Multiple Exposure A Sophie Medina Mystery (35 page)

23

Luke was probably still at Katya Gordon’s press conference at the National Gallery and I sent him a text message as he’d asked me to do.

He called back while I was unchaining the Vespa from the streetlamp on 2nd Street.

“We just wrapped up here. Arkady Vasiliev acquired two surprises belonging to the Blue Constellation egg last week,” he said. “A miniature crystal clock and a gold lion representing Alexis’s zodiac sign. Katya announced it this morning. Apparently someone contacted Vasiliev and said the items had been in his family for decades but until they saw a story about the Fabergé egg, no one knew what they were. Vasiliev had them checked out and was told they were the real deal. Over the weekend he had them flown to Washington to be part of the exhibit.”

“I heard about that,” I said.

“You couldn’t have,” he said. “Unless you’re thinking about the hint Katya dropped at Hillwood.”

“A friend who visited the National Gallery already knew about the surprises and told me what they were. He said the word had already gotten out.”

“Not from anyone at the National Gallery. I talked to Seth, and Moses is still in New York,” he said. “I also had a quick word with Roxanne Hathaway before she and Katya took off for lunch. She’s eager for us to get started on the Potomac River project.”

He kept talking, but I had stopped listening. Why would Katya and Roxanne be having lunch together? Had Roxanne found out Katya was blackmailing her husband?

“Where were Katya and Roxanne going for lunch?” I tried to keep the urgency out of my voice.

“What?” He sounded annoyed again. “To Roxanne’s house. Why?”

“I was just wondering,” I said. “Luke, I need to do something. I’ll be in later.”

“Sophie—”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

My next call was to Duval. His phone went to voice mail and I left him a tense message telling him to call me and that it was urgent. By now Attar was probably back at the Hathaways’ house and Roxanne and Katya were on their way as well. For all I knew Nick was either there or he’d be there soon, since Attar was leaving tonight.

It would take at least half an hour for me to get to Georgetown. I pushed the Vespa for all the speed it would give me and raced through downtown Washington.

*

The person who answered the intercom at the Hathaways’ front gate believed me when I said that Roxanne had asked me to meet her and Katya Gordon for lunch. I parked in my usual spot, the only vehicle in the driveway. If Roxanne was already home, maybe her car was in the garage, but where was the car that had driven Taras Attar from the Library of Congress? Where were his security people?

The Hispanic maid and I recognized each other, and she informed me that Roxanne had taken Katya on a garden tour before lunch.

“Dr. Attar told me he’d be here this afternoon, too,” I said.

“Yes, he returned about an hour ago.”

“I’d like to thank him for the inscription he wrote in the book he signed for me,” I said. It had been a quote from Thomas Jefferson.

When the people fear the government, there is tyranny. When the government fears the people, there is liberty.

“He went to the Greek temple. He often likes to go there to write because it is so peaceful.”

It was also where Katya and Roxanne were headed.

My heart started to pound. “What about his security people? Are they with him?”

She waved a hand. “Do not worry. He sent them to get lunch. He does not need them until he leaves for the airport. There are many cameras and alarms here. No one can get in.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’d better go find everyone.”

Alarms and cameras and security gates with intercoms were fine for keeping out intruders, anyone from the outside. But what if the real threat was someone trusted, a person who was already inside the grounds?

I took off running.

*

Photographers and journalists are the people who run toward gunfire, a blazing building, a plane crash, or stand at the edge of the ocean as the hurricane is about to make landfall so you can watch or listen or read about it at home or work or somewhere else that’s safe. It’s hard to explain why we do it, but here are a few reasons: a love of risk taking and the need to always be where the story is, plus the ego-feeding adrenaline rush that lets you believe you won’t get hurt. The minute you lose your nerve, you may as well get a desk job.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came upon Roxanne and Katya at the Greek temple with Taras Attar, but it wasn’t the scene that was unfolding in front of me. Instinct warned me to keep off the paths where I might be seen as I made my way around manicured terraced gardens and privacy hedges of evergreens and hollies until I caught flashes of color through the trees—Taras’s red tie, Roxanne’s sunshine-colored blazer, and Katya in a pale blue dress—and saw the three of them facing each other, their dark, angry profiles silhouetted by slanting afternoon sunshine. I moved behind a bank of rhododendrons and found a place where the tangled branches parted so I could still see without being seen.

