The Constantine Conspiracy (17 page)

Unable to answer her own questions, Shannon wiped her hands on her skirt and rushed up the steps. At the door at the top, she glanced back but heard no one pursuing, so she pushed open the door and saw that she’d stepped into a mausoleum. White marble covered the floor and a row of individual crypts—nameplates in place—covered the front wall. Glass bordered the left and right walls, letting in a warm sunshine. Tall oaks, pines, and flowers stretched out in all directions past the glass. Rick’s family cemetery, she realized— the tunnel from the panic room led to a mausoleum on the outskirts of the Carson Estate.

Seeing nothing threatening, Shannon hurried to the building’s entry, pushed open the door, and walked into the sunlight. A bird chirped and she almost relaxed. But then a noise to her right startled her and she twisted toward it. Officers Wilson and Turley rushed at her, their guns drawn. She turned to flee, but two more officers ran at her from that direction.

“Hold it!” Wilson shouted. “Don’t do anything stupid!” Shannon bit her lip, threw up her hands, and murmured a silent prayer for Rick as Officer Wilson slid cuffs around her wrists and advised her of her rights.

“Who are you?”

The detective standing across the table from Shannon Bridge wore a dark blue shirt, gold-striped tie, gray slacks. A revolver perched on his right hip, and he held a soft drink in his left hand. Name badge read “Webber.”

“What were you doing in the panic room at the Carson Estate?” Webber asked. “How did you get there? Who gave you the code to get in?”

Shannon repeated what she had already said multiple times since her arrival at the station—her name, her occupation, her address in Montana. She’d met Rick on Solitude, she told Webber, flew to Atlanta to pay her respects to his dead father. All true.

“That’s not going to cut it,” Webber said. “You’re holding out, and we’ve got you for trespassing and burglary.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Bridge repeated.

“Like I told you—there’s a watch missing from the bedroom, expensive, worth a hundred thousand or so. That’s grand theft; an orange prison jumpsuit won’t be flattering on you.”

A female detective entered the room, “Roche,” according to her name tag.

“Look,” Roche said, palms on the table as Webber backed away to a neutral corner. “We’ve checked in Montana, the parks department assures me you’re legit, clean as a whistle, wonderful person, fabulous employee, model citizen. We don’t know for sure that you took the watch, but it is missing and you’re the only suspect. So we can hold you till the Atlanta traffic problem is solved. Not that we want to do that, but hey, we do what we have to do. You weren’t there for a watch, were you?”

Shannon shrugged.

“You’ll have to come clean with us eventually,” Roche continued, sitting down. “What’s your real relationship with Rick Carson?”

“Not a girlfriend, are you?” Webber asked, inspecting her inch by inch with his eyes. “Not Carson’s type, if I’m any judge. He likes a woman, how should I say this, a little more robust than you, am I right?”

Shannon burned inside, but she hid it as she stared Webber down. “I’ve never asked him about his type,” she said. “I consider myself his friend, that’s it.”

“When did you arrive in Atlanta?”

“Wednesday.”

“What kept you busy the past two days?”

“I did some sightseeing.”

“What did you visit? Aquarium? Carter Center? Coke display? What about Rick Carson? You run into him anywhere on your little Atlanta tour?”

Shannon bit a fingernail.

Webber rushed back and pounded the table, his soft drink spilling over. “Stop playing around with us!” he shouted. “Grand theft puts you behind bars, least for awhile, not good for your spotless resume.”

“Charge me with trespassing,” she said. “But I didn’t take the watch.”

Roche put her elbows on the table and bent toward Shannon. “We’re not idiots,” she said. “We know that Rick Carson gave you the panic room code. Who else could it have been? But why were you there? What were you searching for?”

Shannon shook her head.

“We need to find Carson,” Roche said. “That’s who we really want. Tell us where you last saw him and you can walk.”

“You think he killed his father?” Shannon asked

“Probably not,” Webber said. “But we have to talk to Carson to settle it once for all. You understand our position here. The media hounds us day and night; they gobble up every little morsel, then add their own twist to it. You’ve seen the news!”

