The Jezebel Remedy (45 page)

The woman complied, kept stationary, and Bard knelt and peered up and continued her inspection.

“Okay,” Bard said.

“By the way, that would be
Judge
Klein, please, when you refer to me in this judicial proceeding. Thank you.” He selected another wrapped swab from the three packages remaining on the table and handed it to Bard.

“Open it slow,” the woman demanded.

Bard made a point of positioning the package directly in front of the woman's face and methodically tearing the paper. “Is it safe to remove it now?” she asked, still peeved.

The woman nodded yes. “Give it to me,” she said.

“What?” Bard asked.

“I'll stick it in my own damn mouth.”

“Judge,” Nicholson said, “that's contrary to the lab's standards and protocol. We object.”

“I'm watching them,” Klein said. “I'm here and this is being taped, so let's just please finish. Give her the Q-tip,” he instructed Bard.

“Make sure you completely wet it,” Bard said. “Move it all around your mouth and cheeks.”

The woman took the swab, plunged it into her mouth, spun her wrist in circles, first one direction, then the other. She zipped the swab's stem crossways between her lips. She clamped shut and glared at Bard. “Enough?” she muttered through closed teeth.

“Yes,” Bard told her.

“Be careful,” Nicholson said as the woman was withdrawing the swab. “Watch her, please.”

“Watch you lose what you tried to steal,” the woman said angrily. She handed the swab to Bard, stood, scooped her sweater off the table, raised her scarf to conceal her face and shot for the door. She spoke through the cloth as she hurried from the room: “Tell my sorry boy Neal I'm ashamed of him. He damn well knows I meant to leave everything to Lawyer Joe.”

“Either that was Lettie,” Williams whispered to Joe, “or the best impostor ever.” He shook his head, grinning. “Paranoid. Disrespectful. Tattoos. Gold tooth. Great, amazing call on the hardware store.”

“Thanks,” Joe said.

“From what little I can recall,” Williams noted, “it does seem maybe she's gained weight or was padded, and her skin looked slightly different, smoother, the small section I could see.”

“Or it could've just been the lighting and the camera,” Joe offered. “I didn't notice much difference.”

M.J. was waiting at a curb near the entrance to the forensic sciences building, and she tooted the horn of a blue Nissan sedan, lowered the window and raised her hand, waved. The woman, still all wrapped up, jogged toward her and stopped at the passenger-side door, forcefully opened it but didn't get in.

“Let's go,” M.J. told her. “Come on.”

“I don't think so.”

“Huh?” M.J. said. “My plane's waiting. Hurry up.”

She lowered the scarf so that it bunched on her neck again. She leaned inside and looked into the backseat. “I done my part, Attorney Lisa Stone, so now you tell me what they claim my formula cures other than wounds.”

“Why aren't you getting in?” Lisa asked from the backseat. “We need to leave. Benecorp has this place swarming.” She was hidden, lying with her head against the door, concealed by the seats in front of her.

“Quit fuckin' around and tell me.”

“It doesn't cure anything, Lettie. Not really.”

“Bullshit! We didn't have this circus because it don't work. You and me have a deal.”

Lisa exhaled a long breath, almost a taunt. “I'm telling you the truth.” She was still reclining, her feet closest to Lettie.

“Then how come Devil Garrison wants it? It's cancer, ain't it?”

“Hair.” Lisa paused, and couldn't help but smile. “Your wound medicine grows hair. Quickly and permanently.”

“It'll be a license to print money, Lettie,” M.J. assured her. “Jackpot city, ladies. Market it in a combo pack with Viagra and you both can live happily ever after. I've already asked Lisa if it's too late for another partner.”

“Hair?” Lettie mumbled. She removed the sunglasses, drew a bead on Lisa. “No shit. Hair? But it'll heal a wound too. I don't care what them peckerheads at Benecorp claim. It's a wound cure, best there ever was.”

“Yep,” Lisa said. “Hair. And pursuant to our
deal
, forty percent belongs to me and Joe.”

