The Puppet Master

by Ronald S. Barak

  Hell, she’s just restating what she said on direct. I’m not getting anywhere. I’ll have to wait for my day on rebuttal. “Your Honor, I have no further questions for this witness.”

  “Any redirect, Ms. Klein?”

  “No, Your Honor, I think what Dr. Farnsworth has said is perfectly clear.”

  “It’s just about four o’clock. I see that the defense has three more scheduled witnesses to conclude its case: James Ayres, Blaine Hollister, and Thomas Thomas. Is that correct, Ms. Klein?”

  “That’s correct, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Mr. Reilly, do you envision putting on a rebuttal case after the defense concludes its case-in-chief?”

  “I expect to call one rebuttal witness, Your Honor: Dr. Halston Bartholomew.”

  “What about you, Ms. Klein?”

  “I can’t answer until I hear the people’s rebuttal case. I may have to respond to that.”

  “Alright, then, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I presently hope we will complete all trial testimony by noon tomorrow. In the afternoon, we will hear closing arguments, and I will then instruct you on your deliberation duties and turn the case over to you before the end of the day. Rest well. See you tomorrow morning at eight thirty sharp.”

  * * *

  NORMAN SAT QUIETLY REVIEWING the testimony of the two witnesses Klein had just called before the bailiff came to take him back to his cell. He knew that Rose’s sense of security about the townhouse complex was quite inflated. It had posed no obstacle to him when he accessed the complex on February fifth.

  As for Dr. Farnsworth, Norman loved her testimony but wondered just what it really could be worth when, for starters, she had no clue about his state of mind. She may have been doing this kind of work for twenty-five years, but she wasn’t able to spot any of my charades. Norman found it quite easy to manipulate her and her tests. Until today, however, he had no idea just how successful he had been at doing that. It was amusing to Norman just how sure she was that he couldn’t put anything over on her. Luckily for me, she apparently hasn’t ever read Thomas Harris’s Hannibal Lecter. Either she’s terribly wrong or I am. Hmm, that I might be wrong—now that’s an interesting thought.

  * * *

  WALKING TO HER CAR, Klein thought about Brooks’s last question to her about her three remaining witnesses, Ayres, Hollister, and Thomas. Ayres was just on the defense witness list in case she decided she needed something more from him. She was straight with Brooks about that. There was no problem there. She had no choice but to answer as she did about Hollister and Thomas. If she had shown any sign of uncertainty, Brooks would have sensed it and pounced. Probably right then and there. Although he might have spared her the embarrassment until after the jury had emptied out of the courtroom. I listed Hollister and Thomas, and subpoenaed them, only because Lotello urged me to do so. I trusted him. Now he’s nowhere to be found. And I’m running out of time. I sure hope he hasn’t laid me a huge egg. Possibly two.

  CHAPTER 111

  Thursday, August 6, 4:30 p.m.

  BLAINE HOLLISTER WAS APPREHENSIVE. Bothered by Klein’s subpoena requiring him to testify. He had no idea what she had in mind. He couldn’t see how she could know about him. What he had been doing. But she might get lucky. It was one thing to hold Lotello at bay when he wasn’t under oath. Having to testify under oath could get a lot trickier.

  And what about Thomas? Why does Klein also have him under subpoena? Sitting here near me in the corridor throughout the trial. Stiff as a board. Never blinking. Never coughing. Never anything. Just looking like a damn psycho bot. Could he know something about me? Is he planning to say something about me?

  If this wasn’t enough, he’d just received a text from Mortimer mentioning, of all people, Thomas. And saying I have to meet with him as soon as we recess today. Have to meet with him? Nobody tells me what I have to do. But then again, maybe Mortimer knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.

  Hollister’s mind shifted back to the witness list that was public. He saw Rose’s name on the list. The manager at the townhouse. He briefly saw him in the corridor as well. No doubt he was there to testify about how secure the perimeter of the townhouse was. Hollister found that amusing. Originally, he had been exploring any number of ways to breach the supposed airtight security of the complex perimeter in order to maintain his influence over his protégé Wells. But he concluded it was just easier to rent a unit in the complex and avoid the hurdle altogether. Chump change for me to rent a unit and render access and security moot.

