Wild Justice (22 page)

“No, you’re absolutely right. He didn’t say anything more about this friend?”

She shook her head.

We talked for another ten minutes, but it was clear that if Aldrich said anything about that “old friend,” she didn’t remember it.

We were back at the hotel two hours after we left it. Evelyn and Quinn were still in our room. Evelyn had news.

“Dee,” she said before I even got my shoes off. “You’re the literary expert here.”

“Um, no. I’ve taken a couple of courses—”

“Then let’s try a pop quiz.” She plunked a hotel notepad in front of me. “What does this mean?”

Three words were written on the paper. Inferno. Purgatorio. Paradiso.

She knew the answer. She was amusing herself. Jack would shove the paper back at her and refuse to play along.

“It’s the three books of the
Divine Comedy
,” I said. “Is that what IPP stands for? A little obscure for a shell company, isn’t it?”

She smiled smugly. “That depends on who sets it up. It was used to hide the rental of a vehicle involved in a murder. Given those intrusion worms, it’s a company that’s very interested in security. A company presumably involved in criminal activities and quite fond of Dante.”

I looked at her and said nothing.

“Really?” she said. “If you can’t guess, Dee—”

“Oh, I can guess. But if you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me, then I’m not sure I trust the source.”

Quinn glanced over, confused.

Jack said, “She’s right. Helluva coincidence.”

“Well, then, it’s a helluva coincidence,” she said. “Dee’s life is in danger, and I would never use that to further my own agenda.”

“No?” Jack said.

Evelyn’s eyes blazed. “No, Jack. I would not.”

“What’s going on?” Quinn said.

Evelyn opened her mouth, but I beat her to it. “She’s saying that IPP is a shell company for . . .”

I glanced at Jack. He dipped his chin, telling me to go on. There was nothing else to be done, no matter how awkward this was about to get.

“For the Contrapasso Fellowship,” I said.

“The what?”

“It’s—”

“I know what it is,” Quinn said. “But it’s not real. Believe me, I’ve gone looking, like I told you . . .” He studied my expression. “It
is
real. And you knew that. When I told you a few months ago that I checked into it and you said . . .”

“Not her fault,” Jack said. “Evelyn’s.”

“Excuse me?” Evelyn said.

Jack gave her a hard look, one that said,
You owe us and you’ll go along with whatever I say to fix this particular mess.

“Evelyn had a lead on it,” Jack said. “Wanted to track it down. For Dee. We didn’t believe her. Just wooing a student.”

“You mean that Evelyn offered to find the Contrapasso Fellowship for Dee. When Dee wasn’t interested, no one”—his gaze met mine—“said
I
might be.”

“Dee did,” Evelyn said. “And I chose not to pursue it. I won’t apologize for that, Quinn. I don’t know you as well as I know her, and you aren’t—”

“—the one who interests you,” he finished.

Which was true, but Evelyn had the grace to soften it by saying, “You aren’t in the market for a mentor and even if you were, we’d be a poor fit.”

“Dee’s not in the market, either,” Quinn said. “She’s got . . .” A thumb-hook in Jack’s direction.

“I believe I could add to her education,” Evelyn said.

Jack had a rebuttal to that, and Evelyn had one to his. They argued—diverting Quinn’s attention.

What they’d said about the Contrapasso situation was close to the truth. I
had
suggested she take the offer to Quinn, and she’d refused. I’d chosen not to tell Quinn because I knew it was useless—Evelyn wouldn’t help him get in the club.

“So you think IPP is a shell company for the Contrapasso Fellowship,” I said when Jack and Evelyn finished sparring.

“One of my contacts had heard the rumor, and I followed it up with my Contrapasso contact, who confirmed it. IPP is Contrapasso. The man who killed Drew Aldrich was driving a car rented by them. The hit must have been theirs.”

I thought about that. “Presumably, then, they’d been on Aldrich for a while. They set that guy on him, probably pretending he was interested in teenage girls, too. Then Aldrich sees me, calls his new buddy in a panic, and the Fellowship steps up their game. Pulls the hit. Leaves the suicide note to get justice for at least one victim.”

