The Answer Man (16 page)

“I don't doubt it.”

Ken pocketed the paper and headed for the door. “When you get anything else, let me know.”

“Just another half block, Bobby.”

Ken gripped his brother's arm. It was the first time Bobby had been outside in months, and he was struggling to finish the walk back to his home.

“I just—have to catch my breath,” Bobby said.

“It's okay. No rush.”

“This was a terrible idea. This is your revenge, isn't it?”

“Revenge for what?”

“For me and my buddies yanking down your sweat pants in front of Cathy Morrison.”

“That was in high school. Besides, Cathy worshiped me after that.”

Bobby started to laugh, but a weak cough overtook him. “We should have brought the wheelchair,” he grumbled.

“Nah. You'll be fine.” Ken glanced around to see if he was being watched. All clear, as best as he could tell.

“What's wrong?” Bobby asked.

Ken looked back at him. Bobby had enough to worry about. “Nothing. Tell me how things are with you and Tina.”

“She's amazing. She's been calling and writing every politician she can. And she's still working two jobs.”

“Incredible.”

“Our love life is for shit though. Sick and tired. I'm too sick, she's too tired.”

“That'll change.”

Bobby resumed his slow, measured steps back toward the house. Ken kept a tight grip on his arm.

“When I get better, I'm never going to take anything for granted again. Walking, talking, breathing…”

“Yeah, you will. Until the next time you get sick.”

Bobby walked in silence for a moment. He turned to Ken. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I know you're the only reason we're still in our house.”

“That's what families are for.”

“I get really scared, Kenny. I get these panic attacks in the middle of the night. Sometimes it seems like there's no way out, and there's no way things can get better. Do you ever feel like that?”

“Yeah. But there's always a way out. It may not be the way you want to take, but it's there if you look hard enough.”

Bobby winced as they walked a few more steps. “The Gulf War Veterans Group wants me to go to Washington. They want me to testify at some congressional hearing. I guess they want to trot out all their sick and crippled.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah. But you know how much I hate talking in front of people.”

It was true, Ken thought. Bobby had always been the shy one.

“It'll be a good thing for you,” Ken said.

“Yeah. Tina thinks so too. They'll pay my way and everything.”

“That's great.”

“It'll be great if I can walk more than a block without puking my guts out.”

“Just a few more yards, Bobby.”

Myth wanted to go home. She had spent the entire day at a deposition, and the last thing she wanted to do was return to her office. But her assistant, Zachary, had left early for a dental appointment and she had to pick up her messages, mail, and faxes.

It was a quarter after five before she made it back to her desk. Zachary had mercifully weeded out the unnecessary or uninteresting mail, leaving her with a contract and a few briefs. She scanned the phone log. No one she especially needed to call back that night. Just the usual, boring…

Except one.

It leapt out at her. A name she had hoped never to see again.

Madeleine Walton.

Someone identifying herself with that name had called at three-ten
P
.
M
. There was no phone number; Zachary had checked the “Will Call Back” box on the log.

Myth reached for the caller I.D. unit sitting on her desk. It automatically recorded the phone numbers of all incoming calls, with a maximum memory of forty-eight calls. It worked only for phone numbers within the area, so if the call came from out of state, she was out of luck.

She repeatedly pushed the button, scrolling through phone numbers on the LCD screen and comparing them with those on the log. She scrolled back to when the Madeleine Walton call came in. She flipped to the one
previous, then to the one after. This had to be it. As she jotted the phone number, she noted that the prefix was for De Kalb County. She was tempted to dial the number immediately, but that wouldn't be smart.

She would have to be smart about this.

E
very workday for years Gant had purchased a cinnamon roll from the street vendor around the corner from headquarters. But that was before his doctor told him that his cholesterol level was too high. Gant's wife pleaded with him to adopt a low-fat diet, but it was not necessary; both of his parents had died early deaths from heart disease, and he had no desire to continue that particular family tradition.

So it was a whole wheat bagel he was eating as he walked into the squad room. He was surprised to see a visitor at his desk. It was Alicia Valez, Carlos's widow. Gant had spoken to her shortly after the murder, but had not seen her since.

“Mrs. Valez, how are you?”

“Not so good,” she replied without a trace of emotion in her voice. “It's been hard.”

He sat behind the desk and angled his chair in her direction. He nodded as if in understanding, though he could not imagine how it would feel to lose Diane.

“We're doing everything we can to find the person who did it.”

“I think I know who did it,” she said.

She did not look at him. She stared into the distance, mouth tight and frozen.

“There was a man…He hated Carlos. He told Carlos he would kill him.”

“Who?”

She moistened her lips. “His name is Ken Parker.”

“He threatened your husband?”

“Yes. Carlos took a lie detector test from this man. Ken Parker told Carlos that if he paid him five hundred dollars, he would tell Carlos's boss he passed the test. If Carlos didn't pay, he would fail.”

