The Spire (39 page)

When his telephone rang, Darrow snatched at it.

The caller was not Simmons but David Rotner. 'I've got the file,' Rotner said at once.

He sounded somber. Surprised, Darrow asked, 'And''

'There's nothing to suggest that Farr was laundering money,' Rotner said. 'Though the last outfit he served in was run by the CIA. As you probably know, the agency moved money around in all sorts of ways. But your man's specialty was on the operational side.'

'Meaning''

'I told you what my constraints are.' Rotner's voice lowered. 'All I can say is that you'd find the files interesting. But there's nothing here that makes him an embezzler.'

Sitting in his chair, Darrow gazed out at the rolling grounds. 'What about a double murderer''

For a moment Rotner was silent. 'Why do you ask that''

'It's nothing I can be sure of. But a second murder'if it is one'happened about three weeks ago.'

'Then you've got me in a bind, Mark.'

'How so''

'Because you're one of my closest friends, and I'm not supposed to tell you a fucking thing.' His tone became emphatic. 'But I will say this: based on these records and what you just told me, you may be dealing with a very singular personality. I strongly suggest that some appropriate person request them.'

Darrow made himself stay calm. 'I don't have time for that, David.'

For a moment Rotner said nothing. At length, he asked, 'Have you ever heard of the Phoenix program''

'No.'

'It was a very special, very secret operation during Vietnam. Under the auspices of the CIA, Special Forces personnel carried out targeted assassinations of Viet Cong, alleged VC agents or sympathizers who gave them information. Your man was in the program.'

Darrow felt his nerves come alive. 'How were these killings done''

'As I understand it, the techniques varied. A bullet in the head, or maybe a slit throat if silence was important.'

'What about pumping someone full of heroin''

'No idea. But it could have happened. It might make for a quiet death, and Vietnam was awash in smack.' Rotner sounded defensive. 'The work was dirty, dangerous, and stressful. Our guys got through it by believing that they were protecting their fellow soldiers, the mission, and our country, maybe even Vietnam itself. That's how they stayed sane.'

'Did Farr remain sane''

'The question you need to ask, Mark, is who he was going in.'

'What do you mean''

'Dammit, Mark.' Rotner paused, then said with resignation, 'Your guy exceeded orders. He seemed to like his work too much.'

Darrow felt caged. 'Meaning''

'They'd go into a village at night to kill a VC agent. The orders would be specific to that person'you'd have to put in an application for a particular target and have it approved up the line. It was
not
a hunting license'neither the army nor CIA nor the guys doing it saw this as a form of recreation or a license for mass murder. The idea was to create fear, not hatred.

'Farr was different. Tell him to kill a VC and somehow the target's entire family would end up dead. The army concluded that Farr was a liability.'

An image of Farr in Vietnam, those years he would never speak of, made Darrow feel queasy. 'You mean they thought he was insane.'

'They believed,' Rotner answered flatly, 'that Farr was dangerous. Let someone damaged step outside normal societal boundaries and it might be hard to bring him back. For many in the Phoenix program, Vietnam was a nightmare. But a man like Farr might believe it was the rest of us who were living in a fairy tale.'

'Did anyone use the word 'psychopath'''

'The Special Forces never wanted guys like that, and they screened their candidates with care.' Rotner paused, then added, 'Still, it's always possible for a psychopath to slip through, especially someone with a very high IQ. Witness Jeffrey MacDonald, the Special Forces doctor convicted of killing his wife and kids, then planting evidence that they were murdered by intruders. My understanding of psychopaths is that the moral dimensions of murder don't occur to them at all. What was scary about Macdonald was that he was so smart and so persuasive, he damn near got away with it.'

Darrow stared at the papers on his desk: budget figures, the draft of a speech'the stuff of normal life. 'Was that why Farr left the military''

'Not exactly.' Rotner hesitated. 'There was also the murder of a prostitute in Saigon.'

Head bent, Darrow rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'What were the circumstances''

'The killer tied this woman to her bed. The evidence suggested she was strangled during sex.' Rotner tried to keep his voice neutral. 'The woman who ran the brothel identified a photograph of Farr. So did a friend of the dead girl's.'

For what seemed to him a long time, Darrow was quiet. 'Mark'' Rotner asked.

'I was wondering why Farr wasn't prosecuted.'