“I want you to take this and shoot her, Taras,” Roxanne was saying in a calm, reasonable voice. The sun glinted off a flash of metal and I saw the gun in her hand. “When the police arrive, we’ll tell them she was part of the plot to assassinate you. Her daughter is Arkady Vasiliev’s girlfriend and she’ll do anything for him. Her husband left her with massive debts when he died, and Vasiliev, with all his billions, can take care of them for her. So she went after you with the gun. It’s not registered so don’t worry. It went off when you were trying to get it away from her and you accidentally shot her. I brought her here after her press conference at the National Gallery to discuss other projects . . . I had no idea she would try something like this.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Katya said, “That’s a lie. Why are you doing this?”

Roxanne’s composure gave way to anger. “You
know
why. You’ve been blackmailing my husband for thirty years for something he didn’t do. It’s over, Katya.”

“No. He’s guilty. I saw him.” Katya took a step toward Roxanne, who raised her hand and pointed the gun at Katya.

A crack shot,
I heard Harry saying.
She grew up hunting with her father.
And she was standing at point-blank range.

“Roxanne, for God’s sake, put that down.” Taras held up his hands like a shield. “What are you two talking about? What’s this about?”

“It’s about Jenna Paradise. Remember her, Taras?” Roxanne gave him a challenging look. “I tracked down her roommate. She lives in Oregon now. She told me Jenna had just learned she was pregnant and that she’d had a fight with the father of her baby the day she disappeared.”

“Jenna? Wait a minute.” He stepped back like she had physically struck him. “Why did you go looking for Jenna Paradise’s roommate? Did Scott ask you to do it?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t know.”

“Come on, Taras,” Katya said, her voice low and vicious. “Don’t you get it? Roxanne found out Jenna was pregnant with Scott’s child and now she’s trying to protect her husband by covering up a murder. Scott killed Jenna.”

“No.” Roxanne turned to Taras. “Scott didn’t kill her. She’s lying. And it wasn’t his child. It was yours, Taras, wasn’t it?”

There was a painful silence before he said, “How did you know?”

“That’s not true. Taras, tell her . . .” Katya began.

“Yes, tell her.” Roxanne sounded triumphant. “Jenna broke off with Scott and started sleeping with you, Taras. Her roommate described you perfectly. But you never told Scott about it, did you? When Jenna went to see him on that last day, Scott said she was hysterical. She tried to convince him the baby was his, but he knew it was impossible since they hadn’t slept together in over a month.”

“But Scott, who still loved her—who was out of his mind crazy about her—killed her out of jealousy.” Katya, too, had stored up her own anger and it now boiled over like the fury of a rejected lover. “I saw him get rid of her body. He stuffed it down the storm drain by the trestle bridge like she was garbage that needed to be thrown out. Then he took her bicycle and got rid of that somewhere, too.”

The color had drained from Taras’s face. He gave Katya an anguished look. “Is that true?”

“He didn’t kill her.” Roxanne’s voice was harsh and insistent. “She fell and hit her head on one of the trestle bridge pylons. It was an accident. You never asked Scott about her, Taras. Not once. You kept your own secret because after she was gone you didn’t have to worry about a pregnant girlfriend. You’re just as much involved in this as Scott is.” She tilted her head at Katya. “That’s why we have to get rid of her. Now take the gun and do it.”

She shoved it at him as a hand came over my mouth and a voice against my ear breathed, “Don’t say a word.”

I nodded, slumping against my husband, weak-kneed with relief. He whispered, “We need to get that gun from Attar before someone starts shooting. Create a distraction somehow. We don’t have much time.”

“Wait,” I said. “Listen.”

“I’m not doing it,” Taras was saying. “I’m not shooting her like an animal that needs to be put down.”

“What are you talking about? You owe it to Scott. He can help you . . . help Abadistan. Don’t be a fool, Taras.” Roxanne seemed unprepared for Attar to thwart her plans and now she sounded like a petulant child. “She works for Vasiliev and he wants you dead. If she had the gun, she’d kill you. She wouldn’t think twice.”