“That's extortion.”

“My husband didn't pay, so he failed. He lost his job. He went to see Parker to talk about it. They had a fight. My husband had a temper.”

“So I gathered. Why didn't your husband go to the police?”

“He told Parker he was going to. That's when Parker said he would kill him.”

“Your husband told you this?”

Alicia nodded. “After he and his father fought, I guess he was afraid to go to the police.”

“Ms. Valez, if I remember correctly, your husband struck you too.”

“Carlos was angry and confused. He was scared.”

“I read the report. In your statement, you didn't mention anything about this. Nothing about Ken Parker except to say that your husband had taken a polygraph test. Am I correct?”

She did not reply.

“Am I correct?”

“I don't remember. I was upset.”

“And when you and I spoke, after your husband was killed, you didn't mention it then either. Why not?”

“My husband…my Carlos— He was dead. I wasn't thinking.”

“It's been a couple of weeks. It took you all this time to start thinking again?”

Tears streamed down her face.

He hated to ride her, but there wasn't any alternative. Her story was so riddled with holes that he had to confront her before she could think of convenient lies to plug them.

“You told me to see you if I thought of anything else.”

“I appreciate that you're here, Ms. Valez. I just need to know you're absolutely certain about this.”

“I wouldn't have come if I wasn't sure.”

“Tell me something. If your husband thought Ken Parker might kill him, why was he at Parker's apartment building?”

“I don't know,” she whispered.

“Who else have you spoken to about this?”

“I don't remember.” She huddled in her chair as if he were attacking her.

“Think about it. I have time. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

She shook her head.

He stood, walked across the room, and poured himself a cup of decaf. He kept an eye on Alicia as he stirred in the no-fat creamer. Her story didn't hold water, but it was the closest thing he had to a real break so far. After he thought she had had enough time to consider the question, he returned to his desk and sat down.

“Okay. Who have you discussed this with?”

“No one. Carlos talked to me about it, but I didn't tell anyone else.”

“Not even your father-in-law? You're still living at his house, aren't you?”

“I'm still living there, but no, I haven't talked to him about it.”

“So you're telling me that you told
no one
about the extortion attempt and death threat before now?”

“Yes.”

“Weren't you worried about your husband?”

“Carlos said it would be okay. I believed him.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “Ms. Valez, your husband was found dead at the apartment complex of a man he had fought with only days before. That's a fact. A reasonable person might suspect that man of killing him.
You
might
suspect it. And, knowing that no arrests have been made, you might be tempted to come forward with a lie to help the case along.”

“It's not a lie!”

“You have to be completely truthful with me. Otherwise, you could be in a lot of trouble. Obstruction of justice, perjury—”

“I'm telling the truth!”

He nodded as he pulled a report form from his desk. “Okay, Ms. Valez. Let's go through it again.”

As Ken drove into his complex's parking lot, he saw a car in his space. A police cruiser. Shit.

He pulled into a visitor space and hurried up the stairs to his apartment. The door was wide open. Voices came from inside. He entered to see a pair of uniformed officers going through his kitchen drawers. Gant stepped from the hallway.

“Hello, Mr. Parker.”

“What's going on?”

Gant presented a document with an official-looking seal on it. “Search warrant. For your car too. Is it downstairs?”

Ken waved toward the open door. “Help yourself.”

His mind raced. What could they find in here? Anything that could connect him to Myth or Sabini?

Or Don Browne? That's all he would need.

The officers emptied the contents of his kitchen drawers onto the floor.

“You guys don't clean up after yourselves, do you?”

Gant shook his head. “Sorry.”

“That's okay. It'll force me to get off my ass and finally straighten up around here. What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

“Murder weapon.”

“Can't help.”

Ken opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto his balcony.

Gant joined him. “Carlos Valez's widow says you threatened her husband's life.”

“It was the other way around.
He
came after
me,
remember?”

“She also says her husband failed your polygraph test because he wouldn't pay you off.”

“Bullshit. I don't take bribes.”

“Been offered many?”

“A few.”

“It seems like a way for an Answer Man to make a lot of extra money.”

“I wouldn't be living
here
if I did.”

Gant looked at the gray, cloudy sky. It was about to rain. “Her statement is going to take this thing to an entirely new level. If there's anything you want to tell me, you'd better do it now.”

“I've told you everything already.”

“Okay. Just so you know.”

“Does her statement give you the right to trash my place?”

“I could have gotten a search warrant at any time. But her statement made it mandatory.”

“She's lying.”

“Perhaps.” Gant went inside.

The search was over in less than an hour, owing more to the sparseness of Ken's apartment than to any particular efficiency of the officers on duty. They, of course, left empty-handed, but only after photographing each and every knife in the silverware drawer. None was even close to the size and character of the blade suspected in both Sabini's and Valez's murders.

