I looked at Jack. "Whatever happened today, however much we disagree about that, I trust you and I'd really like your input. I plan to pull this off, Jack. Without getting myself killed."
"I know." He leaned back into the cushions. "Talk to me."
So I did.
* * *
FORTY-EIGHT
I woke up in the bedroom I was sharing with Evelyn. Last thing I remembered, Jack and I had finished discussing the plan and moved on to talking about...I had no idea what we'd moved on to, because I think that the moment I had the plan straight in my head, I fell asleep. Jack must have carried me in to the bedroom.
I rolled over and checked the other bed. It was empty. The clock read 8:12. I shot up with a curse. Of all the days to sleep in...
I could hear Evelyn in the main room, saying something about Dubois and the contact call. Was there a problem? I scrambled up and threw open the door.
"Have we heard back--?"
I stopped. Evelyn sat on the sofa, in conversation with a man. Only that man wasn't Jack. It was Quinn. And I was standing in the doorway, half-naked, no wig, no contacts, no makeup. Quinn's gaze didn't go to my face first, though. It went to my chest. Or, more accurately, to my torso, emblazoned with the Ontario Police College logo. His eyes lifted to mine. He blinked, realizing I wasn't wearing a disguise, then looked away. I backpedaled and slammed the door as Evelyn let out an oath.
Evelyn opened the door without knocking.
"Shit, that was a stupid move," she muttered.
I glared over my shirt collar as I pulled it on. "Yes, I've been making a lot of stupid moves lately, but thanks for clarifying that."
"By 'stupid move,' Dee, I meant mine. I should've warned you Quinn was here."
I tugged on my jeans. "Well, I should have woken up enough to think about checking before throwing open the door."
"I don't think he got a good look at you. He did the right thing--turned away."
"It's not my face I'm worried about. It's this." I lifted the police college shirt for her to read before I refolded it into my bag. "That he did see."
"Shit."
A soft knock at the door.
"Dee?" Quinn.
I asked him to wait while I looked around for my wig and contacts. When I had them on, I called a welcome. He slid inside. Evelyn hesitated, then left. Quinn stood there as I pulled on my socks.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Hey, you didn't do anything wrong. You just glanced up when the door opened. And thanks--you know, for looking away when you realized I..."
I let the sentence fade, and picked up my toothpaste. Before I could slip into the bathroom, he grabbed my hand.
"Dee? Whatever I saw? There could be a few explanations, and I have no intention of trying to figure out which one is right."
"Thanks."
"How about a trade-off?" He smiled. "One question. Ask me anything."
When I shook my head, his smile faltered.
"Sure. Okay. I mean, maybe there's nothing you want--"
"Your eyes," I said, managing a small smile. "What color are your eyes?"
His grin returned full wattage. "Sure. I can do that--better than that." He dropped his head forward, reached up and took out his contacts. "There."
He looked at me. His eyes were light green, the color of new grass.
Quinn moved closer, his head tilting, lips moving down toward mine--
The door banged open and we both jumped back.
"Evelyn told me," Jack said, by way of introduction. He started crossing the room, then met Quinn's eyes. A grunt, and his gaze dropped to Quinn's hand, still cupping his contacts.
"Christ's sake," Jack muttered. "Show-and-tell? This isn't kindergarten."
"He was just--" I began.
"Leaving," Jack said. "I need to talk to Dee."
"It wasn't Quinn's--"
"Fault. Yeah. I heard." He jerked his thumb at the door. "Go call your sources. Dubois doesn't respond by noon? We call it off."
Quinn put in his contacts, then squeezed my hand and left.
"There was no need to talk to him that way," I said. "He didn't do anything wrong."
"Besides taking out his contacts?"
"He felt bad, and he wanted to reciprocate--"
"Yeah. He wants to reciprocate. Middle of a fucking job. Starts playing 'I'll show you mine.'"
"Actually, I think I showed him mine first."
