Mercy (38 page)

“Maybe Detective Harris knows who they are. Has she called yet?”

“No.”

Noah shook his head. “Guess she isn’t a woman of her word. It’s been over twelve hours, and didn’t she promise to give you a copy of the file then?”

“She’ll probably be furious when she finds out I got a copy from Rosa.”

“But you’re not going to tell her.”

“Hell, no,” he said. “I’m not sharing information with her. I’m going to let Underwood and Basham make the collars and take the credit.”

He heard his name being paged over the speaker, saw the phone on the wall directly across from the elevator, and walked over to answer it. As soon as he identified himself, the operator put him on hold. Two seconds later, Detective Underwood came on the line.

The conversation was very informative. Then Theo said, “Sure, I’ll be waiting. Let me know.” He hung up and turned to Noah.
“Preston
and
Dallas.”

“Yeah? That was quick.”

“One of the detectives got the names from John’s ex-girlfriend. A woman named Lindsey. She was trying to get in John’s house, said she’d left some clothes. She told him she had met Cameron but never the others. She’d heard John talking on the phone, though, and remembered the names
Preston
and
Dallas
because they called often.”

“No last names?”

“Not yet. And guess what? Another man called once looking for Dallas. His name was Monk. She remembered the phone call because John was so deferential to him, like he almost was afraid of him.”

“Interesting,” Noah said. “Did Lindsey ever talk to him or any of the others?”

“No,” Theo answered. “She wasn’t allowed to answer the phone, said John told her he didn’t want people to know he was shacking up with her so soon after his wife’s death. She also told the detective they were supposed to get married, but John came home a couple of nights ago, told her to pack up and get out. He wasn’t nice about it.”

“Which is why she’s so chatty now?”

“Exactly. I figure they’ll have Preston and Dallas under wraps before midnight.”

“Could be sooner,” Noah said. “How did Detective Underwood find you?”

“I told him I’d be on my cell phone or at The Swan. John Paul or Jake must have told him I was at the hospital.”

“So all we have to do is hang tight a little longer. It’ll be over soon.” Theo yawned loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I need some caffeine.”

“There’s some coffee in the waiting room.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m going to check on Michelle first. Can I go inside there?” he asked, tilting his head toward the wide double doors with the sign above stating in bold red letters, “No Admittance.”

“Sure you can. I did. You can look through the window and see Mike. She’s in the operating room on the left around the corner where it dead ends. Just don’t let anyone see you. The nurses tend to shout. I’m going to make a couple of phone calls,” he added as he turned and headed down the hallway to the waiting room. “Want me to bring you some coffee?”

“No,” Theo answered. “I’ll get my own.” He had his palm on the door, ready to push, when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “Hey, Noah, you know what’s really odd?”

“What’s that?”

“The channels Catherine used . . . sending the files to an unsuspecting relative she’d never met.”

“John Paul told me she was an odd duck.”

“She was.”

“So maybe that’s your answer.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” he said, but he wasn’t convinced.

He pushed the door and stepped into the forbidden area, feeling a little like a kid sneaking into an R-rated movie. He half expected someone to start shouting at him or grab him by the collar and toss him out.

He was inside a wide hallway with several sets of swinging doors and an elevator. Turning into a hall to the left, he went around the corner. There was a gurney against the wall where the hallway dead ended, and to the right was the surgical suite Michelle was using.

It was at least twenty degrees colder here. He could hear music as he walked closer, and he recognized the voice. Good old Willie Nelson, Michelle’s favorite. Theo felt a stirring of a memory too elusive to catch hold of. There was something familiar about the smell and the song and the cold. Maybe it was because of his own surgery.

He looked in through the square window and was surprised at how small the room was. It was crowded with people. He counted six, including the guy sitting behind the patient’s head checking dials on the machines next to him. He couldn’t see John Patrick, a nurse blocked his view, but he got a glimpse of Michelle’s forehead when the nurse handed her an instrument and she turned slightly. As he watched her, he could feel the tension easing away. He began to relax, took a deep breath, and realized he was suddenly feeling good because she was close.

“Man, I do have it bad,” he whispered as he turned and walked back through the swinging doors. Was he becoming obsessive about Michelle? No, of course not, but the world did seem a little brighter, and definitely better, when he was with her.

Now, Catherine was the epitome of an obsessive personality. That thought led him right back to the riddle he’d been trying to solve. Rosa had told him that Catherine had wanted to use the files as a threat to control John’s behavior while she was alive. Why hadn’t Catherine simply directed her attorney to give the papers to the police after her death? Was she worried that Benchley wouldn’t follow through, or had Rosa’s distrust of the authorities rubbed off on her?

Theo could understand why Catherine chose Michelle. Catherine knew how smart her cousin was. Every time Jake called her, he did a lot of boasting, and Catherine, knowing what Michelle had already accomplished in her life, surely knew that her cousin would understand what all the numbers and transactions meant. Catherine might not have thought that Jake would figure it out — his good-old-boy façade fooled a lot of people into believing he wasn’t as intelligent as Theo knew he was. Catherine wouldn’t have known that about him, but she certainly would have known how persistent he could be, because he never gave up on her. He called her once a month to check on her, refusing to be put off by her cold, indifferent manner. Catherine probably assumed that Jake would make certain Michelle gave the papers her full attention and got them to the right people.

But she’d circumvented the police and given her second copy to Rosa. Now, why would she do that?

The answer was suddenly glaringly obvious. Because she knew that Rosa would never go to the police. And that meant . . .

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

He was berating himself for taking so long to figure it out.
Sorry, Catherine. I’m dense, okay?