“Only to turn around and order a hit on the
other
girl he kidnapped?” Quinn said. “That doesn’t make sense. If you believe in justice, you don’t kill
victims
.”

“Depends on the victim,” Jack said. “What they think she saw.”

“You think they might have made me at the scene,” I said. “That the killer had backup who spotted me coming or going. Or a cleanup crew that went in later and found something.”

“We were careful. Covered our tracks. But didn’t know the situation. Anything’s possible. These guys? Better equipped. Better connected. Better organized.”

“So Aldrich says he thinks he saw me, and they find a sign that someone else was at Aldrich’s townhouse. They don’t want to handle it themselves because that’s not their mandate. They need to distance themselves from the hit. So they hire Roland to send a pro, confirm Aldrich saw me and if so, get rid of the problem.”

Quinn shook his head. “I’m not buying it. These guys aren’t going to put out a hit on a victim, no matter what she saw.”

“No?” Jack said. “If it endangers them? Sure they are.”

“Your faith in humanity is overwhelming.”

Jack snorted. “Fuck faith. They get caught? Whole system goes down. Won’t risk that.”

“So if some innocent bystander sees a hit, it’s okay to off them, too? Is that how it works in your world, Jack?”

“Not talking about me.”

“Why not?”

“Irrelevant.”

“I don’t think it is. Have you ever done this? Killed an innocent bystander to protect yourself? Because that’s not someone—”

“Not someone you want to work with? Bullshit. You already think I would. Think you know what I am. What I’ve done. What I’d do. Pretty fucking hard for me to sink lower. Not talking about a pro offing a bystander anyway. This is an organization. Risk is bigger. Stakes are higher.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The risk seems low. It might be worth it to kill one witness if she endangers the organization, but the fact they hired Roland could suggest it’s not the Contrapasso Fellowship ordering the hit. It could be one member whose concern for himself outweighs his concern for victims and innocent bystanders.”

“That I’ll buy,” Quinn said. “Someone orders the hit without group approval. So what’s the next step? Evelyn has a contact, right? If she can still get Dee an interview—”

“Yes, that’d be the best plan,” Evelyn said. “Let Dee gather information from the inside, while giving her a chance to see if she’s interested in what the Fellowship has to offer. Two birds with one stone.”

“Um, you’re suggesting sending me into a group that might have a bounty on my head?”

“We’ll use a disguise. A very good disguise. And, as you and Quinn have reasoned, it’s unlikely the group itself—”

“No,” Jack said.

Evelyn looked at him.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he said.

“I believe Dee is quite capable of making her own decision.”

“Yes, she is,” I said. “And she says absolutely fucking not. The solution is obvious. You set up the interview for Quinn. He’s perfect. He can go in as himself—well, his Quinn self. He’s already got the professional reputation for doing exactly the kind of work the society undertakes. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a file on him as a potential recruit.”

“They don’t recruit.”

“Then I bet they still have that file, in hopes he figures out how to contact them.”

“Dee’s right,” Jack said. “Quinn’s a lousy actor. But this isn’t acting. He
is
interested. He likes it? He can sign up. He brings us what we need for Dee’s problem. We handle it. No connection to him.”

Evelyn grumbled, but it was the perfect solution and ultimately she had no choice but to make the call. The Boy Scout was about to apply for membership in the Contrapasso Fellowship.

Evelyn’s contact at Contrapasso worked fast—I suspect Evelyn had carried on laying the groundwork for an eventual interview for me. Whatever she’d told them likely fit Quinn, too, since she wouldn’t have mentioned my gender. Now that she’d given them the professional name of this potential recruit, she’d gotten a call back within the hour. They wanted to meet Quinn. The interview was set for first thing tomorrow morning in New York.

Quinn left the moment we suspected an interview was forthcoming. He was going to swing by the office in Virginia first, putting in an appearance, which would help if he needed more time off.

Evelyn left as soon as that interview was confirmed. She’d fly to New York, where she’d meet Quinn first thing in the morning and support him through the interview process. And me? Jack and I were going back to the lodge. The Shannon Broadhurst lead had been a dead end, and it looked as if Aldrich’s killer came from a whole other direction, unconnected to our “like-minded friend” theory. There was nothing for us to do but wait.