"Not on purpose." Jack moved closer, the edge leaving his voice. "You okay? Evelyn said he saw you. Saw your shirt."
"Which I should have never brought with me. A dumb move, but it...helps me sleep, and sometimes that's more important than being careful."
"I've seen the shirt. Had a problem with it? Would have said so. Back to the question. You okay?"
"I'm shaken, but I guess it's a good lesson for me to be careful all the time, and not relax my guard when I'm with just you and Evelyn."
"Yeah. Gotta be careful with Evelyn."
A small smile. "But not you?"
"Not unless I open my mouth. Then I'm dangerous." He paused. "About yesterday--"
The door swung open.
"Jack? Dee?" Evelyn called. "Dubois bit. He's in."
"Now the fun begins," I murmured.
We'd arranged for our point person to meet Dubois at eleven thirty. Just because he'd agreed to speak to us didn't mean he'd agree to our plan, but we couldn't wait to find out. We had too much prep work.
"I ordered the radios yesterday," Felix said as we ate a late breakfast in our hotel room. "I called this morning and rerouted delivery to a plaza outside town. Quinn? Would you be able to pick those up later?"
"Will do."
"Need a safe house," Jack said. "Motel would work. Prefer a house."
"Easily done," Felix said. "We'll locate several for rent, with immediate possession, scout locations, and select one."
"Hole up in a place for rent?" I said. "Sounds good, but there's a risk factor, isn't there? If someone decides to show the place--"
"We'll rent it," Felix said. "Cash for a month."
"Is that--?"
"Safe?" He smiled, and switched to an upper-class British accent. "Hello, I'm Dr. Patterson, and I have a rather...odd request to make. I'm visiting your university and, well, I must admit, I loathe public housing. I believe you have a lovely little place for rent on Main Street? If it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience, I'd like to let it for the week. I'll pay you for the entire month, of course, in advance."
"Works for me," I said.
"And it has worked for me more times than I can count."
"Let's get moving on that," Jack said. "Dubois comes through? I want keys within the hour. Need time for a thorough examination. No surprises."
* * *
Dubois
Martin Dubois stirred his coffee, tasted it, then added another sweetener. As he lifted the cup to his lips, he looked over the rim at the clock. Eleven twenty-nine. He'd wait until eleven thirty-five, no longer. Maybe eleven forty, but only if he didn't finish his coffee before that. He drank slower.
The message had come in last night. An e-mail, sent to his personal account.
Missing a witness? We have her but I think you'd rather have the man who tried to kill her. If so, we can deliver. This is a private transaction. You'll get your man and all the credit, and we'll ask for very little in return.
If you wish to discuss this further, please respond to the e-mail address at the bottom with a time and place.
Attached to the e-mail was a photo of a bloodied garrote wire. No one knew that's what the killer had tried to use. The kids thought he'd been strangling her with a rope, which hadn't explained her bloodied hands. The wire looked like the same gauge used on the Lee woman. That made sense.
He'd tried to trace the e-mail, of course--using what resources he could without arousing suspicion--but the trail ended at a dead account. So he'd done the only thing he could: responded with a time and place. Here and now.
They'd expected him to come alone. He hadn't, of course. He was ambitious--not crazy. But he'd told the young agent accompanying him only that he was meeting a witness in a public place and wanted backup, then positioned him across the room, where he could watch for trouble, but couldn't overhear the conversation.
Had it been any other case, there would have been a team of agents with him, ready to take into custody whoever showed up. But this was the case of a lifetime, one that every agent dreamed of--a dream that was fast turning into a nightmare.
They hadn't blamed him for the Chicago killing. That had been his free swing. Then he'd had his entire team on a train to California...and the killer took a victim in Nebraska. Strike one. So he'd pulled them back into the investigation, and sent a skeleton crew to organize security at the West Virginia parade. And the killer had not only shown up in West Virginia, but left an eyewitness who just up and walked away. Strike two. He had twenty-four hours to produce that witness. If not...strike three.
