Carson said, “If his granny were alive, I bet she’d be royally pissed. I mean, her own grandson tying up women in his basement.”
The sheriff continued studying them, slowly shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant, missy, and you know it. What you said, that’s plain nonsense. You’d best shut your mouth. Listen to me, Rafer’s the apple of his parents’ eye, he’s his pa’s heir.”
His hand stroked the gun as he spoke. Griffin held very still. This overweight man with the hard face and silver eyes looked ready to shoot them dead right there, if he could get away with it. He wondered who in the family had enough power in this town to get this man elected sheriff. But the sheriff he was, and it wouldn’t help if Griffin told him what he thought of him. The fact was, he and Carson were the strangers here, and Rafer Bodine was this man’s nephew. It was time to try for conciliation. He squeezed Carson’s hand.
To his surprise, she gave a slight nod, and said immediately, “I know this must be difficult for you, Sheriff, and I’m very sorry.” She stuck out her hand. “Actually, I’m Dr. Carson DeSilva, and I’ve only been in Gaffer’s Ridge a day and a half. But what I told you is the truth.”
She held out her hand, but he didn’t take it. He eyed her up and down. “Are you a real doctor, or one of those make-believe doctors who spout crap nobody cares about?”
She gave him a lovely smile. “Make-believe, spouting crap.”
He frowned at her. “Don’t smart-mouth me, missy. I figured as much. Don’t think you can get me to fall for your wiles, no matter how pretty you are, dirty or not. You expect me to believe a stranger talking nonsense about an upstanding Gaffer’s Ridge citizen like Rafer? And where’s your proof? All I’m hearing is your word, and it don’t sound believable at all. I mean, Rafer’s been friends with Buddy Forrester since they were boys. He’s known Heather her whole life. You believe he’d kidnap his friend’s kid sister? It’s crazy.
“And why’d you come here anyway? Are you one of those tree huggers who like to come here to hike and camp? Or are you here looking to buy one of those fancy old furniture pieces my wife is always looking at?”
“You mean antiques?”
“What else could I mean? You look like one of those people here for that old crap. Shysters back in Richmond clean out their attics, spin all sorts of tales, and dump it here for you nut heads to go crazy over. Stuff’s junk, you ask me.”
“No, Sheriff, I’m not here to go antiquing.”
“All right, both of you tell me why you’re here in Gaffer’s Ridge.”
Carson said, “I’m here to interview Dr. Alek Kuchar. I was planning to contact him tomorrow.”
The sheriff arched a thick brow. “You mean that old buzzard scientist hunkered down in my mountains near Pilchard’s Bluff? That Alek Kuchar?”
“Yes, that Alek Kuchar.”
“Maybe he used to be famous, but why would anyone with half a brain want to interview that weird old gobspit now?”
Carson went stiff all over. Was he trying to rile her, get her to give him an excuse to take her in?
When she finally spoke, she managed to keep her voice calm and smooth. “Actually, Sheriff, Dr. Alek Kuchar is a brilliant physicist, a Nobel Prize laureate, and, I might add, beloved for his philanthropy. He lost his wife last year and moved here to recover from his grief.”
The sheriff grunted. “Maybe he was well known in that pissant country he comes from, whichever one that is. He isn’t here, that’s for sure. But enough of that. Let’s get to it before I go in and check on Rafer. Why don’t we start by you handing over that pipe?”
Carson gave it to him. He hefted it in his hand, studied the jagged edges. “You claim you hit Rafer on the head with this pipe? And this fellow here was with you?”
Time to mix truth with lies. “I was very lucky Agent Hammersmith was nearby. He heard me yell from inside the house, and came in through the front door. He kicked the gun out of Rafer’s hand. Then I hit Rafer on the head with the pipe.”
“Sounds to me like you two are the attackers, this being Rafer’s house, not yours. And all these wild accusations about Rafer wanting to kill you, about him killing those missing girls? What do you think he’s going to say about that? Neither of you move, you hear me?” He called out to the two deputies still standing at attention some twenty feet behind him, “Brewster, Jewel, keep an eye on these two, don’t shoot them if you don’t have to. I’m going to speak to Rafer.” Then he walked straight at Carson. She instinctively moved to let him pass and watched him walk into the house.
