“Yeah. Didn’t want you to think, you know, that you’re a bad artist, but that ain’t his chin,” he said, and her heart started pounding.
His drawing after all…
She changed the sketch. Showed it to him.
He nodded. “Yeah. That’s him. That’s the man that killed your father.”
Gnoble.
Back before he’d ever grown that trademark goatee.
His wife had just been arrested. And if she knew his secrets, he had to be worried. Desperate. And he lived in the same town as her mother. Her sister.
She called for the guard, grabbed her sketchbook, then took out her phone, punched in Dixon’s number. “You know that case I wasn’t investigating…?”
47
“You know,” Carillo said, keeping pace with her as they crossed the parking lot, “this is the second time you’ve tried convincing me this guy is innocent.”
“He is.”
“He was guilty when we drove in this morning. You sure he’s not yanking your chain?”
Sydney stopped suddenly, and Carillo nearly ran into her. “No,” she said, handing him her sketchbook, so she could dig her keys and her cell phone from her purse.
“It’s Gnoble?”
“Before he grew his goatee. How many people do you know who could describe him like that? What I think is that he grew it after Wheeler saw him there. Gnoble framed him from the get-go. I think Gnoble was waiting out front to kill my father for helping Wheeler, because it was going to reopen all sorts of nasty things.”
“Like how Wheeler’s father was killed during an unsanctioned black op that may have ties to BICTT?”
“Exactly. And I think that when he saw Wheeler walk in there that night, he figured he’d be leaving prints, knew he had a record, so why not set him up to take the fall for my father’s murder? It just worked out better than he planned, because Wheeler broke in to rip off the place anyway. That’s what I think,” she said, unlocking the car doors. They both got in and Sydney said, “No one would’ve been the wiser, until I showed up here to talk to Wheeler. And that’s what started all this. Not McKnight and his photo and his suicide because of his damned guilty conscience about running the country’s budget when he’s got millions of stolen black funds tucked away. It started the moment my mother called Senator Gnoble, and told him I was thinking about going to the prison.”
“Pretty elaborate setup, don’t you think?”
“Look at Gnoble’s background. They were all working special ops. Everything they did was elaborate. A man like Gnoble doesn’t get where he is by doing something halfassed.” Sydney flipped open her phone to call Jake. “He gets there by taking advantage of any opportunity. Wheeler’s presence that night twenty years ago was the perfect opportunity.”
“So what’s the story with this photo McKnight sent to you?”
Jake didn’t answer the phone. She started the car, let it idle. “That by itself was really nothing. Had the suicide note been included with it… The note sure as hell shook up the CIA. They jumped on that quick, cleaned it up so nothing could come back to haunt them. Gnoble might have been worried, but he was smart enough to know that the CIA was not going to let any of that information out, because his wasn’t the only reputation that could be harmed. It had nothing to do with why Gnoble wanted me dead. It was only when I showed up in Baja, started stirring up a hornet’s nest that the CIA got worried.”
“They’re trying to sanitize the past, and you’re trying to bring it out in the open.”
“Which means that Scotty was right in one respect. It wasn’t about the photo. Never had been. At least as far as Gnoble was concerned.”
“I’m not sure I entirely understand…?”
“It was about Cisco’s Kid. Wheeler. Not the boat. And my deciding to go to San Quentin and interview him, find out why he did what he did, that shook up Gnoble, and no doubt his wife. Cisco, Frank White, was probably killed on an unsanctioned black op that Gnoble was responsible for. One that ties Gnoble, and a lot of top government officials and businesses, into the BICTT scandal, some of which could still be operating today, assuming Orozco’s information proves correct. And Orozco said my father probably would’ve been killed later if he hadn’t been killed in the robbery. Why? Because he’s a tie to Gnoble’s involvement. Gnoble’s cover-up of Cisco’s death. My father’s threats of exposing them. All of which Gnoble eliminates by killing him. And the pure genius is that Gnoble sets it up to look like a robbery, which keeps the safeguards that he and Orozco put in place in case of their suspicious deaths.”