Now he had a shot at getting her. That would redeem him, for a while. But if he could go all the way? Bring down the Helter Skelter killer? That would hit the ball out of the park, home run, bases loaded...safe forever. He could ride the wave for a few more years in the bureau, retire with full pension, maybe even tour the lecture circuit.
The bell over the cafe door tinkled. He glanced up. In walked an older woman. White-haired, elegantly groomed, the country club type. He was about to look away when she caught his gaze...and headed straight for him.
Goddamn it. She'd recognized him. And now she was coming over to tell him what a horrible job he was doing, and someone had to catch this criminal and, in her day, by God, they would have nabbed him after the first murder, if not before--
The woman dropped something onto the table. The garrote wire. He looked up at her, his mouth open, but nothing coming out. She took the seat opposite his and shrugged out of her coat.
He looked down at the wire.
"It's clean," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Yes, the boys wanted to leave the blood on it for you, but if you get blood in a silk pocket, it just never comes out." She met his gaze. "You didn't really think we'd leave our girl's DNA all over it, did you?"
"Your girl?"
"Your witness?"
She was looking at him like he was an idiot. A twenty-year veteran, and he was gaping at a source like a rookie. He slapped down his mug hard enough to slosh coffee over the edge.
"Where's my contact? If this is someone's idea of a joke--"
"It's someone's idea of covering your ass, Dubois. You're a public figure, in a public place...talking to a nice old lady. Probably calming her fears about this big bad killer. Even your boy in the corner is still busy watching the door for whomever you're supposed to be meeting."
He shifted in his seat. He had to take the upper hand--or at least find it.
"So who do you represent? I need to know who I'm--"
"A group of publicly minded individuals who've been chasing this madman for you. Protecting their...business interests."
"What kind of business--?"
"What kind of business do you think your boy is in?"
"Who knows? Bunch of experts swear he's--" Dubois stopped. "A professional kil--"
"Smart experts. And if he was a member of said profession, there would likely be other members of said profession more than a little annoyed with the heat he's bringing down." She looked at him. "Who better to stop a killer?"
"So who the hell are you?"
She smiled. "Their fairy godmother...and I just might be yours, too. Let me order a coffee and run a little business proposition past you."
"So that's it," she said as she finished.
"And I somehow do all this without involving my team or my supervisors? This is the FBI, lady. I can't wipe my ass without filling out a triplicate requisition for new toilet paper."
She shrugged. "If it can't be done, then we'll find another way. Lure him in ourselves, take him down and notify the papers, telling them where to find the body--"
"Let me think about it."
"I'm sure you'll come up with something. No one said it would be easy, but the reward..." Another shrug. "Worth the cost, I'd say. If you need to involve someone else, one other person from your team, we understand that. Share the risk and share the glory--your decision."
"You still haven't told me the price. No, wait, let me guess. Prisoners. You want me to release some of your buddies we picked up while looking for this guy. Don't bother asking, because I don't have the kind of authority--"
"Keep them. If they've fucked up enough to get caught, that's not our concern."
He leaned back in his chair and studied her. "If it's not prisoners, it must be amnesty. Your guys want a few 'get out of jail free' cards. Some old cases closed--"
"My boys don't need free passes. Any cases you have on them have been shelved for lack of evidence and lack of interest. Let me save us both some time. We want one thing: this guy's name removed from our ranks. Once he's yours, he was never one of ours."
He thought about that for a moment. "You mean you don't want word of his former occupation getting out."
"A simple request that will make things much tidier for us."
He waited. She sipped her coffee.
"That's it?"
An arched brow. "Well, I could ask for two hundred million, but I suspect the answer would be no. So that's it. A fair and honest bargain, made in good faith. Do we have a deal?"
He hesitated, then nodded.
