Deadly Interest (46 page)

His right hand lolled over the edge, into
the open escape hatch. I moved it, none too gently, in my effort to
rush.

“
Alex.”

I whipped my head around at the whispered
word.

“
Help me.”

His lips curled back, baring teeth clenched
in pain. Eyes tight, he took sharp, hesitant breaths.

I’d been about to lower myself through, with
no thought other than getting help for Maya, but the realization
that my words might be the last he’d ever hear stopped me for the
briefest moment.

“
Hang in there,” I said,
then realized with gut-punch impact that I’d said those very words
to Barton while we waited for the parameds to arrive. “Help will be
here soon.”

* * * * *

After calling 911, calling George, then
getting back up to the roof via the stairway this time, I waited
with Maya, encouraged by her occasional returns to consciousness.
The bullet had torn through her left shoulder, and though she’d
bled enough for me to find the wound in the darkness, I knew she
was strong. I hoped and prayed that she make it.

The police and paramedics arrived
simultaneously, allowing me to move off to a far corner of the
rooftop while they scrambled to work on Maya. Moments after their
appearance on the scene, they’d scoped out the area and called for
a helicopter.

My teeth chattered, but I stayed up-top,
hugging my knees as I sat far enough to be out of their way. One of
the techs had given me a blanket, and I tugged it close, grateful
for its warmth.

I winced at the throbbing shoop-shoop sound
of the helicopter’s whirling blades as it touched down. Turning my
head from the cold gusts of wind particles it shot into my face, I
whispered positive thoughts for Maya, as they loaded her stretcher
and took off for Northwestern Hospital.

George found me there, huddled, too tired,
too overcome, to move.

“
I thought you promised me
you wouldn’t get into a situation again,” he said, lightly, but the
ambient light reflecting in his eyes told another story. He
crouched to my position. “You okay?”

I nodded.

“
Let’s get you
downstairs.”

* * * * *

They’d transported David Dewars via
ambulance to Stroger Hospital, and I took a small measure of
comfort in knowing he and Maya wouldn’t be in the same emergency
room. I worried for her.

George thought I ought to be checked out,
too, but I hadn’t suffered more than a few bad scrapes and a couple
of hot bruises. “I’m fine,” I said. “But is there any way we can
know how Maya’s doing?”

We’d settled ourselves in the bank’s lobby,
the three other glass elevators that had been sitting open-mouthed
and dark on the main floor when we’d arrived, were now moving up
and down between our level, ten, and twelve, filled with aftermath
people.

George pulled a uniformed officer over,
spoke to him briefly and then sat down by me. I’d taken a place on
the tile floor, eschewing the building’s security man’s insistence
that I sit in his wheeled vinyl chair. I wanted to ask where he’d
been when we needed him, but I declined his offer politely
instead.

Now, I leaned my head against the wall,
staring upward at the dark skylit ceiling above.

“
Start from the
beginning,” George said, pulling out a notepad.

I did.

By the time I’d gotten to the part about
Owen’s arrival, the young officer George had spoken to earlier
returned, handing me a large Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Just cream?”
the fellow said, with a look that asked if that was right.

“
Perfect,” I said,
reaching up. The steam poured upward as I opened the lid, and the
first sip, hot and familiar down my throat, brought a sting to my
eyes. “Thank you,” I said, in an uneven voice.

As he left, I started to resume the story,
then suddenly remembering, I asked, “Jared. What about Jared?”

George shook his head, not
understanding.

“
When Dewars came, he said
that the guy in the garage security had been ‘taken care of.’ What
did he mean?”

The look in his eyes told me I didn’t want
to know.

He shook his head. “Point-blank to the
temple.”

My body began to shake then, as if reacting
to a systemic toxin—struggling to work the poison out before it
claimed my life, too.

“
Talk to me,” George
said.

I did.

He received a call moments later; Maya was
in stable condition. Despite the blood loss, she was expected to
pull through.

