The Dead Man (24 page)

"I was fast asleep. Alone. Like everyone else whose mail Enoch either stole or delivered. You need more than that. Can you put me at the scene? Can you put me with Enoch? Can you tie me to the money?"

"Wendy contacted you twice we know of before she died. Stands to reason she told you what happened to the money and stands to reason you'd try to protect her memory, maybe even keep the money for your golden years. The letter she sent you ties you to Enoch. And it doesn't matter that the rest of the people on Enoch's mail route don't have an alibi. You're the only one whose stolen mail was opened."

"If it was me, don't you think I'd have taken the envelope too? And what about Corliss? You must have watched the video that he took at Enoch's house on my laptop. Hell, he talked Enoch into participating in the dream project and into letting him in his house with all that stolen mail. There were no signs of forcible entry. Corliss is a lot better choice than me. Ask him if he's got an alibi and ask him to take a polygraph."

"We did. He says he was asleep, just like you. He turned us down on the poly, says they're unreliable. You and I know better even if the courts won't let the results into evidence. Why don't you take a polygraph? Maybe put this whole thing to bed."

"Last time I offered, they turned me down. The examiner says I shake so much the results wouldn't mean a thing."

We made it to the street. A silver Lexus was parked on the curb, a vanity plate on the front bumper reading
Bolt
, jagged lines of yellow on either side of the name. The driver was short, his head clearing the steering wheel by inches. He raised one hand, giving me a wan salute. I gave him my back, wondering who or what he was waiting for.

"We did watch the video and Corliss told us all about it," Kent said. "Question is what was it doing on your laptop?"

"That guy in the Lexus," I said, tilting my head in Bolt's direction. "He's a lawyer named Jason Bolt. He's making noise about suing the institute for the wrongful death of two other volunteers. Milo Harper hired me to take a look at those cases, help put together a defense. When I found out Enoch was also a volunteer, I got curious."

"When did you find out Enoch was a volunteer?"

I thought of Lucy waiting for me in the circle drive, realizing that Ammara and Dolan were quizzing her. They had worked us, bringing Ammara to lower my guard, separating Lucy and me so they could question us at the same time before we could get our stories straight.

"Yesterday morning."

"So how come you got pictures of Enoch's body on your laptop? Those had to have been taken Friday night when Ammara called you out to the scene only she says you didn't take them. That leaves your landlady, Lucy Trent, who, and I got to confess, this is the part I really like, is another ex-cop that can't resist temptation. You living with a thief that takes pictures of the murder victim on the sly don't exactly help your credibility."

"She's got nothing to do with this."

"Then why was she taking pictures of the dead man?"

There was no answer I could give that wouldn't dig a deeper hole for her or me. "She was playing games. Thought she was being cute."

"That the best you can do?"

"She made a mistake. Let it go."

"That's the kind of mistake connects you and her to Enoch."

"You want a connection, try one between Enoch, the two wrongful death cases, and the woman who was found dead here this morning."

"You telling me all four are connected? What? You want us to go chasing a serial killer so we'll forget about you?"

"It's not as much of a stretch as you trying to make me for Enoch and the missing money."

"That explains why the chief of police reached out to the SAC. There's talk about a joint task force."

"That will tie you and Dolan up for a while."

"Not likely. We'll let the locals have Enoch, probably toss in a profiler and a few forensic people to back them up, if we can get some resolution with you on the drug money."

"What do you want from me?"

"Wrong question. The right question is what am I giving to you?"

"Don't make me wait until Christmas."

"Wise ass. Put this in your stand-up act. You've got forty-eight hours to come up with the money and the letter Wendy sent you. If her letter told you where the money is, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt that you haven't had it all along and you walk. After that, we do things Dolan's way."

"Why the free pass?"

"It's not free. It costs five million and you can thank Ammara for talking the SAC into it. She says you deserve one last chance to do the right thing."

"The Bureau is that hung up on the drug money?"

"You don't get it, do you, Davis. It's never been about the money. It's always been about you. You're the one who isn't dead and isn't in jail. You're the one that got away. That's what the Bureau can't stand. Neither can I."

"I know why you think Wendy told me about the money. I can't help that. But nobody can think I was part of what went down with my squad."

Kent's good guy façade vanished, his eyes hard, his lips pulled back. "It was an agent on your team that went bad, it was your daughter that helped him, and it was you who couldn't hack it anymore and wouldn't own up to it. Anybody else would have been transferred to Sitka or shit-canned. But you shimmy shake your ass into a cushy retirement on a bullshit disability that ain't so bad you can't collect a fat check from Milo Fucking Harper. And nobody, I mean nobody from DC to KC, can stomach that. So you want to buy peace with us, it's gonna cost you five million dollars."