'The army was set to bring charges. Then both women retracted their stories. It seemed clear they'd been intimidated, but neither would say so. Without them a court-martial was pointless.' Rotner's tone contained a quiet awe. 'The army threatened Farr with prosecution anyhow, hoping to compel his resignation. Farr called their bluff. What's plain is that the man had the nerve of a cat burglar, completely without fear.

'In the end, all the army could do was arrange an administrative separation, effectively burying the reasons. The only trace of what must have happened is the file on my desk. To the rest of the world, Lionel Farr was just a war-weary soldier, like so many others in those times.'

'He's not like the others,' Darrow said quietly. 'He's much more remarkable.'

'And much more dangerous,' Rotner said. 'According to these files, he must be in his sixties. But he's not someone who's passive when cornered. Be cautious, Mark.'

Darrow promised he would.

FOR THE NEXT few minutes, Darrow thought of many things: the moment when Farr offered to change his life, Farr kneeling beside Angela's body, Farr helping Durbin take charge of Caldwell's response, Farr promising his help on the day the police arrested Steve Tillman. But Darrow's mind kept returning to Taylor, both the child and the woman.

Picking up the telephone, he called Carly Simmons again. 'Got your message,' she said brusquely. 'But the dead have their ways of demanding my attention. You'd think they'd be more patient than the living.'

On another day, Darrow might have laughed. 'I'll make it quick,' he said in an apologetic tone. 'Fifteen years ago, would an unattended death in Wayne County have automatically triggered an autopsy''

'Automatically'' Simmons sounded mildly amused. 'We certainly autopsied Angela Hall.'

'This isn't about Angela. My question pertains to a woman in her mid-forties with a history of heart disease.'

'You've sure got a wide-ranging curiosity,' Simmons said dryly. 'In the case you describe, it depends. Back then the old doctor who'd come out and sign the death certificate, Rodney Harrison, might not have called for an autopsy. Especially if he knew the woman and her history and nothing seemed amiss.'

Darrow's mouth felt dry. 'One last question. If you wanted to kill someone in her sleep and leave no trace, how would you do it''

'Last time
I
did that,' Simmons replied in a quietly caustic tone, 'I used a pillow. Of course, an autopsy would give you the cause of death. But there's a good chance nothing would be apparent to the naked eye.' More sharply, she said, 'Mind telling me what
this
is all about''

'I will,' Darrow promised. 'Just not yet.'

'Then let me get back to my corpses, Mr. Darrow. They're generally more informative.'

Darrow thanked her. Without putting down the telephone, he called Taylor on her cell. 'Where are you'' he asked.

Taylor sounded puzzled. 'My dad's house. Working on my dissertation.'

'Stay there,' he said. 'I'm coming over.'

T

AYLOR MET HIM AT THE DOOR, HER FACE DRAWN FROM LACK of sleep. Her voice anxious, she asked, 'What's wrong, Mark''

He brushed past her, tense as she, glancing around the living room. 'Where's Lionel''

'At work.' She paused. 'It's not even four o'clock.'

He turned to her. 'I want you out of here. Pack up what you need.'

She folded her arms, visibly striving for a deliberate calm, her eyes flecked with doubt and worry. 'Tell me what's going on.'

'Later.'

'Now,' she said tightly. 'Is this about my father''

Darrow made himself pause, searching for words. 'And your mother,' he said. 'Do you remember if she had an autopsy''

Taylor stared at him. She could not seem to move. 'Why are you asking''

Silent, Darrow placed his hands on her shoulders. For a moment, she looked into his face. Then, haltingly at first, Taylor began speaking.

THE WHITE-HAIRED DOCTOR stood with her father by her mother's bed, touching Anne Farr's wrist. Taylor watched from the doorway, gazing at her mother's lifeless face, a ghastly yellow in the light through her bedroom window. In a dispassionate tone, the old man said, 'I'm sorry, Lionel. But Anne appears to have died quite peacefully. I guess her heart just gave out.'

'So it seems. Taylor found her like this.'

Neither man, Taylor realized, had noticed her. 'Dear God,' Dr. Harrison said in a sorrowful wheeze. 'That must have been hard for her.'

'It's what we always feared,' her father responded. 'But this came too soon. We're not ready, Taylor and I.'

'At least she has you.' The doctor placed a consoling hand on her father's shoulder. 'Are you curious about the precise cause of death' If so, we can perform an autopsy.'