“We’re thinking of his safety,” Roche added. “He’s in real danger out there by himself.”

“But he’s only a person of interest, not a suspect.”

“True, but we have issued a national bulletin, cops all over the country are looking for him. If he does the wrong thing, makes some threatening gesture, a nervous officer might take a shot at him or something. And if a pro did kill his father, then he’s got even more to worry about.”

Shannon paused. Roche made sense. “I don’t know that I can trust you,” she said, shifting her gaze from Webber to Roche. “That I can trust any of you.”

“We’ll dig to the bottom of this,” Roche soothed. “Just tell us where to find Carson.”

Shannon locked her hands in her lap, tempted to lay out all the facts. Maybe the cops could help Rick, her too. God only knew she could use some assistance.

Webber sipped slowly from his drink, his eyes fixed on her like a snake ready to strike, and his stare unnerved her.

“No,” Shannon whispered. “I don’t know where to find Rick.” Although they’d agreed on a hideaway for him, she’d told the truth—at this particular moment she had no idea where to find him.

Webber crushed his drink can between his fingers. “You’re up to your eyeballs in quicksand, Ms. Bridge. But apparently you haven’t figured that out yet.”

Shannon’s gaze shifted from Roche to Webber, then back to Roche again. “I’ve figured a lot of things out,” she said. “More than you’ll ever know.”

20

Friday, early evening

S
ix hours later, Rick wheeled into a gravel drive in the beat-up car he’d bought at a cash-only lot in Atlanta. His body was stiff, his nerves still wired. Shannon hadn’t called and his stomach hurt from worrying about her. If the police had arrested her, she’d face trespassing charges, but then she’d make bail, pay a fine, none the worse for wear. But if the man from Rolling Hills had connected her to him and tracked her to his house, then she faced an imminent threat.

He turned off the car, climbed out, and glanced around. Palm trees ringed the yard of a small, tan house. Tufts of brownish grass sprang up here and there, and a variety of Florida insects decorated the air with their singing. A lagoon filled with dark green water stretching off to the horizon reflected the late day sun to his left.

A door slammed, and Rick looked back at the house as a tall, gray-haired lady in black slacks, a blue T-shirt, and a yellow apron stepped off her screened porch and rushed his way.

“You’re Rick Carson,” the woman said when she reached him. “Seen your face all over the news.”

“Yeah, I’m Carson. Shannon said I should come here, said you’d hide me out awhile. She’s supposed to meet me here.”

“Good, sure, you bet, my name is Mabel.” Breathing heavily, the woman stuck out a hand and Rick shook it.

“We best go inside,” Mabel said, already moving. “Nosy neighbors all around.”

She tilted her head left, then right, and Rick saw houses in both directions separated only by a row of the palm trees. Mabel hurried him up the steps and into the front room.

“Have a seat,” she said, pointing him to a cloth chair as she closed the blinds on the windows and flipped on a lamp. “I’ll get you a drink. Tea, lemonade?”

“Water is fine.”

“Good. Right back.”

Rick studied the room as Mabel disappeared. Simple wood furniture, sheer curtains with blinds underneath, scratched hardwood floor. Scores of pictures lined the walls, mostly of Shannon, images of her in a high school basketball uniform, in a variety of prom dresses, in a graduation gown, then in her ranger uniform. Rick stood, walked to the pictures and examined them more closely. The largest one showed Shannon wearing a white robe, about to step into a lake with bare feet, her hair loose and long on her shoulders.

“Her baptism,” Mabel said, back in the room with a glass of water in both hands. “Eleven years old, a beautiful girl.”

Rick took the water and returned to his chair. “I’m sorry to put you in this position,” he started. “Hiding me, it’s not fair to you. But Shannon said—”

“You relax about that, I’d do anything Shannon asked. She wouldn’t send you to me if she had any doubts about you. So stop apologizing and drink your water.”

“Are you Shannon’s mom?”

“You’re a sweet boy. Old enough to be her grandma, maybe. What did Shannon say?”

