CON TEST: Double Life (27 page)

“
I do not know it,” she replied somberly, recalling how she was approached to turn her back on Justice for $250,000.

“
Tell me something. I am begging you to tell me anything. That would be the best thing to do, Nyoka.”

She paused to think about her response. Sam gently and casually placed his Glock on her forehead and she suddenly knew what happened to the password. “I don’t have it. I never did.”

“
Good, I was just checking to be sure that my instructions were followed to the letter and you didn’t know,” he said and then proffered a shot to the back of her head that left a cavernous hole. A peephole that he looked through sadistically. When he looked up he saw the Metropolitan PD police lights flashing as her head retired on the table.

Three blocks away, the killer hopped into an unattractive Ford Escort. He slipped off the jump suit. Underneath he wore an attractive business suit. From under the skull cap long, black hair flowed out. The killer drove North on I-95 so that he could get out of Washington, D.C. and head to Baltimore, MD. He was en route to the airport.

At the airport, he parked in the long term parking section. He packed the bloody clothes into a duffle bag and abandoned the Ford. Before he boarded the shuttle bus to the airplane terminal, he abandoned the duffle bag a few feet from the Ford.

At terminal B, Sam boarded a non-stop flight to LA. He had business to finish.

PART 3

FIFTY-TWO

W
hen Lundin opened her eyes after a horrible night’s sleep, it was 7 a.m. She envisioned a normal day. Her body felt tired, but she was alert. That was normal. The feeling was nothing a mug of cappuccino from the kitchen could not cure. She planned her next five minutes meticulously. She threw the comforter from her and glanced at the television.

On the television screen was a photo of her husband in a box. The reporter called her husband the conniving man that raped and destroyed the country’s economy to the loud tune of ten million dollars, feigned his own death, and lived for four years under the successful mask of William Fortune. She couldn’t believe how confused the media was. She turned the channel and there was William again. Her husband was the top story. The
crème-de-la-crème
of that day’s media. It was official that William was at the apex of American pop culture.

She had not heard from William all night. Possibly he was in danger, or simply hiding. She would do what was necessary to continue her life with William Fortune. She lay back down and cupped her hands over her face. Today was definitely not a normal day, by any means.

Her cell phone rang and she recognized the ring tone as an instant message and she reacted.

Lundin sat in her Rendezvous and concentrated on the text that she had received. She wanted to know why William had instant messaged her versus calling so that she could hear his voice.

Never before had she been so afraid for William. During the nineteen months that they had cohabited, he had come home every night at normal hours. She knew the times that he didn’t. Those were the times that he was out of town doing research for a novel.

She gave her vehicle life and drove off. Where she was headed was unknown to her, but she would drive until she received further instructions from her husband. She drove up to Wilshire Boulevard and made a left onto it. Cars ebbed fiercely and she joined the rush hour-rush to nowhere.

No matter what she tried to do, her thoughts returned to William. She struggled to regain normalcy in her thought process. Knowing that William was wanted for committing a plethora of felonies and was known to the LAPD as armed and dangerous had hindered her from gathering her composure. LAPD had a reputation as solid as John Gotti’s for forcing victim’s loved ones to grieve for a loss of life.

Lundin kept driving past Lacienega. Past Crenshaw. Past Western. The northbound on-ramp to the 110 Freeway was approaching. She texted William and he responded as planned. The reply was that she had been followed and that she would have to abide by his new instructions to avoid capture from the men pursuing her. They were government agents, but he had no way of knowing if they were legit or not.

* * *

Bustling Robertson Boulevard began to come to life as night faded into day. No longer under the guise of the darkness, the Secret Service had to reposition themselves to avoid detection. Having bugged Lundin’s truck, they were aware that she would lead them to their suspect, especially when they had a car tailing her. They hoped that William found his way into their dragnet soon. The arrest would be for every identity theft agent in the country.

FIFTY-THREE

D
elia did not sleep, but Jared slept during the flight to Los Angeles. It was nine a.m. when the airplane landed onto a LAX runway. By the time the agents entered the terminal; they were met by the local Secret Service boys and escorted to the headquarters.

LAPD Detective Rocky Bowman awaited them in a command room. Bowman’s legs were perfectly parallel to the metal chair that he sat in. He looked like a wheelchair-bound soldier. He shifted through a thick sheaf of papers and looked restless. He undoubtedly needed sleep, but that was not an option.

The Secret Service guys from Philadelphia walked into the room as if they owned the place and that irritated Bowman. He held out his hand and introduced himself. Jared placed a leather binder on the table along with several folders that were held together by a rubber band.

“
Have one,” Bowman said. They both picked up folders of the evidence without speaking and opened them up. Bowman searched their faces for emotion. There was none.

Jared finally said, “
Double Life
by William Fortune. Is this his latest novel?”

“
Final draft directly from the agent this morning. Worth its weight in gold,” Bowman said.

Delia scanned the draft impassively. “Does this contain leads?” she asked getting down to business. She ran her fingers through her hair and then asked, “Why did his case air on AMW?”

“
That’s an easy one. Someone tipped them that he was not dead.”

“
Okay,” Delia said. “Is Fortune’s wife in custody?”

“
There is a lovely array of facts in the manuscript to how Justice escaped arrest. You’re arrested, as you are in the novel. You’re real names and all. And no, the wife is not in custody,” Bowman said, as if he had dropped a bomb.