He couldn’t wait to tell Noah. Shoving the swinging door open, he ran into the hall, and in his haste, he bumped into one of the supply carts, sending it careening into the opposite wall. A stack of towels fell on his feet as he grabbed the cart to keep it from falling over. Squatting down, he was scooping up the towels in his arms when he heard the bing of the elevator followed by the swooshing sound the doors made when they opened.

Detective Harris stepped out of the alcove that led to the elevator. She turned away from him and headed toward the waiting room.

She wasn’t wearing sensible shoes today. She was moving fast, the way most overworked policemen instinctively do because they are always behind, and her heels clicked against the linoleum floor like castanets.

Theo walked forward as he called out to her. “Hey, Detective, are you looking for me?”

She had almost reached the waiting room. Startled, she whirled around as she shoved her hand into her pocket, and then smiled.

“Where did you come from?”

Noah stepped into the hall behind Harris as she hurried toward Theo.

“Surgery,” he answered. “I’ll be right with you. I’ve just one quick call to make.” He turned to the wall phone next to him, picked it up, dialed the operator, and spoke in a low voice. Then he hung up and smiled again.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I’m a detective. I know how to find people.” Then she laughed. “A man at The Swan told me you were here and Admitting told me you were on this floor. It didn’t take much investigative work. I’m a little late. It’s been more than twelve hours, but I got detained. I did keep my word, though.”

“I didn’t think you’d show. I’m impressed.”

“I’ve got copies of the papers from that package, which I’m letting you read out of the goodness of my heart,” she said. “Just remember, it’s my investigation,” she added quickly.

“I won’t touch it,” he promised. “So where are the files on Monk?”

“I guess you didn’t believe me when I said I’d spent three years chasing the ghost. I’ve got two huge cardboard file boxes in the trunk. It’s going to take you a couple of weeks to go through all of it.”

“You trying to make me sorry I asked for them?”

“Of course.” She visibly shivered. “God, it’s cold up here. It’s like a tomb. So what do you want to do?” she asked. “Transfer the boxes to your car now, or do you want me to drop them off someplace?”

“We could transfer them now. I could start looking through them tonight.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Did you make any arrests yet?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. The question obviously irritated her.

“Not yet,” she said sharply. “He got away. He does it to me every damned time. Vanishes into thin air. We tracked him to a motel in St. Claire. We surrounded it, and then we closed in. His car was there, parked right in front of his door, but he was gone. He had to leave fast, though. He didn’t have time to pack his equipment or his clothes before he took off. I’m hoping my people will get lucky this time and find a print. They’re working on it now.”

“Think I could drive over and take a look?”

“Sure, as along as you don’t interfere.”

“I already promised I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” she said. “You can look. It’s the St. Claire Motel, on Fourth and Summit.”

She pushed the button for the elevator and waited. Looking up, she saw the number four was lit. They waited side by side for several seconds. She punched the button again.

Impatient now, she said, “Let’s take the stairs. It’s quicker, and I want to get back to New Orleans.”

“Hot date?”

“How’d you know?”

“Just a guess. It’s gonna be late by the time you drive back.”

She glanced up at the numbers again. The light was still on four.

“New Orleans doesn’t sleep. The Quarter will be buzzing when I get there.” Theo stepped away from her as she said, “Let’s go.”

Turning to take the lead, she suddenly stopped. Noah was standing in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hello there,” he said cheerfully.

“There you are,” Theo said. “I’d like to introduce you to Detective Harris. Detective, this is Noah Clayborne,” he said as he put his hand on her shoulder. “Noah works for the FBI, but he’s also a good friend.”

Theo stepped behind her as Noah said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective. I was just . . .”

Theo took another step back. “Hey, Dallas,” he said.

She instinctively turned. Even as she did, she realized what had just happened. Her eyes widened and she jerked back, but it was too late. Theo shoved her into the elevator doors, face-first, making it impossible for her to fire the gun he knew she had hidden in her pocket.

Noah stepped forward, forced her arm back and up into an unnatural position, then struck her wrist hard to get her to let go of the weapon. The gun dropped to the floor, and Theo kicked it away.

“Where are your friends?” Theo demanded. He slackened his hold so he could force her to turn around. She took advantage, and cursing, she whirled and tried to slam her knee into Noah’s groin.

“Is that nice?” he asked as he dodged the knee. “Where are your friends?” He repeated Theo’s question in a much more unfriendly tone.

She wasn’t talking. Her lips pinched tight, her jaw clenched, she glared at Noah with loathing.

Theo looked up at the elevator numbers again. Still locked on four.

“They’re in the stairwells,” he said. “They must have blocked the elevator so I’d have to take the steps. They may not know you’re here.”

“Do they?” Noah asked Dallas. His hand was around her neck, his thumb pressing into her flesh as he held her off the floor against the elevator.

She turned to the left and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Preston!” And then swinging to the right, “Monk! Now!”

Theo’s fist silenced her. Her eyes closed instantly, and when Noah let go of her, she collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Noah tilted his head toward the hallway and whispered, “Get ready,” as he quickly patted Dallas down for weapons. He found the Glock in its holster and removed it. He shoved her onto her back and was about to search for another weapon in an ankle strap under her slacks, when he heard the faint squeak of a door opening. He pointed toward the waiting room, indicating to Theo that that was where the sound had come from.

Theo had heard it. He nodded and took a step closer. Noah found the ankle strap, lifted the gun, and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans. He went back to the pockets in her jacket, pulled out four magazines, and stood. He moved quickly, silently to Theo’s back. He shoved two of the magazines into Theo’s back pockets, then handed him Harris’s Glock so that he would have a weapon in each hand. Barrels pointed to the ceiling, they waited, hidden by the recess in front of the elevator doors.