It took a moment for her father to answer. 'If you feel compelled to do it, Rodney.'

'And otherwise''

Turning, her father spoke in a voice thick with grief. 'She's dead, for God's sake. Will carving up Anne's body bring her back to life' We both know her heart betrayed her.' His speech slowed. 'Forgive me. But remembering her like this is hard enough. I don't want to think about an autopsy.'

Awkwardly, Dr. Harrison patted his shoulder. 'I understand.'

'Good,' her father answered. 'As you say, there's Taylor to think of now.'

TAYLOR LOOKED AT Darrow, the cloud of anguish darkening her eyes. Darrow felt the entire foundation of his life being upended by the same man, her father. 'Your dreams are about something,' he told her. 'I'm not sure they're dreams at all.'

Taylor shook her head, less in denial, Darrow perceived, than dismay at what she had never acknowledged. He spoke with gentle urgency. 'You were a child, Taylor, unable to face your doubts, and without anyone to hear them. All you could do was repress your deepest fears, then run away as far as you could go. At least until now.' He paused, then added quietly, 'I think your mother knew what he'd done'or believed she did. That's what you've been sensing.'

To his surprise, Taylor backed away, saying in a cool, clear voice, 'Dreams aren't proof, Mark. Tell me what else you know.'

'There's no time for this''

Her eyes filled with pain and rage. 'Tell me, dammit.'

'All right,' he said. 'The money embezzled from Caldwell went to bank accounts controlled by Carl Hall. Somehow Carl knew that your father was the man in Angela's diary. Lionel used the weakness in Caldwell's financial system to pay off Carl and frame Clark Durbin by fabricating his e-mail''

'How'' Taylor interrupted. 'When it comes to computers, my father struggles just to cope.'

'Or so he's made us think. It seems he's very good at that.'

Taylor took this in, her gaze intense with thought. Briefly, she shut her eyes. Then she seemed to stand straighter, controlling her emotions with an act of will. With icy calm, she said, 'We have to check his office, Mark.'

Darrow stared at her. Moments before, she had confronted her own suspicion that one parent had murdered the other, which must have been lodged in her subconscious since adolescence. Now, eerily, she had begun to function as her father did in moments of crisis or danger'detached from her own emotions, thinking swiftly, so devoid of doubt or fear that it sharpened Darrow's edginess. 'We need to get out of here,' he said. 'Go to the police.'

'And tell them what'' Taylor stared into Darrow's eyes, speaking with the same dispassion. 'I finally know why he keeps his study locked. I also know where he keeps his keys. If we don't look, he'll destroy whatever's there. Just like he cremated my mother's body.'

Turning, she went to her father's bedroom. Darrow followed and found her reaching into a small drawer in a rolltop desk. She held up a set of keys. 'When I was a child,' Taylor said, 'this was where he hid things. He never knew I saw him.'

This enmity, Darrow realized, was years deep, practiced by two quiet adversaries. 'How do you know what these open'' he asked her.

'One day my laptop shut down. He wasn't home, and I needed to check my e-mail on his computer. He never knew I'd violated his sanctuary.' Swiftly, Taylor walked to his study. 'How many men, I wonder, lock their study at home to keep their family out.'

Darrow stared at the dead bolt. 'I don't remember seeing this.'

'You didn't,' Taylor answered tersely. 'He installed it the day after we scattered her ashes. It was one of the things we never spoke of.'

Though made gloomier by the absence of light, the office was familiar: the map of Vietnam, the oil painting of Mad Anthony Wayne, the leather chair where Farr had sat when he offered the teenage Darrow a new vision of his future. The sense of trespass caused Darrow to pause. He watched Taylor pull out her father's desk chair and log in to Farr's laptop. 'You won't find anything,' Darrow said. 'To imitate Durbin's e-mail, he'd have needed a different computer.'

Glancing up, Taylor handed him the keys. 'Then look in his drawers.'

These, too, had locks. Finding the key, Darrow unlocked three drawers. Two were empty save for writing utensils and printing paper; the third was stuffed with bank records and extra checks. Wedged into the fourth was a small laptop. Darrow remembered a report prepared by Greg Fox and Joe Betts; Farr's spare computer, he realized, was identical to the one Clark Durbin had used as president of Caldwell. Glancing up, he discovered that Taylor was watching him.