* * *
FORTY-NINE
The press conference was scheduled for 4 p.m., and by two, the announcement was on every local radio and TV station, and probably half the stations across the country. If Wilkes wanted to know whether the Feds had found me yet, he'd be tuning in. If he hoped to make sure I wasn't around for a police lineup or court case, he'd have stayed in town to take care of that...and would be at that press conference.
Evelyn, Felix and Quinn took off on their various tasks, making sure everything would run as smoothly as possible. Jack, Felix and I concentrated on the house. It was a row house in an area rife with student housing. As we'd seen with the Vegas condos, a row house limited access to the front and back, meaning Jack and Quinn could cover it. Student housing meant that it would either be near-vacant for homecoming, or there'd be parties nearby to cover any noise.
We searched the house from top to bottom and made a list of every possible entry point. Then we narrowed the list down to the most likely ones. The upstairs windows would be too difficult to get into, especially for a man approaching sixty. The basement one was too small. The best candidate was the patio door. The backyard was enclosed by a privacy fence, so once he was over that fence, he was out of sight.
We closed the vertical blinds so he could work on the patio door without being seen from inside. That also meant he couldn't take a shot from outside--a bonus. We closed every blind in the house to solve that potential problem. Plus I'd be wearing body armor. That sounds a lot safer than it really is...a pro like Wilkes would know body armor was a possibility with a secured witness, and he'd aim for my head. But if he didn't have a chance to aim, the armor would help.
We closed off every room that we didn't need, and Jack applied something to the hinges so they'd squeak if the doors opened. With the shades drawn and doors all closed, the house was nearly dark, even at midday, and we moved furniture around, putting side tables in the halls, chairs just beyond doors, wrinkling area rugs, nothing that looked too out of place, but giving Wilkes things to bump into or trip over as he made his way through the house.
It would drive me crazy, having rumpled rugs and cock-eyed furniture, but if he stumbled or bumped something, it would be another way to let me know he was inside. We could have done more, rigged up an alert system of some sort, but if he found it, he'd know this was a trap.
Once the house was set, and I'd memorized t
he layout well enough to navigate in the dark, we ran through the plan, every variation of the plan, and every conceivable obstacle to the plan. Only when Jack was certain he'd left nothing unconsidered did he declare we were ready to bring in the others...and lunch.
Over lunch, we went through the plan with Evelyn, Felix and Quinn, and we all tried to poke holes in it. There were a few, but nothing that gave me any real cause for alarm. Finally, it was three thirty. Jack wanted everyone in position before the press conference.
Felix left me my radio, and showed me how to operate it. Quinn tried to stall, and I knew he wanted a private good-bye, but Evelyn took him aside to help her check on something.
They waited in the front room while Jack gave me last-minute instructions. Once they were out of earshot, he turned my way.
"You okay?"
I managed a weak smile. "As okay as I'm going to be."
"It'll be fine. Got everything covered." His gaze shot to me. "Did, didn't we? Everything covered?"
"It's fine, Jack."
"Things don't go as planned? Get out. Don't try a second time. Get him outside. Got Evelyn and Felix. Both good distance shooters. He runs? Got me and Quinn. Fast enough on our feet. Faster than him, at least."
I nodded.
"You want me here? Maybe we could--"
"No. The plan makes the most sense as it is."
We stood there, the silence thick and heavy.
"I know you don't want me to do this, Jack."
A moment's hesitation. "No. No, I don't."
"What happened yesterday, it wasn't--I was just--"
I stopped, realizing it would do no good to argue. He knew what had happened in that alley. If the lengths I'd gone to had surprised him, my motivation had not.
Yesterday he'd said he knew I wanted "it" bad, but didn't realize how bad, how far I'd go. Now I understood what that had meant. All those times I feared I'd let the mask slide and my rage show, then seen his reaction--no reaction at all--I'd told myself I'd dodged the bullet, kept my secret. But if he hadn't reacted, it was because he hadn't been surprised, had already seen what drove me. Saw it, accepted it, let it be...until I almost got myself killed.
Exit Strategy Page 35