Chasing Venus (41 page)

“He’s still here.
 
He’s trying to protect a woman who’s
been unjustly accused.
 
And whose
life may be in danger.”
 
He fought to
control his emotions.
 
“And for your
information, I did not propose to Annie.
 
I have never seen that ring before in my life.”

The shaking of her head
grew even more vigorous.
 
“Fine.
 
Drown in your own
lies for all I care.
 
But you’re not
taking me down with you.
  
Because it’s not only affecting me now, it’s affecting my family.
 
And I will not put all of us on the line
just to keep Annette Rowell out of custody.”

“Sheila, whatever
damage was done here can be repaired.
 
And I will see—”

“No, you can’t repair
everything.
 
Don’t you get it?
 
The DNA of a wanted fugitive is all over
this cabin.
 
This cabin that my
parents own.
 
How am I supposed to
explain that?”

“You don’t have to
explain a thing if you don’t call the cops.”

“I don’t have to call
them!
 
They’ve already called me.”

It took a beat or two
for that to sink into Reid’s brain.
 
“What are you talking about?”

“Simpson.
 
Simpson visited me this morning.
 
He came to my apartment bright and early
to ask about you and Annette Rowell.”

He visited me tonight to ask about the same thing
.
 
“What did you tell him?”

“Don’t worry, Reid,
don’t get that concerned look on your face.”
 
The expression on hers he’d never seen
before.
 
That mix of anger, hurt,
and bewilderment, with a dose of disdain thrown in for extra punch.
 
“I lied for you, that’s what I did.
 
I lied.
 
I told him it was ridiculous to think
for a moment that you had a personal relationship with her and that it was even
more inconceivable that you were harboring her.
 
That’s what I told him.
 
All the while I knew, I
knew
, you were up here in this cabin
with her.
 
This cabin that’s in my
family name.”

He couldn’t help
it.
 
He couldn’t deny the relief her
words gave him.
 
But the sensation
didn’t last for long.

“I’m done lying for
you.
 
I’m done.
 
I am already risking an obstruction of
justice charge for lying to a federal investigator.
 
I have not worked hard all my life so I
could land in prison.
 
And for
what?
 
I ask you.
 
For what?”

For you?
 
She might have
thrown that contemptuous phrasing in his face, but she didn’t.
 
He saw her features twist before she
turned away.
 
He could swear she was
a heartbeat from crying, something he’d never seen her do.

He kept his voice
low.
 
“Sheila, listen to me.
 
We’re close to the end of this
thing.
 
We’re very close.
 
What happened here tonight proves
it.”
 
She shook her head again but
he kept talking.
 
“The killer was here,
Sheila.
 
He was here.
 
He’s the man who bashed down the
bathroom door.
 
You know I didn’t do
that.
 
And you know Annie didn’t.”

“And this is meant to
reassure me?
 
That it was done by
some homicidal maniac who’s already murdered four people?”

“I know it’s not
reassuring.
 
The whole thing is
terrifying, I understand that.
 
But
you’re not in any danger.
 
No one in
your family is, either.”

She threw out her
hands.
 
“I don’t think so!
 
If what you’re saying is true, my
brother nearly ran into that murderer tonight!
 
Rajiv could’ve been killed.
 
Or Carrie.”

“Just keep your family
away from here for the time being.
 
That’s all you have to do.”
 
He edged closer, kept his voice calm and persuasive.
 
“Sheila, I’m asking you to trust me just
a little while longer.
 
We’re close
to catching the person who’s been killing the writers.
 
Don’t lose faith now.
 
Not when we’re so close.”

He saw her teetering,
her years of faith in him battered but not destroyed.
 
And he knew faith wasn’t the only thing
keeping her on his side.

“I am just so afraid
that we’ll lose everything we have spent the last five years building.”
 
She raised her eyes to his, eyes that
were exhausted and sad and sorry.
 
“Tell
me that won’t happen.”

“It won’t.”
 
He wished that had sounded more convincing.
 
“It won’t,” he repeated.
 
“And you can hold out, I know you
can.
 
You’re one of the strongest
women I know, Sheila.”
 
And Annie
was the other.

She picked up her
handbag and walked out.
 
He heard
her engine turn over, heard her Jetta’s tires crunch on the gravel as she
headed down the lane toward the main road.

He knew in the marrow
of his bones that she would stay quiet.
 
That meant he’d accomplished one of his goals.
 
Now for the other.

He went to his truck to
get his gun.

Monday morning, bright
and early, Lionel Simpson led Mark Higuchi and Sam Trotter into the
Crimewatch
building.
 
They were buzzed in by a no-nonsense
receptionist Simpson thought could work as a jail matron if the show ever cut
her loose.

She watched them
approach the fortress of her desk.
 
“What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“We’re here to see Reid
Gardner,” Simpson replied.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No, ma’am.”

She arched a brow, then
picked up a telephone and pushed a button.
 
“Rhonda, some gentlemen from the FBI are here to see Reid.”
 
She paused.
 
“No, no appointment.”
 
Another beat, then, “That’s what I
thought.”
 
She set down the receiver
and again raised her cool brown gaze.
 
“I’m sorry but Mr. Gardner isn’t here right now.”

