Watch Your Back (52 page)

‘Was Alec hit?’ Clay asked hoarsely.

‘Not a scratch. Well, a few scratches from twigs. None from bullets.’

‘But the shooter got away?’ Stevie hoped the answer would be no. Knew it would not.

‘Yeah, unfortunately, in a Jeep, which probably means he knows about the BOLO on the Tahoe. But Alec kept his cool. Kept himself safe and gave us some evidence.’ Joseph looked grimly satisfied. ‘Bastard left some blood behind.’

‘Then we’ll be able to tie him to the shooting at the dock,’ Stevie said with a hard nod. ‘He left a hair behind, there in the trees where he waited to take his shots.’ She took Clay’s hand. He looked a little gray. ‘Alec is okay.’

‘I know, but . . . my God. He’s . . . he’s like a son to me.’

Stevie squeezed the hand she held. ‘You can call and talk to him just like I’ll talk to Cordelia. Satisfy yourself that he’s unharmed. Joseph, when will you interview Drive-by?’

‘After I shower and change. Give me thirty minutes.’ Joseph walked to the door, then paused and checked his phone with a frown.

‘What is it?’ Stevie asked. ‘Please, not more bad news.’

‘No,’ Joseph said. ‘But puzzling. We’ve had techs checking toll cameras for that Chevy Tahoe since the dock shooting yesterday morning. We found it coming over the Bay Bridge late Sunday night from Baltimore, but the camera didn’t get his face. He wore a mask and covered most of it with the brim of a baseball cap. He used the E-Z pass lanes, so no booth operators interacted with him.’

‘So you got a registration on the E-Z pass?’ Clay asked eagerly.

‘Yes, but it didn’t match the Tahoe. The E-Z pass sticker was probably stolen from another car. That’s not the puzzling part. It’s the route he took.’

‘Why?’ Stevie asked. ‘The Bay Bridge is the route everyone takes to the beach.’

‘But it’s not the way he went back,’ Joseph said. ‘We tried to find him coming back over the bridge, but got nothing – because he drove south to Virginia first. We got him going through the Bay Bridge Tunnel towards Newport News at nine thirty
A.M.
’

‘Why would he do that?’ Stevie wondered. ‘Could he live down there?’

‘Maybe. There have been no confirmed sightings of the Tahoe since then.’

‘And last night’s shooter drove a Jeep,’ Clay said. ‘My gut tells me they’re the same guys, but I could have sworn Drive-by was male, too. Has the Jeep been found?’

‘Kind of. He pulled a page out of Drive-by’s notebook and torched it. So far we’ve found no viable blood samples. Right now, our best bet is to break Drive-by. I’ll meet you in thirty.’

‘That gives me time to call Cordelia,’ Stevie said. ‘And Clay to call Alec.’ She hesitated. ‘Joseph? Thank you for keeping my daughter safe.’

Joseph’s smile was tired. ‘Always, Stevie. Like I said, you’ve put your life on the line for so many of us, so many times. It’s time for us to give back.’

‘Two men did,’ she murmured. ‘Now that I’ve had a chance to calm down and think . . . I’m so sorry for those men and their families. I’d like the names of the agents you lost so that I can write letters to their next of kin, thanking them for their sacrifice.’

Joseph nodded. ‘That would be nice. They were good men. They’ll be missed.’

Tuesday, March 18, 9.03
A.M.

‘I wish I could let you take the videos with you, but you have to watch them here.’ Ruby’s news studio contact pointed to a computer monitor on a desk in an otherwise empty room. ‘Rules,’ he added with a shrug. ‘Buzz me when you’re done. I’ll walk you two out.’

Sam frowned as two station employees passed by the room’s open door, weeping quietly. They were not the first people he’d seen crying in the newsroom. ‘What’s happened here?’

The man sighed. ‘We lost a cameraman last night. He went out for a drink and left the bar with the wrong woman. She shot him then stole his wallet and all his gear. We’re in . . . shock.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ruby said softly. ‘I usually hear about these things, but I took a day off.’

The man shook his head. ‘Pascal was always picking up women in bars. I worried that he’d pick the wrong one. I’m supposed to be in the control booth. Call if you need anything.’