I watched Kent trudge up the circle drive toward the cars, his head bent into the wind, winter having caught its breath, blowing again, affirming Kansas City's weather reputation—if you don't like it, don't worry; wait fifteen minutes and it will change. I zipped my jacket against my throat and stuck my hands in my pockets, the last thing he said hitting me harder than the fresh blast of cold air.

It was all about me, the punch line to a lame joke turned into probable cause for an indictment. I knew that people in the Bureau were both angry and skeptical about my movement disorder, furious that I hadn't come clean sooner while doubting that it was real or disabling, ignoring that I hadn't quit, that I was forced out, shit-canned instead of sent to Sitka, untroubled by their contradictory complaints.

What I didn't understand until now was how deep the institutional need was for me to take the fall for what had happened on my watch and how deep the resentment was that I had skated on a cluster fuck that would have torpedoed anyone else's career, taking their pension down with it. I thought back to Wendy's funeral and the stiff condolences that I had received. In my grief I had failed to hear what they were really saying, that she had gotten what she deserved. They were singing from Connie Nichols's hymnal.

And here I was, living what to them was the good life, collecting disability and a paycheck. Sure, I had the shakes, whatever that was. But I had stayed on the job and on the case when I should have put myself on the disabled list, getting away with the unforgivable sin of letting a dirty, rogue agent operate under my nose, aided and abetted by my daughter, without paying the price they would impose.

That I might now profit to the tune of five million dollars was, for them, both unacceptable and unspeakable. That they might be wrong was unthinkable. Facts may be stubborn things but hate, anger, and disbelief are deaf, dumb, and blind.

Ammara had negotiated a forty-eight-hour cease-fire, her tagline that it was my last best chance to do the right thing telling me she stood farther away from me than I had hoped. It also told me that Kent and Dolan were nowhere on Enoch's murder. If they had enough to arrest me or anyone else, they would have done it. This latest tactic was a desperation squeeze. Either I'd go belly up, giving them the money and my head, or I'd do their job and find Enoch's killer, Wendy's letter, and the money to save my skin. It was an all-in, throw-down bet, the Bureau's honor for my life.

"Jack Davis?"

I turned around. Jason Bolt was looking up at me. I hadn't heard him get out of his car. He was short behind the wheel and shorter on his feet, the close-trimmed brown beard running from his jaw line to his chin and his medicine ball belly making him more Keebler elf than courtroom giant.

"Yeah."

"I'm Jason Bolt," he said, keeping his hands in his pockets. "I saw you on TV today. Milo Harper called you a hero for chasing down the guy that murdered Anne Kendall."

I had seen the television cameras but hadn't paid attention to whether they were filming me and I hadn't heard what Harper had said.

"If I was a hero, I would have caught him before he got to the intersection and, as far as I know, the police haven't said whether he killed anyone."

Bolt nodded. "Spoken like a wise man."

"What can I do for you?"

"I assume you know that I represent the families of Tom Delaney and Regina Blair. I'm going to sue your boss and at least four of his people."

"So I hear. Why not leave the staff out of it? If you're entitled to any money, the institute will pay it."

"Accountability," Bolt said. "People have to be held accountable. They can't hide behind their employer's insurance policy. That's why I'm suing Corliss, Brennan, Casey, and Kaufman for punitive damages. Insurance doesn't cover that and an employer can't indemnify for it. I'm going to serve the papers on them myself. I stopped by to get a good look at this monument Milo Harper built to himself since I might end up with the keys."

"Look all you want."

"Just so you know, I'll win no matter what you come up with."

"No matter what I come up with?"

"I do my homework, Jack. When I heard your name on the news, I checked you out. Try doing a Google search on yourself. You had a lot of press coverage last year. Given your background, I assume that Harper hired you to dig up dirt on Tom and Regina so he can blame their deaths on anything but the lucid dreaming project."

"You expect me to respond to that?"

"Not until I take your deposition. But I do have some advice for you. When you're done digging around in Tom's and Regina's past, you might want to take a close look at Harper and company before all the mud starts to fly."

"Why the heads-up?"

"I represent two families who lost their loved ones. We can make the case about why and how they died or we can make it about a lot of other things."

"Like what?"

