Blood Flag: A Paul Madriani Novel (39 page)

But before he could do that, he had to gain the cooperation of the last two survivors who had been with him in Munich.

How much of the original plan was known by Robert Brauer and Walter Jones or the lawyer Elliott Fish, no one could know. Not unless Fish was in on the plan and confessed, which wasn’t likely.

As for Brauer and Jones, Pack required their cooperation. Otherwise he ran the risk that they would denounce him when he went public. They might tell the world that they had no recollection of anyone in the platoon ever having found such a flag, not in Munich, and not near the ruins of the bombed-out Brown House, where the flag was stored.

It was possible that Pack told them that he found the flag when in Munich after the war, but never mentioned it before because he didn’t realize its significance until more recently. Regardless, by including them in his plan and gaining their assent by written agreement, he gained their cooperation or at least their silence.

It may have been the reason why Robert Brauer was afraid. He would have found it hard to say no to his old buddy, the army medic. Once having signed on, Brauer, who was old and failing, probably had second thoughts, especially when he learned that Ed Pack, the man who was behind it all, was dead. When the box with the key arrived, Brauer probably didn’t know what to do. He just wanted it to go away. When the house was burgled he panicked.

But before that, before he died, Ed Pack ran into a problem. The Ripper article made clear that his plan would never work. He would need tissue or bone in addition to blood for anything that was ninety years old. This was true especially if it had been exposed to the weather, UV radiation from the sun, and variations in heat where it had been stored. These were the conditions that affected the real Blood Flag.

Joselyn and Paul theorized that the doctor was probably about to give it up, abandon the entire scheme, when he was murdered. Paul suspected that Ed Pack probably didn’t have time to tell anyone what he had discovered, the limitations of DNA, and that the flag wouldn’t work. Whoever killed him wanted it. This was the person Tony Pack was after when he disappeared. The reason he kept pushing the Oklahoma City police to get involved.

The only thing that didn’t make sense was why Edward Pack himself was so frightened. According to Tony, his father was terrified. And yet Ed Pack knew what was happening because he was behind it. The flag was a beast of his own making. All he had to do was quietly walk away and no one would ever be the wiser. Unless someone he was afraid of was trying to get his hands on it.

As Joselyn sat there staring at the screen, thinking, the doorbell rang. It couldn’t be Paul. He had a key. She looked at the clock. It was almost nine thirty. Where was he? Joselyn got up, walked out of the study, down the hall, and across the living room to the front door, and opened it.

FIFTY-SEVEN

T
he man Toselli held a passport, owned a residence, and had several bank accounts on the island of Curaçao,” says Thorpe. “For those who don’t know, that’s way south in the Caribbean, very end of the Antilles . . .”

“I know where it is. I’ve been there.”

“Bully for you,” he says. “See, the man can talk.” Thorpe turns and smiles at the other two agents standing in the room. “The island is a constituent entity of the Netherlands, which retains some jurisdiction. Lucky for us the man’s prints were on file in The Hague. We got a hit on them from Interpol. They got them from Europol. That’s the reason it took so long for us to get a fix on the man, but then, he didn’t have a head, so a photo was out of the question. Do you follow me so far?”

“I’m spellbound,” I tell him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s happening here?”

“You’re doing fine. Keep going,” I say.

“I could use a little help.”

“You’re not gonna get it from me.”

“Fine. The timeline for the man’s death in Las Vegas is too much of a coincidence to ignore. We know you were in town that day. We checked with the airlines.”

“You think I killed him?”

“Did you?”

“Don’t be foolish,” I tell him.

“What were you doing there?”

“I had a meeting.”

“With who?”

“It relates to attorney work product,” I tell him.

“Did your meeting come off OK?” He looks at me, waits for an answer, and when I don’t, he says, “OK, if you want, we’ll come back to that later. Did this meeting have anything to do with Ricardo Menard?”

I look at him. He smiles. “We know you met with the man. We have pictures.”

“How lewd. That must have knocked the intel sats out of orbit.”

“Is Menard involved with the Blood Flag?” asks Thorpe.

“What is this, Twenty Questions?”

“Who’s counting?” he says.

“You keep coming back to the flag.”

