All the Devils

by Barry Eisler

  She pushed the feelings back and forced herself to stay clinical. “So after Noreen disappeared, Hope and Sherrie . . . they were afraid to step forward?”

  “Yes. And they thought . . . they felt guilty that they’d taken so long to make up their minds. Because maybe if they’d spoken out sooner . . .”

  The woman’s voice trailed off. Livia said, “I understand. What about Sherrie? What’s she doing now?”

  “I tried to get her to talk to the press. But she won’t. She’s terrified. I told Helen Matlock everything, everything I’m telling you, and look what she printed. ‘Hope Jordan graduated from high school with Congressman Kane.’ It was nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing,” Livia said. “It brought me to you.”

  “Why didn’t she print all of it?”

  “I don’t know. But I’d guess her editor was afraid to. You said it yourself—Boomer’s family was frightening when you were in high school, and that was when his father was only an admiral. Now he’s the vice president. No editor is going to print secondhand allegations about a rape that happened twenty years ago. Especially not when the allegations involve a sitting congressman with a vice president for a father. For what it’s worth? My guess is that Helen Matlock went to bat for you and did the best she could. A simple, indisputable fact at the bottom of the article. No inaccuracies, no malice. In the hope that someone who was investigating Boomer would come across the article. And follow up on it.”

  There was a pause. Grace said, “Someone like you.”

  Now that they were talking, Livia knew there was less upside, and more downside, to being coy.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “All right,” Grace said. “Maybe I had Helen wrong. But what are you going to do now?”

  “My first priority is making sure Sherrie Dobbs is safe. Can you put me in touch with her?”

  “I don’t think . . . wait, not to sound paranoid, but how do I know you are who you say you are?”

  Livia had been hoping the woman would ask something like this. “You don’t sound paranoid. You sound smart. Why don’t you look up the number for the Seattle Police Department, call it, and ask to speak to Detective Lone. They’ll put you through to me. I could give you my landline direct-dial, but I’d actually rather you look up the number yourself. I want you to feel comfortable.”

  “You really don’t mind?”

  “Grace, I like when women are careful. Do whatever you like. I’ll wait.”

  Five minutes later, her landline rang. She picked up. “Livia Lone.”

  “Detective Lone,” Grace said. “Okay, it’s you.”

  “We’re good?”

  “Yeah. I called Sherrie. She’s freaked out, but she wants to talk to you.”

  Livia had hoped that was why the callback took so long. “Should I call her?”

  “She’s going to call you.”

  28

  “Hope Jordan?” the admiral said, his voice practically a snarl. “And her two-year-old son? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  The old man was up in Boomer’s face. Boomer wanted to push him back—he wasn’t a kid anymore, and this was his own house, his own damn study, on top of it—but he was too shocked. And, as much as he hated to admit it, too afraid.

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Don’t you fucking lie to me!” the old man spat, getting even closer and jabbing an index finger an inch from Boomer’s nose.

  This was bad. Boomer didn’t think he’d ever seen his father this angry—red faced, sputtering, looking about a second from hauling off and taking a wild swing. And swearing, too, which the admiral almost never did.

  The old man retracted the finger, but otherwise didn’t back off. “It was your degenerate friend Snake, wasn’t it?”

  Boomer blinked. How did the old man know about Snake? What did he know?

  “Wasn’t it?” the old man demanded again, louder this time.

  Boomer slid past, half expecting the admiral to reach out and try to stop him. Swear to God, put a hand on me and I’ll lay you out, he thought. But luckily the old man must have thought better of it.

  Boomer stopped in front of the liquor tray set out on a credenza. There was a bottle of a special Jack Daniel’s—mostly empty, even though Boomer had filled it, what, three days earlier? He started to pour a careful measure into one of the glasses on the tray, then thought Fuck it. He filled the glass halfway, set down the bottle, and promptly drained half of what he’d poured. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

  Fuck me sideways, I needed that.