“Which makes you a target because…”
“I am the only witness who might be able to verify that Wheeler was really telling the truth. The moment I walked into San Quentin, and faced the only other witness, Gnoble had no guarantee that I wouldn’t remember what really happened the night my father was killed. He needed Wheeler’s execution to go through. The Innocence Project stepped in for a brief moment, and suddenly Gnoble’s entire future balanced on his knowledge that he’d committed one crime with absolutely no statute of limitations. Murder. One more day, half that equation is gone, executed. That makes me his biggest threat to him and his wife’s chances of making it to the White House,” she said, backing from her space, then shifting to drive.
“You think Prescott knew all this?”
“I doubt he knows the entire story, only what Mrs. Gnoble told him. Maybe all she needed to do was point out that if I told some big secret having to do with my father’s past, there goes the election. Prescott probably agreed to set up the hit to save his own damned job, because if Gnoble’s not reelected, Prescott’s out.”
No answer at her mother’s. Not even the machine picked up, which meant someone was on the other line, not paying attention to the call-waiting beep. Probably Angie. Sydney disconnected. “Gnoble or his wife had to have given Prescott my cell number to make that call. Had to be Gnoble. Gnoble could call my mom to get it. Prescott couldn’t,” she said, driving up to the guard tower to get their guns.
They checked their weapons, and Sydney holstered her primary, then strapped her backup pistol on her ankle holster, before driving out the gates, then pausing at the end of the road to call Jake’s cell phone, listening to it ring.
Carillo snapped his holster, saying, “Maybe that’s why he stayed in touch all these years. Good ol’ Uncle Don. Conveniently there should you happen to remember what really happened. Ready to take action.”
“At his wife’s urging, no doubt.” Jake’s phone went to voice mail, and Sydney punched in her number, followed by a 9-1-1, hoping he’d get right back to her. She drove down the street that led away from the prison, then followed it around to the freeway, just as Jake called back. She flipped open the phone, took a breath, and said, “I have some bad news…”
“Is it any worse than the news that your boss just finished telling me?”
“If it’s about Gnoble, then no. Where are you?”
“A better question is where are you?”
“Just leaving San Quentin,” Sydney said.
“Then do us both a favor and drive straight to your office.”
“But-”
“For God’s sake, Sydney, shut up and listen to me, and pretend just this once that I know what I’m talking about. We are not the threat, and if you come here, and Gnoble’s foolish enough to go after you, because he thinks you can testify against him, then you are putting everyone in this house at risk.”
She was just pulling onto the freeway, thinking about what he said, wishing she could say something in return. But Sydney knew he was right. Her first instinct was to go there, protect her sister, her mother. Even Jake.
“Sydney?”
“I’m here,” she said, glancing into the rearview mirror, then moving into the fast lane.
“Look. We’ll be fine. I’m going to take your mother and sister out of town until he’s caught. Your mother is upstairs putting a few things together.”
; “Okay.”
“Be careful. We’ll call you.”
And he disconnected.
She stared out at the car in the lane ahead of her for several seconds, almost on autopilot, and finally Carillo said, “What’s wrong?”
She told him what Jake had said.
“Okay, so we go back to the office instead of Santa Arleta. Dixon sort of ordered us back there anyway, didn’t he?”
“If you interpret that we’re not to be involved in Gnoble’s arrest, then yes, but what if Gnoble goes to my mother’s?”
“Like Jake said, why would he? They’re no threat to him. If Gnoble’s smart, he’ll be hightailing it out of here.”
The car in front of her slowed, and Sydney snapped out of her stupor, went around it, then stepped on the gas. “This guy’s a stone-cold psychopath. It’s clear he has no conscience.”
“Our advantage is that he doesn’t know he’s cornered, yet, assuming he doesn’t think his wife’s going to start singing, and he hasn’t figured you’ve been out to the prison, so maybe if we think like him…”
She glanced at Carillo, tried to see things as he was seeing them, before turning her attention back to the road. “Clearly he’s very logical. Very methodical.”
