First Drop (35 page)

“So she’s short on cash,” I murmured, “and long on motive.”

I remembered our drive from the airport when she’d got the call that told her news of the program had leaked out to the press. Her display of anger then had certainly seemed genuine but I suppose if she was planning on stealing the program along with its inventor, the fewer people who knew about it the better. She’d had me fooled into thinking I could trust her the night I’d called her for help from the motel. And look how
that
had ended.

Walt glanced wryly at me. “Motive for what?”

“For wanting the program for herself,” I said. “I think she engineered the trouble at the company recently so she could call in Sean and me as back-up. That way, when she took Keith and Trey—”

“Which she’s claiming
you’re
responsible for,” Walt cut in.

I ducked my head in agreement. “True, she is, but bear with me on this. As I said, that way she already has us in place as fall-guys. She has her boys grab Sean along with Keith and hopes to get Trey and me at the park on the same day. That way she’s got the option of either claiming Keith’s done a runner, or that we’ve taken him.”

Good as his word, Walt didn’t immediately dismiss my suggestion. Instead he nodded slowly, frowning. Ahead of us the lights changed and he braked smoothly to a halt.

“But her man fumbles the ball,” he said then.

“Yeah, he did,” I agreed. “So, next best thing, she puts it out that
I
’
ve
got Trey. But, the last thing she can afford to have happen is for the cops to get hold of us. That might blow the whole thing. So when they nearly do, she has her boys step in and kill the cop. By then she’s past caring about getting hold of Trey alive. He was only to secure Keith’s good behaviour anyway. She just wants us dead.”

The lights changed and Walt set the car moving forwards again. His measured driving style reminded me of police drivers in the UK. He negotiated a parked truck in the right-hand lane before he spoke again.

“So it’s not until that guy you mentioned – Henry – offers you to them on a plate that she realises that without Trey the program kinda won’t work.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Because after that Whitmarsh was desperate to take us alive, but the message obviously hadn’t got through to Haines. I have no idea why not. It could simply have been a cock-up in communications. But Whitmarsh was even prepared to shoot Haines’s men to protect us. And to let me go when I threatened Trey myself.”

Walt looked surprised. “You didn’t mention that part.”

“You try living with that kid twenty-four hours a day and you’d want to shoot him, too,” I said, only half joking.

Walt frowned again, but whether it was deep thought, or whether he disapproved of my flippancy in the circumstances, it was difficult to tell.

“So you reckon Gerri Raybourn’s holding Keith somewhere, hoping she can still get the pair of them.”

I nodded. “That’s how it seems to me. One’s not worth much without the other.”

He let his breath out tiredly, almost a sigh. “Makes it kinda all the more important she’s stopped, Charlie,” he said.

“I know,” I said. And inside my head another voice added,
Oh I’ll stop her all right, Walt. Don’t you worry about that . . .

***

Less than an hour after we’d left Daytona Beach and headed down the coast, Walt slowed the Lincoln to a halt on the dusty shoulder of the highway and nodded towards the other side of the road. The other traffic continued past us at speed, close enough to rock our car each time they did so.

“That’s the place,” he said.

All I saw was a neatly rendered low white wall bordering suspiciously man-made looking grounds of part grass and part tropical forest. It looked sculpted for effect rather than natural. The grass was artificially green and bright, and the wall itself seemed to go on for miles in both directions. I tried to remember when it had first started but I hadn’t been paying enough attention.

A little way from where we’d stopped was an impressive wrought-iron gateway, next to which was a lavish sign. It showed an artist’s impression of a range of Mediterranean-style villas, all white stucco and terracotta tiles, surrounding a lake in the centre. Around the edges of the sign were depictions of Prozac-happy couples playing golf, or water skiing, or sharing an intimate after-dinner drink at sunset.

The sign announced a new and exclusive opportunity in vacation resort ownership. It sounded like the copywriters were trying desperately to squirm out of using the word time-share, with all the sharp-practice baggage that entailed.

“So what are you suggesting – that I go over the wall?”

“You can do if you really want to,” Walt said, cocking me a wry glance, “but this place is only two-thirds built and half sold. It’d sure be easier for you to just walk up to the front gate and tell ‘em you’re interested in buying.”

I spread my hands to indicate my current garb. “And you really think, me dressed like this, they’re going to fall for that?” I demanded.

“Well, OK,” he allowed. “Maybe you should tell ‘em as how your folks are interested and you’re meeting them here. You seem a resourceful kinda girl, Charlie.”

I considered. “OK,” I said.

But as I reached for the door handle, Walt stopped me.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

When I didn’t respond he leaned across and opened the glove compartment. Inside was a small memo recorder, the kind that takes micro cassettes for business meetings. He lifted it out, checked the tape inside was at its beginning, and handed it over, showing me the voice activation button.

“Just press that and leave it,” he said. “It’ll start up automatically when someone starts speaking. That way you don’t have to worry none about running out of tape.”

“OK,” I said again. “Just one thing, though, Walt. How much of a confession do you need me to get out of Gerri when I get in there?”

“I reckon you’ll know that when you hear it. Just get us something we can use as a lever and we’ll do the rest.”

We
, I noted.
Us.
I wondered if Walt would ever consider himself completely retired from the job.

“I see,” I said. I unzipped the bag and crammed the recorder inside. It was a tight fit with the SIG as well but I just managed to get both articles in there and close the bag up again. When I was done I found Walt watching me gravely.

“Don’t do anything in haste you might regret at leisure, Charlie,” he said softly, but he didn’t mention the gun.

