Bloody Politics (20 page)

He smiled again. “Good research, Molly. I gotta hand it to you. You hit them where it hurt the most. Publicity. Ryker's out there twisting slowly in the wind.”

I recalled that notorious phrase from the past, and it gave me pause. Arrogance was always our downfall. “Okay, Raymond. Tell me about Eric Grayson. I always had a feeling something wasn't right about that accident. Eric was a fanatic about being careful. And he certainly would never drink and drive.”

“You're right. That traffic accident was arranged. His car was forced off the road by an operative, after two large gas cans filled with gasoline had been placed in the trunk. That ensured a quick and fiery explosion once it crashed into the ravine below the turnpike.”

The man's matter-of-fact description of my relative's horrible death sent an ice-cold chill over me. I stared at him, aghast, letting disgust fill my voice. “You cold-hearted bastard.”

“I simply follow orders from higher-ups.”

“Ryker.”

He shook his head. “Way higher than that, Molly. You've already uncovered some of those names. But that web stretches even farther. A committee. Those people had gotten wind of Grayson's research and were watching him. He'd made no secret that he believed his brother David had been right to suspect Ryker of corruption. I was told the committee decided to act before Eric Grayson could go public. They wanted to make sure the information never got out.”

The guy's cough started again and sounded even deeper this time, causing him to lean forward and hold onto the bench. I stared out into the park, wondering which bench sitters were Prestige operatives. Danny was out there too. And they all were hearing this man's recitation of how Eric had died. He'd been eliminated. Other names pressed forward.

I waited until the man's cough subsided. He took an even longer drink from the silver flask this time. “Others have gotten too close, haven't they? My niece Karen and Celeste Allard. Were they eliminated too?”

He nodded. “We let Molinoff confess because it shut down questions. Then we wrote his suicide note. And the little staffer on the eastern shore. That gas explosion was no accident. There were a couple of others.”

I knew immediately who he meant. “Quentin Wilson and Na
tasha Jorgensen.”

He nodded and wiped the handkerchief across his mouth. I spotted red on the white cloth.

“We dumped sedatives and Vicodin in Wilson's beer. He just went to sleep. Jorgensen was messier. She fought back.”

I had to ask. Who knew how much longer this guy was going to sit here and talk to me. “The guy who's following me, did he kill them?”

“Yeah. One operative did them all, including Eric Grayson. And that's why I'm here. Ryker's out of the picture. Spencer Graham is gone. And I'll be leaving soon. But this guy is still out there, and I wanted to warn you. He's got a vendetta against your boyfriend DiMateo, and he's using you. I don't know what he's got planned, but it won't be pretty. I told him to give it up and get out of town now. But he's made it personal. That's always a mistake.”

I observed Raymond. Clearly, he was a very sick man; that cough had a death rattle to it. “I guess I should thank you, but somehow I can't bring myself to say it.”

Raymond started to laugh again, a hearty laugh this time, until another coughing fit began. Even deeper. I watched him grasp hold of the bench and lean his head between his knees, shaking. Deep racking coughs, droplets of blood dripping onto the ground. I sensed he was already dying, and he knew it. The coughing gradually ceased, but Raymond continued to hold himself over the bench, gasping for breath.

“You really should get something for that,” I offered quietly. It was all I had.

Raymond sat up a little and wiped his mouth, smearing some of the bloody phlegm across his cheek. “There's a bottle of thirty-year-old Scotch waiting at my office. That's good enough.”

He upended the silver flask, draining it, then shoved the uncapped flask into his pocket. He slowly pulled himself up from the bench. I spotted a gun in a holster below his arm as his jacket fell open. So I pointed to it.

“Were you going to use that on me if I started screaming or something?”

Raymond smiled at me with that sardonic smile. “No, I wasn't going to shoot you, Molly.” Then he peered at me. “I can tell you're feeling sorry for me despite yourself. Don't. There's something else you should know.” He paused. “Your husband David didn't kill himself. I shot him. He was the first job I did for Spencer Graham and the committee. Your husband was asking too many questions and stirring up too much attention. People really liked him, and they started to believe his charges. That was enough for the committee.”

I stared at Raymond, as shock was swiftly overtaken by fury. “
You sonofabitch!”
I whispered as I rose from the bench. Rage burned inside me. I took one step toward him.

Raymond stood where he was. “Watch your back, Molly.” With that, he turned and slowly walked down the sidewalk, heading out of the park.

My fists clenched and unclenched as the fury inside slowly ebbed. I wanted to follow him, but I knew Prestige already was. They would know where he was. Where to find him.

Suddenly Danny appeared by my side. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Molly, you okay? I heard it all.”

I turned to Danny and stared into his eyes, letting him read all the regret and anger and grief that I felt churning inside. “I need to get away. Go somewhere to think. Alone.”