‘We will,’ Ruby said. ‘Pull up a chair, Sam.’

Sam did, and watched Ruby’s long red nails clatter on the keyboard as she ran a search on the rows and rows of titles and dates. ‘We want March 15, eight years ago. Here it is.’ She glanced over at him soberly. ‘You ready?’

He nodded. ‘Play it.’ When she did, Sam forgot to breathe.

The man who walked into the convenience store that March day eight years ago moved like his father. His hands were his father’s. His face was hidden from the camera by the Orioles cap on his head. ‘That’s my cap. Oh my God. He wore it that day.’

And it had been returned to Sam three days ago.

Ruby looked doubtful. ‘How can you be sure?’

‘Stop the video, on that frame. Can you enlarge?’ She did and he pointed to the screen. ‘There’s a chunk missing from the plastic band in the back. See it? I had a dog then. It was before my father got addicted. The dog was chewing on my cap and when I yanked it away, part of the plastic band got notched out by the dog’s teeth. The cap was in the package that got delivered to my mother’s house on Saturday.’

‘Oh,’ Ruby murmured. ‘Should I go on? The rest of this is hard to watch. I remember seeing it over and over during the trial.’

‘You went to the trial?’

‘I retrieved Mr Mazzetti’s body.’ She swallowed hard. ‘And the body of his son. I always go to the trials, if I can. At least for a day. I figure it’s the least I can do.’

Sam’s heart turned over. ‘I’ve been to a few autopsies for just that reason. I figured someone should.’

‘You don’t need to watch the rest of this, Sam.’

‘I do. I need to know, Ruby. Please play the rest.’

‘All right.’ She hit play and the video continued. Sam’s father reached up under the cap and pulled a ski mask over his face. Then he walked to the counter, pulled out a gun and shot Paul Mazzetti in the chest and Mazzetti went down.
Oh God
.

The cashier made a sudden move – a gun. She’d pulled a gun from beneath the counter. Sam watched his father shoot the woman in the head and she collapsed onto the counter, the blood rushing from the wound. And then . . . Sam blinked as Paul Mazzetti got up.

The prosecutor had worn a bullet-proof vest. His father’s back went ramrod stiff – shocked that Mazzetti wasn’t dead. His father hesitated, then pointed his gun at the man’s head.

Just as a little boy ran into the store, his young face contorted with fury.

Sam’s racing heart pounded faster, harder until all he could hear was his pulse thundering in his ears.
No
, he wanted to shout.
Stop
. But there was no stopping it. It had been done.

His father pulled the trigger.

‘The bullet passed through Paul Mazzetti’s arm,’ Ruby said quietly. ‘And . . . hit the boy.’

The little boy crumpled to the floor, Paul Mazzetti hovering over him as he twisted around to grab Hudson’s gun. Another shot – this one to Mazzetti’s head – and Mazzetti fell on top of his son. A full ten seconds passed as Sam’s father stared at the two bodies on the floor.

‘The boy wasn’t dead yet,’ Ruby murmured. ‘The paramedics told me that he died right after they got there.’ Her fingers brushed his cheeks and Sam realized he was crying.

He watched, numbly now, as his father ran from the store.

Sam pressed his fist against his lips, the tears flowing freely down his face. Ruby tucked some tissues into his free hand. As he used them on his cheeks, it registered in his mind that the tissues smelled like her. Spicy. Sweet. He drew a breath as she rubbed his back.

‘Why?’ he whispered. ‘Why would he do such a thing? He didn’t even take the money.’

‘Maybe he got scared and just ran, Sam.’

‘Then why drag me into it?’ He took the mouse and rewound the film, freezing it so that he could look at his father’s gun. ‘This isn’t the gun I found next to me. Why drug me and leave me in a hotel room with a different gun next to my head? The gun that killed my father? Why?’

She said nothing. Just rubbed his back with big, sweeping circles.

‘He wore my hat. My hat, Ruby. Why?’

‘Maybe it made him feel close to you.’

‘While he was murdering three innocent people?’ Sam cried. ‘
No.
I don’t want him to have felt close to me. I don’t want him to have even been my father, but that’s out of my hands.’

