“Serena . . .”
She held up a hand. “Don’t.” It was all she could get out. She went for the cup and swallowed what was left. A deep breath heaved the chest of her tailored suit, and she leveled her eyes at him. They shone, but no longer with tears. “Someone is trying to destroy our marriage. But that’s not what’s killing me. It’s that you’re willing to let them do it. Well, I’m not. I’ve had two months to think it through—two months of being apart from you and having to live with you believing lies about me—and I’ve decided. Whoever it is is going to have to do a lot more than forge a letter to get rid of me.” She took the cup and saucer and went to the sink.
After covering her hands with plastic gloves, she soaped a sponge and ran the water. Jason watched the slope of her neck, the way her hair folded forward until she finished with the cup and saucer and reached for a dishtowel. Busy hands always kept her from giving in to her emotions. She forced her intellect with activity. Any moment she would have a plan.
The dishes dried and in their proper places, she folded the dishtowel and hung it from the oven handle. When she turned to Jason, he saw resolution in the pinched angle of her brows.
“I’m not running away again,” she said, and she folded her arms over the trim tailoring of her suit. “I’ll be back after work. You think about what I said, and I’ll think about who would attack our marriage. This conversation is not over.”
Her purse stood in its usual place next to her chair. She leaned over, snapped it up by the straps, and came to him. Her hand on his jaw, she kissed his cheek with no emotion other than deliberation. As she pulled back, her expression told him that Brenda’s fragrance still clung to him. She held his gaze for a moment, and he volunteered nothing.
“I’ll see you tonight.” She went for the door.
32
The snap of Hathaway’s gum was enough to make Tom Cole want to take another three aspirin. “You’re giving me a headache with all that popping.” The light turned green, and Tom drove through the intersection.
Hathaway looked at him and grinned, snapped the gum in his back teeth twice, then pressed the button to roll down his window. The bite of morning air flushed through the car, carrying the scent of asphalt cured in oil and gas and the funk of millions of sweating, breathing, spitting humans. When the window reached its low point, he spat the gum into the rushing air, and the window rose again.
The air didn’t help. Neither did the absence of that maddening popping. He would need more aspirin.
“So that’s what he said, but what didn’t he say?” Tom tried to imagine the look of the banker but had a hard time picturing a cleaned-up clone of Flip wearing a tie and a suit.
Hathaway reached for his pack of gum. “Like I said, he was lying like any convict. Clear as day. Covering for his brother.” He drew another stick out of the pack and sucked it into his mouth.
“I thought you were done with gum for a while.”
“No, that hunk just lost its flavor. You got to keep it fresh, brudda.” The second stick went in, and Hathaway worked his jaw around. It wouldn’t take long before the popping started.
“Grab me some aspirin out of the glove compartment, will you?”
Hathaway handed him the bottle. “So anyways, bald-faced liar, this guy. Tells me he hasn’t seen Flip when it’s written all over his face he has. Then he has the nerve to say don’t come to my office.”
Tom brought the Explorer to a stop at the light at Wilshire and Maple and rattled a couple of aspirin out of the bottle. He managed to choke them down dry. He passed the bottle back to Hathaway. “I still don’t see what good it’s going to do. We both got cases stacked up to our eyeballs. Guys with a chance to stay out of prison. It’s not like we’ve got time for this.”
“I thought you wanted to catch this guy.”
The snapping started up again. Tom’s headache drove deeper into the front of his brain and took root behind the lump that still pressed against a bandage on his forehead. He propped his elbow against the door and rubbed his forehead, silently cursing Flip Dunn for the pain. “I do. In the worst way. I keep telling myself not to make this personal.”
Hathaway snorted. “He’s the one made it personal when he hammered your noggin. I don’t leave that to LAPD.”
“I just don’t see what leaning on the brother gets us.”
“He says stay away, I show up. And not alone. I figure it’s worth a try.”
The popping could have been mortar shells going off. Tom rubbed the bandage.
“Here’s your turn. At the light.”