  He turned and looked at the old man, the warmth of the whiskey blossoming in his gut, spreading to his chest, his arms, his balls. His father’s surprise mention of Snake had unnerved him, no doubt. But for some reason, a second later it was actually . . . calming. Maybe it was just being reminded that he wasn’t alone against his father. That if the old man wanted to throw down, he’d be throwing down on Boomer and Snake both. And hey, ask all the dead hajis they’d left behind how that would turn out.

  He surprised himself by smiling. “You want some?” he said, holding out the glass. “It’s good.”

  The admiral looked him up and down, not even trying to hide his disgust. But Boomer thought he saw something else in the old man’s expression. Something surprising, even shocking.

  Fear.

  Once he’d recognized it, he wondered how he hadn’t spotted it sooner. After all, Boomer knew all about fear. He’d seen it—hell, he’d caused it—in more faces than he would ever be able to remember. And relished it, too.

  But he’d never seen it in his father before. And now that he did, it gave him an additional jolt of confidence and satisfaction that made the warmth of the whiskey seem like nothing.

  He tilted back the glass and drank what was left in two big swallows. He exhaled forcefully, then belched, knowing the admiral hated that sort of breach of etiquette.

  The old man sneered, the fear momentarily masked. But it had been there. “Is that how you’re going to handle the pressure?” he said. “Crawl into a bottle, and hope it all just goes away?”

  Boomer smiled again, suddenly feeling better than he had in a long time. “Sure. Why not? You’ll take care of the mess for me. Don’t you always?”

  “I changed a few of your diapers, too, Bradley, when your mother was too busy. I didn’t expect you’d still need me doing it at damn near forty.”

  Boomer laughed. And it felt so good to laugh that it made him laugh more. Ordinarily, the admiral could cut him to the bone just by telling him what a disappointment he was. But that fear he’d seen in the old man’s eyes . . . Christ, it was really beautiful. He wished he’d seen it years ago. Wished he’d seen it when he was a kid.

  “What do you want, Admiral? You flew all the way out here on Air Force Two just to reminisce about the good old days when you sometimes wiped my ass for me?”

  He thought that was pretty funny, actually. And seeing the old man’s eyes bulge in horror at the vulgarity made it even better. Boomer laughed again.

  “You think this is funny?” the admiral said.

  Boomer could tell the old man was trying to sound stern. But he could see the fear again. God, how was it he’d never seen it before?

  “No,” he said, smiling. “I think you’re funny.”

  The old man shook his head. Boomer had never seen the admiral at such a loss before. He didn’t know what to make of it. All he knew was that it made him happy. He poured the rest of the bottle’s contents into the glass.

  “You know what would have been funny?” the admiral said from behind him. “If I’d never cleaned up your messes. Never bailed you out. Never changed your diapers, either literally or metaphorically, and left you marinating in your own foulness instead.”

  Boomer turned around. He looked his father right in the eyes and shrugged. “So don’t clean up my mess.”

  The admiral blinked, and there it was again, the fear, even more of it now than just a
minute earlier.

  “Seriously,” Boomer said. He raised his glass in a mock toast, then took a huge swallow. “Take a vacation from changing my diapers. Knock yourself out. Get back on Air Force Two and fly back to Washington and do whatever the fuck you want.”

  The old man didn’t just look scared anymore. He looked borderline terrified.

  “Oh, wait,” Boomer said, smiling. He realized his voice was slurred. Good. “You won’t do that. And I know why. We both know.”

  “Really,” the old man managed, his tone withering, but Boomer was feeling great now, and the admiral’s condescension, which was ordinarily potent as Kryptonite, was suddenly as feeble as the punch line of a dumb joke.

  “Yeah, Admiral, really. Remember all those times you told me when I was a kid how when you owe the bank a million dollars, it’s your problem?”

  The admiral was silent, and God almighty, had there ever been a more beautiful sound than that?

