Tell Me Lies: A completely addictive and unputdownable crime thriller (Detective Max Carter Book 1)

by Ed James

  “I need to see the footage of him arriving.”

  “Them.” Richardson stopped in the building’s foyer, a domed-ceilinged room with multiple exits. A security desk sat over by the elevators, multiple signs still set up for the morning’s congressional hearing. Something twinkled and sparked in his eyes. “The senator wasn’t alone.”

  Carter tried to unkink it. The captor was still here, and he was with Holliday. Why? Why come inside here of all places? He just left it coiled up. “Okay, show me the breadcrumb trail Holliday took through the building.”

  Richardson led them down a long corridor. An open door showed a guard searching a maintenance closet. Next door, a pair of photocopiers. Richardson checked his tablet again and pointed to a door at the end. “He went in here last.”

  Carter got out his handgun and aimed at the door. He gave Elisha the nod.

  She stepped on the other side of the door, her own pistol locked and loaded.

  Carter turned to Richardson. “Open it quick and get out of the way.”

  “Reminds me of my cop days.” Richardson swiped a security badge through the reader and nudged the door with a foot.

  Carter kept his gun trained on the door, listening hard.

  Silence, other than just Richardson’s gut rumbling.

  Carter stepped forward, covered by Elisha, and looked around the room.

  Small, filled with as many desks as would fit. Piles of boxes covered the walls, halfway up the high windows. The heating was on a deep roast, enough to make anyone sweat.

  And empty.

  Carter holstered his pistol and let himself breathe. “Whose office is this?”

  Richardson jangled the keys on his belt. “A load of desk jockeys working that congressional hearing.”

  Carter couldn’t figure out why someone would abduct a senator’s children to get at a congressional hearing’s back room. He squeezed past Richardson as his radio crackled. “This is definitely the last place he swiped into?”

  Richardson frowned at his tablet. “Ah, man.” He frantically tapped at the screen. “It’s click-button exits all the way back. You don’t need to swipe.”

  “So the breadcrumb trail ends here?”

  “Got it.”

  Carter scanned the room again and drew a blank. “Can you get me the security feeds on your tablet?”

  Richardson shook his head. “Need to come back to the office for that.”

  Carter followed Richardson across the foyer again, thinking it all through. And getting nowhere.

  “Penny for them.” Elisha was walking in step with him.

  “Trying to figure out what Holliday’s playing at. And I just keep coming up blank. All we know is he’s escaped from the hospital, then helped the kidnapper get in this building, then led him to that room.”

  “We know he’s met up with him.”

  “True.” Carter looked around the foyer. “Why, though? I’m stuck. We need to know what the captor’s trying to achieve.” He focused on Elisha. “Can you work your magic and get me an update?”

  “You’re such a charmer.” She walked off.

  Carter followed Richardson’s trail, trying to tease out any more kinks from the puzzle, but he couldn’t get anything new.

  The small security office was filled with screens and black-boxed equipment in racks. Richardson sat at the desk, using a jockey wheel to wind through footage like a DJ scratching a record.

  Carter perched on a chair next to him. “Have you got anything?”

  “Nothing after the alarm.” Richardson grimaced. “But I’ve got the senator entering.”

  On one of the bigger screens, Holliday marched across the foyer, up to the security desk, where he showed his credentials to the guard. A man stood next to Holliday, tall, but a few inches shorter than the senator. Must be the kidnapper, but he didn’t match the appearance they’d recorded from that beat cop. Stubble on his head and clean shave, contrasting with a beard and long hair. Had that look of a marine, though. All tense muscle and precise analysis of his surroundings. A few seconds of chat, and it looked like Holliday signed him in.

  “Pause it.” Carter leaned forward. “Focus on that guy.”

  Richardson shuttled back the video feed, settling on Holliday’s companion as he turned toward the camera.

  Nondescript features, at least on the low-grade image quality. Preppy clothes, though the grayscale footage meant the polo could be anything from ice-blue to Day-Glo pink. If it was the same guy, he had changed his appearance, meaning he was keeping track of the investigation.

