Treasure Hunt (34 page)

“I also told you they’re a long way from a warrant.”

“That could change in a heartbeat. And besides, it’s not just them.”

“It’s not?”

Alicia took the opportunity to break in. “Mickey thinks that whoever really did this might . . . might want to kill me too.”

Hunt’s mouth twitched in derision. “And why would they want to do this?”

“If she’s the main suspect,” Mickey said, “and then she kills herself, or it’s made to look like she kills herself, the investigation goes away.”

Hunt took a beat. “I’ve always said you’ve got a good imagination, Mick.”

“This guy’s already killed two people. Why wouldn’t he kill somebody else if it would end it? You don’t think that could happen?”

“A lot of things could happen, Mick. Do I think there’s a likelihood?” He turned his gaze from one of them to the other. “No.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to bet on likelihoods. Any likelihood at all is too much. You want to bet Alicia’s life that something like that won’t happen? We just can’t do that.”

Hunt blew out a heavy breath.

“Look,” Mickey went on. “We took this job, among other reasons, to investigate this murder, now these murders, and try our damnedest to keep Alicia out of jail—”

“That’s not why we took this job.”

“Yes, it is, Wyatt. It is exactly. It’s what I promised her before I even came to you about the rewards.”

This unexpected information didn’t make Hunt any happier. “It might have been nice to let me know about that a little sooner.”

Mickey started to shrug, but the pain stopped him. “It’s what I did, Wyatt. It seemed like the right thing. Alicia did not do this. Either of these.”

Hunt’s glance at Alicia made it clear that he wasn’t close to sold on this story. He came back at Mickey. “So what do you propose we do, as opposed to what we’ve already been doing trying to investigate these murders?”

“Well, first,” Mickey said without hesitation, “for her own safety, she stays here.” He held up his good hand. “Look, there’s no warrant out on her. Devin and Russo haven’t even asked her to check in with them. So she’s just hard to find, visiting a friend, however you want to spin it, if it comes up at all.”

“What if they get a warrant? Or the Grand Jury gives ’em an indictment?”

“You told me that won’t happen at least until they get the other DNA. And even with the DNA, where’s the case against Alicia?” Mickey looked over at her, seemingly took strength from her expression of gratitude. “And if they come back with a warrant or indictment, then we ask Gina to come aboard as her lawyer.”

For the first time, Hunt relaxed his fierce front. “And wouldn’t Devin love that?”

“Wouldn’t he?” Except Mickey wasn’t done. “But that’s not going to happen, Wyatt. Devin and Russo haven’t even looked at Neshek yet. There’ll be clues at the crime scene there, the investigation is going to open up. Something will break. Or else one of our reward people will come up with something. At least it’ll move in a different direction, and then Alicia can go back to her life.”

“And in the meanwhile, she’s here?”

“Nobody’s going to look for her here, Wyatt. She can sleep in her car. You won’t even know it.”

Hunt looked from one of them back to the other. “I hate this,” he said.

But then, unbidden and unwelcome, he recalled the discussion he’d had with Gina the night before. All of the unanswered questions about the money, about Len Turner, about his connections, if any, to the Battalion. And Mickey was right—even forgetting the Nancy Neshek homicide, all of that was stuff Devin and Sarah had barely begun to look at.

Still, Mickey had without his permission moved a murder suspect into his home. Had essentially committed the firm to take her on as a de facto client, and one who didn’t seem likely to come up with a retainer. But, even beyond all that, was Mickey’s point that if the damned woman was in fact innocent, she might be at risk. And now he’d made it Hunt’s business.

“You know what they say about fish and guests?” he asked. “After three days, both stink.” Hunt’s face had reverted back to where it had been all morning. Unyielding. “So three days. That’s my best offer. Then we figure out some other accommodation.”

He pushed back his chair, got up, grabbed the gun, and walked off down the hallway toward his bedroom.