  “Yeah,” Boomer went on. “But when you owe the bank a billion dollars, you told me, that’s the bank’s problem. Well, you know what I just realized? You’re the bank. And I owe you a billion dollars.” He started laughing at the perfect, hilarious truth of it, and the more he thought about it, the harder it made him laugh.

  The old man watched him. He looked sooooo scared.

  “You need help, Bradley. Surely you can see that.”

  Boomer raised the glass in another mock toast. “Sure, Admiral, I know I can count on you. A billion dollars is a lot.” He laughed again and took a nice big swallow of whiskey.

  The old man stayed silent, his jaw clamped, his nostrils flaring. One of his eyes twitched.

  “I want to believe you had nothing to do with it,” the old man said. “Really, I want to. Not a two-year-old boy, for God’s sake. Tell me it was just that creature Snake. And we’ll figure out what to do.”

  That pissed Boomer off. “He’s not a creature. He saved my ass in Iraq a dozen times, and he didn’t do it because he’s a bank and I owe him a shitload of money. He did it because he’s my friend. My best friend.”

  “Really? He murdered a little boy because he’s your friend? How heartwarming.”

  “What do you want, Admiral?”

  “Tell me where he is.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t you go fuck yourself instead?”

  The old man’s face reddened. “Can’t you see what he’s doing to you?”

  “He’s protecting me!”

  “He’s not protecting you, he’s enabling you! You think I don’t know? About all those girls? Not the ones in Iraq. The ones here.”

  Boomer looked at him, the whiskey buzz instantly gone, and all the confidence, the hilarity, gone with it. He realized he was scared again, the way he always felt with the old man.

  And the admiral seemed to sense it, too, because he smiled. “That’s right. I know. The only thing that kept you clean was that degenerate being behind bars. The moment he got out, he infected you again, with that girl in Campo. Hannah Cuero.”

  Boomer flinched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No? Who do you think protected you from him? Who do you think put him in prison, you stupid, blind, spoiled little shit?”

  Boomer blinked. He tried to think clearly, but nothing came. “What?” he managed.

  For a second, the admiral seemed to catch himself, but then maybe he decided it was too late to back down, because he blew out a long breath and said, “I had to separate him from you, Bradley. From what he was dragging you into in Iraq, and then every time you were back in the States. And it worked, for God’s sake, surely you see that? Surely you can see the malignant influence—”

  “You put Snake in Leavenworth?” There was a red haze blurring his vision.

  “I did what any father—”

  “Got him a dishonorable? Took away his freedom, his reputation, his life? Almost seven years, you . . . oh my fucking God, I . . .”

  He took a shaky step forward. The admiral stepped back.

  Boomer wanted to throttle the bastard so much his arms were shaking. Somehow he managed to say, “Get out.” It sounded like a growl.

  “Tell me where to find—”

  “GET OUT!” Boomer roared.

  The door to the study flew open, one of the Secret Service guys swinging it with one hand, his other inside his jacket.

  “It’s all right, Ken,” the admiral said to his man, holding out a hand. “We’re fine.”

  Boomer glanced at Ken, then back to the admiral. “And take your limp-dick security guys with you,” he said.

  Ken was staring at him. Boomer swiveled his head like a machine gun on a turret and gave him a smile that was more a grimace. “You want to have a go with me, Ken? Go ahead, pull your piece. I’ll shove it so far up your ass you’ll give the muzzle a rim job.”

  “It’s all right, Ken,” the admiral said again. “Thanks for checking. We just need another minute.”

  “Yeah, Ken,” Boomer said, still smiling at the guy. “Be a good boy. Do what you’re told.”

  Ken broke the eye contact and nodded at the admiral, then closed the door behind him.

  The study was suddenly silent. Boomer and the admiral stood facing each other. After a moment, Boomer smiled again. Hosing down Ken had been good for his spirits.

  “You think it was a problem when all I owed you was a billion?” he said, the smile widening. “You better hope I don’t tell Snake you pulled strings to get him sent to Leavenworth. If I do? You’ll find out what a problem really is.”