“I'll take you anywhere you want Molly. And I'll leave you alone. But I'm gonna be right there watching. Just in case.”

I simply nodded and grabbed my bag. Danny took my arm and escorted me out of the park.

Later Sunday afternoon

I watched the Potomac rush past. Only a few feet below me as I sat on the riverbank above Chain Bridge. Away from tourists, away from people. This close to the water, I could hear it running fast and deep as it rushed toward the sea. The relentless pull of the sea. Out there, pulling at all of us.

It was deep here. People drowned regularly. Fishermen, drinking too much, would slip and fall, then try to scramble up the bank. But the river's current was stronger than they were. Powerful currents would pull them along, then pull them under. The river could mesmerize you. Trick you into thinking you were safe. Come too close, and suddenly it was too late.

I sat there, not moving. Danny stood way above me on the riverbank, giving me space and time alone with my thoughts. And memories. Oh, God, the memories. And the guilt. Overwhelming guilt had replaced the anger.

God help me
. If there was forgiveness out there, somewhere, maybe I could find it. I'd have to find a way to explain to my daughters. How, I didn't know yet, but I would find a way.

Pushing off the boulder where I'd sat, I climbed up the bank. Danny met me halfway down and offered his hand. He held his cell phone in the other.

“I just heard from Bennett. Raymond's dead. The team followed him from the park to an office building on H Street nearby. He had a front office on an upper floor, looking out toward the avenue. They trained their cameras on him and watched as he stood at the window and drank, probably that Scotch he spoke of. Suddenly he put a pistol to the side of his head and shot himself, then fell away from the window. Bennett's calling the police, so they'll check his office.”

I stared into Danny's dark eyes. “He said he was ‘leaving soon,' and he wasn't kidding. Who was he, exactly? Did they find out?”

“Oh, yeah.” Danny looked at his phone screen. “Raymond Montague. Sixty-five. Did two army tours in Southeast Asia, then he quit and became a hired gun. Mercenary for South American guerillas. He was also in Africa and back in Southeast Asia. Then he dropped off the radar screen. That probably was the time he started working for Spencer Graham.”

Suddenly I felt very, very tired. I slid my arms around Danny. “Let's go back. I want to go where it's warm. Let's make a fire in the fireplace tonight, okay?”

Danny kissed my forehead and wrapped his arm around me as we climbed the rest of the riverbank together.

twenty-one

Monday morning

“How're you doing, Molly?”
Casey asked as I walked into the hallway from my office. Coffee mug in hand, he was also heading for a refill. Even though it was sunny outside and promised to be warm, I still felt chilled inside.

“I'm doing okay, considering,” I said, as we turned into the kitchen. Luisa was out running errands with Albert. “I take it Danny updated you on yesterday's adventures.”

“Oh, yeah. I'll bet Prestige had that park covered with their people. Every other bench.” He gestured to me, so I refilled my mug with a fragrant black stream.

“Apparently. And they were all listening in on the conversation. That didn't bother Raymond Montague at all. He even joked about it, asking if the bug was in my purse, which it was, actually.” I took a hot sip.

“Raymond Montague,” Casey said in an amused voice as he filled his coffee mug. “The name sounds like an art appraiser or something, not a hired gun.”

I closed my eyes and gave a shudder. “At least I have to thank him for the warning.”

“Thank God you've got Prestige watching your house. And you.” He looked at me with a worried expression.

That reminded me of something. “Hey, would you check on Loretta, just to make sure nobody strange has shown up? Because of all these things happening, I haven't talked to her in a couple of days.”

“Don't worry. I already have. I checked over there yesterday evening after I left here. All was quiet. No strangers, no problems. And she's really glad she has the security. Even though she complains about the lights coming on.” He grinned.

“Oh, thank you, Casey. That's sweet of you,” I said, making sure I didn't betray my delight that Casey had gone to visit Loretta on his own.

“No problem. She was making red beans and rice. They were delicious.” He winked.

This time I couldn't hide my smile. “And you didn't bring me any? You dog. You tell Loretta to send me some authentic red beans and rice next time you see her.”

“I'll be sure to tell her,” he said with a grin as he headed down the hallway.

Red beans and rice, huh?
That's how it starts. I smiled all the way to my office.

Mid-morning

I tabbed through the spreadsheet on one of Peter's rental properties, completely immersed in expenses, so I didn't notice Luisa standing in the doorway.

“Molly, while you were on the phone a few minutes ago, I received a call on the residence line for you.”

I broke the spreadsheet trance and glanced up. “Oh, really? Who would call me on the residence line?”

“It was the D.C. Animal Welfare Control. The man said your neighbor had called to report a stray cat wandering in her yard and threatening her.” Luisa looked puzzled. “I figured it must be the big tabby that hangs around your house. You said he's been there since you moved in last spring.”