“Okay. So logically and methodically even if he knew you’d come here, done this sketch, he’s got to realize that the word of a convicted killer isn’t going to mean shit. There is no way that sketch is going to exonerate Wheeler or convict Gnoble.”
“Not unless someone other than Wheeler can place him at the scene.”
“You are the only other witness.”
“I can place a hand with a ring on it.” She scoffed. “That’ll fly.”
“One more link in the case,” Carillo said. “And clearly if his wife tried to put a hit on you, they don’t know that’s all you can remember, or they’re worried you’ll start remembering.”
“There’s got to be something we’ve been missing…”
“A bigger threat than you?”
She thought about everything she’d learned, all the pieces that were now fitting neatly together. And all those that, until now, seemed at odds… She glanced toward Carillo. “It just occurred to me that we’ve overlooked one very important part of all this. Someone who’s stayed in touch with all the players. The go-to girl if you want to leave the country and start a new life. Becky Lynn.”
“Probably the only organized crime that woman is running is bleeding Gnoble, Orozco, and McKnight for hush money. Talk about your gravy train. So, what’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that Dixon ordered us off Gnoble, but he didn’t say a thing about Becky Lynn.”
“And being good agents, we should take the initiative.”
She hit the gas, disregarding all speed laws, redlighting anyone who didn’t move out of her way fast enough. About the point they neared their freeway exit, it occurred to her that there was a serious flaw or two in their plan. Apparently Carillo sensed this, because he said, “You have that look…”
“We know this case. Dixon doesn’t. Do we depend on Scotty thinking of her? Or do we call Dixon, let him know. And if we do, and you were Dixon, discovered that we were sitting on a key player after he ordered us off…”
“Good point. You think it’s too early to pick up an order of nachos?”
She smiled. “Not in my book.”
48
They pulled onto Becky Lynn’s street, parked a few houses down, just as they’d done the first time they’d been there. This time, they checked the street both directions just in case Gnoble was there. They didn’t see his car, but Becky Lynn’s white Lexus was in the drive and the trunk lid was open.
“Loading or unloading?” Carillo asked.
But before Sydney could decide, Becky Lynn stepped out of the door with a suitcase and a tote bag-maybe tripped out was a more apt description-then on down the porch steps, righted herself, walked to the car, threw both items in the trunk. She walked back to the house, navigated the steps, gave a thorough perusal in both directions, then shut the door. “Apparently going somewhere.”
“Looking a little tipsy. Not sure I like the timing. Why now?”
“And where to?” Sydney said as she hit redial, calling Dixon.
He answered on the second ring. No greeting, just “You two better be heading back to the office.”
“Our car is pointed south as we speak.” The left side, at least. “I’m calling because it occurred to us that there’s a witness you might not know of.” Sydney told him about Becky Lynn, her importance to the case, and their worry that Gnoble might try to take her out.
“Gnoble hasn’t left his house yet,” Dixon said. “His car is still parked there. If it moves, we’ll know. Scotty’s team is sitting on it, until we can get SWAT out there.”
Santa Arleta wasn’t that big of a town, but she wasn’t sure she could find Gnoble’s place on her own, since the last time her mother and Jake had taken her there, she was probably fifteen. “You wouldn’t happen to know Gnoble’s address…?” she asked.
“I do.”
“Just curious,” Sydney said, watching as their mark finally emerged, locked her door, then threw one last and apparently very heavy suitcase in her trunk before slamming it shut. “But seeing as how Becky Lynn might be the only witness who can tie all these players together, including Gnoble, and she’s loaded enough suitcases into her car that it looks like she’s not coming back anytime soon-”
“And you would know this because…?”
“We… stopped for lunch, and just happened to see her?”
Carillo said, “Ask him if he wants us to pick him up something.”
“Let me guess,” Dixon said, clearly not amused. “Taco Bell and you can see her from the drive-through line?”