The officers gave Ken a card with a number to call in case he discovered anything broken as a result of the search. The cops could not promise the department would reimburse
him, but at least the complaint would be logged. Ken immediately threw the card away.

An entirely new level, Gant had said. Whatever that meant. Police surveillance? Phone taps, maybe? Ken wasn't sure. But he knew it was more dangerous than ever to contact Myth.

He felt his pocket for the name and address Warner had given him. Jessica Barrett. She didn't live far away.

Maybe he'd take a drive tonight.

Heading east past Peachtree City, Ken ventured into a section of De Kalb County he had never explored. The neighborhoods deteriorated, then slightly improved as the afternoon sun softened into twilight. What would he do once he found the address? He wasn't sure.

He checked the rearview frequently to make sure he wasn't being followed. Between Michaelson, the police, and whoever tried to dunk him into the lake the other night, he imagined himself leading a veritable parade down the two-lane highway. But he was alone.

To his surprise, the address was on the main thoroughfare of a mobile home community. As he proceeded slowly down the main drag, he noticed the trailer park was a cut above most, with orderly, well-kept lots and tree-lined streets. Still, it did not appear to be the neighborhood of anyone who could afford to hire Myth. He slowed as he approached the address. He stopped. There was a motorcycle parked out front and a light in one of the windows.

As he sat idling, trying to decide what to do, a petite young woman appeared from behind the trailer carrying a laundry basket. She was walking toward the trailer's front door.

Jessica Barrett?

He jumped out of his car and jogged over to the woman.

“Jessica Barrett?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied cautiously, shifting the basket between them.

“What's your interest in Myth Daniels?”

“Who?”

“Myth Daniels.”

“Never heard of her.” She stepped up to the door, but Ken leaned against it, preventing her from pulling it open.

“I think you have. You requested her data sheet from the Department of Motor Vehicles, didn't you?”

She hit him with a jab to the stomach. While he was off balance, she knocked his hand off the door. He fell forward, cracking his chin against the side of the mobile home.

“Christ!” he yelled.

She jumped inside the mobile home, closing and locking the door behind her.

He kicked a plastic patio chair. He whirled toward a window, where he could see her shadow against the curtain. “I just want to talk, okay?”

No answer.

“Jessica?”

“Did she send you?”

“Who?”

“Myth Daniels.”

“No. As far as I know, she doesn't even know about you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Good question,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He stroked his sore chin. He hadn't expected a new set of bruises. “Look, I just want to know what you've found out.”

“What's it to you?”

“Is there any other way we can talk about this? It's starting to get dark out here.”

The porch light came on.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “I found out about you because I'm doing the same thing. I'm trying to find out what I can about Myth Daniels.”

“Why?”

He'd already said more than he probably should have. But if he expected her to be forthcoming, he'd have to pony up some info of his own. Even if he had to make it up.

“Because I'm thinking about hiring her for a big case,” he said. “And I'm not sure I can trust her. I've heard rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Unh-unh. You next. And I'm
not
going to talk to you through this window all night.”

She was silent for a moment. Then he saw her silhouetted form pick up a cordless phone and dial a number.

He heard her say, “Change your greeting, Marcie, it's getting old. It's me, Hound Dog. I'm about to talk to a guy on my front porch. He drives an MG with the license plate HVK11A.”

Ken was impressed. He knew she could not see his license plate at the moment, so she must have glimpsed it before going inside.

She rattled off his physical description and concluded with “If anything happens to me, make sure this guy gets nailed to the wall. Bye.”

She hung up the phone, opened the door, and stepped outside. What looked like a thin pile of eight-by-ten photographs and proof sheets were in her hand.

He smiled at her. “Very good. C.Y.A.”

“C.Y.A.?”

“Covering Your Ass.”

“Scary world out there. What's a girl to do?”

“You're doing it.”

“We'll stay outside.” She gestured across the street, where a few elderly neighbors were sitting on lawn chairs. “I like their company.”

“Fine.”

She sat on a patio chair, and Ken righted the chair he had kicked. He sat next to her.

“Do you have a strong stomach?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She handed him the photographs. He thumbed through them, stopping when he realized what he was seeing.

Sabini's murder scene.

There, in grainy black and white, was Sabini's corpse. Ken flipped through the rest of the pictures, pausing at a shot of Myth.

“Where did you get these?”

“Took 'em myself.”

“You work for a newspaper?”

“No. I do it for fun.”

“Something tells me you're not being sarcastic.”

“Something tells you right.”

“Okay, so you were there. Why the big investigation? Why Myth Daniels?”

She gave him a suspicious look. “I still don't know if I should be talking to you about this. You could be working for her.”

“What if I were?”

“Are you?”

“No. I told you that—”

“Yeah, you told me. I'm just not sure I believe you.”

“Worst-case scenario. What could happen if you trust me and I
am
lying to you?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, I wouldn't be telling you anything I'm not prepared to tell her. As a matter of fact, I tried to call her today.”