“How come you're all dolled up to resemble me?” She puckered her mouth and slitted her eyes. “The trooper told me you'd be here.”

“A possible diversion for Benecorp if we needed it. Simple as that.”

Lettie began scratching her chin with a painted thumbnail. “That's a whopper of a lie. Somethin's fishy. Maybe it's just 'cause you envy me, but you ain't that sensible, no chance in hell, so I smell a big stinkin' rat.” She added the glasses again. “You notice the address we're at?
10850 Pyramid Place. Pyramids is powerful objects. There's a omen for certain.”

“An omen?” M.J. repeated.

Lettie gestured at M.J. “You I respect. A famous success story. Me and you should talk shop one day soon.”

“Are you certain you don't want M.J. to fly you to Danville?” Lisa asked. “How safe is it for you here?”

“I made it by myself this far. Keep 'em guessin'. I'd rather count on my smarts than yours any day. You done such a brilliant job with Downs.”

“Suit yourself, Lettie. Trooper Wilkinson is still here too. You could ride back with him.”

“You need to drive me to a place in Falls Church. A house. It ain't far.”

“Do you know how to get there?” Lisa asked.

“Got it wrote down, yeah.”

“Fine with me. If that's what you want, sure.” Lisa peered up at her. “You realize Benecorp's lined the block and we'll be followed?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Lettie said.

“For what it's worth, Lettie, congratulations. Good for you. Both for creating something so valuable and for outlasting Benecorp. I have to hand it to you. Pretty remarkable. Kudos.”

Lettie didn't say anything but climbed in and shut the door. “Well, I reckon it was right decent of you to help me fight Devil Garrison. You and Lawyer Joe.” She tipped back the hat and then tapped her gold tooth. “Did y'all take care of my animals?”

“I'm sorry—Garrison killed a lot of them. Some we saved. I hate to have to tell you. So you'll know, Neal played a big part in helping Benecorp destroy them.”

“Shit. They was my buddies.” Lettie wiped the corner of her eye, right above her permanent black tear.

“Joe and I took a couple cats. We named them Pancho and Lefty. And we did adopt out a bunch before Garrison had them killed.”

“How 'bout Toby? He was the blind hound. What about him?”

“Not good news. I didn't know you named them. You told me you didn't.”

“Just him,” she said softly. “Only Toby. Had him the longest.” She turned around and stared at Lisa. “How the fuck did you let that happen?”

“I'd be angry too,” M.J. encouraged her, having fun. “You'd think your lawyer could do a better job safeguarding your important property.”

“I'm gonna sue the piss outta Henry County for not protectin' them,” Lettie declared. “Might put you in the suit too, Attorney Lisa Stone.”

“By the way,” Lisa said, “while we're still speaking to each other, how is it that you're alive, Lettie? Where've you been?”

They dropped Lettie near a cul-de-sac in Falls Church, where she hustled into a cargo van with a Virginia handicap plate and a
TED NUGENT FOR PRESIDENT
bumper sticker. During the trip from the lab, M.J. had aimed her phone across the seat and managed to video roughly thirty seconds of Lettie—who used the opportunity to blue-streak cuss Henry County for losing her animals—in case the court needed extra proof or there was a complication later on, and they'd persuaded her to leave another saliva sample, which she provided by spitting in the seat as she exited the car. Reminded, she'd bowed slightly to Lisa and almost immediately flashed her a middle finger.

Seconds after Lettie disappeared into the van, the rear doors opened and five identically dressed “Letties” filed out and scattered in different directions, three getting into other vehicles, one jogging away on foot, the last of the lot running into a small frame house with a crooked shutter and crumbling sidewalk.

“I'll be damned,” M.J. said. “Being crazy and paranoid occasionally has its benefits.”

“Sweet,” Lisa said. “Pretty clever. I wondered what she had up her sleeve.”

“Thank god she showed,” M.J. said as the van and several cars pulled off.