“It’s why I’m here,” he says. “My reason for existence at the moment. Is he involved?”

“A fair question,” I tell him. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“He never raised the issue when we talked.”

“No, he didn’t, did he,” says Thorpe.

“How would you know?”

He offers me a sage smile.

“You wouldn’t need a wire to figure that one out. And if you were reading his lips you were monitoring the wrong body part.”

“How’s that?”

“Menard’s not interested in the flag.”

“How do you know?”

“Tell your analysts to study their photographs more carefully. If they take a closer look they’ll discover he has his hands full with other things.”

“So then we agree,” says Thorpe. “We can cross Menard off the list?”

“What list?”

“The list of prospective killers and the people involved with the flag,” he says.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said he wasn’t after the flag.”

“Yeah, but I never said he didn’t kill anybody.”

“So you think he killed your assistant?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not ready to give him a pass.”

“Did he or didn’t he?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“OK, I will,” says Thorpe. “The sheriff wasn’t anxious to do your little experiment in DNA, but we did. The results came back this morning. Ricardo Menard is the father, or was, of the unborn fetus being carried by your assistant, Sofia. Don’t say I never give you anything. I just did. And you don’t have to thank me.”

“I won’t.”

“But just so that you know. We don’t think that Menard killed her.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, he was out of the country on the day she was murdered. He left for Costa Rica the previous Wednesday and didn’t return until the following week. We checked.”

“He could have hired somebody to do it,” I tell him.

“Who, Toselli?”

“No,” I say.

“Nino may have lost his head,” says Thorpe, “but he has an alibi even better than Ricardo’s. He was carrying the DNA of Sofia’s killer under his fingernails, which means he didn’t do it. So who else is there?” says Thorpe. “We’re running out of suspects.”

“It could be anybody,” I tell him.

“Or it could be somebody you know. Who were you going to meet in Las Vegas?” he says.

I have been playing mind games with myself for the last twenty minutes, ever since Thorpe told me about the unidentified headless body. I immediately leapt to the conclusion that it had to be Tony, until Thorpe told me about the fingerprints and Toselli. Why was I thinking that Tony was involved at all? I wasn’t sure. There was no reason except for the fact that he was missing. The growing realization that he might be dead is difficult enough. How could I possibly get my head around the obscene concept that he might have killed Sofia? I couldn’t. We had broken bread with the man in his house. I can see images of the gathering around the table that night. Lillian and the two girls, Joselyn, myself, and Tony, sitting at the head of the table laughing, telling stories, sampling wines. It’s not possible, beyond comprehension. At least it is for me.

It will be a relief when they find his body, painful as that might be. Thorpe can do the DNA, exclude him as a suspect, and Tony can rest in peace.

“There’s a phone call for the lawyer.”

I look up. There’s an agent standing in the doorway. He has my cell phone in his hand.

“Who is it?” says Thorpe.

“A woman, says her name is Joselyn.”

Thorpe smiles. He knows her. “Go ahead, give him the phone. Apologize for me and tell her you’ll be home shortly.”

“You letting us go?”

“What else can I do?”

I take the phone, put it to my ear, and say, “Hello.”

“Where are you?” she says. Joselyn is upset. I can’t blame her. I look at my watch. It’s almost ten o’clock.

“I’m sorry. I got tied up,” I tell her.

Thorpe smiles. One of the agents sniggers.

“Who was that who answered your phone?”

“I’ll tell you about it when I get home.”

“Well, hurry up because we have company for dinner.”

“Who?”

“It’s a surprise,” she says. “You’ll never guess.”

I already have. “Tony’s there.”

“How did you know?”

“I guess he was on my mind,” I tell her.

“That’s amazing,” she says. “I’ll have to tell him.”

“No. Don’t!”

“Why not?”

“Never mind,” I tell her.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. Everything’s fine. Where is Tony right now?”

“He’s out in the living room.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

“Where’s your car?”

“It’s in the garage. Why?”

“Listen to me. This is what I want you to do. Grab your keys. Go out the back door. Don’t say a word. Get in the car, start the motor, and once you start to back up, don’t stop.”

“What? What are you talking about . . . Oh, hi, Tony. Can I get you something to drink?”