Even though Simpson
knew that Gardner practically lived at the
Crimewatch
studios on weekdays, somehow he wasn’t surprised.
 
“When is he expected in?”

“His assistant can’t
say.
 
But you’re welcome to
wait.”
 
She indicated the
cooling-one’s-heels area with a wave of her fleshy arm.

“Is Sheila Banerjee
here?” Simpson asked.

Another raised brow;
another brief phone call.
 
This
time, a different answer.
 
“She’ll
be with you in a moment.”

Simpson, Higuchi, and
Trotter edged away from the reception desk and huddled.
 
“So Gardner’s not here,” Trotter said in
a low voice.
 
“And he never made it
home last night after he lost me.
 
So where the hell is he?”

“Wherever he is,”
Higuchi said, “he’s still posting to the
Crimewatch
message boards.”

Simpson had taken note
of those late-night and early-morning postings.
 
Very odd.
 
The guy evades a tail but makes a point
of participating in on-line discussions?

Simpson turned when
Sheila Banerjee entered the reception area.
 
Her clothing looked
work-ready—slim gray skirt and red silk blouse—but the drawn look
on her face and purple shadows beneath her eyes screamed that she hadn’t had a
restful weekend.
 
“Lionel.”
 
She shook his hand, gave his companions
an inquisitive look.

“This is my colleague,
Agent Mark Higuchi,” Simpson said, “and LAPD Officer Sam Trotter.”

“Gentlemen.”
 
She shook their hands, then pivoted
again toward Simpson.
 
“Two mornings
in a row, Lionel?
 
I’m honored.”

“May we speak in
private?”

She didn’t answer,
merely led them inside the sanctum sanctorum and down a narrow hallway flanked
by cramped offices and even more minuscule editing bays, the latter darkened to
near pitch-black conditions.
 
The
audio emanating from the open doorways gave this away as a cop-show production
facility.
 
The sound of staccato
gunshots burst out of one bay; sirens and female screams wailed out of
another.
 
Sheila motioned them into
a glass-walled conference room and shut the door behind her.
 
Here the only noise was the overhead
buzz of fluorescent lights.

She strode to the
opposite side of the table as if to put as much distance as possible between
herself and them.
 
They were on
opposing sides, Simpson knew.
 
And
he’d had just about enough of it.

Every law-enforcement
instinct he’d honed over three decades of experience told him that Gardner was
tied up with Annette Rowell and that Sheila Banerjee knew about it and wasn’t
telling.
 
That was going to
end.
 
Here.
 
Now.

He wasted no time
getting to the point.
 
“Sheila,
we’re looking for Reid.
 
Where is
he?”

She gave a short
laugh.
 
“I could have answered that
question out in reception.
 
I don’t
know.”

“How could you not
know?
 
It’s Monday morning and he
should either be here in the building or out with a crew shooting.
 
Or is he on vacation?
 
Even then, you should know where he is.”

She crossed her arms
over her chest.
 
“For your
information, I am not his keeper.”

“Sheila, I have had
just about enough of this runaround.”
 
Simpson felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.
 
“Last night, Reid willfully evaded an
officer of the law.
 
We don’t know
where he went except that he didn’t return home.
 
One thing we do know is that you phoned
him on his cell minutes before he went AWOL.
 
Now what did you two talk about that put
him on the run?”

She started ticking off
on her fingers.
 
“Number one, I am
under no obligation to share with you the details of my private
conversations.
 
Number two, I take
exception to your characterization of Reid as being ‘on the run.’
 
And number three, whose phone calls are
you monitoring, anyway?
 
Mine?
 
His?
 
Or both of ours?
 
What gives you the right?
 
I want to see your subpoena.”

Big show of defiance
there.
 
She was way feistier than
she had been 24 hours before.
 
Either she had something to hide, too, or Gardner had done a good job
bucking her up.
 
Out of the corner
of his eye, Simpson saw Trotter glance at Higuchi as if to say,
Whoa.
 
She’s no pushover
.

Simpson ignored every
question she asked and posed another of his own.
 
“Where did he tell you he was going last
night on that phone call?”
 
She
turned away, fixed her gaze on the smog-draped urban landscape beyond the
conference-room windows.
 
Simpson
kept speaking to her back.
 
“Was he
meeting up with Annette Rowell?
 
Is
that where he was going?”

She shook her
head.
 
“You are so convinced he’s
with her.
 
I don’t know why you
continue to insist on that when there is absolutely nothing to back it up.”

“There’s plenty to back
it up.”
 
He began walking around the
conference table, getting closer to her, layering on the pressure.
 
“Did he tell you about going to Vegas?”

“Vegas?”
 
She sounded surprised before she visibly
clamped down on any show of emotion.
 
“No.”

“He told me he went to
Vegas this past weekend.”
 
He edged
closer.
 
“Did he go back?”

“I have no idea.”

“He told me he went to
hire a hooker.
 
Or two.
 
He led me to believe that’s not unusual
behavior for him.”

He was close to her
now.
 
He stared at her profile,
wondering what effect hardball might have.
 
He watched Sheila Banerjee swallow hard but say nothing.
 
He persisted.
 
“This man you’re protecting,
Sheila.
 
This man that you tell me
you respect so much.
 
He routinely
fucks prostitutes.”