Cross Cut (12 page)

“I wish I knew. Something bad is going on, and it all seems to be knocking at our door. I knew this case was trouble.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m hoping to be there before they arrive. I’ll take you to a buddy of mine, he’ll keep you safe.”

“What if you’re not here in time—shall I go get Kendra?”

“Nah, forget it. You’ll be stuck then, unless you fancy swimming to Hawaii.”

A brief moment of silence and I gave her my plan. I would approach the beach house round back, down a little dirt track few people know about. If I was the first one there, we were good to go. I’d get her the hell out of there and take her twenty miles northeast, to a place that’s as good as off the grid.

If the cavalry were there, then it would be different. I told her to lock herself up in the garage. After that, I’d be playing a risky game. One where I could wind up in prison.

“You believe me, don’t you?” she said.

“I do,” I said, without hesitation, and then I hung up.

I got to the vantage point around ten minutes later. A street two blocks over that had elevation, overlooking the beach house. I could see two cars belonging to the BI, two SUVs belonging to the FBI. It seemed like overkill, but clearly they meant business. They thought Melissa was a killer, or worse.

My mind wandered a second. I still didn’t like the coincidences. The impostor Lynch shows up, then the real one dies. Our card was found at the scene, and then Melissa is implicated. I’m in the federal building for an hour, and suddenly the FBI trace the bracelet to her, which meant something else; Melissa’s fingerprints or DNA were on a system, be it VICAP, IAFIS or something like that. They pegged her to that bracelet because she had a record.

I snapped out of it and drove further down the street till I came to the turn off. After a quarter of a mile I was as safe as I could be without alerting anyone to my presence. I parked the Lexus in a small clearing at the bottom of the hill that leads up to the back of the beach house. I could see the ocean and the pier from here. I could probably spot Ryder if I tried hard enough, but that would have to wait.

I ran in a sort of hunchback way with my head down, taking it slowly up the hill, taking cover behind the bushes. Our garden is quite big, so crossing it would be risky, but no agent had decided to try round back, yet. But they would, so I made a break for it, avoiding the pond and jumping the decorative gravel at the garden edge. I could hear them shouting among themselves, and at Melissa, who was hopefully in the garage.

I ran across our French doors and made haste for the kitchen door. I could hear footsteps round the side. I grabbed at my keys and opened the lock and entered, shutting the door quickly behind me with the handle down, so the latch bolt made as little noise as possible. I figured an agent would soon be passing the window, so I ran into the office, made my way into the hallway, took a left into the living room, crawled underneath the window bay, and then scaled the east wall until I found the side door into the garage. I counted three different voices from outside. I guessed we had about a minute before they kicked the front door down.

Melissa was standing there, shaking, but not crying, clutching a small rucksack in her left hand.

“What’s going on?” she said. “This is crazy, I didn’t—”

I lifted my finger over my mouth and then whispered. “Shhh.”

The garage is large enough to fit two cars side by side, but there was only a pickup parked at the back, old and rusted. We use it for shifting Ryder’s aquariums from A to B. There was a time I had a Yamaha, but Ryder never shut up about it. Ryder’s Porsche was out front, blocked in by the SUVs.

We kept a variety of miscellaneous items inside the garage. Some tools and gardening equipment. One of Ryder’s old aquariums was standing idly behind the pickup. We kept the washing machine here too.

The ceiling was relatively high, a few feet higher than the automatic retractable door, made of oak. There were a couple of shelving units across the walls with paint tins and various other tinned goods that all had expiry dates predating the turn of the century. The ledge directly above the garage door was empty.

My original plan; to get the pickup going and simply speed out of the garage and try and ditch Melissa covertly, before the FBI and BI could catch up to me, didn’t seem all that favorable now. For one, I had a vision of dodging the cars out on the drive. The vision involved me running over an agent, and going to prison for a very long time. With that in mind, I made some subtle adjustments.

I took Melissa’s bag and emptied the clothing into the laundry basket and mixed it in with the other clothes. I looked at the empty bag for a second and figured nothing would be made of it on the shelves.

“What are you—”

“Shhh.”

I moved to the pickup and covered the empty bed with a large duvet cover from the laundry basket. I shuffled it around a little so it covered the whole bed and went up and over the sides. Easily enough space for someone to hide under. I looked at Melissa and said, “Do you get my plan?”

“They’re not going to fall for that.”

“Here’s hoping,” I said. I spent very little time explaining things to her and then told her to get into position. “Oh, wait, we got a radio in here?”

“On the top shelf to your left,” Melissa whispered.

I turned it on, not caring about the channel. I cranked the volume and then took the pickup keys from the opposite shelf, and then got in and started up the engine. I pulled forward slightly, just shy of the garage door, and then opened it with the remote. My heart sank a little at the halfway point. When the door was fully up and parallel with the ceiling, the agents outside began to congregate in front of me.

I pulled forward some more and wound the window down, trying to act casual. I got halfway outside before two agents started to slam down on the hood.

“Stop right there, now!” The familiar, grating voice of special agent Chris Hacket, BI.

Two other FBI agents followed suit. I’d never seen them before. Hacket’s partner, Maggie Bloom had her firearm held high, for reasons unknown to me. I didn’t particularly want to give her an excuse, though, so I killed the ignition.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” I said calmly. When I looked beyond the agents crowding the pickup, I saw Kacie behind them. Her shoulders sagged and she stared in disbelief, not really understanding how or why I’d made it back to the beach house before her.

“Get the hell out of the car, you moron!” Hacket shouted. “We’ve been knocking for five minutes.”