Tom wheeled the Explorer around. The sign over the entrance had the bank’s name on it next to a logo the shape of a warped pie with a piece missing. Tom wondered why banks all seemed to have some artsy logo.
He found a parking spot at the curb and killed the engine. Rubbing his head did nothing to relieve the pain, but he did it anyway. Hathaway was already getting out, and Tom hustled to step out into the street before Hathaway could slam the door. They met on the sidewalk.
Inside the building lobby, a security guard in a snappy uniform sat behind a wide desk eyeing them. They ignored him and crossed to the bank entrance. Here two more security guards waited, but these guys didn’t get a uniform. They only got ugly blue blazers and K-Mart ties. The nearest one stepped in their way.
“Can I help you?” He had nervous feet and a shoulder that twitched, and his head was shaped like an apple with his neck for a stem. He’d missed some spots shaving, giving his face a patchwork look. The other guard stood to the side, keeping his eyes on the suits and skirts milling around the bank lobby. Keyboards clacked, telephones rang, and a hundred voices blended together into a hum. Across the room, behind the row of tellers, the vault door stood open.
Hathaway answered him. “I doubt it.” He showed his badge to the guard and pushed past him. Tom followed.
“Wait a minute.” The security guard skipped to keep up with them. “What do you need?”
Hathaway glanced at Tom but didn’t stop moving to the escalator. “We’re here to see Jason Dunn.”
“Hold on, let me call up and see if he’s in.”
“We’ve got eyes.” Hathaway stepped onto the escalator, and the three of them started riding. Hathaway climbed as the stairs ascended, and Tom and the guard followed more slowly. At the top, Hathaway said, “In the corner there.”
Tom followed his nod. In the corner an office door stood open, and outside it, behind a desk sat a blonde with a face from a magazine cover. “That his secretary?”
“Hey, now. See, it was worth coming already.” Hathaway’s jaw picked up speed as they approached her.
The guard skipped around them and reached the blonde before they did. He spoke up. “Brenda, these gentlemen are here to see Mr. Dunn.” He got himself between them and the blonde.
She stood. She was about halfway between five feet and six feet, and she wore a gray skirt and a white blouse. A gold chain surrounded the smooth white shape of her neck. She smiled a welcoming smile, and her cheek dimpled. The whole package worked on Tom to freeze his speech.
Hathaway’s tongue was never frozen. He put a hand on the security guard’s arm. “At ease, Marshal Dillon.” He stepped past him.
She held a hand out and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Brenda Tierney, Jason’s assistant.”
Hathaway took her hand and held it, turned it in his to look at the back of it, and released it. “Brad. This is Tom.”
After a few chomps at the gum and giving Brenda the once-over, he looked into the brother’s office. “Where’s Jason?”
Tom shook her hand. Her skin was cool. When he gave her hand back to her, she passed it along her hip as if it might have picked up a virus. “Did you have an appointment?” She looked at the monitor of her computer.
Hathaway was going for his badge. Tom stopped him. “Hold up.” He turned to the security guard. “What’s your name, soldier?”
The guard gathered his confidence and
put it on like a hat. “Foley.”
“Foley, we need you downstairs. Keep an eye out for a guy about six-five, two-forty. Might be wearing a leather jacket. Motorcycle boots. If you see him, don’t approach him. Just call this number.” Tom took out his pad and pencil, and wrote down seven digits. “You can handle that, right?”
Foley looked at the piece of paper. “Bad news, huh?”
Tom nodded. “Bad is right. Don’t try to be a hero.”
Foley kept the piece of paper in his hand. “I’m on it.”
Hathaway watched Foley head for the escalator. “The motorcycle boots were a nice touch,” he said. He turned to Brenda. “When’s Jason back?”
“He’s at a meeting. Who are you guys? You’re not customers, are you?”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Hathaway said. He glanced at another girl who sat ten feet away, and she looked away. “Let’s borrow Jason’s office and talk. Come on.” He walked into Jason’s office.