  * * *

  THOMAS WAS ALSO WORRIED about what tomorrow would bring. He, too, had no idea why he had been subpoenaed. That asshole Lotello must somehow be behind this. I may have to do something about him yet. And Hollister? What do they possibly think they can get out of him that would hurt me?

  CHAPTER 112

  Thursday, August 6, 4:45 p.m.

  HOLLISTER DROVE STRAIGHT FROM the courthouse to meet with Mortimer. He was promptly ushered into the attorney’s private office. “What’s so damn urgent, Jonathan? What is it you have to tell me about Thomas?”

  “Sorry, Blaine, but I think we’ve got a problem. Lotello came here today. He says you’ve not been forthcoming with me. That you’re definitely involved in the murder of Wells. Maybe the murders of DiMarco and Johnson, too. Lotello thinks you may actually be the killer.”

  “The fuck are you talking about?”

  “Lotello says he has an eyewitness who places you at Wells’s townhouse right around the time she was murdered. He says either you killed the senator or must know who did. You can’t leave me in the dark, Blaine. Not if you expect me to be able to help you.”

  How could Lotello have an eyewitness? No one could possibly have seen me coming away from Wells’s townhouse. Lotello’s got to be bluffing. Unless Thomas is planning to set me up for some reason. Why would Thomas do that? It’s one thing for Lotello to game Mortimer, who doesn’t know squat. It’s another thing for him to use Mortimer to try to game me. “Calm down, Jonathan. This is all bullshit. I didn’t kill anybody. I don’t know shit. Who is Lotello’s supposed eyewitness? Did he say? Is it Thomas?”

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me, but he did mention Thomas. He asked me if I know him. He said he’s some kind of government operative. All I know is that he’s under subpoena like you are. And that he tried to piggyback on our motion to quash your subpoena. What do you know about him?”

  “Nothing. But he’s been sitting outside the courtroom every day. It seems like Klein intends to call him as a witness tomorrow. I have no idea what he’s going to say. I don’t even know why she’s planning to call me. I do wonder if Thomas is planning to point the finger at me for some reason. Saying he saw me at Wells’s place?”

  “That’s certainly what Lotello implied. Could Thomas—or anyone else, for that matter—have seen you coming out of Wells’s townhouse on the night she was murdered?”

  “No way, Jonathan. Not possible. I was never in her place.”

  “Well, then, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens tomorrow when you’re called to testify. Do you know who’s going to be called first between you and Thomas?”

  “No. But I seem to be ahead of Thomas, based on the way the lawyers and the judge mentioned our names in court today. If that means anything.”

  “By itself, that doesn’t mean a thing. It could be nothing more than an alphabetical listing of your and Thomas’s names. It could go either way. Whatever Klein wants to do.”

  “So what do we do tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be there. Sitting in the gallery. You shouldn’t have any problem if you’re telling me all you know. Just tell the truth. If you’re asked a question you can’t truthfully answer without getting yourself in trouble, you’ll have to glance over at me. I’ll be watching. If you do that, I’ll stand up, identify myself to Brooks as your lawyer, and ask for a recess so we can speak before you’re required to answer. If necessary, I will advise you to asse
rt your Fifth Amendment right not to answer because to do so would incriminate you.”

  “Jonathan! How many fucking times do I have to tell you? This is complete horseshit! I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything.”

  “Blaine, you’re my client. I’m totally on your side. You don’t need to shout at me, but I can’t figure Lotello. Why would he be lying to me? To us? What can he possibly stand to gain by doing that?”

  “I don’t know, Jonathan. Maybe he’s as goofy as Norman. Or maybe Thomas, or someone, has been feeding him something phony that he’s bought into.”

  “Lotello’s hardly nuts. You shouldn’t underestimate him. It may be that Thomas or someone else is looking to make you the patsy. And has persuaded Lotello that you’re the killer. But why you? Why would anyone be pointing the finger at you?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know. I thought Norman was the killer. Maybe it’s not Norman after all. Maybe it could be Thomas.”