"For starters, like Anthony Corliss's adventures in dream land at the University of Wisconsin. Hiring someone with his track record is grounds for punitive damages."

Bolt was baiting me again, hoping I'd give him something he didn't already have. When I didn't respond, he threw more chum in the water.

"And then there's Peggy Murray."

"Is that name supposed to mean anything to me?"

"I don't care but it will mean everything to Milo Harper. You tell him that. Remind him what happened the last time he took me on. He'll get a settlement offer from me tomorrow. It will be on the table until the end of the week. Tell him to take it because he'll never have a better chance to put this behind him."

"That's the second ultimatum I've been given in the last five minutes. Must be a special on them today."

"Luck comes in bunches."

"In that case, I can do with a little less luck."

Ammara drove past us, glancing my way, looking past me for oncoming traffic, making me invisible. Kent stared straight ahead. Dolan aimed a finger gun at me, pulling the trigger. The traffic cleared and they were gone.

"Car has government tags and the guy in front has a shitty sense of humor. Must be friends of yours," Bolt said.

"In another life."

"That's what I like about what I do. I only have one life. It's a simple one, dedicated to my clients. I know that sounds like a self-serving, sanctimonious bunch of crap but it's true. They depend on me and I depend on them to depend on me. There's no ambiguity, no shades of gray. We're loyal to one another. I don't have friends from another life taking real or imaginary shots at me and I don't need anyone to watch my back."

"You sleep at night?"

"Like a dead man."

"No worries? No nightmares?"

"Just one. Letting my people down."

"That doesn't sound so simple, all those people counting on you."

"The cases are complicated and the stakes are high but it's a simple life as long as I follow one rule."

"What's that?"

"Do whatever it takes."

I slid into the passenger seat next to Lucy. She was locked in a thousand-yard stare, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, her eyes red-rimmed and full.

"Hey," I said. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She triggered the ignition, put the car in gear, and glided toward the street, taking it too slow like a drunk trying to walk a straight line.

"So, how'd it go with Ammara and Dolan?"

She took a deep breath. "Some things you never get over, you know that?"

"Tell me about it."

She pulled into traffic. I didn't ask where we were going. I'd let her find her way.

"I'd come off a twenty-hour shift when I was busted for the diamonds," she began, reading more into my offhand suggestion to tell me about it than I had intended. She glanced at me, her raised brows asking if she should continue.

"It's okay. Go on."

She took another deep breath, gathering herself. "My eight hours were up when I found the jewelry guy's body. We were short-staffed. It was a hot case and the thought of going home, taking a shower, and going to bed with those stones under my pillow freaked me out. I never asked for the overtime. I just stayed with the case. It was understood that's what I'd do. The whole time, I'm trying to figure out how to get back in the motel room, drop the stones on the floor, and let someone else find them, but there's no way. First the room is packed with cops, CSI, everybody. After that, it's taped off and I'm on the street with one of the detectives, a drop-dead gorgeous guy named Ricky Brown who I'd been flirting with for a month, trying to get him to ask me out and I think he's interested except he's coming out of a messy relationship only he's not all the way out yet. No way I can go back. Part of me is scared shitless and part of me is so jacked up I can't see straight thinking everything will be okay if we just don't catch the guy that did it. I'm like praying, please God, I know he killed the salesman and I screwed up but how about giving me a break because nothing is going to bring the dead guy back and I'll make it up to you if you let me skate. I'll sell the stones and give the money to the church. I swear on my mother's grave I will. Then, twelve hours later when we catch the guy and he's got the stuff on him and Ricky asks him is that all of it and he says it's all of it except for some diamonds that he left lying on the floor and Ricky looks at me and I choke, I mean I don't say anything but it's like I'm saying everything. Later, when I'm serving my sentence, I talk to this prison chaplain and I tell him the story and that I must have been really screwed up to think God would answer my prayer and the priest says to me that God answers all prayers, it's just that sometimes the answer is no. Which makes sense so I keep praying that I don't screw up again because I don't think I can handle going back and then Dolan puts me in the backseat of their car and starts grilling me about you and the pictures of Enoch's body I took and they found on your laptop and I swear to Jesus for a few minutes there I was back in that shitty Gaithersburg interrogation room, Ricky staring at me across the table, the diamonds spread out in front of us, him saying what a shame because we could have had something and me thinking my life is over and I want to die. That's how Dolan makes me feel and then he says that he knows about Gaithersburg and that if I help him, maybe wear a wire with you that they'll take care of me. All I have to do is give you up."