Brenda looked like she was about to protest. Tom spoke up. “It’s okay, Brenda. We won’t take much of your time.” He held out a hand as if he were going to escort her someplace.
Her eyes went to his forehead, where the bandage was a white pad over the lump. Tom wished he could tear it off. When her eyes shifted to meet his, he noticed how bright her green irises shone. “All right,” she said and turned to the secretary at the next desk.
“I’ll watch the phones,” the other girl said.
Brenda thanked her and moved around to step in front of Tom.
Hathaway was gliding around the office, checking out the memorabilia. “A humanitarian, huh?” He pointed to one of the plaques honoring Jason Dunn for his charitable service.
“Mr. Dunn sponsors a number of charities. On behalf of the bank.” Brenda sat on the sofa as if she were doing it a favor. She crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap. Her posture kept her back away from the sofa cushions. “Things that benefit kids, mostly.”
“Hm.”
“Where is he now?” Tom asked.
She stared at him and didn’t blink.
“Your ears go bad?” he said. “Where is he?”
“You guys have badges you want to show me?”
Tom looked over at Hathaway. Brad’s eyes perked up. They went for their wallets. She looked them over.
“Parole officers? What’s this about?”
“Where is he?” Tom said.
“Customer meeting, over in El Segundo. Do you want the address?”
“When will he be back?”
She looked at her watch, a gold one circling her slender wrist loosely. She had to slide it around to get a good look at the face of it. “About twenty or thirty minutes.”
Hathaway sat down next to her at the edge of the sofa facing her profile and parked his head against his fist, elbow against the back of the sofa, just watching her. He worked at the gum silently with his lips drawn shut.
“How long have you worked for him?” Tom asked.
“Just moved to this department recently. He couldn’t be in trouble. I don’t understand what you guys would want with him.”
“Where are you from?” Hathaway said.
She kept her eyes on Tom. “I’d like to know what this is about before I answer any more questions.”
“We’re just passing the time with a lovely lady,” Hathaway said. “Where you from?”
Tom stared back at her. The noise filtering through the office door was the only sound in the room.
Hathaway sat forward. “I asked you a question.”
She folded her arms. “Last I heard, people had the right to keep quiet.”
Hathaway grinned. “That’s right. Yeah, that’s right.” He worked the gum hard and went back to leaning against his fist. “I’m from Manhattan Beach. Grew up surfing. Got into the lifeguard program and that led to law enforcement. Been doing this gig for eight years now. That’s my story. What’s yours?”
She sat still as a statue. Her eyes held on Tom, but there was no plea in them, no weakness.
“Humor us,” Tom said. “What did you do before working with Jason?”
She glanced at Hathaway and back to Tom. “I was down in HR.”
“And?” Hathaway said.
“And I wanted more to do, so I applied for a job up here.”
“No, I mean before that?”
“I worked over at Wells.”
“Come on, Brenda. Tierney, right? What’s Brenda Tierney all about? What’s her story?” Hathaway smiled, but she didn’t see it. She seemed to think Tom could do something to stop Hathaway or that he might be interested in stopping him. But Tom had seen Hathaway do this a few times. He was good at it. He saw things Tom didn’t see, so he let him go.
Brenda softened and turned to Hathaway. “I grew up here in the south bay. Went to college in Philly.”
“Philly. I love Philly. You ever try Jim’s cheesesteak?”
“I preferred Geno’s.”
“Mm hm. Then what?”
“Then nothing. I came home and got a job at Wells.”
“Why banking?”
She looked up at Tom and heaved a sigh. “I really have a lot of work to do.”
“Why banking?” Hathaway leveled his face at her. His tone wasn’t friendly anymore. This was sounding more like an interrogation with every question.
She kept her eyes on Tom. “I was just starting out. You know. I needed a job. That’s all.”
Hathaway smiled. He worked the gum but didn’t pop it. The sounds from outside took over the room again.