  “But why would Thomas be gunning for you? Why not Norman? Why not anyone other than you? Why you, Blaine?”

  “I don’t know, Jonathan. I don’t get it. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. I need to go. I’ll see you in court in the morning.”

  “I’ll be there a little before eight thirty. Get some sleep. Calm down. You’ll need to be on your toes tomorrow.”

  Hollister didn’t respond.

  * * *

  HOLLISTER WALKED OUT OF Mortimer’s office. He drove back to his home, too preoccupied to spot the car following him from a distance. Unaware of the small GPS device planted underneath his car. Transmitting his location to a remote cell phone tracking app.

  CHAPTER 113

  Thursday, August 6, 8:30 p.m.

  HOLLISTER REALIZED HE HAD no idea where Thomas lived. Alone, staring at his computer screen, he was scrolling through seemingly benign online government records accessible solely because of the Freedom of Information Act. After a few minutes, he stumbled upon an address. He hoped it would prove current. Guess there’s only one way to find out.

  Hollister read through the material one more time. It was consistent with the weird personality Thomas was quietly displaying in the courthouse. He was a real freak, an absolute spook. Thomas is apparently turning the finger on me. But why? Have to pay him a visit. But I have to be very careful. Seems like he could be dangerous.

  Hollister turned off his computer.

  * * *

  THE GPS DEVICE WAS WORKING fine. Hollister had no reason to know he had been tailed home by a car too far behind him to be spotted. The driver parked down the road almost two blocks away from Hollister’s home. Unlikely to draw any attention, but still within the range of the GPS. The driver sat there. Waiting. Watching. He wondered what the hell Hollister was doing. If he’s gonna make a move, it’s got to be tonight. Hey, how about that? Right on cue. Here he comes now! Time to rock and roll.

  Hollister pulled away from his home and drove off. Destination unknown to his shadow. Who again followed from a safe distance. Making sure Hollister was still none the wiser. How cool is this GPS stuff? A readily available app downloaded on a run-of-the-mill untraceable throwaway cell phone for a cost of just a few bucks.

  CHAPTER 114

  Thursday, August 6, 9:15 p.m.

  HOLLISTER DROVE SOMEWHERE OUT into the suburbs. If he noticed anyone following him, he wasn’t showing it. About forty minutes later, Hollister slowed considerably as he passed a fairly new, well-kept apartment complex. He glanced at the building but kept on driving. He finally pulled over, parking a little more than a block away.

  The man trailing Hollister pulled over closer to the apartment complex itself to avoid any chance of being spotted by Hollister. Moments later, Hollister got out of his car and walked back to the apartment building. He entered the lobby through the glass front doors.

  The man knew he had to be careful now. If he got too close, he might be spotted. If he fell too far behind, he might lose Hollister’s whereabouts inside the building. Fortunately, he was able to see Hollister through the glass doors. Hollister was examining a building directory.

  * * *

  HOLLISTER WAS BEWILDERED. HE was sure he was at the right address. The one he had found online. But Thomas’s name was not on the building directory. He was about to conclude that he had written down the address incorrectly. Or that it was no longer a good address. And then it hit him. Although the sign outside said no vacancies, one of the units on the directory had no name listed opposite it. Just like the spook Thomas was to hide in the shadows. Even on a building directory. How ironic, Hollister thought. Thomas was able to keep his presence off a building directory but not off the internet. Hollister headed for the elevator.

  * * *

  THE MAN THOUGHT HE had lost Hollister. Then he saw the elevator dial rotating and realized it was probably Hollister. He watched the dial stop on the third floor and raced to the stairwell.

  * * *

  HOLLISTER KNOCKED ON THE third-floor apartment unit door he hoped belonged to Thomas. There was no answer. Disappointed, he knocked again. Louder.

  This time a voice responded. Coldly. “Yeah? Who is it?”

  “Thomas?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Hollister knew he had him. “Blaine Hollister, Thomas. We need to talk.”