Carson hugged herself. She said, her voice bewildered, “I don’t get it. You’re a fake FBI agent? I’m a make-believe doctor? Griffin, what’s wrong with him? I mean, he’s the frigging sheriff. I know he’s Rafer Bodine’s uncle, and this has to be a big shock to him, but he’s still the sheriff, he’s the law here. He has to act, doesn’t he?”
Griffin looked after him. “I’ve learned a psychopath can hide in plain sight and no one ever suspects him. But you know what? His family always knows. Always. And his uncle? Maybe Sheriff Bodine doesn’t realize what Rafer is. Sorry, Carson, but we’re not going to be able to count on the sheriff. Let me make a call before he comes out again.” Griffin slipped his cell out of his pocket, pressed in Savich’s number.
Carson whispered, “What is this, an alternate universe? Do you think he’s going to toss us in Gaffer’s Ridge hoosegow?”
That’s exactly what Griffin thought.
“Savich.”
“Griffin. I’m in Gaffer’s Ridge. I’ve got a big problem here with the local sheriff. He’s not accepting my credentials and I’m with a civilian, a woman, I can’t protect. It’s not looking good. I need your help. Can you come?”
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad?”
“Might be inching up to a ten.”
A pause. “I’ll try to be there tomorrow, if I can.” Another slight pause, then, “Sherlock’s been in a car accident. She’ll be fine, but I can’t leave her yet. Tell me what happened, Griffin.”
Griffin saw the sheriff coming out of the house, staring toward them. He talked fast until the sheriff roared, “You give me that cell phone!”
“Is that the sheriff? Okay, do as he says, hang up. I’ll make some calls, see if I can throw my weight around. I hope you didn’t do anything to make me regret it?”
“Nope, I was a Good Samaritan.”
“Enough, boy!” The sheriff grabbed the cell and both Carson and Griffin could see he was weighing whether or not to smash it. He didn’t. He slipped it in his shirt pocket.
Marv and Haddy came out of the house, the larger Haddy with Rafer Bodine slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, his head and wrist bandaged. Weren’t they worried about other injuries? Weren’t they trained? They watched Marv lean into the ambulance and slide out a gurney. Rafer was quiet, maybe from drugs—or maybe because of a warning from the sheriff, his uncle?
16
* * *
The ambulance careened backward out of the driveway, tires screeching, and took off down the street with its sirens blaring, even though Griffin hadn’t seen a car pass by in the neighborhood.
Sheriff Bodine motioned to his deputies. Both men stepped close, flanking. They were watchful, obviously on edge. The sheriff said, “Time for you two to come to the station and take another stab at talking your way out of attacking my nephew. I’m going to take your statements and Rafer’s, too, once he’s able. If I were you I’d call a lawyer. We have two in town, but one of them is a female and she only does wills and such. Not a real lawyer, like missy here isn’t a real doctor. The other’s a man and he knows what’s what. My dispatcher and 911 operator, Fayreen, can give you their numbers.
“Rafer was in a lot of pain from the blows you gave him, but the gist is he said this was a home invasion, pure and simple.” He eyed Carson. “Rafer’s young, appreciates a pretty young woman, especially a looker like you. He lets you into his house without a qualm. Maybe you int
ended to scam him, but he realizes you’re not for real and so you called your pretty boyfriend here to pound him? More believable than that tale you tried to sell me. Spiteful, I’d call it.
“As for you, Agent Hammersmith, I’ll be checking out those credentials of yours when we get to the station. I suspect they’re forged and I’ll have the pleasure of sending you to jail. Are the two of you going to come willingly or shall I cuff you?” He shot a look at Deputy Jewel, whose name was embroidered over his left front shirt pocket. Jewel was young, sweating and scared, the hand holding his gun visibly shaking. Settle down, Griffin thought. No need to panic. To his surprise, the young deputy seemed to relax a bit. The other deputy, Brewster, was older, with sparse gray hair, thin lips, and hard eyes. Griffin pegged him for a bully, probably violent when he drank too much. This was the man to watch.