  29

  Livia was on the phone with Sherrie Dobbs. Who was, as Grace Jordan had claimed, freaked out.

  “Look,” Dobbs said. “Grace said she had a good feeling about you. Which I appreciate. But unless you tell me you’re going to arrest Boomer Kane, what can you do for me?”

  “It’s not just Boomer,” Livia said. “It’s his war buddy, the guy people apparently call Snake. Stephen Spencer. Who has no fixed address and can’t currently be located.”

  “Well, even worse, then.”

  “Regardless,” Livia said, “I can’t arrest anyone if I don’t have a case. And I can’t make a case if no one will talk to me.”

  “What is there to talk about? Grace already told you. Boomer raped me in high school. And Noreen, and Hope. And now he’s killing us. To keep us from telling the truth about him.”

  “Have you thought about going public?”

  “Of course. But look what happened to Noreen. Death threats. She had to go into hiding. And Boomer killed her anyway.”

  “But Hope kept quiet.”

  “And Noreen didn’t!”

  “I know. What I’m trying to say is, I can’t be sure, but my sense is that after Noreen publicly accused him, Boomer decided he couldn’t take a chance on Hope corroborating Noreen’s story by telling her own. So he staged what could be passed off as a random carjacking that escalated to rape and murder.”

  “If you’re trying to reassure me, you should know it’s not working.”

  “I’m trying to get you to see something you might be missing. I think Boomer decided he could endure whatever speculation might come about the ‘coincidence’ of Hope’s death. But that he decided he wouldn’t be able to risk moving against her if she had a chance to speak out first. If I’m correct about that, it stands to reason that he would apply the same calculus to you. That it’s the fact that you haven’t spoken out that’s putting you in more danger now.”

  “More danger. There’s danger either way.”

  Livia couldn’t argue with that. She said nothing.

  There was a long pause. Dobbs said, “You don’t get it. I haven’t even told my husband about . . . what Boomer did to me. What he did to the three of us. I’m eight months pregnant, we just bought a new house . . . I’m on bed rest, I can’t even help out at our bakery, my husband’s doing it all alone right now and it’s hell just to make ends meet. Do you have any idea what this would do to ou
r life? The media circus? The accusations? The death threats?”

  Better death threats than death, Livia thought. But she wasn’t looking to one-up the woman. Just to persuade her.

  And protect her.

  “I understand,” Livia said.

  “I doubt it.”

  Despite herself, Livia felt a trickle of irritation at that. “You don’t know me,” she said slowly. “If you did, you’d know that, yeah, I understand.”

  A pause. Dobbs said, “I’m sorry.”

  “At least let me come see you. And my partner, a Homeland Security Investigations agent.”

  “What’s that going to do?”

  “We could advise you on security, for one thing. And if you can tell me more about Boomer, you might help me make a case.”

  “A case about raping some high-school girls twenty years ago who no one wants to hear from because Boomer’s a war hero now and his father is vice president?”

  “Why do you assume the case I’m trying to make is only about what Boomer did twenty years ago?”

  Another long pause. Dobbs said, “Oh my God.”

  “That’s right, Sherrie. Rapists don’t stop raping on their own. They stop when someone stops them.”

  She realized her tone had gotten more heated than she’d intended. Easy, she thought. Easy.

  “So the only question,” she went on, “is whether you’re going to make me try to stop Boomer on my own, or whether you’ll help me.”

  Another long pause. Sherrie said, “When can you get here?”

  30

  In the limousine on the way back to San Diego International Airport and Air Force Two, Admiral Kane poured two inches of a twenty-five-year-old Macallan from a crystal decanter into a matching tumbler. He added a drop of water, swirled the mixture, and took a big swallow. Hypocritical, he knew, after he had chastised Bradley for his own weakness. But there was no one around to see it.

  He stared through the smoked glass of the limousine window at the hills north of Interstate 8, ghostly shapes in the faltering twilight. He took another swallow of the Macallan. After a few minutes, he began to feel calmer.