The Heart Has Reasons (36 page)

Chase
naturally assumed that Larissa had identified him.  However, at least one
of the punks from the alley had required medical attention and, even though
such men wouldn’t normally go to the police, it would be prudent to admit to
the incident right up front.  Mounted high up on the wall in the corner, a
video camera’s lens aimed directly at him.  Assuming it was set to record,
he did his best to radiate integrity and decency of character.  “I suspect
it has something to do with the incident in the alley in San Bernardino, this
morning.”

“Tell
us about that.”

* * * * *

Special Agent Edison Jarvis listened
patiently as O’Malley recounted his version of the incident.  He was surprised
to learn there’d been
five
men, rather than the three of whom he was
aware.  When O’Malley finished, Jarvis asked, “Where are the firearms you
confiscated from them?”

“I
discarded the separate components into several dumpsters.”

“Can
you tell us the locations of those dumpsters?”

O’Malley
shrugged.  “No, sir, although I could probably retrace my route and find
them.”

“And
the knife?”

“It’s
probably still in the alley.  I snapped the blade.”

“So
you freely admit to assaulting the young men after you returned to find them
breaking into your vehicle?”

Maintaining
steady eye contact, O’Malley slouched back in his chair, the very picture of
confident unconcern.  “Yes, sir, but only in self-defense.”

“Why
did you park in an alley in what was clearly a high-crime area when you could
have parked on the street.”

“I
stopped in the alley to take a piss.  Once out of the vehicle, I decided
to go for a walk.”

Jarvis
hiked his brows.  “A walk?”

O’Malley
touched a finger to his bruised temple.  “My head was pounding.  I
thought some fresh air might offer a measure of relief.”

“Where
did you walk?”

“I
circled the blocks surrounding the alley.”

“What
did you see?”

“See?”

“Businesses? 
Bars?  Fast-food restaurants?”

“The
only thing I saw was the sidewalk before my feet.”

Jarvis
gave him “the stare” for several moments.  Rather than squirming as most
suspects did, O’Malley calmly returned the scrutiny.  “So you went for a
stroll and, when you returned to the alley, you found…?”

“As
I said before: Five punks breaking into my vehicle.  If you’ll examine it,
you’ll see that they broke the lock when they crowbarred the side panel
door.  Why is the FBI investigating this?”

“We’re
questioning you with the purpose of establishing or eliminating you as a
primary suspect.”

“A
suspect in
what
?  Five men attempted to assault me and I reacted
accordingly.  I admit I’ve been out of the country a while, but I find it
hard to believe that defending oneself is now a crime.”

“Five
men, three of whom were armed, confronted you and, rather than retreating to
call law enforcement, you decided to take them on.  Does that not strike
you as somewhat foolhardy?”

O’Malley
shrugged.  “I’m skilled in Krav Maga, so I was confident I could handle
them.”

“You
assaulted one of the men much worse than the others.  According to the
doctor I spoke to, there was a sort of vicious methodicalness to the beating,
as if a lot of rage went into it.  I understand you broke multiple bones.”

“If
you’re referring to the fat one with the gold teeth, he was foolish enough to
put up more of a fight than the others.”

“I’d
imagine he found it difficult to put up much of a fight once he had
one
broken limb, and yet you continued beating him until he had two
additional.”  The bruise on O’Malley’s temple was clearly more than
several hours old.  Certain he would catch him in a lie, Jarvis asked,
“Did the men in the alley give you that bruise?”

“No,
sir.  A friend and I had a disagreement last night.”

“Your
address of record is Los Angeles.  What were you doing in San Bernardino?”

“Passing
through on my way home.”

“Home
from where?”

“A
friend’s cabin in the Mojave.”

“What
were you doing there?”

“Taking
a sabbatical.”

Sengupta
snorted.  “A sabbatical from what?”

O’Malley
shrugged.  “From this rat race we call life.”

“How
long were you there?” Jarvis asked.

“Five
days.”

“And
your friend will corroborate this assertion?”

“He
will, as will two others.”

“Give
us an account of your activities over the past five days.”

“What
does any of that have to do with this morning’s incident?”

“Just
do it,” Sengupta snapped.

As
O’Malley gave an accounting of his activities and whereabouts, Jarvis let him
speak without interrupting.  O’Malley ended by saying, “Then I pulled into
the alley to take a piss, and you know the rest.”

“Sounds
like an enjoyable few days, except for the altercation with your buddy. 
You said he hit you with a rock?”

“No,
sir.  I said I hit my head on a rock when I went down.”

“You
handled the five men in the alley with ease, and yet one man — a friend, no
less — was able to put you on the ground.”

“Not
only was I pretty drunk at the time, Travis is trained in Krav Maga as well.”

“What
were you two fighting about?”

“I
don’t remember.  As I said, I was pretty drunk.”

“Do
you always don a ski mask before going for a stroll?”

The
expression of puzzlement on O’Malley’s face appeared genuine.  “Sir?”

“Why
were you wearing the fucking ski mask?” Sengupta barked.

“I
wasn’t.”

“So,
we won’t find one in your vehicle?”

“Absolutely
not.”

Having
gotten from the hospital the names of the three men who’d sought medical
attention, the Bureau had pulled up their arrest records.  Jarvis had
already taken the time to review them, and it was clear that all three men were
on the fast track to prison.

Travell
Parnes had been arrested on two separate occasions for possession with intent
to sell.  The second man, Andre Gant, had several arrests for drugs, as
well as one for B & E.

