call from Mickey a few hours later.

"Why go to her lab in the first place?" he asked.

"C'mon. You know goddamn
well
why."

A sudden shift... then an arced elbow to the ribs. It caught Zora totally by surprise. She buckled over, fighting off the fierce pain, her heart pumping furiously.

"Lose the fucking attitude," he said. "Now answer the question."

Zora winced, took a few moments to catch her breath. She could feel the man's probing eyes on the back of her head. "To talk about killer whales, what else?"

"And you said nothing about your little assignment?"

Zora hesitated. "No," she lied.

"Bullshit. Did your friend happen to mention a whale named Samson?"

There was no playbook here. Zora had only one choice: wing it. She lied again, this time without hesitating. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A long silence.

"The hell you don't," the man barked, breathing hard. He was so close to her now she could feel his body shift. "So after the brother calls, you meet him at the Courthouse. Then what?"

"Look, if you already know..."

This time Zora felt the gun at the base of her neck.

"Jesus, woman, you do
not
want to mess with me anymore. You got that?"

"Yeah, yeah," she snarled. "Then we drove to the funeral home, okay? The DA examined the body. He said he could tell from Katrina's wounds that she'd been murdered."

"Brilliant fucking deduction. And after that, you and the brother go to her house. Why?"

"His sister
was
dead
. He wanted some answers."

"And you just happened to tag along? Now wasn't that convenient."

Zora remained silent, a slow rage burning through her.

"So you parked down the street, dodged a couple of cops, and started snooping around inside. What exactly did you find?"

Zora hesitated again then quickly decided to give the man another dose of truth serum. She told him about finding Katrina's running shoes... about Mickey's theory that she'd been murdered right in her own home... that the killer had dressed her up in workout gear to cover up the crime.

"Well, now, Columbo would be right fucking proud of you two."

"You asked what we found. I told you."

"That's it? What about files, reports, things like that?"

He can't possibly know about the hidden computer files.

Time for the third big lie.

"No, we were afraid of getting busted. There were officers stationed right outside the front door, you just said so yourself."

"Look," the man said sarcastically. "My patience is running out here, so let's cut to the chase. Talk to me about the cop in Seattle."

Zora stiffened. To make her meeting with the detective seem even halfway plausible, she needed to buy some time, come up with something that made sense. She reverted back to the truth, how could she go wrong with that? "The DA didn't think the local sheriff could handle the case. He said he wanted to bring in a couple of experienced detectives from Seattle instead. Then someone called from the governor's office, and—"

The man cut her off. "Why would the DA tell
you
that?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

"The detective's name. What is it?"

"Steiger, Cloyd Steiger. I made a mental note of it at the time. He and the DA had worked together before."

"You know something, lady? I was born at night but not last night."

"It's the truth."

And once again it was the truth, more or less.

"Okay, so you call this detective out of the fucking blue?"

Think, Zora, think!

She felt a growing sense of panic, thought her knees were going to buckle. And then it came to her. "Look, I made up a story, okay? I told him a friend of mine was in serious trouble, that she was being harassed by her ex-husband, and that he'd threatened to kill her."

Lie number four, with number five waiting on deck.

"Let me guess. You didn't mention anything about your mother?"

"No."

Silence.

"And what did the detective say?"

"Exactly what I
thought
he would say. Cops hate domestic abuse cases. They can talk to the guy, warn him to stay away, maybe issue a restraining order. That's about it."

A longer silence.

Then the voice turned ice-cold. "More bullshit. Your fucking stories don't add up, lady. You don't talk for damn near an hour about wife beaters."

"So shoot me," Zora hissed. And for one second, one fraction of a breath, she thought he would.

"You better believe I'm goddamn tempted, but that doesn't serve either of us now, does it? So here's what you do. You stand right where you are for the next sixty seconds. I mean, don't even blink an eye. Then, tomorrow, you go out and capture a killer whale, a
big
fucker. If you deviate at all from that plan, or if the Seattle cop surfaces again, I'll be back.
Count
on it!"

Then, like a silent rush of wind, her assailant was gone.

Zora snatched a glance of the man over her shoulder, quickly counted off the numbers, and found the key. When she stepped inside her hands were trembling, but her mind was more focused than ever.

I'll take down this son of a bitch and everyone else involved—if it's the last thing I ever do.

Chapter 33

2 April, 9:2O AM PDT

Port Townsend, Washington

After another restless night, it had been a busy morning. Zora left Mickey's place around eight-thirty after filling him in on her meeting with Detective Steiger and the phone conversation with Houdini. She didn't mention the frightening incident from the night before, thinking he had enough on his plate dealing with Katrina's arrangements. And he still hadn't tracked down his parents. Then, there was the phone call that had awakened her at the crack of dawn. She didn't tell Mickey about that either. It was the creep from Sitka with more information and the ultimate delivery destination for the captured whale.

Seattle came as no surprise.

But what the man said next surely did. He told her that since their meeting a few days earlier, there had been some "complications," that the job now involved disposing of a dead whale first... and
then
capturing his replacement. Zora knew Samson's death was imminent, yet oddly she hadn't even considered having to deal with his body. She was still reeling from that bombshell when she arrived in Port Angeles forty-five minutes later. By the time she met her crew at a downtown diner, however, she'd managed to calm down a bit.

Zora had called Houdini as promised and he showed up right on schedule. He was everything she expected him to be. The sun seemed to follow this man. He had a windburned face, cool, steady eyes, and a distinctive hawk-like nose. His shimmering black hair was loosely tied at the back of his neck. His dress matched his appearance—sweatshirt, sandals, and bleached jeans with holes in the knees. He wore a bright orange leather bracelet on his left wrist.

His manner was casual, yet direct.

Zora liked him right away. So did her crew. Huddled together in a small, private room off the main dining area, they ate and talked strategy. First mate Rico Lapenda had worked up a list of gear and special equipment that would be needed, dishing out assignments to the other crew members, Cassidy and McCabe. They would have less than four hours to pull everything together, assuming the local hardware stores carried all the goods. Lapenda was confident they did. Houdini then explained that he'd brought along a duffel bag full of paraphernalia, plus his most prized possession: a 13-foot carbon hulled kayak.