Onyx Webb 6

by Diandra Archer

  “I was going to say that maybe someone witnessed the theft, and the information might help us find Nisa,” Declan said. “That’s all.”

  Pipi shook her head. “We know what happened, and it’s not good. They’ve already arrested the man who sold the bike to the chop shop. His name is Wesley Friel.”

  “Wesley Friel?” Kajika repeated.

  “Yes, you know him?” Pipi asked, surprised.

  “Know him? The son of a bitch was the best man at our wedding,” Kajika said. “Bebe and I met at Wesley’s club, the Dancing Bare. That’s where Bebe worked when I met her.”

  Bebe looked at Kajika, her eyes welling with tears.

  “Well, it’s called Wesley’s Chaise Lounge now,” Pipi continued. “He was questioned and released on bond. He claims he found the bike abandoned on the side of the road. They’re picking him up as we speak.”

  “We should go up there,” Bruce said. “Tank will be back with the limo in twenty minutes.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Pipi said. “I’ve arranged for the bureau to bring Mr. Friel to Charleston.”

  Two agents with the FBI escorted Wesley Friel into the largest of the three interview rooms at the Charleston Police Department. Pipi had requested that specific interview room because it was the only one that had a two-way mirror.

  Declan, Bruce, Kajika, Tank, and Newt were taken into the viewing room on the darkly lit side of the mirror.

  “I’ve always wondered why they call it a two-way mirror,” Declan said. “You can only see through one side. That would make it a one-way mirror, wouldn’t it?”

  “A true one-way mirror doesn’t exist,” Newt said. “Light passes through the glass in both directions, but when one side is brightly lit and the other side is kept dark, you can only see through in one direction. It might be possible to achieve a similar effect by adding an optical isolator layer on a one-way mirror, but the lighting could prove tricky.”

  “It was a rhetorical question,” Declan said, “but thanks anyway, Newt.”

  Pipi entered the brightly lit room on the other side where Wesley Friel sat in a chair at a metal table.

  “Mr. Friel, I’m Special Agent Esperanza with the FBI,” Pipi said as she closed the door behind her. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “Yeah,” Wesley said. “About the bike again, right? Well, I already told the authorities everything I know.”

  “Fine, now tell me,” Pipi said as she sat down. “You said the first time you saw the Porcupine it was lying in a ditch by the side of the road? Were you walking or were you driving?”

  “Driving,” Wesley said. “I pulled over, threw it in the back of my pickup, and took it to a friend to make a quick buck. There’s no law against that, is there?”

  “Well, in this case, there is,” Pipi said. “Your friend runs a chop shop, which is an illegal enterprise.”

  “A chop shop? Well, that’s news to me,” Wesley said. “Maybe I should have my lawyer present.”

  “A lawyer won’t be necessary, Mr. Friel,” Pipi said. “You see, I just got off the phone with my superiors, and they’ve empowered me to grant you immunity from prosecution.”

  “Immunity?” Wesley said. “Transactional or derivative?”

  “You seem to know a lot about immunity, Mr. Friel.”

  “I watch a lot of TV,” Wesley said. “So, which kind?”

  “Transactional,” Pipi said. “It covers everything.”

  Pipi pulled a piece of paper from a file, and slid it across the table. “Now, you know this means you must answer my questions completely and honestly, or you will be held in contempt of court, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Wesley said. “I know the drill.”

  Pipi handed Wesley a pen and he scribbled his name.

  “Let’s get to this so I can get out of here, okay?” Wesley said. “I’ve got a business to run.”

  Pipi took the form and slid it into the file. “Okay, let’s start with where you really found the bike.”

  “I found it parked outside the bar,” Wesley said.

  “When?”

  “On the afternoon of May 19,” Wesley said. “I saw it when I pulled into the lot, near the side of the building.”

  “Did you see the bike when you closed up the night before—Tuesday night, May 18?” Pipi asked.

  “No.”

  “So, are you saying you never saw Nisa Mulvaney?”