I reached for the door handle to get out, then paused. “She’s behind the men who murdered Sean.”

Walt glanced at me, then let out a long sigh. “Aw hell, Charlie, I know that,” he said. “I guess I’m just hoping MacMillan was kinda right about you.”

“Right about what?” I said. I remembered our earlier conversation. “About my instinct?”

“No,” Walt said now. “He told me you’d killed, but that he didn’t believe you were a killer.” He turned his head and gave me a long level stare. “I don’t believe that either and I’m kinda praying to the good Lord we’re both right, or I just made myself an accessory to the crime.”

I got out of the car without answering that one, just shut the door behind me.

“Don’t wait for me,” I said through the open window. “I’ll make my own way back.”

I walked quickly to the gateway without looking back, not giving Walt the chance to realise that both he and MacMillan were about to be proved wrong.

Dead wrong.

The iron gates were intended more for decoration than security and looked as though they’d never been shut. I was still aware of a shiver of apprehension as I passed between them. A short distance beyond, there was a guardhouse in the middle of the drive. Next to that was a barrier to block off the road but it was in the up position and it stayed there as I walked towards it.

It was close to midday and the sun was at the highest point of its arc so that I cast a very short shadow on the block paving under my feet. My shirt had stuck to my back and I could feel the back of my neck burning. The little flowered bag containing the tape recorder and the SIG with its almost-empty magazine bumped against my hip as I walked.

As I approached I saw a head appear in the window of the guardhouse, then the figure moved to the doorway and came out to watch me. For a moment I tensed but as I drew nearer I saw the uniformed guard could only have been a year or two younger than Walt.

“Afternoon, young lady,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you today?”

I manufactured a gormless teenage expression. “I’m s’posed to be, like meeting my mom. She’s got a place here, y’know?” I said, looking about me vaguely, as though expecting her to materialise out of the shrubbery.

The old guard didn’t look either fazed or suspicious of my story.

“No problem,” he said, picking up his clipboard. “What’s her name?”

“Gerri Raybourn,” I said, trying not to hold my breath after I’d said it. “She and my dad are, like, divorced and I’m s’posed to be staying with her ‘til I go back to college next week. It’s a real drag.”

Too much information,
my mind yelled in my inner ear.
Shut up!

“No problem,” the guard said again. He found the name and made a note against it. “You know where to find her villa?”

I shook my head, hoping the clueless guise would be a good enough excuse.

“Tell you what, then, you step inside out of the heat and I’ll have someone come down and give you a ride. Save you the walk. Then if your mom’s stepped out you can have a tour or sit by the pool at the clubhouse and have a soda while you wait for her to come get you, OK?”

My God
, I thought.
How young exactly do I look?
“Cool,” I said out loud, and did as I was invited.

Inside the guardhouse wasn’t air conditioned but the old guy had an oscillating fan set up on the desk right in front of his chair, and it was going full belt. A rake of high-quality security monitors were laid out across the back wall, showing constantly updating views right across the property.

The coverage was impressive and it looked like Walt had been right. If I’d tried to creep in I would have been caught before I’d got halfway across the grounds. This way I didn’t even need to worry about directions.

Five minutes later an electric golf cart zipped up outside and a young man bounced out. He was dressed in designer tan chinos and a dark green polo shirt with the resort logo on the front and he was far too slick a professional to look dismayed by the obvious lack of money suggested by my appearance.

“Hi there!” he said. He stuck out his hand. He had great teeth, a great tan, and a manicure. “I’m Randy.”

I kept my face as straight as I could manage and didn’t inquire if that was an introduction or a declaration of intent.

“Cool,” I said again. “Let’s go.”

As I climbed into the golf cart alongside Randy I realised I could almost see myself as he saw me, a kid with pink hair and an attitude. It was like I had stepped outside my own body, my own mind. Like I was slowly detaching myself in advance from my actions. Hiding from them.

Randy made chatty one-sided conversation all the way along the immaculately tailored drive, going into sales pitch mode as he pointed out the championship golf course, the driving range and the tennis courts, all complete with their own pro instructors. I tuned him out until I realised I’d nearly missed a name I recognised.

“Who?” I said.

“Livingston Brown III,” Randy gushed. “He’s the property developer. Been doing this kinda thing most of his life. Nearly got wiped out a few years ago when we had the last big hurricane – that one nearly wiped out most of the east coast – but he bounced right back. He shoulda retired by now but I guess the guy just loves his work. He built this whole place. Puts us twenty-somethings to shame, let me tell you. Quite a guy.”

“Wow,” I murmured, as though I couldn’t imagine anyone still being able to walk unaided at such an advanced age, but my nerves tightened at this piece of news. If I was likely to bump into him, would Brown recognise me in this get-up? “Is he here?”

“Oh he’s usually around someplace,” Randy said and flashed me a slightly condescending smile. One that said no way was the boss man ever going to come into contact with someone as far down the food chain as me, not if he could help it.

On the way to the villa belonging to my ‘mother’ he took a detour to show me the campfire area near one of the pools. “We organise barbecue nights and sing-alongs round the fire in the evenings that you and your mom can join in on,” he said. “It’s a lotta fun.”

“Oh boy, I can hardly wait,” I said between my teeth. He looked at me a little oddly but I managed to dredge up a saccharine smile that seemed to convince him I’d been expressing genuine enthusiasm.

If it didn’t sound the kind of place I’d want to come and spend my holidays, there were plenty who were willing to be swayed. An army of green polo-shirted staff were leading prospective customers round the lushly-planted pathways, or driving them about the place in golf carts similar to Randy’s.