 

 

The windshield wipers kept up their regular rhythm. Hunt, grim-faced, waited out the red light on Market. Finally, he turned to Mickey. “You’re sure you’re okay to be moving around?”

Mickey barely inclined his head. “I moved around more last night.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’ll be all right. We’ve only got three days.”

“It might be longer than that. You might want to prepare yourself. It probably will be, in fact, so don’t get your hopes up. And then where does she go?”

“As you say, we’ll figure something out. I’ve got some people I know from cooking classes who might let her crash with them.”

“Yeah,” Hunt said. “Make more friends.”

The light turned green ahead of them. The line of traffic did not move. The driver behind Hunt laid on his horn, and Hunt said, “I wonder if he’d do that if he knew I was packing.”

Mickey received this intelligence in silence, but he shot a quick look over at his boss. Say what he would to the contrary, Hunt’s decision to carry a gun on him marked a sharp escalation in his estimation of the dangers of this case.

“So,” Hunt said. “When I got there this morning, you were both on the sofa bed. You want to elaborate on that? And in case you’re wondering, it’s not really a question of whether you want to or not. I need to know your relationship.”

“Friends. But, yes, I find her attractive. I’m attracted to her.”

“You tell her that?”

“I think she’s probably figured it out. But nothing’s happened. Nothing. She was nervous out in her car alone.”

Finally, they rolled ahead about two car lengths. Six or eight cars ahead of them, the light turned red again. “So how do you know she’s innocent? And you do realize, I hope, that you are betting your life, and maybe mine, on that.”

“I think you can tell when someone is a good person. Some people. And I know all about what you’re going to say about you and Tam and Craig, but Alicia is different. She’s real, she’s consistent. Just last night, she even told me the one thing she’d done that she felt she hadn’t handled correctly in this investigation. And nobody made her tell me that. She just wanted to be completely honest.”

“And what was that?”

 

 

The office door opened and Tamara raised her head and turned, her eyes wide with surprise. “Mickey! What are you . . . ? I was going to come down and get you at the hospital in a couple of hours. How are you...?”

But in the palpable tension, she shut up.

Hunt, a couple of steps behind him, let Mickey step out of the way—just barely—and then, with a curt nod and no greeting, passed around Tamara’s desk to his own door, which he opened and then turned back to her. “I’m not to be disturbed. Half an hour,” he said. “No exceptions.”

He closed the door silently behind him.

Mickey slowly and carefully lowered himself into the one client’s chair. For a very long moment, the siblings just stared at each other. Finally, Tamara drew a deep breath. “This is going to sound like a ridiculous question since you’ve been in the hospital, but have you heard from Jim?”

“Have I heard from Jim?”

She nodded. “He was supposed to go to the memorial yesterday, though I don’t know if he actually did. And in any event, he didn’t come home last night. I’ve been worried sick about him.”

 

 

 

 

Al Carter was reluctant
to make too many changes in his habits lest he call undue attention to himself. So on Thursday morning he presented himself at the Ortega campus at eight-twenty, which was the new time he’d been coming in since Dominic Como had originally gone missing. Of course, there was still no limo, but he had to believe that things someday would return to normal; and when they did, he didn’t want to have lost his place in the pecking order.

The day seemed to be getting off to a slow start again this morning following the closure of the admin offices until midafternoon of the day before for Como’s memorial. Al had dropped by here after his meeting with his brother and sister-in-law at the Mudhouse yesterday. He stayed just long enough to let his presence register and to pick up a stack of a hundred or so pledge cards—newly printed with a recent photo of a smiling and vibrant Dominic Como. All the Sunset people had been urged to hand these out to acquaintances, friends, and businesses, so it was good form to grab a bunch and disappear with them, although in Carter’s case, he simply tossed them into his garbage when he finally got home.

Now he closed his umbrella and walked through the empty, echoing lobby. The teachers’ lounge, back behind the wide-open general offices area, seemed to have attracted everyone who’d so far come in to work today and it fairly hummed with low-key activity. Making his way through the desks and cubbies outside, when he got to the lounge door, he put on a confident and sober face, and waded into the crowd.