“Really?” I said. “Couldn’t hear you for the radio.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Bloom said, her firearm still high. “Get out the car and get Miss Hart out here right now.”

I complied with the first bit. I looked her in the eye and said, “Melissa? What do you want her for?”

Bloom was about to speak, but she was intercepted by one of the FBI agents, who made it clear they were running things. She made Bloom and Hacket stand down and approached me while waving a sheet of paper.

“We have a warrant for the arrest of Melissa Hart. We’ll search the premises if we have to,” the female agent said. Her short but messy brown hair showed the same no-nonsense attitude as her voice.

I’m generally not very good at faking shock, but I did my best. “Melissa? What the hell for?”

“For the murder of Guy Lynch. If you don’t mind, we’ll talk to her about it.”

I scratched my head and laughed. “What is this, a joke?”

“This ain’t no joke,” Hacket said. “She did it, and she’s going down for it.”

The other FBI agent made his way round the other side of the pickup and signaled with his hand toward the bed. I turned my head sharply and betrayed a nervous twitch of the shoulders.

“Planning on going somewhere?” the female agent said.

I said nothing and kept my eyes forward and could see the smile on Hacket’s face.

“Thought you could get away with it, huh? Man, you’re dumb,” Hacket said. “Caught you red-handed and you’re going to eat it. Trying to aid the escape of a person of interest.”

“Dumb yourself,” I said. “I can hardly be charged when I’ve only just heard of this babble.”

Hacket frowned.

Kacie was still outside. I figured she might say something, but she didn’t. She probably knew I was up to something, though.

“Check the pickup and get it over with,” Bloom said.

The female agent jerked her neck, gave Bloom a stern gaze, then turned to the male agent. “Pull up the sheet.”

The male agent pulled back the duvet while the female agent watched. Afterward, they looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Okay, quit the comedy. Where is Melissa Hart?” the female agent said.

“Search me,” I said. “All I know is she ain’t in the pickup. Can I go now?”

“You set one foot out of this house and I’ll take you back in cuffs,” Hacket said.

“Nerks,” I said. “For what exactly?” I turned to the female FBI agent. “That piece of paper says you can search the house. Fine, be my guest, but I doubt it says anything about me leaving.”

She looked at the male agent and grunted. “You realize if this is some kind of dodge, you’re in big trouble.”

“Dodge smodge. While you’re busy looking for the world’s meekest woman, I’m going out to catch the real killer.”

“I can’t compel you to stay, but I’d advise it. We have strong evidence linking Melissa Hart to the restroom at Anaheim. Now, make it easy and tell us where she is.”

I simply shrugged and leaned back against the pickup truck. The female agent shook her head, then turned and nodded at Hacket and Bloom. “Check the house.” She looked beyond them to where Kacie was outside the garage. “You too, Cordell.”

“Be careful with the aquariums,” I said smugly.

Hacket and Bloom sneered as they walked into the living room. The female agent was named Gibbs. I’d say around forty, with very little interest in her looks, but the dimples that curved down from her nose and into her lips added a little character. She took the male agent round the front of the house and called for the other agents round back. She came back and looked at me with a raised finger.

“Where is Miss Ryder?” she said.

“At the pier, where else?”

“Go get her.”

“Get her yourself. But I’m not responsible for anything that happens to you.”

She grunted. “This is ridiculous.” She turned to Kacie. “Go down to the pier and bring Miss Ryder back here.”

“But—” Kacie stuttered.

“Do it.” Gibbs walked into the living room with an unimpressed groan.

Kacie walked up to me and gave a long stare. One that showed no trust or belief in me whatsoever.

“You told her to run, didn’t you?” Kacie said.

“So what if I did? She didn’t kill Guy Lynch. You know that. Hell, Hacket and Bloom would know that if they weren’t hell bent on showing Ryder up.”

She sighed and gave me her back. “You shouldn’t have—” Another sigh. “I know you saw that bracelet in the file—”

“So do your job and tell them,” I said.

She gave another sigh and shook her head. “Whatever you’ve done—I hope you don’t regret it.”

She sounded almost hollow and grieved, although I doubted it was because she was thinking of my well being. She just didn’t want to go retrieve Ryder from the pier.

For now, Melissa was safe, but only barely. I called the probability of success at fifty percent, because I like a game of hide and seek to be fair.

That aside, it would take a little bit of tact on my part to get the FBI away from the beach house. That and hopefully Ryder would have a fit.

18

The FBI had been searching the house ten minutes before Ryder stormed through the French doors. The office was a mess, because as it turns out, officers of the law don’t seem to be able to walk straight from one room to another. No one wiped their feet, either. The hallway was the same. Some idiot thought Melissa was hiding in the closet.

Kacie was still in the garden by the time Ryder saw red, which meant she couldn’t see Ryder’s face explode into a bubbling fire contained only by her cheeks.

I sat on my desk with my arms folded, watching from my little alcove in the office, when Ryder asked me plainly, “What is the meaning of this, Ader?”

I shrugged. “Sorry, Boss, they had a piece of paper. They think we’re harboring a fugitive.”

“And are we?”

“Search me, it’s a big house.”

Ryder frowned and let out a deafening call. “I demand an explanation!”

Hacket and Bloom came into the office first, then agent Gibbs and her partner. Kacie remained outside, biting her thumb while looking at the ocean.

Gibbs approached Ryder with the warrant. “I am Special Agent Gibbs, FBI. We have a warrant for Melissa Hart’s arrest.”

“Nonsense,” Ryder said.

Gibbs shook her head. “No nonsense. Tell me where she is.”

“How the devil should I know? She is a grown woman. I do not oversee her own personal affairs.”

“Have you any idea where she is?”