‘My father died when I was five, Sam. He was a drug dealer and was killed in a deal gone very bad. He sold poison to children. Yet every night he’d tuck me into bed and sing to me. You can’t choose your parents and you can’t choose how they feel about you.’

‘You’re right. I know you are. What are you doing?’ he asked when she took the mouse.

‘Checking something. I didn’t pay attention to it before and I don’t think it came up in the trial.’ She rewound the tape again, hit play, then froze it. ‘Look. He’s standing at the oil can display and he takes out his phone. Looks at something. What’s he looking at?’

It was an old-fashioned flip phone with a small screen. ‘Can you enlarge it?’

‘I can try.’ She enlarged, re-centered, enlarged again. ‘It’s a person,’ she finally said, and he could see it, although the picture was now hopelessly pixelated. ‘Tied to a chair.’

And then Sam knew. ‘It’s me,’ he whispered. ‘Oh my God,
that’s me
. There was a cushion on the floor next to me when I woke up. I remember it was this hideous orange color.’ His finger trembling, he pointed to an unfocused blob of orange. ‘It’s the chair cushion.’

‘That’s why you were taken,’ Ruby whispered. ‘So that your father could be forced to do this terrible thing.’

Sam closed his eyes. ‘And he did it. For me. I can’t believe this. He killed a man . . . killed a
child
. Dammit, Ruby, what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to feel?’

She was quiet, her hand back on his back, rubbing big circles again. ‘That he loved you? That he was very flawed, but at the end . . . he loved you.’

‘No. If he’d really loved me he couldn’t have killed for me. How can I live with this? How can I live knowing three innocent people died? How do I make amends for this?’

‘You did nothing wrong, Sam. You did nothing wrong.’

‘I hear your words,’ he said, his throat gone too thick to breathe. ‘But I can’t accept them.’

She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Then for now I’ll accept them for you.’ She exhaled slowly. ‘Last night you forgave Kayla Richards for allowing you to be drugged and dragged away. You didn’t blink an eye, even though she actually
did
do something wrong. But you forgave her. Eventually you’ll find that forgiveness for yourself. Even though you have done nothing that demands forgiveness or amends. You are a victim, Sam.’

‘Not like the Mazzettis. Or that cashier.’

She sighed. ‘I see so many families come into the morgue, grieving. I can’t tell you how many times they raise their faces to God and demand to know why. Why the deceased was taken and not them? It’s survivor guilt you’re feeling,
cariño
.’

He nodded, not wanting to deny her words because she clearly believed them.

Ruby smiled sadly, as if reading his mind. ‘If you ask me – and you did – I think you’d be better served throwing all this upset . . . this energy into figuring out who did this to you.’

On that he could wholeheartedly agree. ‘You’re right. I need to find out who Kayla Richards saw dragging me out of the Rabbit Hole that night.’

‘When will that police artist be available?’

‘I still haven’t heard from him. I need to report this but Thorne made me promise I’d come to him before I talked to the cops.’

‘Then call him and ask him to meet us.’

Sam made the call, looked at Ruby with relief when he’d hung up. ‘He wants me to talk to JD Fitzpatrick. Thorne will come with me. He says Fitzpatrick can be trusted to handle this.’

‘Thorne is right. I can personally vouch for JD. His wife, Lucy, was my boss before she went on family leave. JD’s a good man.’

Sam nodded. ‘I’ve heard that from a lot of people. Will you come with me, too?’

‘I’d like to see anyone try to stop me.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, March 18, 10.30
A.M.

H
enderson hurt. The cravings had become bad a few hours before and now the need for a drink was nearly unbearable.
Just a little. Just a taste. Just enough to take off the edge
.

I need to be able to think. I can’t think
.

They’d dumped her in an interview room, shackling her leg to a ring in the floor, taking her out once to use the bathroom. She had no concept of time, had no idea of how long she’d waited.

Henderson supposed on some level she’d known the setup at the Peabody would be a trap. Unfortunately, wherever that level was, it hadn’t been front and center of her mind last night when she’d made her decision to go in and get Mazzetti.
And now I’m fucked. Busted
.

Except they couldn’t prove anything. They could get her for B&E and carrying a concealed weapon, but they couldn’t pin anything else on her.