Younger Battalion members mingled here democratically with both the clerical and executive staff. Someone had brought in doughnuts, and of course there was regular and decaf coffee and hot water for those who wanted tea or hot cider. But in spite of the sweets and drinks, between Como’s and Neshek’s deaths, yesterday’s CityTalk column, and the miserable weather, the mood in the room was decidedly somber.

Al slapped some backs and made small talk as he negotiated his way through to the refreshment table. Not for nothing had he worked all those years with the consummate politician that was Dominic Como. He finally found himself holding a jelly doughnut and a cup of coffee, on the periphery of a small group of women that included his nominal new boss, Lorraine Hess.

In a quick appraisal, Carter saw that the events of the past two weeks had played havoc with Hess’s looks. When Al had first come on at Sunset, she’d been in her mid- to upper thirties and quite attractive, vivacious and upbeat, with a body that was a little short of spectacular. Over the years, she’d softened her image, and her body tone, considerably until she began to fit Al’s description of the poster child for the aging female bureaucrat—large and gray. But especially when she smiled, which had until recently been quite often, her face had always retained something of its youthful glow and even beauty.

But not today.

Today she wore fatigue like a shroud that enveloped all of her. Her eyes, rimmed with dark bags, had sunk in over her hollowed-out cheeks. Even through the thick padding of imperfectly applied makeup, blotches were apparent on her forehead, on the imprecise, jowl-lined thickness of her jaw.

The conversation she was engaged in with the other women around her concerned the AmeriCorps improprieties and what they would mean in terms of immediate funding, whether there would be layoffs, how it would affect Sunset’s ability to conduct business with the city. Hess, a master at these administrative and bureaucratic details, was holding her own against the onslaught, downplaying the threat, but Al could clearly see that on top of everything else she’d endured, these topics and her people were wearing her down.

He decided to rescue her. “Pardon me for butting in,” he said, “but Lorraine’s telling you the truth. It’s not going to change anything. Dominic knew all about this long ago too. He was trying to get it all straightened out behind the scenes before they went public with it, but . . . well, we know what happened before he could do that.

“But the plain fact is, and we’ve all heard him say it a hundred times, that with government funding, when you get a difference of opinion, one side is going to say that the other is guilty of sin. That’s discouraging, especially when we’re set on helping others. But the thing we have to do now, all of us, is just to forget about all this bad news and go back about our work and not concern ourselves with things over which we don’t have control. First of all, Len Turner and Dominic were already talking about appealing the suspension of funding, and next, when Lorraine takes over here full-time, she’ll convince these auditors that all of these are insignificant issues that have, for the most part, been resolved. Isn’t that right, Lorraine?”

She forced a weary smile. “Exactly. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. This isn’t the time to panic, but to buckle down and do our work. And, Al”—now the smile came to bloom—“for a minute there, you sounded like you were channeling Dominic.”

“I think after eight years he may have rubbed off some.”

“Well, keep him around if you can.”

Al showed some of his own teeth. “I intend to.”

The bell, indicating the first period of the school day, sounded, and Al more or less naturally fell into step beside Hess as she headed back toward her office. When they’d cleared the lounge, she took his arm and leaned in toward him. “Thank you for that in there.”

He shrugged. “They’re just worried. It’s a hard time.”

“Tell me about it. But I’m still very grateful for your help speaking up. It gets tiresome talking about it.”

And then she was opening her office door and they were inside. Hess went around her desk and, sighing, lowered herself into her chair.

“I wanted to ask you,” Al began, “any word on when we get the limo back?”

She shook her head. “Shouldn’t be too long. Why do you ask?”

“Well, nobody’s noticed too much yet, but I don’t seem to have a job. I’ve been filling the hours distributing pledge cards, but . . .” He trailed off with a hopeful smile.

“But that’s hardly the most productive use of your time.”

“Well, yes, that. But more, I was wondering about . . . later.”