  “Nisa who?” Wesley said.

  “Mulvaney,” Pipi repeated.

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  Pipi leaned back in her chair. “God, that’s a shame.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Wesley said. “Why is it a shame?”

  “Because if you lie to me, it voids your immunity deal. And because the owner of the motorcycle—Nisa Mulvaney—is the wife of Bruce Mulvaney and daughter-in-law of real estate mogul Declan Mulvaney. And she’s missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Missing, as in, she’s disappeared. Which is a shame because the Mulvaney’s are going to hold a press conference in the morning offering a million-dollar reward to anyone who provides information leading to Mrs. Mulvaney’s safe return. But since you didn’t see her—”

  “Wait a minute,” Wesley said. “May 18? Was that a Tuesday?”

  Pipi nodded.

  “Now that you mention it, there was a woman who came in that night. You wouldn’t happen to have a picture, would you?”

  Pipi opened the file again and fished out an 8 x 10 glossy of Nisa and laid it on the table. Wesley looked at the photo. “Yeah, yeah, I remember now. Pretty thing. Upset about something, if I’m recalling correctly.”

  “So, you did see her,” Pipi said.

  Wesley studied the picture for added drama. “Yes, it was definitely her. She was there in the bar that night.”

  “And what happened?” Pipi asked.

  “Nothing much. She had a few drinks, I closed up, and she left,” Wesley said.

  “Alone? You watched her walk out the door by herself?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “That’s strange,” Pipi said. “We know she didn’t take the motorcycle, right? You’ve already said it was there, in the lot, the next afternoon. Which doesn’t make sense. However—if you happened to have seen whoever she left with, now that would be really valuable information.”

  “Oh, wait. I do remember something else,” Wesley said. “There was a woman in the back, in the lot behind the bar, standing next to a white van. I saw her when I went to throw out the trash.”

  “You’re sure it was a woman?”

  “Yeah,” Wesley said. “Frumpy-looking. Mid-forties, I’d say.”

  “Do you remember what this frumpy woman was wearing?” Pipi asked.

  “She was in a skirt and a sweater. I remember because it seemed strange. It was pretty warm outside.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah. She was holding a shopping bag, with some kind of picture on it. I think it was a Ferris wheel.”

  Quote

  “The thing that matters most in your final hours is that you do not find yourself crying and begging for more time. Only those who have failed to live fear death.”

  The 31 Immutable Matters

  of Life & Death

  Chapter Seventeen

  Episode 17: Death Comes in Threes

  CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  MAY 29, 1993

  Pipi Esperanza wasn’t happy. The FBI had decided to make a change, assigning a new lead agent on the case involving Nisa Mulvaney’s disappearance.

  “We’ve been called back,” Pipi told Newt. “Did you work up a profile yet?”

  “I can’t finish until I figure something out,” Newt said.

  “Let me guess. The Mercedes?”

  “Yeah,” Newt said. “The car thing still bugs me.”

  “Let’s go and talk it through.”

  “You run through the points, an
d I’ll confirm as we go,” Pipi said once they’d reached Declan Mulvaney’s study.

  “Okay,” Newt said. “Nisa Mulvaney climbs on the Porcupine and races off on the night of May 18. The reason she takes the motorcycle rather than her Mercedes is because the Mercedes is in the repair shop.”

  “Check,” Pipi said.

  “Bar owner, Wesley Friel, has eyes on Nisa in Myrtle Beach at 11:40 p.m., a ninety-five-mile ride from Charleston,” Newt said. “At seventy miles an hour, the timing fits perfectly. So she rode straight there.”

  “Check.”

  “Now, let’s assume the woman Wesley Friel saw behind the building in the van is the person who abducted her.”

  “For the sake of the exercise only, check,” Pipi said.

  “Next, someone calls from the repair shop the following morning, saying Nisa had just picked up the Mercedes. But we know she couldn’t have. She’d already been abducted.”

  “So who picked up the Mercedes then?” Pipi asked.