“Supervisors… It’s like you’re here,” Sydney said, just as Becky Lynn backed out of her driveway, then took off. “Uh, food’s ready. Gotta go.” Sydney shifted to drive, pulled out after her.
“I’m ordering you,” Dixon said, and Sydney was fairly certain she heard him shaking Tums from his bottle, “to stay away. If she stops somewhere, even looks like she’s getting on a plane, taxi, or goddamned magic carpet, you will not pull her over, you will not make contact. What you will do is get on the radio and notify Scotty. Clear?”
“As a plastic lid over a plate of steaming nachos.”
She flipped the phone shut, tossed it in the center console, then turned her attention to Becky Lynn’s Lexus, about to make a right turn at the end of the street.
“So,” Carillo asked, checking the radio to make sure they were on the proper frequency-just in case-“he have any special lunch requests?”
“If I had to guess, a new bottle of antacid, hold the jalapenos. He did mention that Scotty’s team is sitting on Gnoble’s house, and that Gnoble hasn’t moved yet.” Even so, Sydney kept an eye on the mirrors. This wasn’t the time to take chances. They weren’t dealing with some namby-pamby politician from Capitol Hill. Gnoble’s training made him extremely dangerous.
“It’d be nice to know where he lives. You think she’s heading his way?”
“He lives in the same town as my mom, so I hope not,” Sydney said, but she had a sinking feeling as Becky Lynn pulled onto the freeway, then got off the exit to Santa Arleta. Becky Lynn turned a corner, swerved, narrowly missing the curb, and then overcorrecting, only just missing a burgundy minivan in the oncoming lane.
“The way she’s driving,” Carillo said, “we might not have to worry.”
“Unless she kills us all…” But Becky Lynn did not turn onto the main road in the direction Sydney thought was toward Gnoble’s house. Instead, she turned left on Acacia, then right when it dead-ended on Conifer. Her stomach clenched. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
“Looks of what?”
“The direction she’s heading.” And Sydney sent up a prayer. Please don’t let her turn left at the next street. Please, please.
She
did.
“Son of a bitch.” Sydney gunned it, not caring whether Becky Lynn saw them, not caring that she was defying orders by turning on the red light to pull her over.
But Becky Lynn did not stop.
And the street she’d turned on led right to her mother’s house.
49
Becky Lynn drove up the winding road at a speed only a drunk or someone with an agenda would dare.
“What the hell would she be coming here for?” Carillo asked, leaning as Sydney braked at a curve, then accelerated out of it.
“When she gets drunk, she calls my mom, crying. Has for years, and I have no idea why. What I do know is that she’s never come here. Drunk, sober, or otherwise.”
“Isn’t there supposed to be a team on this place?”
Sydney looked up the road, just where it curved, and she could see the front end of a Crown Vic up at the top of the hill. “They might be too far back. We should call and tell them to move up a few feet.”
Becky Lynn pulled into the drive, sideswiping the hedge, her car blocking Jake’s extended-cab pickup. Sydney pulled in after her, only then noticing Jake was just getting into the pickup. He stopped, looked at them. Her mother was holding the passenger door open for Angie, who was climbing in, her puppy held tightly in her arms. Sydney picked up her phone from the center console, tucked it on her belt, told Carillo, “Grab the radio. Call Dixon.”
She got out, shouted, “Becky Lynn!” as she raced after her. Carillo followed, radio in hand.
Becky Lynn stumbled, turned back, saw them.
Jake stepped away from the truck. “What the hell is going on?”
Sydney grabbed at Becky Lynn. “She drove over here. We tried to stop her.”
Becky Lynn brushed at her hand. “Look. I’m shorry I got your father killed. I dint know he’d get so mad when I told him… I dint know that creep was gonna shoot him.”
And suddenly her focus was completely on Becky Lynn. “What creep?”
“He got mad, ’cause your father wanted payback. My fault. I told him…”
Face of a Killer Page 36