“Wouldn’t answer me. Just said come here.”

Mabel chuckled. “Just like her, real close-mouthed when it comes to her personal life.”

“Are you?”

“Talk to her about it, not my place to say.”

Rick gulped the water and wiped his mouth. Although he wanted to press, he sensed Mabel wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m worried about Shannon,” he said. “I sent her to my house to find something for me. She didn’t come back.”

“I know that,” Mabel said.

Rick sat straighter.

“She called me a couple of hours ago,” Mabel continued.

“Where is she? She all right?”

Mabel smiled thinly. “She’s in a police station in Atlanta, sounded okay when we talked. Said she wanted to call you but figured the cops might pick up your number if she did, so she contacted me.”

“How much did she tell you about what’s going on?”

“Just that you needed a spot to lay low a few days, no more than that.”

“I didn’t kill my father.”

“Shannon wouldn’t have sent you if you did.”

Rick settled back, took another sip of water. “They’ll have to release her soon,” he said. “Trespassing isn’t that serious.”

“They’re holding her for burglary too,” Mabel said.

“That’s bogus!”

“Yeah, no doubt, but somebody’s watch is missing.” She told Rick what Shannon had reported. “She asked me to call a lawyer for her. I have an aunt in Macon, she said she knows a good litigator in Atlanta.”

Rick placed the water glass on the floor. “Mind if I use your phone?” he asked Mabel. “Prefer not to call on mine again, you understand.”

Mabel smiled, pulled a cell from her apron, and handed it to him. He hit the numbers and seconds later Pops answered the call.

“Tell the police to release Shannon Bridge,” Rick immediately ordered his granddad. “She didn’t steal a watch and I sent her to the panic room.”

“What?”

“Ms. Bridge,” Rick said. “Police arrested her today, you’re aware of that, I’m sure. I gave her the code, she acted on my behalf.”

“You sent her? Why? What did you want from the panic room?”

“It’s complicated, Pops. I’ll lay it all out for you soon as I can.”

“I asked you to turn yourself in.”

“I told you I couldn’t, not yet.”

“What did you send her to find?”

Rick started to confide in Pops, but then rejected it. No reason to involve him any deeper in this mess, perhaps put him in danger. “Just make the police release her.”

“Will you come home if I do?”

Rick hesitated. He and Shannon had discussed this exact question. If somebody caught her, they’d try to use her as leverage over him. But he and Shannon had agreed to refuse the trade his granddad now suggested. He gripped the phone until his knuckles turned white. Leaving Shannon in jail for his own protection made him feel like a coward.

“After I see her,” Rick concluded, addressing his granddad. “I’ll go to the police once I know she’s safe.”

“I hate to force this on you,” Pops said. “But it’s best, I know it is. Ms. Bridge will go free, and we’ll clear your name, let you start your life again.”

“Just make them drop all the charges,” he said.

“It’s as good as done.”

Rick clicked off and faced Mabel. “My granddad,” he explained. “He’ll take care of it.”

Mabel sighed with relief.

“I expect the cops to tail her after they cut her loose,” Rick continued. “They’ll figure her to come to me.”

Mabel nodded.

“The man who killed my dad might show up too. Shannon say anything to you about him?”

Mabel shook her head.

“He’s a professional. Best if you’re absent if he tracks Shannon here.”

“I’m not running from my own house,” Mabel said.

Rick shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. No reason to take the risk.”

“You plan to drag me off my own property?”

Rick handed her the phone. “I don’t know that I’d say that.”

“Then I’m staying put. You’re the one who needs to make yourself scarce. I know a place, a cabin. You cross the lagoon, then the lake the lagoon leads into. You could go there, hide—”

“I promised Shannon I’d wait here,” he interrupted. “And I like to keep my promises.”

Mabel studied him a few seconds. He felt awkward, like a child in a tub when a stranger walks in.

“Shannon said you confused her some,” Mabel said as if to explain the scrutiny. “Said your morals were low but your heart was big, a major contradiction, don’t you think?”