“There are other ways to handle this.”

I didn’t see how or where Roxanne had concealed a second gun, but all of a sudden she was pointing it at Taras. “Oh, for God’s sake, kill her before I shoot you both. You don’t want to die, too. Think of your people, think of Abadistan. They need you.”

Taras started to laugh. “Roxy, don’t be so bloody melodramatic. You won’t shoot me.”

“I’m warning you. I’m counting down from ten.”

“No.”

“Ten . . .”

Nick swore under his breath. “Christ. That’s all we need. A bloodbath.”

He picked up a dead tree branch from the ground. It was about four feet long and two inches thick. He passed it to me and said, “I’m going to move behind her. Don’t let her get past three. See if you can knock her off balance. If I get her gun, I think we’re good. I don’t think Attar will use his.”

He disappeared.

“Six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . .”

I aimed and threw the branch. It hit Roxanne across her shoulders. She stumbled forward and Katya shoved her hard. Roxanne went down and the gun skidded away. Katya picked it up.

“Whoever you are in those bushes, come out,” she said. “Or I’ll start shooting.”

I stepped out where they could see me.

The three of them stared. Katya swore; Roxanne, who had a cut lip, muttered something; and Taras looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Sophie,” he said. “What are you doing here? Katya, please, leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Shut up, Taras,” Katya said. “You have no idea who she is. You, Sophie, get over there next to Roxanne.”

She spoke to Taras in Russian as I obeyed. I didn’t understand the words, but her meaning was clear. She turned the gun on Roxanne, who had managed to get up on one knee. Her lip was bloody and she looked like she was in pain.

“Don’t shoot me,” Roxanne said.

“You invented such a clever story about why Taras should kill me. If you had your way I would be dead. Why should I show you any mercy?”

“Put the gun down, Katya.” Taras trained his gun on her. “Or this time I will use it.”

I don’t know who fired first, but Taras’s bullet hit Katya in the arm and hers struck Roxanne in the chest. Roxanne groaned and slumped over, her hands filling with blood as she tried to cover her wound.

The British Special Forces instructors in our hostile environment training course drilled into our heads that even an infinitesimal moment of inattention was the difference between living and dying. Still I could not take my eyes off Roxanne, kneeling in a bloody pool in this serene little temple, like a high priestess who had come to make a sacrificial offering.

When I looked up, Katya had switched the gun to her uninjured hand and her aim waivered between Taras and me. As Taras aimed again at Katya, Nick moved into view.

“No!” I shoved Taras’s arm skyward as he fired.

Nick grabbed Katya from behind, wrestling the gun from her hand. It went off and Taras hooked an arm around my shoulders, pulling me with him as we dove for cover, tumbling down a grassy embankment.

“Sophie, Attar, are you okay?” Nick shouted. “I’ve got her gun and she’s not going anywhere.”

Taras was on his back, lying a few feet away. “Are you all right?” he asked me. “Who is that guy?”

I felt my ribs. No broken bones, maybe not even anything cracked, but I would ache for the next few weeks. “I’m okay. He’s my husband, Nicholas Canning. Thank you for saving me.”

His eyes widened. “Your husband?”

“Yes.”

He called to Nick. “We’re fine.” But as he got to his knees he winced.

He helped me up and we climbed the hill to the temple. Katya was sitting on the ground, bloody and disheveled, leaning against a column. Nick had bound her hands and feet with what looked like shoelaces. When she saw us, she moaned and spoke to Taras in Russian.

“You’ll live, Katya,” he said. “It’s just a superficial wound.”

Roxanne lay in a widening pool of blood, her breathing rapid and shallow and her eyes closed. Nick was kneeling by her side, both of his hands on her chest in an attempt to stanch the bleeding.

I pulled out my phone and hit Redial. “Is she—?” I asked.

“Barely,” Nick said.

This time Duval answered.

“I’m at the Hathaways’ house,” I said. “Roxanne Hathaway and Katya Gordon have been shot and I’m with Taras and Nick. Send two ambulances. I think you’d better hurry.”

24

He came at midnight as I asked him to. The door to India’s carriage house opened and the beam of his flashlight played over Max Katzer’s office.