  “Here’s the security log from out front.” Richardson showed Carter a clipboard, a landscape-oriented grid half-filled with handwritten names, companies, times, and signatures. “As far as I can tell, that dude’s name is John Mason.”

  “Probably an alias, but you never know.”

  Richardson’s radio crackled, and he stepped outside. “Better take this.”

  Carter pulled out his cell and searched for John Mason. Hundreds of results in the Seattle metropolitan area. Thousands in Washington state. Add in Oregon, Montana, Idaho, and British Columbia… He put his phone away. Felt like a long shot, would take millions of man hours, all based on an assumption.

  Elisha came back. “Got you an update, but basically there isn’t one. Sorry.”

  Carter nodded at the monitor. “Think that’s enough to run through facial recognition?”

  “Maybe. Tyler’s got some image-enhancement algorithms that might help.”

  “Do it.” Carter focused on the face, doubting any computer wizardry could resolve those blurry pixels into a child abductor’s face.

  Footsteps rattled over the marble toward them. Richardson, holding up his radio. “One of my guys is unconscious in the garage!”

  Carter trailed behind Richardson as they raced through the upper garage floor. A whole team of security guards stood around the barrier, a couple of them helping up a colleague.

  “Outta the way!” Richardson hauled his guys apart.

  Carter squirmed through to the middle of the mêlée.

  A guard blinked hard, dizzy on his feet, supported by two colleagues. No obvious signs of injury. His badge read H. Linskey. “I’m okay. I’m okay!”

  Carter tried to get eye contact, but Linskey looked like one of those guys who felt shame at being attacked, instead of anger. “What happened?”

  “Guy grabbed me.” Linskey wrapped his hands around his own throat. “Then he put me in a sleeper hold. That’s the last thing I remember until I blacked out.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Got me from behind. Didn’t see his face.”

  “Before that, what happened?”

  Linskey blinked hard a few times. “A Lexus pulled up.” He gestured to the barrier, frowning. “Senator Holliday was driving. He was with Congressman Delgado.”

  Carter felt another knot tighten around the puzzle. “You’re sure?”

  “Holliday said his kid was in the hospital and he needed to get there. I said I couldn’t let him out, but the dude was insistent. I went to check and… Last thing I remember, man.” Linskey patted his holster. “Shit, he took my gun!”

  Carter shut his eyes. Everything flashed with pain and rage. He pushed it all back down, trying to keep focus. He took Richardson aside. “I asked for a full lockdown. How has this happened?”

  “You heard the dude. Like to see you try fighting off a sleeper hold.”

  Carter got out his cell and dialed Elisha. “Can you pull the footage of the attack?”

  “Sure.” Her hand muffled the mic. “Tyler’s getting it now.” She gasped. “Holy shit, the guy was brutal. Just took him down. Ten seconds and he was asleep. Precise, like he’s been trained. Looks military to me.”

  Carter nodded slowly. “Figures.”

  “Max, the good news is we’ve got a better shot than when they entered. Got a full-frontal of his face. Tyler’s running it through facial recognition now. This might be our big break.
”

  “Good.” Carter thought it through. A bruised security guard taken out non-lethally. Holliday playing along, no doubt trying to get his daughter back. And they took Delgado with them. “Elisha, get a trace on Delgado’s phone and a BOLO on his plates.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mason

  I’m in the back seat as Holliday drives us along I90 over the Murrow bridge, rain peppering the lake surface like machine-gun fire. Another look out back and we’re still clear—no sirens, no flashing lights.

  I allow myself a deep breath. We’re in the clear, for now. So close, though. Way too close.

  I put the gun against Holliday’s neck, though he really doesn’t need any more threat. Just a reminder. “Where are you driving to?”

  “I…” He breaks off with a sigh. Flying blind.

  I thought he’d be stronger than this, but he’s dangerously close to snapping.