  “Hollister? A little too late, isn’t it? Why would I want to talk to you now?”

  “Knock off the bullshit. You and I both know what you’re up to. You’re not taking me down. I won’t stand for it.”

  “Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Fuck off. Get outta here. While you still can.”

  “Last chance, Thomas. We need to sort things out before we both have to testify tomorrow. Open the damn door. Or you’ll wish you had.”

  * * *

  THE LAST REMARK PUSHED Thomas’s buttons. He wasn’t used to being challenged like that. First Lotello. Now Hollister. Enough was enough. He wasn’t going to let anyone other than maybe the president talk to him like that. He yanked open the door and moved right up into Hollister’s face. Thomas loomed over Hollister. He aggressively jabbed a finger in Hollister’s chest. “I’ve been watching your ass in the courtroom all week long. Who the fuck you think you are? Coming around here like this in the middle of the night.”

  “Cut the BS,” Hollister spat. “You’ve been setting me up. I don’t know why, but I’m warning you: you’re messing with the wrong guy. People have tried that before. It doesn’t work. I’m still here. They’re not.”

  “You motherfucking son of a bitch! You think you can threaten me?” Hollister was caught off guard. He tried to back away. It was too late. Thomas caught him with a hard right to the side of his head.

  * * *

  HOLLISTER BARELY MANAGED TO stay on his feet. Thomas had really stunned him. He had to regroup. Get out of there fast. While he still could. Thomas was even crazier than he had suspected. He wasn’t prepared to deal with this. He had to cut and run. For now.

  “You’re dead meat, Thomas!” Hollister turned and ran to the elevator. He didn’t know if Thomas was going to chase after him. He knew he couldn’t stand around waiting for an elevator. He kept going and found the stairs.

  * * *

  THE MAN FOLLOWING HOLLISTER had carefully peered out from the stairwell. Just in time to see Thomas catch Hollister with a solid roundhouse to the face. And to see Hollister barreling toward the stairwell. He just managed to duck back into the stairwell before Hollister spotted him. Need to get back to my car. Pick Hollister up again from there.

  * * *

  THOMAS DIDN’T PURSUE HOLLISTER. He just stood there. Trying to regain his composure. Don’t know what Hollister plans to do next. No way am I showing up at court tomorrow. Fuck the subpoena.

  * * *

  HOLLISTER HADN’T NOTICED HIS shadow. He made it back to his car. The pain in his jaw was throbbing. He slammed the accelerator to the floor. The car immediately screeched away from the curb. He
got the car under control and slowed down. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over by some cop. I don’t get it. Why would Thomas blow my cover? How could he possibly know about me? What’s he gonna say in court tomorrow? I don’t know. But I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to be there in the morning. Take my chances. See what happens. Bluff my way through things best I can. Hopefully, my word will trump Thomas’s. One thing’s for sure: if I get through this tomorrow, Thomas is toast. No one pulls something like that on me and lives to talk about it. No one!

  * * *

  BET THAT WASN’T WHAT Hollister had in mind. Me either. Two hours later, parked down the street from Hollister’s house, watching paint dry. Enough. I’ve had it. Time to call it a night.

  CHAPTER 115

  Friday, August 7, 1:15 a.m.

  LOTELLO DIALED THE NUMBER he had for Leah Klein.

  “Hello? Who’s calling? At this hour?”

  “Ms. Klein? It’s Frank Lotello.”

  “What time is it, Detective?”

  “A little after one. Sorry to be calling at this hour.”

  “Detective, what kind of a jerk are you? First, you’re nowhere to be found when you know I’m trying to figure out what to do with Hollister and Thomas tomorrow. Scratch that. This morning. Second, now you call me in the middle of the night. I don’t know whether to be relieved or angrier with you than I already was. Please tell me this call at this obnoxious hour has been worth waiting for.”

  “Guilty on all counts, Ms. Klein. And I’m afraid this call’s not going to make it any better. But I figure the devil you know’s better than the devil you don’t.”

  “Not a very good start, Detective. What can you tell me that makes any sense at all? That will give me any clue what I’m supposed to do in court this morning?”