Mortal Faults (26 page)

44

“Who was that?” Andrea asked. “Why did you say you were at the library?”

“It’s not important.” Abby slipped the phone back into her purse and kept walking. “Just a pal of mine, playing games.”

She knew what was going on. By now Tess must have linked her to Dylan Garrick. Presumably she was looking to bring her in for questioning. Tess could determine Abby’s general whereabouts with the cell phone’s signal, but she wouldn’t be able to zero in on her exact location. The library was across the street from the Brayton Hotel—close enough, Abby thought, for government work.

When Tess failed to find her, she and her fellow feds—Abby assumed she was working with her colleagues at this point—would search the area. They might find the Miata, but maybe not, or at least not right away. She’d made Andrea park in an alley near the Brayton rather than in the hotel’s underground garage. The garage was too obvious a place to stash the car, and in a situation like this, when meeting a man like Reynolds, it was best never to be obvious.

Things were little complicated, but she could handle it—or die trying.

She guided Andrea toward the hotel entrance, trying to think good thoughts.

***

There was no way for Michaelson to keep Tess off the arrest squad. She had to be in place in order to draw Abby into view.

“We’ll settle matters when you get back,” the ADIC growled.

“Great, Dick. Something for me to look forward to.”

Tess took out the red Kojak light carried by all Bureau cars and mounted it on her dashboard, then made her way to Abby’s condo building at high speed. The sun in her rearview mirror was a brassy ball of glare. Still more than two hours till sunset. By the time the sun went down, Abby would probably be in custody—and then she would rarely see the sun again.

The trip didn’t take long. As it turned out, Abby lived only a few blocks from the federal building, a fact that struck Tess as somehow ironic. In the condominium tower’s curving driveway she met up with Hauser and six other agents, among them Crandall. The rest of Hauser’s people were still upstairs going through Abby’s things.

Crandall and two men Tess didn’t know crowded into her car, while Hauser and the other four took a second Bureau sedan. Ordinarily they would have worn raid jackets for an arrest, but in this case they wanted to keep a low profile once they arrived downtown. With red lights flashing, they cut down to Olympic and sped east, sticking to surface streets because the freeway was jammed.

By now everyone was miked up, and conversation between the two cars was possible on a scrambled tac frequency. In the backseat of Tess’s car, someone had brought up a map of the library on his laptop. “There are three entrances to the main lobby—Fifth Street, Hope Street, Flower Street. If Sinclair tries to run, we won’t know which exit to cover.”

“We can cover them all,” Tess said.

“No time,” Hauser said over Tess’s earpiece. “We’re barely going to make there on time as it is. And the damn library closes at six.”

Crandall frowned. “You don’t think she’s setting us up, do you?”

“I don’t think so,” Tess said quietly. “But I can’t be sure.”

Hauser’s voice grated in her ear. “She can’t be sure. Terrific.”

***

Abby sat Andrea down on a sofa near the registration desk in the lobby of the Brayton Hotel. Andrea gazed around, blinking at the spacious expense of saltillo tile, the great potted palms and indoor koi pond.

When was the last time she’d ventured into a hotel, any hotel? Before her institutionalization, probably. That was twenty years ago.

“Okay, kiddo,” Abby said. “Focus. This is where I reveal my master plan.”

“Which is?”

“You’re going to help me out. And with luck, I’m going to help you out. We’re like two baboons picking nits off each other. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“I don’t follow.”

Abby didn’t blame her. She wasn’t sure she followed herself. She got like this in the minutes before a potentially explosive situation. She talked too much and made little sense. It could be disconcerting to others. Heck, it could be disconcerting to her.

With effort she pulled herself together. “Here’s the thing. I’m going to sit over there.” She pointed at a scattering of tables and armchairs almost dead center on the lobby floor. “You’ll sit close, but out of sight. Behind that plant, I think.”

“That’s a tree. A palm tree.”