“You're telling me,” Lisa said. “I could've hugged her when I saw Harold walk her up to the front entrance. Even in the crazy costume, I was pretty certain it was her. I swear, it was like opening the letter and learning I'd passed the bar—I was that happy. And I loved the expression
on the Benecorp creeps' faces when Lettie drove to the door in a state trooper's car. There's no doubt those two slugs pacing around the entrance were Seth's creatures. Probably his helicopter that kept flying over too.”

“Welcome to the millionaires' club,” M.J. told her. Lisa was still behind her, lying low in the rear seat.

“We're not home free yet. Let's hope Toliver can keep Benecorp's paws off the DNA sample. We've got our boy Derek ready in the parking lot, too, for whatever good it will accomplish.”

Forty minutes later, M.J. turned in to a fast-food restaurant, switched off the engine and walked inside. She paid an advertisement salesman from a Virginia FM radio station—owned by Goldbricks, Inc.—two hundred dollars in cash and returned his keys. “Many thanks,” she said. “No one at the station spotted me, and you folks are doing a great job there. Nothing beats a little undercover visit, though. You take care, and let me know if I can ever help you or our station in the future. Of course, as we agreed, my visit was strictly between you and me.” She shook his hand, joined Lisa in a waiting taxi that returned them to the airport, and after sitting in the plane for more than an hour so Lisa wouldn't arrive back in Henry County too soon, they flew to Danville and then headed for the Wild Magnolia parking lot to see Dr. Beasley and get the Mercedes. The tattoos were gone when they landed, scrubbed off in the cockpit, a plastic bag of colorful rags and stained cotton balls ready to be thrown in the trash.

While M.J. was driving them to the dentist's office from the airport, Lisa nervously sipped a bottled water and waited until they'd been on Route 58 for several miles before calling Toliver at the state lab.

“Jackson” is how he answered his phone, a single gruff word, even though he had to recognize her number.

“Is everything okay there?”

“Hunky dory,” he said. “I'm in position. Just hung up with your old man. He was full of advice and warnings and tellin' me to be on guard. Like I'm Fred Sanford, playin' checkers with Grady and dozin' off in my chair.”

“Joe's Joe, right?” she said. “He doesn't mean anything by it. I'm sure he's worried to death. So am I. These characters are devious as hell, and there're millions of dollars on the line.”

“Ten-four.”

“Who's there for Garrison?” she asked.

“Nobody,” Toliver replied.

“What? That doesn't make any sense, Toliver. Are you sure?”

“It does if he's here for himself. Sittin' right next to me, starin' at Miss Bard and the commonwealth's whizbang laboratory. She's keepin' us up to speed, the director double-checks every step she takes, I set up a video camera and Mr. Garrison has agreed not to use or display any electronic device includin' a cell phone, just in case he's got some kind of interference or mojo or transmission that might jam the equipment or skew the true results. Your science fair winner Derek's in the lobby, scannin' the ether for any potential trouble.”

“How come you can use your cell phone?” Lisa asked.

“He doesn't care. I assume he thinks we aren't clever enough to jam up the test.”

“And he's simply sitting there?” she asked, incredulous. “The reclusive Seth Garrison's twiddling his thumbs in a state forensics lab?”

“Actually,” Toliver answered, “he's chattin' with me about boats and wise places to invest my money.”

“Listen, Toliver, don't let him put you to sleep. He's a snake in the grass and as ruthless as they come.”

“Ten-four.”

“He's up to something.”

“Couldn't tell you. But so far, so good. He says he wants to speak to you, then he's leavin' on a jet plane. He kinda sang it: ‘Don't know when I'll be back again.' Acted it out with his hand being the plane and made a whistlin' noise for the takeoff.”

“Huh?” Lisa was dumbfounded. “This is bizarre. Why would he leave? Are you positive it's Garrison? Did he talk to Joe?”

“Nope. Didn't ask to.”

“Put him on. I'm anxious to hear from him. Can't hardly wait.”