I sank back in the desk chair. “Yes, that's gotta be Bruce. He's been, uh … courting the neighbor's pedigree, white Persian kitty. So this woman has been complaining about Bruce whenever she sees me.”

“Well, that man said she filed an official complaint so he had to go over and bait a trap for your cat. Some sort of special cage that he put inside the garage. He'll be back later this afternoon to pick him up and take him to the shelter.”

“
Oh, damn!
I'd better go over there and see if Bruce is caught in the cage. Darnit! I was just getting into those spreadsheets. Nothing got accomplished Friday, so I wanted to make progress on them today.”

“You'd better go over there now. I've heard tell those Animal Shelter fees are outrageous,” Luisa warned. “I've heard if you go to the shelter yourself, you can save some money on fines.”

Annoyed, I pushed away from my chair and slipped on my suit jacket hanging over the back. “He's not even my cat,” I protested. “Who knows where Bruce disappears to every night. His owner never shows up. No ID, nothing.”

“He's a mystery kitty,” Luisa teased as she walked into the hall.

Mystery kitty. Pain in the ass, kitty
. I grabbed my purse and phone and headed out of my office. It was still sunny and warm so it would be a fast walk back to my house. No need to call Jeremy.

_____

I heard Bruce's loud meow as I walked up my driveway. He must have recognized my footsteps. A raucous meow, hoarse-sounding and coming from the garage. There was a yellow paper taped to the garage door. I yanked it off and read. It was an official ticket. From the D.C. Department of Animal Control.
Damn!
Handwritten itemized fines for animal control and entrapment, cage, and service call for a grand total of
$675
! “Dammit, Bruce! You just cost me $675, and you're not even my cat!”

Bruce meowed even louder, protesting the cage, no doubt. I punched in the garage code and watched the door rattle upwards. There in the back of the garage was Bruce, clawing inside a black cage. Meowing even louder.

“Quiet down, Bruce. I've gotta take you to Animal Control,” I said as I walked inside the garage. I noticed the door to the backyard was open and an empty can of tuna was inside the cage. “That's how he caught you, Bruce. It was the tuna.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” a man's voice sounded suddenly.

I jumped back instinctively. I saw a man emerge from behind boxes I had stacked in the corner of the garage. Even in the dim light, I recognized the priest's wide face, minus the glasses. Even the smile was the same. But there was a difference. This guy had a gun in his hand.
Trask
. I froze, my heart in my throat.

“You …” was all I could say.

His smile spread wider. “Yeah, it's me. I figured it was time we finally met face-to-face.”

“You were the one following me at the gallery.”

“And everywhere else. Don't play innocent, Molly. You already knew that. Those security guys have been trying to find me for weeks. That's why I thought it was time to wrap this up.” He raised the gun.

I stared at it. “Are … are you gonna shoot me?”

“Not yet. I want DiMateo to get over here first. That way, he can watch me kill you. Before I kill him.” His wide smile disappeared. “Get your cell phone.” He pointed to the bag I'd dropped on the garage floor. “We're gonna send him a text.”

Bruce started meowing again as I backed up a few steps to retrieve my purse.

“Damn cat is driving me crazy.” Trask aimed his gun at the cage.

“
No!
” I yelled. “Don't shoot him! I—I'll let him go! Please!”

Trask gave me a dark smile. “All right, Molly. Last wishes. Let him out.”

I quickly bent down and fumbled with the cage latch until it gave way, Bruce screeching all the while. The cage door swung open and Bruce streaked out of the garage like a rocket. I watched him enviously as he raced to safety down the driveway.

“Okay. Get the damn phone now.”

I grabbed my purse and fumbled inside for my phone, feeling it beneath my keys.
My car keys.
I grabbed my phone and my keys, slipping my phone into one hand and holding my keys against my purse as I dropped it to the floor. “Here it is,” I held up the phone to Trask while concealing the keys in my other hand.

“Okay, find his name in the directory, and give it to me,” Trask directed, holding out his gun-free hand.

I scrolled through the directory to Danny's name and pressed the message button. Then I handed over the phone.

Trask took it and started to enter a message. “Come quick. I need you.' That ought to do it.”

While his fingers worked the keys, I dropped the car keys into my jacket pocket.

Trask returned the phone. “That ought to bring him running. He's probably not too far away.”

I dropped the phone into my other pocket. “Prestige has probably seen you on the cameras already.” I pointed outside.

Trask snickered. “They don't know it's me. I showed up in the D.C. Animal Control uniform with the cage and put the notice on the garage door. Then I opened up a can of tuna all on camera and took the cage around back into the garage. That's when both the cameras on this side of the house started skipping, messing up the video. Funny thing about electronics. They're easy to screw up.”