“Tree, plant, whatever. It’s green, it has chlorophyll, and it provides better cover than, say, carpet moss. Or Kate Moss, for that matter. From my table you’ll be invisible, I think. Let’s test it out.”

She placed Andrea at the hidden table and inspected the result.

“It works. You’re totally concealed. Unless the tree starts molting, we’ll be fine.”

“Trees don’t molt.”

“Even better.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“You’ll be eavesdropping on a conversation I’m about to have. At a certain point you’ll emerge from the greenery and confront the other party. Shock value is what we’re going for.”

“Shock value,” Andrea echoed blankly.

“Amazing how a little honest surprise can penetrate someone’s defenses. See, look at this.” Abby produced an item from her purse. “Microcassette recorder. Not as handy as a garlic genius, but you can’t have everything. Normally I use it for dictation. Note to self, that kind of thing. Tonight I’m using it as a clandestine recording device. I’m going to get the conversation on tape.”

“The conversation with ...?” Then Andrea understood. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Not him.”

“In the very flesh. He’s coming here at six.”

“But ... why?”

“He thinks I’m planning to betray you to him.” Abby held up a reassuring hand. “Just a ruse. There’s no betrayal.”

“Jack ... coming here ...”

“I told him I’d tell him where to find you. In exchange, I get a pile of money. But what Jack doesn’t know is, I’m not all that materialistic. Money can’t buy happiness, or at least not enough happiness to tempt me.”

The information finally penetrated. “He expects you to deliver me to him?”

“Right.”

“He’ll be furious when he finds out you lied.”

“Good. Anger is another way of lowering a person’s defenses. Angry people tend to blurt things out. I’m hoping J.R. will do a lot of world-class blurting tonight.”

“J.R. That’s funny.” Andrea had a faraway look. “I called him that once. He hated it. He didn’t want to be a villain on a prime time soap.”

“But he ended up as one, anyway. A villain, that is. He hasn’t made it to prime time yet.”

“I still don’t get it, Abby. What can he possibly say? You think he’ll admit to sending those gunmen to my house?”

“That—and maybe some other things. All you need to do is listen. At the right moment, step out from behind the foliage and confront him.”

“What’s the right moment?”

“You’ll know. Trust your instincts. Whenever it happens, it’ll scare the bejeezus out of him. He hasn’t been up close and personal with you in twenty years. He’s not expecting to see you now.”

“But he wants me
dead
.”

“I know it.”

“If he sees me—”

“There’s nothing he can do. Not here. Look around you. We’re in a very public place. The lobby of a five-star hotel.”

Andrea nodded slowly, not quite believing it. “What do you want me to say to him?”

“Anything you like.”

“I don’t have any idea—after all these years—my mind’s a blank.”

“It won’t be. You’ll find the words. You’ll have plenty to say to the distinguished congressman, believe me.”

Andrea looked away. “You should have told me what I was getting into.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“I might not have.”

“Well, you’re here now. This will all work out for the best.” Abby put a hand on her arm. “You still trust me, right?”

“I trust you.” Andrea smiled, a startling sight on her pale, serious face. “You’re completely crazy, of course, but I
do
trust you.”

Abby smiled back. “Nicest thing I’ve heard all day.”

***

The agent in the backseat of Tess’s car was still reviewing files on his laptop. “There are security stations at the lobby entrances. Metal detectors. To go in armed, you’ll have to show your Bureau ID.”

Tess wasn’t going to do that. “If I start flashing my creds, Abby will notice, and she’ll know I’m carrying. That’ll be enough to tip her off.”

“Well, you can’t be unarmed,” Hauser said over the air.

“Sure I can. Remember, she can’t bring a gun inside, either.”

“How sure are you she can’t sneak a weapon past security?”

Tess, who was quite certain Abby could outwit any library rent-a-cop, didn’t answer directly. “She’s not going to take me out, for God’s sake.”

“Even if she thinks you’ve betrayed her?” Hauser pressed. “She took out Garrick for shooting at her, and that was just business. With you, it’s personal.”