  The file box is on the floor next to me, stuffed behind the seats. Nowhere near a smoking gun, yet, but it’s the start of our process, proof that we’re on the right track. Proof that vermin like Olson and his GrayBox empire treat us all like cattle. They’re the key. Whoever did this, they’re inside GrayBox.

  Having a senator and a congressman to use as pawns makes it way easier to get answers.

  “Will you let her go now?”

  I press the gun against the back of Holliday’s skull. “This file isn’t enough.”

  “Come on. They’ll hang me out to dry for this.” Holliday’s eyes are wild. “I helped you get in there, then helped you break out. Just let her go!”

  “Senator, this isn’t over until I say it is, okay?”

  “What happened at that school?”

  I keep quiet. Try not to show anything to him. Guy like that, he’ll look to exploit anything.

  “It’s Olson, isn’t it?”

  I look around at Delgado and shake my head. “Who?”

  “Richard Olson. This is about GrayBox. You’re working for him, aren’t you?” His head slumps forward. “I asked Olson about it on the stand this morning, but that douchebag pleaded the fifth, didn’t he?”

  “How well do you know him?”

  Delgado twists around to look at me. “Have to say, it’s mighty suspicious that Senator Holliday here is looking for information on some exercise when his friend Olson takes the stand to deny his company’s involvement.” He clearly figures playing himself off against Holliday is the best tactic.

  And he’s not wrong. I switch the gun to Holliday, digging into his skin. “Are you friends with Olson?”

  “No!”

  “Come on, Senator. Don’t lie.”

  Holliday lets go of the wheel. The car swerves, but he quickly regains control. “We’re members of the same country club, that’s it. Play a round of golf every month.”

  “Back there, you said he just donated to your campaigns, Senator. Now you’re golfing buddies?”

  “He’s given to Xander too.”

  I switch the gun back to Delgado’s head and pull him back into the leather seat with my free hand. “That true?”

  “I’m investigating him!”

  “Cut the crap.”

  “He gave my campaign a hundred grand.”

  “And what did he want for that?”

  “I swear, he’s asked for nothing.”

  “Yet…” Holliday rubs his throat, keeping his eyes on the road. “Olson likes to stack up favors. He asked me to pressure Governor Duvall to approve their new HQ in Redmond. That’s it.”

  Like a pair of schoolkids, arguing over whose dad is the best. Distracting me with their noise and bullshit.

  “What have you found out about the incident at that school?”

  Delgado clenches his jaw. “Tell me you’re not working for Olson.”

  “You really want to test me right now? With a gun pointing at your head?”

  Delgado looks me right in the eye. “Tell me you’re not working for him.”

  I put the blunt point of the letter opener against his Adam’s apple. “In case you’re thinking that I won’t shoot you in this car, this will do a lot of damage. Understood?”

  “Absolutely.” His voice is twisted by the blade and the fear.

  Holliday drives on. The freeway hits Mercer Island, farther away from downtown Seattle, but is it any closer to where we need to go?

  “I am not working for him. And I want to speak to him.” I pull back the knife but keep the gun against Delgado’s head. “Which of you two is going to speak to Richard Olson about the exercise?”

  Holliday looks over at Delgado, pleading for ideas, for knowledge, for leads. He gets nothing. So he holds out his hand. “Xander, just call him.”

  “What? I’m not doing that. Who do you think—”

  “Stop!” I press the gun against Delgado’s temple. Much as I like them playing off against each other, keeping them on their toes, it’s not helping me get what I want. “You really don’t want to push me here.”

  Delgado unlocks his cell and hits the screen a couple times.

  Holliday looks over again, taking his eyes off the road for a few seconds, looking back and correcting our course.

  A dial tone bursts from the dash speakers, the center display reading:

  CALLING RICHARD OLSON, OFFICE…

  So Delgado does know him.

  Maybe Holliday’s been right all along and Delgado’s the one I should’ve taken.

  Stop thinking like that, jackass. You’ve been over this. Delgado’s divorced, no kids. No leverage points. Soon as I turn my back, he’ll run.