So what if they had her flask? She’d swear she stole it. They couldn’t prove shit
.

The door opened and a woman in her mid-forties walked in. She wore a charcoal suit, a fuchsia blouse and three-hundred-dollar shoes. ‘Miss Smith, I’m your attorney, Cecilia Wright.’

Miss Smith
. The Feds still didn’t have her ID’d, Henderson thought. ‘Who sent you?’

‘I’ve been retained by a friend. I’m trying to get you out on bail.’

Henderson frowned. ‘Which friend?’

Wright looked pointedly at the two-way mirror. ‘I’ll share that information in a more private place. Say nothing. Let me do the talking and I’ll get you out of here in no time at all.’

Robinette
, Henderson thought. He’d hired the Wright woman to get her out.
Then I’ll be where he wants me
. Out in the open and vulnerable.
Bye-bye me
.

The door opened again, admitting the Fed who’d cuffed her the night before. His smile was caustically brittle. ‘I’m Special Agent Carter. I trust you remember me from last night.’

Cecilia Wright closed a hand over her wrist. ‘I’ve advised my client to say nothing.’

‘I’m sure you have,’ the Fed said. ‘But I think I can change her mind.’

Tuesday, March 18, 10.30
A.M.

‘Sit down, Sam,’ Ruby said, patting the chair beside her. ‘You’re making
me
nervous.’

Sam halted his pacing and forced himself to sit along with Ruby, Thomas Thorne, and Kayla Richards in the small meeting room on the homicide floor of BPD.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said. ‘How much longer will Fitzpatrick make us wait? My sketch artist friend said he might be able to squeeze us in before noon. Kayla has to get back to work.’

‘I can stay as long as you need me,’ Kayla said. ‘My boss was very supportive of me coming down here. Like I said last night, he’s a good guy.’

‘So’s Fitzpatrick,’ Thorne said. ‘Try to relax, Sam.’

Sam nodded, aware that his nerves had nothing to do with Kayla’s timetable and everything to do with the fact that he was about to spill his story to a fellow cop. Most of his story anyway.

Thorne had advised Sam to begin by filing a complaint for the assault against him at the Rabbit Hole. That would allow any evidence they gathered, including Kayla’s description of his attacker to the sketch artist, to be admissible should his case come to court.

‘JD just texted me,’ Ruby said. ‘He’s on his way.’

A minute later the door opened and JD Fitzpatrick entered the small room. Thorne took up most of the space, but Fitzpatrick and Sam, both about the same size, took their share.

Fitzpatrick quickly scanned their faces before taking his seat. ‘Ruby. Thorne.’

‘This is Officer Hudson,’ Thorne said. ‘The cop I called you about.’

Fitzpatrick gave Sam a quick once-over. ‘You were at Sheidalin on Sunday night.’

‘Yes, I was. I enjoyed your wife’s music, very much.’

‘I’ll tell Lucy you said so.’ Fitzpatrick turned to Kayla. ‘You, ma’am, I don’t know.’

Kayla’s hands trembled but her voice was clear. ‘My name is Kayla Richards.’

‘She’s a witness to a crime, JD,’ Thorne said.

‘An assault.’ JD gave Thorne a hard stare. ‘Why me? Why did you want me for this?’

‘Because we want the best,’ Thorne said and Fitzpatrick snorted.

‘You sweet-talker you,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Okay, Hudson, let’s hear it.’

Sam told him about the phone call from his old classmate’s non-existent brother-in-law luring him to the Rabbit Hole and waking up a day and a half later. He said nothing about the gun, on Thorne’s advice. He also said nothing about his father’s involvement in the convenience store robbery, or the murder of Paul Mazzetti and his son.

But he wanted to. It was all Sam could do not to confess it all.

Kayla filled in the gaps, repeating the story she’d told them the night before.

Fitzpatrick looked up from his notepad. ‘So we’re filing the assault complaint against an unknown suspect and the bartender, who’s currently in prison for a separate assault ‘

‘That’s right,’ Sam said.

Fitzpatrick studied him shrewdly. ‘Why now, Officer?’