“She won’t shoot me,” Tess insisted, hoping she was right.

“We’ll send a man after you to watch your back.”

“Abby can make a Bureau agent without even trying. Anyone you send in will be spotted immediately. I’m going in alone.”

“I think, Agent McCallum, you’ve forfeited the right to work solo in this organization.”

“We don’t have any choice about it. Either I go in alone or Abby will be spooked for sure.”

“Maybe you want to be alone with her so you can pass on a warning.”

“If I’d wanted to warn her, I could have phoned her at any time.”

Hauser drew an audible breath. “All right. We’ll play it your way. But you won’t be making the arrest alone.”

“You’re right about that.” Tess almost laughed. Taking down Abby single-handedly was the last thing she wanted to try. “I’ll wear my radio under my jacket. When I want you to move, I’ll use a code phrase. I’ll say ...”

“Yes?”

“I’ll say
The Godfather
. She’s always talking about that movie. You hear
The Godfather
, you move.”

“
The Godfather
.” Hauser grunted. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t end up like Sonny at the tollbooth.”

Tess didn’t get the reference and didn’t particularly want to. It sounded bad.

This whole thing sounded bad. But it had to be done. She just kept telling herself that. It had to be done.

45

Show time.

Abby reached into her purse and activated the tape recorder. Across the lobby, a familiar figure was entering through the main doors.

Standing, she caught Reynolds’ eye. He strode forward, a briefcase in his hand. He was nicely attired—suit jacket and tie—looking every inch the gentleman, a fact that only proved how deceiving appearances could be.

Abby waited until he had arrived at the table before sitting down again. She signaled for him to do likewise.

“So where is she?” he asked, forgoing small talk.

“First things first. As Tom Cruise would say, show me the money.”

“It’s all there,” Reynolds said, handing over the briefcase.

Abby put the case on her lap. “Must have been tough to get all this cash together so fast.”

“I’ve faced bigger challenges.”

She popped the latches and found herself staring at rubber-banded wads of hundred-dollar bills. She had never seen $50,000 in cash, and she found the sight strangely compelling.

Reynolds’ voice roused her. “Now it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain.”

“Hey, what ever happened to the fine art of conversation?”

“I’m not in the mood for pleasantries.”

“See, Jack, that’s your basic problem. You don’t take time to stop and smell the roses. You’re a driven man. You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you’re not careful.”

“I’m touched by your concern.
Where the hell is she?
”

***

The library, built in the 1920s, was a massive pile of eccentric architecture complete with carved sphinxes and a rooftop pyramid. Tess entered via the Fifth Street door, passing through the metal detector without incident because her Sig Sauer had been left in the car.

She stepped into the main lobby, a large room with a mess of abstract shapes painted on the ceiling in vivid colors. A few customers were lined up at the checkout counter playing beat-the-clock. One of the clerks at the counter gave Tess a disapproving glance, as if daring her to head for the stacks at closing time.

Abby wasn’t in the lobby. Still, she might be watching from somewhere nearby. There was no shortage of possibilities—the upper levels of the building, where books were kept; the adjacent yogurt shop and fast food Chinese restaurant; the gift shop; hallways and alcoves. Abby could be anywhere.

“No sign of her yet,” she said quietly in the direction of the mike clipped inside her jacket. She wasn’t wearing an earpiece now, so if there was a response, she didn’t hear it.

***

Abby ignored Reynolds’ question. “Here’s a funny thing, Jack. Something I noticed about our mutual friend Andrea.”

“I told you, I don’t have time for any bullshit.”

“Indulge me. She said something interesting to me this morning. She dreamed about men breaking into her house. Men wearing ski masks and carrying guns.”

“So what?”

“Yesterday Andrea never saw the intruders. She was hiding behind the bed.
I
got a look at them.
She
didn’t. But in her dreams she saw them, ski masks and all.”

“Someone told her about the masks. One of the cops, probably.”