The
one with the multiple broken limbs was Malik Waddell.  Waddell had a long
and violent history dating back to when he was twelve-years-old.  There’d
been several arrests on drug-related charges, assault-and-batteries, and a
couple B & E's.  In addition, there were multiple instances of
aggravated sexual assault, and he’d served barely three years of a measly
five-year sentence for raping and sodomizing a fourteen-year-old girl.

With
Waddell’s history of violence against women, Jarvis couldn’t help but wonder if
the severity of his beating had something to do with the woman.  Intently
scrutinizing O’Malley’s face, he said, “Ms. Santos told us the fat man
attempted to sexually assault her.  I suspect
that’s
why you gave
him such a brutal beating.”

O’Malley’s
expression never faltered but, just for an instant, something that might have
been fear flickered behind the blue eyes.  “Who is Ms. Santos?”

“The
woman in your vehicle.”

O’Malley
frowned as if puzzled.  “There was no woman in my vehicle.”

“So,
Ms. Santos is lying?”

O’Malley’s
face was deceptively placid, but a rapid pulse jumped in his throat.  “If
a woman is claiming she was in my vehicle this morning then, yes, she’s lying.”

Sengupta
snapped, “Do you really expect us to buy that you’ve been out in the desert for
the past five days?”

“It’s
the truth.”

“Then
why is Ms. Santos claiming you kidnapped her?”

O’Malley
crossed his arms over his chest.  “You’ll have to ask her that question.”

* * * * *

Unable to shake his story or his
composure, Chase’s two interrogators finally left.  He leaned back in his
chair and wearily massaged his temples.  Jesus, he’d gotten himself into
one hell of a fucking predicament.

The
knowledge that Larissa had identified him didn’t surprise him, but it hurt more
than he would have imagined possible.  Nonetheless, he didn’t hold
anything against her.  After all he’d put her through, how could he
reasonably expect her not to incriminate him.

Although
… it was possible the agents had tricked her into inadvertently revealing
something, and then she’d have had no choice but to confess all.  He was
thankful he’d had the foresight to outline an alibi with Mad Dog, Travis, and
Roach ahead of time.  No matter what Larissa told them, he intended to
stick to his claim of innocence.

A
short while later, a different agent unlocked the door.  He automatically
got to his feet as a man with a red crew cut, wearing a pair of hideous
green-plaid pants, yellow polo shirt, and golf shoes strode into the
room.  The agent closed the door behind the newcomer and locked it,
leaving them alone.

“Do
you know who I am?” the man asked

There
was something very familiar about him, and Chase felt he’d seen him
before.  But
where
?  He was certain they’d never met. 
Then the red hair and gray eyes rang a bell and he realized he’d seen him in photographs. 
“Yes, sir.  You’re Mad Dog’s … I mean, James Kavanaugh’s father.”  He
extended his hand and the man clasped it in both of his.

“William
Kavanaugh.  I’m here because my son owes his life to you.”

Kavanaugh
glanced up at the camera and, although the red light was no longer blinking, he
reached up and disconnected the power cord before taking a seat at the
table.  Chase followed suit.  “James, or Mad Dog if you prefer, told
his mother and I how you carried him down a mountain when he was gravely injured,
and after you yourself had been shot.  If not for you, he might now be
dead.”

“Sir,
he’d have done the same for me.”

“No
doubt.  But because of what you did, I’m here to offer my services to you
pro bono.”  The attorney eyed the bruise at his temple.  “Did the
authorities give you that?”

“No,
sir.”

“James
told me very little.  What have they charged you with?”

“So
far, they haven’t said.”  He closed his eyes and released a long
exhale.  “But when they do, it’ll be with kidnapping.”

The
red eyebrows rose.  Leaning close and lowering his voice, Kavanaugh said,
“I need you to tell me everything that happened.  Anything you tell me is,
of course, attorney-client privilege.”

Chase
quickly gave him the highlights of the last five days, leaving nothing
out.  He finished by saying, “Larissa swore not to identify me but,
according to the FBI agents, she has.”

“What
did you tell them?”

“Only
about the incident with the punks in the alley, denying, of course, Larissa’s
presence.”

“No
matter what happens, don’t admit to
anything
.  In fact, you will
not speak again to
anyone
without me being present.  Do you
understand?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“It’s
in your favor that you never directly harmed the woman but, unfortunately, she
was injured as a result of your actions.  Kidnapping involving bodily
injury is a capital offense, which is most likely what the prosecution will
attempt to charge you with.”  A small vertical crease appeared in
Kavanaugh’s forehead as the red brows pulled together in thought.  “Let me
think about our options.  Would you like a coffee?”

“Yes
sir, I would.  Thank you.”

* * * * *

Kavanaugh stopped before the coffee
machine in the vending alcove.  He was fishing in a pocket for change
when, down the corridor, a door to a public restroom opened.  A young,
dark-haired woman with a severely battered face stepped out into the
hallway.  If this were the woman in question, then O’Malley hadn’t
exaggerated.  The man his client knew as “Keswick” had really done a
number on her.

As
she limped down the hallway toward him, it soon became obvious that a beautiful
woman lurked somewhere beneath the multitude of assorted bruises. 
“Larissa Santos?”

Cautious
green eyes flicked to him.  “Yes?”

“My
name is William Kavanaugh.  I’m the attorney of the man accused of abducting
you.”

This
pronouncement brought her to an abrupt stop.  She glanced up and down the
hallway, then limped over to stand before an adjacent vending machine.  He
dug through his pockets for change.  “May I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“No,
thank you.”  Green eyes skimmed over his golf clothes.  “How do I
know you’re really his attorney and not with the FBI?”