  “I’m thinking it was the person who took her, but when the shop left the message, they said Nisa had picked it up.” Newt closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “What?” Pipi asked.

  “I know where the Mercedes is,” Newt said. “Where’s the tape with the message from the repair shop? Can we play it?”

  Pipi fished the cassette from a file box and slid it into the telephone answering machine. She rewound the tape, and found the message. Then she pressed play:

  “Hello, this is Max from Luxury Auto. Just wanted you to know that Mrs. Mulvaney picked up her Mercedes this morning, but she didn’t have enough cash on her to pay the bill. So, uh, we’re just going to—I’m sorry, hang on one second please—so we’re just going to send an invoice over. Thanks.”

  That was the end of the call.

  Newt shook his head. “It was right there in front of us all along.”

  Pipi stared at Newt for several seconds, and then it hit her. “Oh my God. The message didn’t come from the repair shop, did it?”

  “No, the person who has Nisa probably found the repair ticket in her purse,” Newt said.

  “It was all a distraction?”

  Newt nodded. “This guy is smart, Pipi. He’s organized. He thinks things through. I’m pretty sure Nisa Mulvaney wasn’t some random abduction. He chose her. He followed her up to Myrtle Beach, and he took her.”

  “What about the woman by the van?” Pipi asked.

  “It wasn’t a woman,” Newt said. “It was a man using a disguise. Just another distraction.”

  Pipi nodded, said nothing. There was nothing else to say. She knew Newt was right—on all counts.

  “You’re going to want to hold on to the tape,” Newt said. “The guy who left the message is the killer.”

  Pipi pulled the tape from the answering machine and put it in her purse.

  “I was wrong to have told the Mulvaneys there was a good chance we’d get her back,” Newt said. “Nisa Mulvaney is never coming home.”

  “We should break the news to Bruce before we leave,” Pipi said.

  “Let me do it,” Declan said from the doorway of the study. “It will be better coming from me.”

  Koda Mulvaney was sitting on the floor in his bedroom, playing with his toys when Newt appeared at the door.

  “Hey, I’m lost and I was wondering if you could help me,” Newt said. “I’m looking for Koda Mulvaney.”

  Koda looked up. “That’s me. I’m Koda.”

  “You’re Koda?” Newt said. “They told me to look for the little boy upstairs, but you’re pretty big. What are you, eight?”

  “I’m six,” Koda said. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Newt. I’m with the people downstairs.”

  “Oh,” Koda said, and then looked away.

  Newt glanced around the room, looking for some way to connect with the kid. That’s when he saw the Rubik’s Cube sitting on Koda’s dresser.

  “Hey, is that your Rubik’s Cube?” Newt asked.

  “Yeah,” Koda said. “I can’t get it, though.”

  “Can I try?”

  “Sure.”

  Newt crossed the room and grabbed the cube, then lowered himself onto the floor in a cross-legged position next to Koda.

  “You want to see something amazing?” Newt asked.

  Koda nodded.

  “Okay, watch.” Newt turned the cube around several times in his hand, studying it from all sides. “Do you know how to count to ten?”

  Koda nodded.

  “Okay, I’m going to close my eyes. When I say ‘go,’ you start counting to ten. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Koda said.

  Newt closed his eyes. “Okay, go.”

  “One… two… three… four… five…”

  Newt began rapidly twisting the cube in his hands.

  “Six… seven… eight… nine…”

  Before Koda got to ten, all six sides of the Rubik’s Cube were solid colors. “How did you do that?”

  “I have a gift, like a superpower,” Newt said.

  “Like Superman?”

  “Yeah, kind of,” Newt said. “I can’t leap tall buildings or outrun bullets, but I’m really good with games and math. And I’m pretty good at catching bad people.”

  Koda pointed to a photograph taped to a standing floor mirror, next to his dresser. “My mom put that there the night she left. Dad told me I couldn’t take it down. When do you think they’ll let me have it?”