“Could be. But I noticed something else. When she talked about her dream, she kept touching her hair. The hair behind her ear. You know, where she has the scar.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“It must be a traumatic thing to shoot yourself. Almost as traumatic as killing your own babies. But she had no memory of it. She remembered only after she’d been in the hospital for a few years. By then she’d heard the story over and over. Memory is a funny thing. It’s not as reliable as we like to believe. We can manufacture memories that seem completely real. Three people witness a car accident and have three different recollections. They aren’t lying. Their minds have reconstructed the events according to different narratives. As long as the narrative is internally consistent, it will be accepted as the truth.”

Reynolds glanced at his watch. “I’m not real big on psychological theories.”

“I am. As I may have mentioned, I studied psychology. Analyzing people is a big part of what I do. Want to hear my analysis of Andrea?”

“No.”

“Oh, Jack, you’re such a tease. Of course you do.”

***

Tess forced herself to sit quietly for a few minutes in the hope that Abby would show up, surprising her as she always did, appearing out of nowhere.

Nothing happened. Five minutes after six o’clock, as the lights upstairs were going off, she gave up.

“No show,” she reported as she left the building.

She rejoined the other agents and took back her sidearm.

“Think she’s on to you?” Hauser asked.

Tess nodded. “Yes.”

“God
damn
it.”

“Now what?” Crandall asked.

Hauser was frowning fiercely. “She must have seen us and taken off. Maybe she was watching this entrance and spotted us when we pulled up.”

“Her cell phone is still signaling from this area,” the agent with the laptop said.

“She probably dropped it in a trash can. She could be on a freeway by now, heading for Mexico.”

Tess wasn’t so sure. “Not necessarily. She may still be in the vicinity.”

“Why would she blow off her meeting with you and still hang around?” Hauser asked.

“I don’t know. Why did she come downtown in the first place? Maybe there’s something she has to do here.”

“If she’s here, we’ll find her.” Hauser clapped his hands. “Pair up, fan out. Search every building that’s open. The office towers are closed, so unless she got inside illegally, she’s not in there. Focus on the restaurants, the hotel, and Pershing Square. Keep an eye open for a red Miata. Go.”

Tess realized the others had paired off, leaving her with Crandall.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Rick,” she said quietly.

Crandall managed a shaky smile.

***

“Andrea thinks she remembers what happened twenty years ago,” Abby said. “But she’s fooling herself. On some level she knows it. She knows what really took place. She just doesn’t
know
she knows.”

Reynolds shifted in his seat. “Are you going to give me the information or not?”

“After she got out of the hospital, Andrea moved to Florida. She was almost happy there. But something brought her back to California. She doesn’t even know what. She felt a pull, an attraction, she said. That was my first clue. It told me she needed to resolve things here. She put it off as long as she could, tried not to deal with it, but in the end she had to obey the dictates of the ol’ subconscious. It’s all very Freudian.”

“Maybe she just prefers this climate.”

“Nothing’s ever that simple. Think about it, Jack. Why was she showing up at your campaign events? Why would she risk it? I asked her, and she had no explanation. She didn’t know what motivated her. But I do. Maybe you do, too. Care to take a shot at it?”

“No,” he said coldly.

“Fair enough. It’s best to leave this kind of thing to the experts. Returning to California, then seeking you out—it was her way of trying to come to grips with what really happened. It was her subconscious mind prodding her to face the facts.”

“The woman is a nut job. We already knew that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. And I don’t think ‘nut job’ is a term you’ll find in any diagnostic manual. She isn’t crazy. She never was.”

“There are two dead babies that indicate otherwise.”

“Not a good comeback, Jack. Too obvious. We both know what happened. Andrea was getting too possessive. She’d given birth to your children. She wanted to be married, the way you’d promised. Of course you never had any intention of leaving your wife. When you tried to break off your relationship, it only made her angrier. You were afraid of what she might do. A woman scorned—you know how it goes. She might talk to the media. Or to your wife. Ruin your reputation, make it impossible for you to run for Congress. You were on your way up, but she had the ability to take you down.”