There was a pause, and Lisa could hear a muddle of voices and sounds and something beeping in the distance.

“Mrs. Stone, good afternoon. Nice to speak again.” There was no doubt it was Garrison.

“Hello,” she said, the surprise still shaping her voice. “What brings you to Manassas, which is neither a third-world country nor an Indian reservation? And isn't a port, either.”

“Ah—excellent memory. I'm here to enjoy the show.”

“But you're leaving?” Lisa asked.

“I'm afraid it's all over but the shouting. Congratulations.”

“Okay,” Lisa said noncommittally.

“Well played. That
was
Miss VanSandt, wasn't it?”

“Of course,” Lisa said.

“Damn. How'd you convince the cops it was her DNA in the fire? Local favor?”

“I'm as puzzled as you are.” She and M.J. were passing a sad-sack miniature golf course with peeling paint and mildewed carpets. M.J. was listening, rapt, dawdling along in the slow lane.

“It's a shame we can't open a negotiation,” Garrison said. “Be done with all this hostile litigation and come to an agreement. We were victims too, you see. We thought Miss VanSandt was deceased, and we dealt in good faith with her son. Benecorp would be happy to make a generous offer to Miss VanSandt and dismiss the lawsuits and do everything in our power to ensure your husband's license is returned. We're innocent in this entire process. We were caught in a slipstream of bad luck.”

“Where are Lettie's dogs and cats, Seth?”

“I have no earthly idea.”

“The animals are important to her,” Lisa said.

“While we're on the subject of unexplained disappearances, maybe we should ask your friend Miss VanSandt where Jane Rousch is. I suspect you might have some interesting information as well.”

“Why?” Lisa asked. “How would she have any idea about your employee?”

“Still,” Garrison said, his tone staid, restrained, pointed, “the VV 108 could theoretically do almost anything. Probably not much use to your new suitor unless he understands its properties. Benecorp would be an invaluable partner in that regard.”

“We'll take our chances,” Lisa said emphatically.

“You're certain?” Garrison asked. “I'd remind you that making use of information illegally obtained, say, for instance, by computer trespass, is going to land you in a world of trouble. Derek Hansen too. You only have half the loaf.”

“I assume you're making up new lies and plotting new dishonest angles. I don't know anything about computer trespass, and I'd suggest you not try to intimidate Derek like you did Dr. Downs, who told us, by the way, why you want the formula. We know what it does. Of course, I'm betting you erased all his reports and work, didn't you? That left a footprint, though, and you'll play hell explaining what you deleted. It was Downs's discovery, and he shared it with us.”

“Nonsense,” Garrison snapped. “MissFit Matrix solved the VV 108. Downs had no involvement in finding an application for it.”

“So you say, Seth. But how could we have learned it otherwise? And why would you delete his files unless it was because you wanted to
steal what he'd discovered? Why'd you keep such a loose cannon on the payroll for so long unless he was a genius?”

“So what's the Wound Velvet's application, if you truly know?”

“As best I can tell, it makes people crazy for money, so crazy, in fact, that they'd slaughter animals and torture sweet, fragile scientists to death and try to kill a poor Henry County woman living alone in the woods. It makes people, especially people like you, lie and ruin lives and destroy reputations and never even give it a second thought. It's an anesthesia. Numbs your conscience. Powerful stuff.”

“Bullshit,” Garrison said. “You have no idea, do you? You and your merry band don't have a clue. Cool. You're still going to need me and Benecorp, whether you like it or not.”

“Put Officer Jackson back on the line, please.”

“You don't know, do you?” Garrison gloated.

“We'll see.”

“A final variable, Mrs. Stone,” Garrison said. “Before you turn me down and cause both of us needless problems, I assume you understand we're aware of your activities in Nassau. You realize that? And don't worry, I've stepped away from the policeman. He can't hear me.”

“I never went into a bank, Seth. Sorry. Wasn't me. I never withdrew any money. You know that better than anyone since you filmed a totally fake video.”