Both of the Secret Service agents looked at Bowman perplexed. Why she wasn’t in custody was their number one question. As they deplaned, they were informed that Lundin’s car was bugged to hear a pin drop and a tracking device was on it as well. And she had a tail. She had to be in custody.

“
No need to look crazy pals. There’s a far more intriguing development that has been looming since we last chatted,” Bowman said and then dimmed the room lights. He walked to the head of a long table and reached for a string hanging from the ceiling. He pulled the cord and a white screen appeared. He used the remote to instruct the Power Point to display the first slide on the screen. “That is your man Justice Lorenzo four years ago when he skipped town,” Bowman said, and then pushed a button on the remote. “This is a picture of your man taken recently.” He showed the picture mailed by Jose Velazquez to Lundin.

“
Thanks,” Delia said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “We did not think that he had aged to an unrecognizable state.”

“
Yeah, what’s the goddamn point?” Jared asked, hotly. He was pissed, and then added, “I want the men that lost the wife in here ASAP.”

“
You two can save the sarcasm,” Bowman said to them, and asserted his authority. “Bet you have no idea that the two photos are the same men living a double life, ergo the title of the novel.”

Delia looked frustrated. She could not take dealing with a detective that was not from her elite pedigree. While she understood Detective Bowman’s stake in the matter, Bowman forced her to not want to work with him. She and Jared had been given carte blanche to reach deep into the prestigious pool of men on their team to track and find their man.

“
Here,” Jared said, sliding glasses to Bowman. “You need these until you get your own.”

Bowman ignored their wicked stares and slid each of them an enlarged copy of a California driver’s license. “Jared and Delia, I am not as delusional and incompetent as you may think. Photo numeral
uno
is your guy, Justice Lorenzo, as I’ve previously stated. Photo numeral
dos
is my guy, William Fortune. They are the same goddamn man!” Bowman let that sink in, and then slid the glasses back to Jared.

FIFTY-FOUR

L
undin pulled over at McDonalds and parked in the parking lot. She could see the agents parked about five cars over from her. She grabbed her purse and took out her wallet. She then stuffed the purse under the seat to conceal it from thieves. She opened the door and wiggled through the parking lot as if she had to use the restroom very badly. Her face was strained and sweaty. She looked as if she had to piss right then, or her bladder was bound to explode.

She emerged into the McDonalds and dipped into the bathroom. She pulled her hair into a pony tail and slipped her white blouse over her head and revealed a red tube top. She topped her head with a Wizards ball cap and pulled her hair through the hole in the back.

Exiting the bathroom Lundin looked at the agents’ vehicle, which was parked facing away from the restaurant. Rather than exit out the same door that she entered, she walked pass the counter of registers, and ignored their crooked stares. She jogged toward the pavement, her breasts bounced vivaciously as she crossed the drive-thru lane. Her exposed stomach contracted and expanded with each breath that she took, as she made her escape from the agents. She reached the pavement and jogged along the street until she reached the parked Pontiac G6 that William had rented. The passenger door swung open and she hopped in. Her husband was not the driver!

FIFTY-FIVE

S
ecret Service Agent Lewis Horton hopped out of the Taurus and decided to take a piss. Lewis strode into the fast-food joint and went directly to the bathroom. He used the john, washed his hands, and then walked back into the dining area. He called his partner, Secret Service Agent Thomas Blakemore, and asked if Lundin had exited.

“
Fuck no. What, is she shitting?” Thomas joked.

“
Don’t know. Let me check on her,” Lewis replied.

“
You just want a cheap thrill. Pervert!” Thomas said. Lewis heard Thomas chuckling before he hung up.

Lewis placed his hand on the handle of the ladies room door and yelled, “Man on deck,” before he swung it wide open. No one responded, so he entered and checked all of the stalls. He swallowed hard and sped outta the bathroom.

Lewis reached the counters and did not see Lundin anywhere in sight. Frustration flashed on his face and he pulled on the little hair that he had left. He called his partner. “Tell me she came out.”

“
No,” Thomas replied. He thought that he heard the beginning of a very bad joke.

FIFTY-SIX

N
ear 10 a.m., William awoke. He found himself naked underneath leather straps binding him to a plywood board. The board was placed neatly on top of a concrete slab. He dreamily peered around the room and found a small window with a curtain over it. The room was small and dank and resembled a garage. His eyes settled on an IV-drip bag that lay next to him. He traced the cords with his eyes to his arm. His hands were covered in black ink and his head was bandaged.

Sam stood in the corner of the garage next to a pick-up truck. He enjoyed the sight of William awakening. He had prayed that William would not wake up during the time it took to kill Nyoka and fly back to LA. The wait was well worth it. He strolled over to his victim and stared down at him. Sam’s eyes admonished William and William was terrorized. He gathered the mettle to face the torture that he probably faced.

William watched Sam stick a needle into an exposed vein on his left arm. He had administered sodium thiopental, a fascinating truth serum. William was horrified. He had so much to tell.

“
Are we awake?” Sam asked, looking condescendingly at William. He flashed a wicked smile. Nothing was funny lately, though. Seeing William terror-stricken was.

The garage door swung open and another man entered. William did not recognize the man. The man carried a black doctor’s bag. Rather than remove a stethoscope, the man pulled out several wires and began attaching them to William.

“
You’re being connected to a lie detector. Considering we have you alive is evidence that our intent is not to murder you. All I want is a piece of the pie. Is that clear?” Sam asked. He then added, “Be careful how you reply. A lie could devastate you.”