I hear Tony’s voice, “Nah, I’m fine. Can I help you with dinner?”

“No, no. I’ve got it. Paul’s on the phone. Here, why don’t you talk to him?”

“Hey, Paul, where are you?”

“I’m working late. Sorry I missed you,” I tell him.

“Jeez, it’s ten o’clock. I guess so. Listen, I’m sorry about Vegas,” he says.

“Not a problem.”

“No, but I need to tell you what happened.”

“No need to explain. I understand.”

“Understand what?” he says.

“I assumed you must have had a problem of some kind.”

“You mean Joselyn didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“Well, then I need to explain. I had an accident. Got in a wreck with the rental car. Ended up in the hospital. That’s why I couldn’t call,” he says.

“Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“No, no. Nothin’ like that. It’s gonna be fine. When are you coming home?” he says. “I’ve got that stuff to show you. You remember, the key and the thumb drive?”

“I remember. I’ll be there shortly,” I tell him.

“Where is your key?” he says. “Is it here at the house?”

“No, no, it’s not there. It’s locked in a safe at the office.” I lie to him. It’s in the center drawer of my desk at the house.

All Tony wants is the key. I can tell by his voice. The minute he has it he’ll kill whoever is around and disappear.

“I thought you were at the office.”

“No. No. I’m across town at another law office in a library meeting with some other people. But I’ll be home shortly. Can you put Joselyn back on the phone?”

“Sure. Listen, can you do me a favor? Can you go to your office, get the key, and bring it home with you? I really would like to compare it with the one I have, and do it tonight.”

“I can try to do that, sure. Let me talk to Joselyn.”

“She’s right here. He wants to talk to you. I gotta get something out of my car. I’ll be right back.”

I hear the phone being handed off.

Thorpe is looking at me. He realizes something is wrong.

“Joselyn, listen, do me a favor. Is he gone?”

“Who?”

“Tony.”

“Yeah. He just went outside.”

“Listen. You haven’t said anything to Tony about what we discussed last night, have you?”

“What’s what?”

“About the flag, what Herman found out.”

With mention of the flag Thorpe reaches out and taps one of the other agents. He motions for him to get some help.

“Oh, you mean about the fact that it’s—”

“Don’t say anything!” I tell her.

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“We’ll talk when I get home. In the meantime, don’t say a word to Tony. Promise me.”

“OK,” she says. “If you say so.”

“I do. I’ll take care of it when I get there. Let me do it.”

“What’s the problem? Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“I can’t. Trust me. Please. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Promise me you won’t say anything.”

“I said I wouldn’t and I won’t. Either just tell me what’s happening or come home.” Joselyn is getting her back up. Start an argument and Tony will hear it. If I tell her what’s happening it may set her on edge. If he senses that something’s wrong, he’ll kill her. I know it.

“I’ll be there quick as I can. Just hang on.”

“Well, hurry up, cuz it’s after ten and dinner’s going to get cold. You’d think we were living in Spain,” she says, and hangs up.

“What’s wrong?” says Thorpe.

“Joselyn’s in trouble. A man just came back from the grave,” I tell him.

FIFTY-EIGHT

T
horpe has assembled a caravan of FBI vehicles streaming south at high speed on the 805, racing toward the bridge to Coronado. He and I sit in the backseat of one of the big black SUVs screaming along the freeway as I fill him in on everything that’s happened.

I explain the relationship between Edward Pack, the father, and Tony, his son. It is clear to me now that Tony has killed them all—his father, Walter Jones, and Robert Brauer—in order to gain access to the key.

There is and always has been but a single client key to the safe-deposit box containing the vaunted Blood Flag, the replica manufactured by Edward Pack. The sole key is the one in the center drawer of my desk at home. If Tony knew it was there, I am convinced he would take it, kill Joselyn, and head to Fish’s office and from there to the bank to get the flag. The key was sent to Robert Brauer because, as Fish stated to me on the phone, Brauer was the last survivor. The lawyer’s instructions, when we get them, will give us the answer. I suspect that Fish was to maintain possession of the key as long as two or more of the former army comrades remained alive. The moment their number was reduced to one, the agreement they signed and the instructions probably required Fish to send the key to the sole survivor.