My heart was beating so loudly I was sure Trask could hear it. I had to find a way to distract him. Slow him down until Danny could get here.
And, then
…
and then what? We'd both get shot?
I didn't have an answer. And I didn't know what to do. Except maybe distract Trask. Throw him off, somehow. Maybe I could try making a run for it like Bruce.

That thought made my gut clench even more. I wouldn't get very far. Danny would simply find my dead body, which would make it even easier for Trask to kill him. There was only one thing I could do to distract him. I shoved both hands into my jacket pockets. Fingering my car keys.

Suddenly my phone buzzed. A message from Danny. It had to be. I flipped open the phone and read Danny's message. “I'll be right there. Five minutes, max,” I read out loud. Trask grabbed the phone from me and read the message himself, then smiled. “Okay. Five minutes to go.”

I debated whether I should wait closer to the five minutes to use my keys or do it now.

“Sorry, Molly. But I can't let you send out any goodbye phone messages. They'd be too hard to explain. I'm going to make it look like a murder-suicide. Lovers' quarrel, whatever. D.C. cops are overworked anyway,” he said sarcastically.

That was it. I couldn't wait another minute. I pressed the alarm button on my car keys, and the horn started blaring on my car parked in the driveway. Lights flashed, horn blared, making a terrible racket.

“
What the hell!
” Trask yelled.

I raised both hands in surrender and backed up. “It's not me! Something happened!”

“Shut that thing off!” he snarled, advancing on me.

Suddenly Danny burst through the garage back door, gun in hand. Trask whirled around, but it wasn't fast enough. Danny cracked Trask across the face with his weapon. Trask reeled sideways and tumbled backwards over the empty cage onto the concrete floor.

Danny jumped over the cage and stomped Trask's wrist twice.
Hard
. Trask yelled in pain as Danny kicked the weapon away. He backhanded Trask again. Then Danny yanked him up off the floor and slammed him against the wall.

Trask moaned, obviously in pain. Blood streamed down his face as Danny searched Trask's jacket, pockets, under his shirt, pants leg, ankles. He tossed a knife and another smaller pistol out onto the garage floor.

“Damn you,” Trask snarled, cradling his wrist.

“Shut up, Trask. Your wrist is broken, that's all. The only reason I didn't kill you is I don't want to have to explain your mangy corpse to the D.C. cops. I'll let your friends take care of you.” Danny picked up Trask's two pistols and knife and tossed them onto the shelf.

At the first blow, I had scurried to the other side of the garage to watch, shutting off the car alarm first.

“Sonofabitch,” Trask glared at him again.

“You're wasting time, Trask. That wrist is gonna have to be set. I'm pretty sure I snapped all the bones. You're gonna have to go to your place, grab some cash, and make a run for it.” He checked his watch. “We've had two days to send out the word to all your old buddies in Columbia and the Congo. Remember them, Trask?”

I watched the color drain from Trask's face as he stared at Danny. Hatred, pure and ugly.

“Well, they remember you. And how you got away years ago. And they've had plenty of time to contact their people here. So, I figure you've got a fifty-fifty shot at getting away this time. Forget about the boat. We had it seized and locked up. There's a chain on it now in the marina.”

If looks could kill, Danny would surely drop dead that minute. “Motherf—” Trask let out a stream of curses. Danny stood, unfazed.

“Get your ass outta here, Trask, before I break your other wrist. Your friends are probably already at the airport. So you'd better take a bag of new disguises. I sent them photos of all your others.”

Trask kept his mouth shut this time, pushed himself away from the wall and headed out of the garage. He turned just once to glare at Danny and me.

“Time's up …” Danny said, advancing on him. At that, Trask broke into a limping run, down the driveway. He turned left and headed down P Street. It was after four o'clock now, so the sun was getting close to setting.

I turned to stare at Danny. “Where were you? How'd you get around back without us seeing you?”

Danny gave me a crooked smile. “I snuck
back to the house after we left this morning. I've been here all day. I had a feeling Trask was gonna make a move soon. So I was able to see him when he came over in the Animal Control uniform.” He snorted disdainfully. “Then Prestige saw the video feeds spiked, so they knew he was up to something. Of course I saw him sneaking into the back of the garage.”

“Where were you?”

“I was hidden behind the garden shed outside, watching from a crevice I'd made in the back of the garage.” Danny pointed to the right rear corner. “I figured he was setting a trap. Then you showed up and I could hear what he planned. I had to wait till he turned around or something distracted him. Otherwise, he'd see me as soon as I came in the door. Then he'd shoot you first. I couldn't risk that. I was about to call on your phone to distract him, then you did.” He pulled me into his embrace. “That was you with the car alarm, I knew it. Quick thinking.”

I slipped my arms around him and stared into his face. We were still alive. So far. “He's not coming back, is he? I mean … that was true what you said, right? About his friends coming to get him?”