Sheriff Bodine said, “So where’s your cars?”
Carson said, “My car’s back at my rental house.”
“And your car?”
Griffin said, “It’s parked at Jenny Wiley’s house.”
“Now that’s interesting, but not important right this minute. So both of you walked here, didn’t want people to notice a car, right?”
Carson said, “Look in the basement, Sheriff. You’ll find the duct tape Rafer used to tape my wrists and ankles.”
“Every man has duct tape in his basement.” Sheriff Bodine looked at Griffin. “You gonna say he knocked you out, too? Dragged you here to his house to kill you? Duct-taped you, too?”
“Dr. DeSilva was a gymnast, got her hands under her butt, that’s how she got free. Me? I was taking a walk, enjoying the park and the town. I heard her yell for help and came running. I’ve been in Gaffer’s Ridge less than a day, Sheriff, here to visit friends.”
“Yeah? What friends?”
“Like I told you, I’m staying with Jennifer Wiley and Aimée Rose Wallberger, longtime friends from college. They own Jenny’s Café. I told you as well, I left my car at their house.”
He eyed Griffin up and down, gave a loud bray of laughter. “Not that either of those two ladies would give you a second look, no matter if you look like a fricking movie star. Let’s go. Jewel, you and Brewster follow close. Be alert.”
Griffin said, “Sheriff, what about Rafer Bodine? Are you detaining him? Is one of your deputies going to follow the ambulance and guard him?”
The sheriff stared at Griffin, slowly shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about Rafer. Quint’s boy isn’t going anywhere. I told you, Gaffer’s Ridge is his home, our family’s been here for generations. This is where he conducts his business. There’s no place for him to go.” He flicked a look at Carson. “It’s you two who are the strangers who could run, not Rafer, you two accusing my own blood of murder.”
Carson couldn’t help it, she said, louder this time, “Sheriff, I told you, he’s very probably a serial killer, no matter he’s your nephew.”
Sheriff Bodine gave her a disgusted look. “The two of you get in the back seat. Now.” Once he’d pushed them inside, the sheriff shut the door. There was a mesh partition dividing the front from the back. They heard the door locks click. The sheriff eased his bulk into the front seat, pulled out his cell, pressed a number. “Fayreen, I’m bringing in those two strangers.” He listened, then said, “Yep, the one who called you declaring he was an FBI agent. What they’re claiming will make your eyes bug out. Get ahold of Judge Pinder. He’s gotta be the one to decide what to do with these two.” He punched off, slipped the cell back into his pocket.
Carson said to Griffin, “I know what Alice must have felt, but Gaffer’s Ridge isn’t any Wonderland.”
17
* * *
WASHINGTON, D.C.
DUPONT CIRCLE
MARU DOJO
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Nikki Bexholt tied her white obi belt over her white gi, and slipped on her zori sandals. She looked up when she saw Claire Farriger, her practice partner for the past four years, walk in and change into her own gi, fasten her black belt, and retrieve her ebony wooden Bokken sword from her locker. Nikki’s own white belt was her constant reminder she still had a great deal to learn before she could make the leap to black. Claire was her superior and her mentor in aikido, and at forty-six, she was in her prime. Nikki tried not to feel jealous of her, a constant battle. Claire had accomplished so much. She’d been a highly successful CIA field operative, spoke fluent Russian and Serbian, and had hopscotched her way up the CIA ladder to become the assistant director of the CIA for Europe and Eurasia analysis, second-in-command, reporting to the director of CIA. She’d confided to Nikki that she wouldn’t be allowed to become director, all politics, she’d said. It was the same for Nikki—she knew she’d never be allowed to take the reins of her family’s business, the Bexholt Group. It wasn’t about politics, it was about her vile father, who believed a woman couldn’t do the job. It was that shared fact, being unjustly cut off from what they each richly deserved, that had brought them together, and in the end set everything else in motion. Nikki picked up her own red oak bokken, the Japanese wooden sword they used for training, balanced it in her hand. She wanted ebony, like Claire’s.
