Tarnished Image (37 page)

“You’re not so smart after all,” Archer said. “My plan was perfect. They found exactly what I wanted them to find.”

“It won’t do any good,” Aberdene said. “Aldo will have our problem taken care of soon. There will be so much confusion around the death of Dr. O’Neal that no one will be able to trace our work in Belize back to us.”

The mention of Aldo sobered Archer. “You’re killing an innocent man. A man who has done nothing but help other people.”

“It is regrettable,” Aberdene agreed. “But I can’t help it if his organization has people doing research in Belize. I’m too close to making all this work. I can’t have him and his organization mucking it all up. He’s a pedestrian in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not personal, it’s business.”

“Lady, you are one sick—” Archer doubled over when Jack’s fist plowed into his stomach. He struggled for breath, but his paralyzed solar plexus refused to respond. He dropped to his knees.

“Jack!” Aberdene shouted. “That is enough!”

“He was being disrespectful,” Jack said, still holding the front of the gasping Archer’s shirt.

“I don’t want to see any more of this,” she said. “Get him out of here.”

“What do you want me to do with him?” Jack asked.

“I’ll leave that up to you. I just don’t want it done here or on company property.”

“Come on, Archer,” Jack spat. “It’s time for us to go.”

Archer had no strength to fight back. He allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. Opening his eyes he looked at Aberdene, then, despite the pain, he smiled. He had won. He might not live, but he had won. It was the first time he had ever done anything for someone else, and it would cost him his life. So be it. Better late than never.

Jack dragged Archer from the room.

Slamming shut the door of the red Miata he had purchased two days before, Aldo gazed at himself in the rearview mirror.
He was a master of disguises, but this was one of his best. Had he been taller he might have chosen to disguise himself as Calvin Overstreet or even David O’Neal himself, but both men were much taller than he. Kristen was the best and only choice.

He started the car, inserted a tape in the cassette player, and turned up the volume. Music, hard-driving rock, pounded in the car, vibrating everything. He turned the bass up. Now he could not only hear the music, he could feel it. And it was as real as the evil that possessed him. Nodding his head in time to the music, Aldo pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and the car raced from the hotel parking lot. The clock in the car read 1:30.

“The hour has come,” he said to himself. “Time to rock and roll.”

The time had come. His hour had arrived. This was why he had been born. He was the one to make it happen. People needed him to rid themselves of human annoyances. It paid well, but that didn’t matter. Aldo would have killed for free.

The drive from his downtown hotel room to Barringston Tower was less than ten minutes, but Aldo took a full half-hour. He drove the dark streets of metropolitan San Diego, his car rhythmically awash with the glow of streetlights. At first he noticed the other cars, the people walking the streets, the homeless, the hookers, the drug dealers, the police cars, but with each minute that passed he noticed them less. Instead he thought of David O’Neal and wondered how he was spending the last night of his life.

Calvin wanted only to go home, to climb into bed next to his wife, cuddle up to her, feel her warmth, and drift off to mindless
sleep. He wanted to put the night’s unsavory events behind him, to forget the countless questions he’d had to answer at the police station. Questions about how he had met Greg Cheney, how long he had known him, and how he knew he was in danger. The questions seemed unending, but he endured them, answering as honestly as possible. He doubted that they believed him, but they were left with no other choice. The police were intelligent people who followed the news. It didn’t take long for them to associate Calvin with David.

There was one more matter he had to deal with before going home. In his phone conversation with David, he had made it clear that more guards were needed and had asked him to make the call to the guard service. He had made a followup call himself. Calvin wouldn’t rest tonight unless he knew that the guards were in place. He would swing by and verify the matter personally.

Then he could go home.

Aldo steered the red Miata down the street that ran in front of Barringston Tower. He drove slowly. A guard, dressed in a white uniform shirt and black pants, stood at the front of the building. He carried a walkie-talkie.

This was no surprise to Aldo, who had kept close tabs on the number of guards that had been added and where they were stationed. By placing a call to the guard company and posing as a corporate client, he was able to determine the level of their training. He was neither impressed nor intimidated. He had made a second call to the firm’s night dispatch office shortly before he left his hotel room. As anticipated, extra guards had been requested. It was an easy matter to cancel that request.

As he passed the guard, Aldo waved and smiled. The man waved back. Aldo pulled the car into the parking garage under the building and found an empty spot near the elevators. There was another guard posted there. Aldo exited the car.

Straightening himself, he took his first few steps toward the elevator. The low heel pumps he wore felt less stable than he wished, especially since he had shortened the heel of his right shoe to make his limp more realistic. Everyone who knew Kristen was aware of her congenital defect. Aldo could not overlook such a detail. Details, even details about shoes, had not been wasted on him. He had practiced walking in them for two days, pacing back and forth across his hotel room until they felt comfortable.