“It's not the bank that interests me. I noticed that your husband's lawyers avoided answering certain discovery questions. Many of the questions touched on who you were with during your vacation. There were a few other objections, but part of the fight was over something so routine. Odd, isn't it? And Mr. Brooks was uncooperative with us; he kept stalling and wouldn't set a deposition date after you went to such lengths to meet with him secretly.”

“They're Joe's lawyers, not mine. As I recall, there was some issue about M.J.'s correct, legal name. We were waiting on that. Pretty simple.”

“You still want to take the hard line with Benecorp? We both know the reasons for those omissions, don't we?”

“Maybe you think you do. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I suppose, then, we'll just share our information with your husband.
My courier is waiting outside your law office. What should I tell him to do?”

“Fuck you, Seth. How limp. So you're down to extortion, huh? Sad. You're a thug with a crowbar now.”

“Probably be ugly when you see Mr. Stone. Very ugly. If I were you, I'd simply go ahead and confess to him. That's wise lawyerly advice, isn't it? Accept responsibility and demonstrate remorse when you're guilty? Hope for the best? Or maybe I'll just keep our surprise in the vault and let you wonder exactly when the bad news might surface. See how much you enjoy living under duress.”

“Now
you're
bluffing, Seth. Badly.” She laughed. “If you had the real goods, we'd already have seen them in some form or fashion. With all the cash on the line, I doubt you would've been sitting on that kind of leverage.” She caught M.J.'s eye. “I might have a problem,” she whispered, her hand over the phone.

“I received my information a bit late in the game, and it seems our case will end before I can use it in court. But I know that you and Brooks were together at the Ocean Club. I could tell you what you ate for lunch by the pool and how much champagne you had sent to your room. I have his signature on a credit card receipt from the restaurant. His checking account records showing a withdrawal he made from an ATM in Nassau. The rest I feel confident we can fill in. I hesitate to say ‘flesh out' given the circumstances. The truth is the truth no matter how it's delivered or packaged.”

“I don't know what the hell you're babbling about.”

“Last chance, Mrs. Stone.”

“As we say in court, Seth, what you think you know and what you can prove are two different things. I don't believe you have squat, and if you do, well, send it on to Joe. Of course, it doesn't matter how many receipts and dishonest wills and doctored tapes you cook up, you just lost millions. Millions, you little bitch. Let me speak to Officer Jackson. You and I are done.”

“Your choice,” Garrison said, seething. “I'll find Mr. Jackson for you.”

“Please make sure you don't let him slip something past you,” Lisa told Toliver a few moments later. “Stay put and stay on your toes, even if he leaves.”

“Ten-four. Don't worry. You're startin' to sound like your old man.” Toliver hesitated. “I'd say you and me are scheduled for a real interestin' conversation about a fire at the VanSandt property in the next little bit.”

Lisa ended the call and snapped her head back against the seat. “Ah, damn, M.J., I think Garrison knows about Brett and Nassau. I mean, for crying out loud, can't I catch a break? I love my husband, and I'm remorseful as can be, and I've suffered over this for months, but I'll never be able to move on. One stupid mistake, and I realize it's my fault, I do, I'm to blame, no doubt, but my failing is…is immortal. Preachers or doctor dope or counseling or good-wife deeds or all the money from the Wound Velvet and this whole saga with Garrison—there's no way to fucking put a stake through it. I'm no better off than I was months ago. I just want my husband and my law practice and my farm, and I'm going to lose them.”

“Like barnyard shit, my old regional manager, Rucker Lyons, was fond of saying. You can't rub it all off in the grass—some always packs into your boot treads—and then you have to pick it out with a paper towel and finish the job with a nail or rock or a knife blade, and no matter what you get a smear on your hand—can't help it.”

Lisa snapped her head back against the seat again. She mashed her temples with the heels of her hands. “It's a very bad sign that Joe hasn't called me. You may have to pull over; I feel ill.”