Jack and I weren’t in any hurry to leave—we’d already paid for the night. As we were getting ready, I got a call on my regular cell. It was my cousin Neil.

He asked how I was doing, was I enjoying my time off, was I still with my “friend.” Not being nosy. Just making conversation and, yes, teasing me a little because that’s what cousins do, no matter how old you are.

“I called to see if you had any other questions,” Neil said finally. “I wanted to remind you I’m here, if you need to ask something or you just want to talk . . .”

“Thanks. I’m okay right now. Keeping busy, which helps.”

“It does.” A pause. Then Neil cleared his throat. “I, uh, have . . . I mean, when you were here, we discussed the file. The case file. I know you haven’t seen it and I thought you might want to so . . .”

My heart stuttered. “You have it?”

“I do.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s your dad’s copy. He . . . kept one at home. Locked away. When he got sick, he asked my dad to take it. He was worried that when he passed and your mom cleared his things, she might . . . Anyway, I was at my parents’ yesterday for dinner and I asked for the file. I didn’t tell them why. They just figured I was interested now that Aldrich is dead. But I have it here, if you want to see it.”

“No.” The word came out fast, sharp even. “I mean . . .” I sucked in breath. “I will. Someday. But right now . . .”

“It’s too soon.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I know you got it—”

“Just picked it up while I was already there, like I said. No pressure, Nadia. You never have to see it if you don’t want to. I just thought I should have it here, in case you do.”

I told him I appreciated that, and we talked for a few more minutes on other subjects, before we hung up. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking. It took a minute to remember that I wasn’t alone. Jack stood in the open doorway, bag in hand.

“Right,” I said. “Sorry.”

I slid off the bed and took my folded jeans from the dresser top.

“Everything okay?” Jack asked as I put the jeans into my bag.

“Fine.”

I grabbed my toiletry bag from the washroom. I came out, stuffed it into my duffel, and headed for the door, and nearly crashed into Jack, who hadn’t moved. He reached to take my bag.

“Got it,” I said.

He took it anyway, prying it from my fingers. Then he nudged me back into the room.

“Sit,” he said.

I tried to protest, but he was right in front of me, moving forward, forcing me to step back until I hit the edge of the bed.

“Sit.”

I sat. He set the bags aside and pulled a chair in front of me. When I started to rise, he moved his chair so close his legs were against mine.

“Talk,” he said.

“I don’t want to—”

“Too bad. Talk.”

I glowered at him.

“Don’t give me that. Really don’t want to talk? Fine. But you do. Being polite. Fuck polite. That was your cousin. Don’t know what he said. Wasn’t eavesdropping. But you’re upset. We’re not on a schedule. No rush. So talk.”

“Yes, it was Neil. He has the case file for Amy’s murder. He asked if I wanted it. I said no. I’m not ready.”

“Okay. But . . .”

“I feel guilty now.”

“Because he got it for you?”

“Maybe guilty isn’t the right word. I feel as if I should read it, like I read that journal. Suck it up and get it over with. But I’m not ready, and I feel . . . cowardly, I guess. Like I’m sticking my head in the sand. I’m just so . . .”

“What?” he said when I didn’t continue.

“Nothing. We should go. I—”

“Nadia . . .”

“I feel confused,” I blurted. “If I seem to be coping, I feel like I’m in denial. If I’m distracting myself with work, I feel like I’m hiding from the truth. If I don’t want to read that report, I feel like I’m being a coward. What if I remember things I did wrong? Something I said that made Aldrich—”

“No,” Jack’s voice was harsh. “No, Nadia. You didn’t say—”

“Or maybe I didn’t fight hard enough. Maybe if I kicked or bit or—”

“No.” Jack gripped my arms, fingers digging in. “You did nothing to make it happen. Nothing you could have done would have stopped it from happening.”

I took a deep breath. “And I know that. But it doesn’t stop the questions. So many goddamned questions, and I’m handling it all wrong.”