“May I help you, ma’am?” The security guard asked. He was a thin, tall man, no older than twenty-five.

“Hi.” Aldo smiled. He spoke in a practiced falsetto. It would be difficult to maintain the image very long, but it would be good enough now. He doubted that any of these men had actually spoken with Kristen. “I’m Kristen LaCroix, the head of public relations here. I was just heading to my office.”

“It’s a little late to be coming to work, isn’t it, ma’am?”

“Not if you’re in public relations and your firm has been accused of laundering money. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in three days.”

“Well, the building is locked down for the night. You’ll have to take the stairs up to the lobby and check in there. Oh, and the door from the stairwell into the first-floor lobby will open for you, but not the doors on the other floors. It’s a security precaution. In case of a fire, people can exit into the stairwell, but you can’t go the other way.”

“That’s fine with me.” Aldo had anticipated this. Initially he had planned to walk up the fifty plus flights of stairs to gain entrance. He would have to go through the lobby. Before opening the door he turned and faced the man. He smiled broadly and winked. “Thanks for all your help,” he said playfully.

The guard offered a casual, swaggering, two-finger salute. “Glad to be of service, ma’am.”

Although he had had no doubts, Aldo was glad that he passed the first test. The guard didn’t question his gender. He had passed as a woman. Now he needed to do it again. Climbing the one flight of stairs, he exited into the large lobby. The last time he had been here, he had been disguised as a reporter and had paid a street kid money to deliver the photo to David right before the news conference. Not that that had done any good. O’Neal had still asserted his innocence. Aldo swore under his breath.

Two uniformed guards were standing in the lobby behind a semicircular reception counter: one a thick, middle-aged man, the other an older, white-haired fellow. Aldo knew the latter was one of the Barringston night watchmen, not a trained security professional, but a “doorknob shaker.” The first man had the look of a professional about him. There were three stripes on his uniform shirt—a supervisor. He looked fit. His hair was short, cut almost to the scalp. Aldo guessed he was retired military police. If things went bad, he would have to take him out first.

“Good evening,” Aldo said in his falsetto voice and strolled confidently into the room.

The younger man turned and tensed. He eyed Aldo suspiciously, then smiled. Aldo returned the smile and turned his
gaze on the older guard. The one thing that Aldo couldn’t control was who would be on duty. He wondered how well the Barringston night watchman might know Kristen.

“May I help you, ma’am?” the hired guard asked. “I’m afraid the building is closed—”

“Oh,” Aldo interrupted. “I’m Kristen LaCroix. I’m with the public relations department.”

“Industries or Relief?”

“Barringston Relief. I’m preparing a press release for tomorrow. That’s why I’m here so early.”

Aldo walked closer to the reception desk and watched as the man typed Kristen’s name into a computer. There was a short pause before a picture of Kristen appeared on the screen. The man looked at the image and then at the made-over Aldo. He nodded.

“All right, Ms. LaCroix, you can go up. Sorry for the delay, but we are paid to be careful. Since you’re an employee, you won’t need to be escorted.”

“I understand. I’m glad you’re here.” Aldo started toward the elevators but stopped abruptly ten feet from their doors. He patted the pockets of the blue blazer he was wearing, then the pockets of his slacks.

“Is there a problem, Miss?” The older man asked.

“I don’t believe it,” Aldo exclaimed. “I left my security card at home. That’s a good half-hour away.”

“The elevators are locked down to general traffic,” the younger man said. “You can’t use them without a security card.”

“Could one of you loan me yours? I really have to do this work, and I don’t want to lose an hour driving home and back. As it is, I almost fell asleep driving down here.”

“We can’t do that, ma’am,” the old man began. “It’s against the rules—”

“I’ll have to escort you,” the other man broke in. He offered a grin that was just shy of a leer. It was all Aldo could do not to laugh.

“That will be fine with me,” Aldo said. “You can sit in my office and watch me work if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Hmm,” the man said as he walked to the elevators and inserted his security card into the slot near the door. “What floor are we going to?”

“Fifty-second,” Aldo said as he stepped into the cab of the elevator. He turned and winked. A second later, the guard was in the small compartment. He inserted his magnetic card, and the elevator doors closed.

The two watched the floor-indicator lights above the door as the elevator began to rise. “Public relations, huh? You must be one smart cookie.”

Aldo smiled demurely and looked down at the floor. “Smart enough, I suppose, and … what … what is that on the carpet?”

The guard looked down. “I don’t see anything—”

Aldo took one side step away from the man, rocked on his left foot and threw a fast, brutal kick to the side of the guard’s left knee. There was an audible snap, followed by a cry of pain. As the man crumpled, Aldo struck again, this time with an elbow to the temple. The guard was unconscious before he hit the floor.