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Thorne broke in. ‘Officer Hudson received a package on Saturday, the eighth anniversary of his assault. In it was a matchbook from the Rabbit Hole. Being a police officer, he began to investigate.’

Fitzpatrick frowned. ‘That would have been March 15, eight years ago?’ He held Thorne’s gaze for so long that Sam started to worry. ‘That was an eventful day, Counselor.’

Fitzpatrick knew. Or suspected. It wasn’t a huge stretch, Sam supposed. The detective was Stevie Mazzetti’s former partner. He’d know her personal history.

Thorne didn’t blink. ‘Like I said. We want the best.’

Fitzpatrick shook his head, then looked at Kayla with a gentle smile. ‘Miss Richards, would you mind waiting outside in the hall for a moment?’

‘Of course not.’ Uncertainly, Kayla gathered her purse and left the room, closing the door.

Fitzpatrick turned to Ruby. ‘Ruby, what the hell is this about?’ Thorne started to speak again and Fitzpatrick shot him an annoyed look. ‘I asked Ruby, not you.’

Ruby sighed. ‘Can you just file the report for now, JD? Please? Know that if this becomes bigger, you’ll have been in on it from the beginning. We’ll want your help. For now, it’s better to leave the story where it is.’

‘Better for who?’ Fitzpatrick asked stubbornly.

‘Better for me,’ Sam said honestly. ‘Maybe better for a lot of people. Please, Detective. I need your help.’

Fitzpatrick blew out a breath. ‘Fine. I’ll file the report.’ He fired up the computer on the desk and logged into the system. A few minutes later, the printer on the desk spit out a single page. ‘Here you go. You’re officially a crime victim, Officer Hudson.’

‘Thank you. I promise that I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can. You have my word.’

‘I appreciate that, Officer. You’re lucky I know these two through my wife. I even like Ruby.’ He glared at Thorne. ‘The counselor here is a different story.’

‘You’re just jealous,’ Thorne said scornfully, ‘because I always win at poker.’

‘Because you cheat.’ Fitzpatrick’s words were mild, however.

‘Don’t let those two fool you,’ Ruby said, taking Sam’s hand in hers. ‘Thorne is godfather to JD and Lucy’s baby.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Sam said.

Fitzpatrick returned his attention to Sam. ‘And Stevie Mazzetti is my son’s godmother.’

‘I didn’t know that either.’ Some of the tension in his shoulders loosened.

‘It’ll be okay,’ Ruby murmured. ‘You’re in the best of hands, Sam.’

Sam looked at her hand, still holding his. ‘I know.’

Fitzpatrick stood up. ‘I’ll pay a visit to the bartender at the prison as soon as I can.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Sam said but Fitzpatrick shook his head.

‘On this case you are no longer a cop, Hudson. Stay away from the witnesses. I’ll work with your sketch artist, but only because he’s a department resource and they’re damn hard to get. Don’t set up any more interviews or any more sessions with artists or anyone else. I’ll interview the bartender as soon as I can, but now I have to be somewhere else. We’ve been a little busy the last few days. If you’ll excuse me.’ He hurried out, checking his phone.

Thorne rose as well. ‘I have to be in court after lunch, so I won’t be reachable by phone. Text or email me when the sketch artist has finished with Miss Richards. Ruby, Sam, be careful. I don’t like the way this case is going. Too many damn coincidences.’

Sam followed Thorne out, found Kayla leaning against a wall, her eyes wide.

‘What?’ Sam asked. ‘What happened?’

‘A group of people just took the elevator down. One of them was that detective that’s been on the news. Mazzetti, I think her name is. That poor woman.’

You have no idea
. Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket, allowing him to focus on something other than the image of his father killing Detective Mazzetti’s family. ‘It’s a text from Damon, the sketch artist.’ Sam frowned. ‘His morning session went long and now he has no time before lunch to squeeze us in. He wants to know if you can come back at four o’clock?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you then.’ With a little wave she got into the elevator.

Sam looked behind him to where Ruby stood in the doorway. ‘Nothing’s going to happen until later. You might as well go home or at least enjoy your day off.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m going to check out the convenience store clerk. Find out about her next of kin.’

‘Still planning to make amends for your father, Sam?’ she asked, so gently.