David Dewars remained critical. I’d planted
the bullet in his side. While I’d missed other major organs, the
shot had pierced his bowel. The fall down the shaft had broken his
back. Even if he survived, the chances of lifetime paralysis were
enormous.

I felt no triumph, no relief.

I felt nothing at all.

* * * * *

After I’d answered every question I could,
George drove me home. We were quiet for the short ride from Banner
Bank to Lake Shore Drive. As he merged into the southbound traffic,
George turned to me. “You did good.”

I shook my head. “This isn’t the job I
signed on for, you know. News research isn’t supposed to be a
life-threatening occupation.”

He nodded, his face
set—expressionless—alternating blue and dark as we drove past
street lights along the shoreline. I stared out the window for the
rest of the ride.

George came in with me to my aunt and
uncle’s house. Uncle Moose answered the door, but the look on my
face must have been enough because Lucy and Aunt Lena, both
pajama-clad and bleary-eyed, rushed me to sit on the sofa, full of
questions.

Already tired of telling the tale, I gave
them all the facts but very little flavor of the terror I’d felt on
that icy rooftop. I told them all that we now knew that Mrs. Vicks
had been killed by Owen Riordan, and that Riordan had been in
collusion with David Dewars in a huge bank embezzlement scheme.

“
One thing doesn’t make
sense,” I said, turning to George. Uncle Moose had pulled out a few
cans of pop and shoved a cold Pepsi into the detective’s hand. He’d
handed me one, too, but I waved it off with murmured thanks. “Why
would Dewars steal from his own bank? If he’s the owner—the
majority shareholder—he’s only stealing from himself, isn’t
he?”

“
I’ll look into that,”
George said. He propped his notebook on his knee and
scribbled.

“
What about Barton?” I
asked, starting to feel the grip of the story take hold, bolstering
my energy, again.

“
That witness I told you
about
did
see
someone at the approximate time Barton was shot,” he said. “From
the description of the man and his car, it sounds like Riordan
killed Barton, too. We’ll know for sure once I have the witness
look at a photo spread. Plus, not only was that stash of money
missing, but you told me you’d made a duplicate set of those bank
record copies for Barton, right?”

I nodded.

“
There was nothing in the
room that had anything to do with Banner Bank. Not a single thing.”
George scratched his head. “We’ve taken a look at phone records.
Barton called Riordan from his hotel room Saturday afternoon. What
was said between them, we can only guess. Apparently Riordan paid a
visit. Which explains how they knew you had the files.” He made a
face of discomfort. “Riordan must have tailed you today, both to
Maya’s and then to the bank. It’s the only explanation for how he
arrived there so quickly after you did.”

I shuddered.

“
I’m sorry,” George
said.

“
Why?”

“
I shouldn’t have let you
go there alone.”

I thought about that.
“Well, if he
was
tailing us, then it was just a matter of time before he made
his move, right?”

George nodded. “Probably.”

“
There’s no telling how it
might have gone down in another situation,” I said, sounding
Pollyanna-ish with my explanation. “Maya and I survived. That’s all
that matters.”

Lucy wrapped herself around my right arm and
buried her head in my shoulder.

“
So, it was Owen who
attacked me and Diana?” I asked.

George nodded. “I got the guys running like
crazy, trying to get all the pieces put together, but that’s what
it looks like. The blood type fits.”

“
He must have been looking
for Mrs. Vicks’ proof.” I shook my head. “And it was in a safe
deposit box somewhere else, the whole time.”

My family sat, staring, listening to us try
to piece it all together. My aunt tugged her robe close around her
ample frame. “What about Grady?” she asked.

“
He’s in custody. I’ve got
him charged with accosting Alex in the parking lot, but right now,
there’s not much more than that, and jumping parole. Apparently, he
had nothing to do with any of this.” George glanced at his watch.
“It’s after midnight. You folks ought to get some rest. And we’ll
know more tomorrow. I promise to be in touch.”