“This is such a load of crap,” Reynolds said, but without conviction.

“So you decided to handle things the way you always do—by hiring some of your biker friends to do your dirty work. That’s what they’re for, isn’t it? You sicced ’em on Andrea twenty years ago, the same way you sicced ’em on her yesterday afternoon. That’s the trouble with sociopaths—so predictable. Always rerunning the same game plan in their heads, over and over.

“They wore ski masks that night, too. They got into her house, and Andrea and her children were shot. I don’t know in what order. Maybe they shot her first, then the kids. But I’m guessing they made her watch while they killed the kids before they turned the gun on her. Her own gun. You knew she had one, and you knew where she kept it. You told them to leave the gun with her so it would look like she shot herself.”

“She
did
shoot herself.”

“No, Jack. The men with ski masks shot her. She got a good look at them—right before they shot her in the side of the head, behind the ear.”

“You got all this from a dream she told you about?”

“A dream and some head scratching. Don’t forget the head scratching.”

“For Christ’s sake, it was murder-suicide. Everybody knows that.”

“Murder, yes. Not suicide. Andrea never shot anybody. Those two kids—their blood isn’t on her hands. It’s on yours.”

Reynolds leaned forward, his face taut. “I want what I came for, and I want it now.”

“Ever think about them, Jack? Your two lost sons? They were
your
kids. Doesn’t that matter to you? Doesn’t it keep you up at night?”

“Nothing keeps me up at night.”

“What’s sad is I believe you. Do you even remember their names?”

“
Fuck
you.”

“What were their names, Jack?”

“I don’t have to listen to this bullshit.” He started to rise.

She seized him by the arm. “Tell me their names.”

He twisted free. “Go to hell, Sinclair.”

“What were their
names
?”

“Brian and Gabriel.”

The voice didn’t belong to Reynolds.

Andrea had emerged from behind the palm fronds—shaking, her face empty of color, her eyes huge.

“Those were their names,” she whispered, her gaze locked on Reynolds. “Brian and Gabriel.”

He stared at her, trying to process what was happening.

“You did it.” Andrea spoke in a monotone. “You had them killed.”

“God damn it”—Reynolds glanced from her to Abby—“you’re running a game on me!”

“It was you,” Andrea said. “It wasn’t me. It was never me.”

“Shut up,” Reynolds snapped.

“You killed my children!” Her voice rose in a sudden hoarse cry of pain.

Reynolds raised his hands, looking around nervously. “Keep it down. Jesus.”

“You killed them, and you let me take the blame. The men in masks—three of them, they wore gloves, they came in without making a sound. You had a key to my house. Did you give them the key?”

“
Shut up
...”

“They held me down. And the boys were crying, and then they weren’t crying anymore. I’ve never heard a silence like that. And I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t ... and one of them put the gun to my head—it was still warm from being fired—I remember how warm the barrel was on my skin. I remember ...”

“You don’t remember anything,” Reynolds barked. “Your mind is playing tricks—”

“No. No!
No!
You’re the one who plays tricks! You’re the one!
You’re the one!
”

People were looking in their direction. Reynolds glanced around, panic in his eyes. “Lower your goddamn voice—”

“You’re the killer. You murdered your own children. Your own flesh and blood.”

“I never wanted the goddamned children. You fucking played me, you lying little bitch. You swore you were on the pill.”

“They were
your children
.”

“
I never wanted them!
I didn’t ask for them. If you’d had the abortion—”

“You always wanted them dead.”

“Of course I wanted them dead.
They were in my fucking way.
”

“You’re an animal. An animal. You know what they do to animals like you?”

“I’m an animal, sure. And you’re a cunt with legs. That’s all you ever were to me.”

“They put you down—animals like you. They
put you down
.”

“You should have been dead twenty years ago.”

She reached into her coat, and a gun came out, a shiny silver semiautomatic.

“You should be dead right now,” Andrea said.