‘I have to try.’ Three lives lost. Four, counting his father. Families left behind to grieve.
Including mine
. ‘I haven’t told my mother. I don’t know how to even start. She has a heart condition. I’m afraid this is going to kill her.’

Ruby came to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, leaned her forehead against his chest. ‘Would you like me to come with you when you tell her? For moral support?’

He held her to him, resting his cheek on the top of her head. ‘Yeah. I think so. Thank you.’

‘All part of the service,’ she said.

He hesitated, then decided it was better to know than to wonder. ‘How many people get this service?’ He’d meant to keep his voice light, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not today.

‘You,’ she said simply. ‘Just you.’

He shuddered out a relieved sigh. ‘Thank God for that. Listen, you don’t have to stay here with me. I’ll be fine. You should spend your afternoon off doing something for yourself. Maybe go to the university and apply to the forensic science program.’

She flashed him a smile. ‘Maybe I will. Would you like me to come back for the artist session?’

‘Yes. And then maybe we can go to dinner?’

‘Sounds good.’ Her smile faded. ‘Don’t do anything crazy, please. I agree with Thorne. I don’t like the way any of this is headed.’

‘I promise.’ Sam started to go down to the precinct library where he could research the convenience store clerk’s next-of-kin but changed his mind, parking his ass on a bench with a view of the elevator. Hopefully, Mazzetti would return from wherever she’d gone.

He didn’t know what to say, but he needed to say something. His father had ruined her life.

Tuesday, March 18, 10.35
A.M.

‘She doesn’t look like the woman we subdued last night,’ Stevie murmured, standing on the observation side of the interview-room glass while Drive-by sat on the other.

‘I figured a few hours without a bottle would make her twitchy,’ Clay said.

And twitchy she was. The woman was constant, jerking motion. A foot bobbing, her fingers drumming, even pulling her own hair. In contrast, her attorney sat calmly beside her.

Joseph sat at the table across from her, watching her curiously.

‘What are we waiting for?’ Drive-by demanded.

Her attorney frowned. ‘Miss Smith. I asked you to let me do the talking.’

‘Miss
Smith
?’ Stevie asked. ‘She couldn’t come up with anything more original than that?’

‘She doesn’t know that we know her real name,’ Hyatt said, shutting the observation room door behind himself and Grayson as they entered.

Stevie’s brows lifted. ‘What is it?’

Hyatt came to stand beside her. ‘Jean Henderson. She and Robinette served together as MPs and she’s a marksman, so she could be our restaurant shooter. So far she’s the only suspect with a gunshot wound to the shoulder consistent with the driver who fired on you in your yard.’

‘Jean Henderson.’ Stevie stared through the glass, clearly remembering the sounds of the glass shattering behind her, the screams of the restaurant patrons. The sightless eyes of the waitress who’d been standing behind her chair. The hopelessness of Elissa Selmon’s husband as Emma tried to save his wife’s life.

And in her own front yard, she remembered the terror in Cordelia’s eyes when Clay picked her up off the ground and carried her into the house.
Jean Henderson, I hope you fry
.

‘I expected her attorney to be Brenda Lee Miller,’ she said aloud. ‘Who is this woman?’

‘Cecilia Wright,’ Grayson said. ‘She’s doing this pro bono.’

Clay frowned. ‘How was she assigned or hired or whatever?’

‘Good question.’ Grayson dropped his chin, murmuring into his lapel. ‘Go ahead, Joseph.’

Joseph stretched, making himself comfortable. ‘We know who you are, Miss Henderson.’

Her attorney didn’t blink an eye. Henderson gave the woman a long, hard, suspicious stare before returning her attention to Joseph. ‘That’s not my name. You are mistaken, Agent Carter.’

‘No, I’m not.’ Joseph tossed photos of Henderson onto the table, all provided by the military. ‘We know who you work for.’ He tossed another photo on the table – that of Todd Robinette, standing behind a podium. That got a reaction – out of both women.

Henderson went abruptly still, like a plug was pulled on all her nervous motion.

Her attorney laughed. ‘Agent Carter, really. That’s Todd Robinette. He’s a successful businessman and a philanthropist. Surely you’re joking.’