  This is the right plan. Keep it going.

  “Good afternoon, how can I help you?” Olson’s PA has a sparkly voice, but with enough steel to suggest you shouldn’t try anything.

  Delgado shuts his eyes. “I need to speak to Mr. Olson.”

  “One second, Xander.”

  Shows you everything that’s wrong with our great country in three words. A member of Congress, a representative of the people of his ward, speaks so frequently with the CEO of a defense contractor that his PA recognizes his voice. Even uses his first name. Someone who’s supposed to be investigating Olson’s company.

  “Xander!” Olson sounds like he’s smiling. “You calling to apologize for this morning?”

  Holliday motions for Delgado to speak, but he clams up. So Holliday clears his throat. “Richard, it’s Chris.”

  “My, my, I am honored. Chris, I was thinking of you on Sunday as I shot three under at Inglewood.”

  “This isn’t about golf.”

  “I heard about your kids, Chris. I’m so, so sorry. Forgive me. Force of habit.” Olson doesn’t sound bothered or sympathetic.

  “I need your help, Richard.”

  Olson pauses. Then laughs again. “How much do you need?”

  “I don’t want money.” A bead of sweat drips down Holliday’s cheek. “I need to know about Tang Elementary.”

  “You punk.” Olson’s sigh huffs out of the speaker. “Meet me at the usual spot, ten minutes. I won’t wait long.” And he’s gone.

  I make eye contact with Holliday in the rearview. “You have a usual spot?”

  Holliday looks over at Delgado then takes the exit ramp. “Why didn’t you speak to him?”

  “This is your mess, Chris.” Delgado glances at me, at the gun pressed against Holliday’s brain stem. “So what’s the deal with this meeting spot?”

  “Don’t be an asshole.” Holliday hasn’t got a clear tell, but he’s hiding something. “You know what it’s like, Xander. You take campaign money from a guy, he asks favors. You don’t want to show up at his office or his home, in case anyone spots you and puts two and two together.” Onto another freeway, expensive homes sprawling on the left in amongst the trees. In the distance, you can make out the Redmond tech campuses, with Microsoft and GrayBox competing for supremacy.

  I press the gun harder against Holliday’s neck. “You said the only dealing you had with Olson was
about his HQ?”

  “It’s the truth.” Holliday shakes his head, but he can’t brush the gun off. It sticks to him like the truth. “That’s what we met about. Duvall was pushing back against it, made me beg. Knew exactly what he was doing. And Olson wasn’t happy. Asshole.”

  Delgado sneers at him. “The price you pay for taking dirty money, Chris.”

  Holliday glares at him. “And it’s not dirty when you take it?”

  Delgado twists around to look at me, still trying to score points. “I’ve no—”

  “Why’s Olson in your contacts? Why does his PA recognize your voice?”

  “Because of this investigation. I tried the nice way first, tried talking to Richard like a human being. But he didn’t play ball. I had to get the FBI to raid his office.”

  “And yet he still answers the phone for you.” Holliday takes a turning for a nature reserve. The road switches back around under the freeway, then we head away from civilization. Nobody around, not even some soccer moms walking their pooches before their little darlings come home from their private schools. Place seems familiar, like I came here in a past life.

  Holliday pulls in at a tiny parking lot off to the right. Half-logs separate four empty spaces of bare mud and patchy grass. He takes the farthest one, leaving the engine running. “Well, here we are.”

  “Stay here, Chris.” I open the door and put a foot on the wet mud. “I’ll be in the woods, listening in, okay?” I switch the gun to point at Delgado. “This will be aimed right at your skull.” I show the cell phone. “And one call on this and Avery dies.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Holliday

  Holliday gripped the wheel tight, his rearview angled back down the lane, so he could watch for an approaching Mercedes.

  Delgado looked over, his eyes burning. “Chris, you can’t think you’ve got any right to be angry at what’s going on here.”

  Holliday slumped back in his seat. “He has my daughter, Xander. Brandon might die.”