Brenda looked to the floor, and her eyes took on a sheen. Hathaway watched closely. She reached up and brushed away a tear.
Hathaway thumbed toward her. “You seeing this?” Tom didn’t respond.
Hathaway lunged forward and grabbed her face. She slapped his hand away and bolted off the sofa. She faced Hathaway hunched, in a stance that reminded Tom of a cat with its claws bared. For an instant that cover-girl face could have belonged to any parolee in a fight.
She regained herself. Her posture relaxed. The eyes brimmed over again. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Hathaway eased back into the sofa. “Oh, baby.” She glared at him.
“You are so good.” Hathaway smiled at her and extracted the gum from his mouth. He stood, rolling the wet lump between his thumb and fingers, looking around. He went to the desk. “Tommy, you ever seen anybody this good?”
“Maybe.”
Tom stared at her. She kept the tears coming. Her lower lip quivered.
“What are you talking about?” She even had her voice trembling.
Hathaway must have found a trash can under the desk. Or he just flung his gum on the carpet down there. He sat in the desk chair and pulled the pack out of the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. His feet went to the top of the desk, and he crossed his bare ankles. “Jason’s brother ever come by?”
Brenda looked at Tom. “Can’t you make him stop?” Making him stop was the last thing Tom wanted to do.
“Jason’s brother,” he prompted.
She looked to Hathaway. “I didn’t even know he had a brother.”
Hathaway glanced at Tom. “You see what makes her so good? It’s not just the tears. That’s good—really good.
How she can just turn it on like that. But the way she doesn’t lie directly. She gets these angles on it, makes you think her mind’s working sideways at the question like it was the truth.”
“She’s good, all right. You didn’t learn this in college. You’ve been around, haven’t you?”
In the stillness of her face, Tom saw that she was figuring her next move. She dipped her head. “Okay. I’m going to level with you guys. But it can’t leave this room.”
Tom and Hathaway waited.
“Jason and me . . . there’s more than a professional relationship.” She looked to the open door. “If anyone found out, we’d be fired.”
Before either one of them could answer, the banke
r stepped into the room.
33
Jason froze. The parole officer in his Hawaiian shirt with his feet propped up on Jason’s desk would have been enough. And here was another guy clearly in league with the PO. This other henchman turned his frame to show Jason a face with a white patch taped to his forehead. But what boiled Jason’s blood was seeing tears rolling down Brenda’s cheeks.
He slammed the door. A box of tissues was on the table next to the sofa. He crossed to it and handed the box to Brenda, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Dry those tears and get back to your desk.”
Hathaway hadn’t stirred since Jason walked in, except for the movement of his mouth. “We’re not done with her yet.”
Brenda offered Jason a weak smile as she dabbed at her face. “Some people need to learn manners,” she said.
Jason led her to the door. “We’ll catch up after I get rid of these . . .” He held back the words he wanted to use.
She closed the door behind her.
Jason turned. “I told you not to come here.”
“Yeah, I was never very good at following direction. My teachers used to put that on my report cards.”
Jason wanted to tear the grin off Hathaway’s face.
The patched-up henchman spoke. “Give us your brother, and we’ll be happy to get out of your hair.”
Jason looked at him. Underneath that patch, the forehead was knotted. Otherwise, the PO looked like he could have been USC’s defensive line coach. “Who are you?”’
“Where’s Flip?” the PO said.
Jason ignored him. He turned to Hathaway. “You want to talk to me, get your feet off my desk and your butt out of my chair.”
Hathaway’s grin didn’t waver except with the warp from his chewing. He brought his hands up behind his head, getting comfortable.
Coach moved in. “I want Flip Dunn. You’re going to give us something or you’ll never get rid of us.”
“Get out of my face.”
Coach didn’t move. Jason went to the door and shed his jacket. He took his time draping it on the hanger and placing it over the hook on the back of his door. When he turned, Coach was inches away from him again.
“What happened to your head, Coach?” Jason lifted a finger and had it a quarter-inch away from the lump before it was slapped away.
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