The only other woman in the locker room finished changing, nodded to them, and left.
Nikki waited for the door to close, then said, “Any word on Cummings?”
Claire shook her head, walked to the mirror, pulled out her comb, and smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, difficult since it was still too short. “I don’t know why I ever cut it,” she said. “I should have left it longer like yours.”
“Claire, what about Cummings? You’re not any closer to finding him, are you?” She paused, her voice hardened. “You promise you’d tell me if your people get close, right? Remember our deal. He does not die. You get him to me somehow, and I’ll talk him around.”
Claire laughed. “And you’re fully prepared to inform him of the consequences if he doesn’t do what you tell him? That there are files in his computer the CIA will believe he copied and sold? That he’ll be charged with espionage?”
“Yes,” Nikki said, her voice steady. “I think he’ll cooperate once I make him realize he has only two choices: leave the country a rich man or spend most of his life in federal prison. I don’t like it, but at least he’ll be alive. And eventually his family can join him.
“You’ve told me his wife wasn’t happy with his earnings at the CIA. When you bottom-line it, going along with us is the best solution for him.”
Claire looked at her, slowly shook her head. “You think everyone can be bought?”
“In my experience in the business world, yes. You swear you won’t kill him?”
Claire shrugged, slipped an elastic band around her stub of a tail, and slowly turned. “Yes, I’ll keep to our agreement, for now. And no, we haven’t found Cummings yet, and yes, you’ll get him when we do. One thing, Nikki—excuse me if I don’t call you Athena—you know, of course, Agent Sherlock’s husband is Dillon Savich.”
“Yes, I know. And I’ve cautioned my people.”
“The FBI doesn’t yet know whose blood was on her windshield, so we’re ahead of them.” Claire paused, sighed, rubbed her palm over her forehead. “So much brouhaha about Cummings, it’s exhausting.” She’d already told Besserman, Justice Cummings’s supervisor, to go in-depth into his computer. They’d find the little surprise she’d left for them. It would make it harder to turn Cummings over to Nikki, but so be it. The whole idea of leaving Cummings alive was nonsense. But she couldn’t forget, Nikki wasn’t like her.
“Has something happened you haven’t told me about, Claire?”
“I’m just getting tired of Lance. Talk about exhausting. He’s gotten too possessive. I’ll have to clip his wings.”
They were in the middle of a crisis that could turn on a dime and destroy all their plans, their futures, and Claire was concerned about her longtime lover, her personal assistant at the CIA, getting too possessive? Nikki c
ould only stare at her. She remembered the first time they’d met. The CIA had accepted her father’s bid for installing a specialized firewall for a CIA project and Nikki had wangled it so she was put in charge, not her brother. She remembered she’d been fascinated with Claire, never tiring of hearing about her assignments in the field, the constant risk of being discovered, the knowledge that death could land on your shoulder at any time. They’d gotten close, and Claire had shown her risks could be taken for the right rewards. When an engineer who worked for her at Bexholt, Dr. Craig Cook, made the breakthrough with his smart wall, her mind bloomed in directions she hadn’t known she was capable of. She’d thought immediately of Claire, and they’d worked out their plans together after a session at the dojo. Nikki had the means, and Claire the experience and the contacts. All they had to do was convince Dr. Cook and a few Bexholt employees to join them.
Nikki said, astonished, “You want to clip Lance’s wings? Now? You told me you needed him to do jobs for you, Claire, told me he would do anything you ask him to do. So let him be possessive for a while longer. Set him out to find Cummings.”
Claire straightened, tightened her obi, and nodded. “Yes, you’re right, of course. I’ve already set him on finding Cummings. How are the preparations going at Redemption House? Are we ready for the bankers, ready to start making money on Monday?”
“Yes, but I do worry about Savich. I can’t see him giving up if he gets involved, not when his wife nearly lost her life in that accident.”
Claire walked to Nikki, took her face between her palms. “Little sister, it will be all right. I’ll eventually have to let him come see me, and I’ll handle him. No question. We’re almost there, so stop your worrying, and let’s go get warmed up.”
18
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GAFFER'S RIDGE
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Labyrinth Page 7