* * * * *

I declined Aunt Lena’s offer to stay the
night. One good thing had come out of all this—I sensed that Lucy
finally realized it had been need, rather than desire on my part,
that kept us from having our day together. I promised we would,
soon.

Tomorrow was out, because I had Bass’s
deadline to meet, but after all this finished, I was determined to
make her my priority.

George walked us the half-block to my house,
Lucy holding tight to me. He waited till I had unlocked the door,
then gave my shoulder an avuncular pat. “Good work, Alex. I’m proud
of you.”

With all that had gone on, I wanted to call
Bass right now and tell him that I quit, that I didn’t want to put
my life on the line ever again. Common sense won the argument
waging in my brain, however, and I shook my head,
reconsidering.

I loved my job, and I knew that this story,
with all its dangers, was an aberration. From here on out, I’d be
living the safe life of a news researcher, behind my desk, and one
day, when I was eighty years old, and looking back, I might
recollect these past few days as fun and exciting. Right now,
though, I needed to concentrate on kicking Dan Starck’s station’s
butt with my coverage of this feature.

Inside, I got Lucy settled, then found
myself wide awake with adrenaline-induced energy. I couldn’t sleep.
Visions of everything that had gone on the past two days rushed
through my brain in snippets that made me blink in reaction.

At one in the morning, I knew exactly what
would make me sleep better.

Bass answered the phone, groggy, after the
third ring.

I interrupted his grousing expletives with a
quick summary of the night’s activities. “And here’s what I need by
noon tomorrow,” I said.

* * * * *

By the time I made it down to our station’s
studio the next morning, Bass had gotten everything I’d asked for:
agreements for exclusive interviews with the board of directors at
Banner Bank, the witness from the Tuck Inn motel, O’Shea
Associates, the lawyers who’d drawn up Mrs. Vicks’ real will, and
some bigwigs at the FDIC.

I’d spent the morning holed up in my office
recording every detail. William was back from San Francisco and
would need me to be as precise as possible, in order to accurately
write up the story for filming later in the week.

By eleven-thirty I finished and left the
complete packet on his desk with a note to call me if he had
questions. I made sure to include my phone number, to prevent any
confusion again.

I still needed to visit the studio itself to
coordinate locations with the crew—to ensure that the shots of the
bank, of the motel, and of Mrs. Vicks’ home, among others, would be
set up just right. Since I was scheduled to appear on camera—I’d
written up Gabriela’s in-depth interview of me—I needed to
coordinate that filming, too.

After today, I was taking vacation, and the
sooner I got this stuff done, the better.

Bass caught up with me talking with one of
our technicians, just outside the soundstage. Taking long strides
with short legs, he closed the distance between us faster than I
would’ve imagined. “William’s looking for you,” he said.

“
What for?”

“
Don’t know. He got your
notes. Seemed disappointed.” Looking around, Bass shot the tech a
pointed, dismissive look. Taking the hint, the guy left.

“
Disappointed?” I said,
with not a small amount of anger. “How the hell can he be
disappointed? I just about wrote the story for him. All he has to
do is connect the dots.” I wiggled my head, totally pissed. “And
they’re practically numbered, for crissakes.”

“
Settle down, all right?”
Bass forehead creased and he held up a restraining hand. “I have no
idea what’s up with him, I just wanted to let you know, okay? Don’t
shoot the messenger.”

“
Whatever,” I said,
rubbing my eyebrows.

“
He’s coming down here to
talk with you,” he said. “Wanted to catch you before you took off.”
Bass looked from side to side then, as if to reassure himself that
no one was listening in on our conversation. In a low voice he
said, “I wanted to catch you, too.”

I folded my arms, ready for a fight. “What?”
I said.

Bass looked up at me. His hazel eyes held a
look I’d never seen in them before.

“
What?” I said again, in a
nicer voice. Now I was curious.

“
You did good, Alex. Don’t
get used to me saying that, but you did.” He worked his jaw muscles
and I sensed whatever was coming next was big. “I talked to Hank
about promoting you to on-camera reporter. He’s all for
it.”