  “You can take it now if you want,” Newt said.

  Koda walked over and pulled the photo off the mirror. “My mom’s not coming back, is she?”

  It would be so easy to lie, Newt thought—to tell him that everything was going to be fine. But he couldn’t do it.

  “No, I don’t think she is.”

  Bruce Mulvaney was at his desk in his study, doing paperwork, while Tank sat in the corner of the room, flipping through a copy of Sports Illustrated. There was a light knock at the door.

  Bruce looked up and saw Newt standing in the doorway. “Give us a minute, will you, Tank?” Bruce said.

  Newt waited until Tank had closed the door behind him. “Did your dad already talk to you?” Newt asked.

  Bruce nodded his head. “Yes. Where’s Agent Esperanza?”

  “She’s briefing the lead agent who’s taking over the case,” Newt said, and took a seat. “I wanted to talk to you before we left.”

  Bruce pushed his papers aside and waited for Newt to continue.

  “I wrote up a profile of the person who took your wife,” Newt said. “It might change as the bureau gathers more data, but not by much. It would be helpful if you took a few minutes to look it over when you feel up to it. It may make you think of something.”

  Newt slid an envelope containing a report across the desk.

  “Is that it?” Bruce asked.

  “No,” Newt said. “I just wanted you to know things would have gone a lot faster if you’d told the police you were having an affair. They would have cleared you quicker if you’d provided an alibi.”

  Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

  “Well, I didn’t for sure—not until just now,” Newt said. “But all the clues were pretty much there. The security desk at the SunTrust building showed you leaving for the night at 7:10 p.m. and didn’t show you returning. You called your wife and said you had gone to dinner at the Bohemian, but no one at the hotel remembered seeing you that night. And your bank statement shows an ATM withdrawal for $3,000 at 7:28 p.m. I’m assuming this is so you could pay cash for your suite, rather than putting it on your credit card.”

  Bruce nodded. “Does anyone else know?”

  “No,” Newt said. “Your personal movements that evening have nothing to do with your wife’s disappearance. And I don’t believe you hired someone to abduct her, so there’s no valid reason to bring it up.”

  Bruce nodded. “It’s already over. I only saw her a few times. She showed up on the night of our an
niversary, and—”

  “I don’t need to know any of that,” Newt said. “I really came in to let you know that I told Koda his mother wasn’t coming back.”

  “I see.”

  “Someone was going to have to do it, and Koda is in a lot of pain right now, so I thought the sooner the better.”

  “I haven’t really talked to Koda since this started,” Bruce said. “I wasn’t really sure what to say.”

  “Kids usually respond pretty well when people are honest with them,” Newt said. “Hugs work pretty well, too.”

  FBI

  Official Unsub Profile – Case #2091-4

  Manisamanaipya Burlock-Mulvaney (Status: Missing)

  Prepared by Newton Drystad – May 29, 1993

  Personal Categories:Probability (as a %):

  Male 99.6%

  Single 73.4%

  White 65.4%

  Age:

  Under 20: 5%

  20s: 29%

  30s: 57%

  40s: 6%

  Above 50: 3%

  Estimated number of victims to date:12-17

  Behavior/Trait:Probability (as a %):

  Lives alone: 74.3%

  Above average intelligence: 88.2%

  IQ range of 132 or greater: 61.3%

  Follows crimes in media: 96.4%

  Hides in public using disguises: 69.5%

  Came from an unstable home: 76.1%

  Father engaged in criminal acts: 56.0%

  Personally experienced a violent act: 47.3%

  Witnessed violent event against loved one: 63.3%

  Experienced head trauma of some kind: 86.1%

  Spent time in an orphanage or institution: 24.4%

  Abused drugs and/or alcohol: 58.5%

  Most likely self-employed: 66.4%

  (UNSUB PROFILE / CASE #2091-4: CONTINUED)

  Drives older model pick-up truck or van: 41.1%

  Returns to the scene of the crime: 77.7%

  Involves himself with police or media: 38.6%