A Minute to Midnight

by David Baldacci

“No, because he wasn’t scheduled to. He was taking some time off, a few days. He’d pulled a muscle in his right quad and his ankle was also swollen. It’s not easy doing what we do.”

  “I’m sure it’s not. Do you know what he planned to do during his time off?”

  “Just take it easy. I mean, I wasn’t aware that he was planning to travel anywhere. Certainly not to this—what was the town called again?”

  “Andersonville,” said Wallis.

  “No,” said Blakely. “He never mentioned going anywhere.”

  “Was he seeing anyone?” asked Laredo. “Or was anyone giving him any problems?”

  “No and no, at least that I know. I have a firm rule here: no fraternizing. I don’t care what people do with their lives or in their private time. But that sort of stuff always spills over into the workplace. So I just cut it off.”

  “How many performers do you have here?” asked Pine.

  “Including me, about a dozen. Two shows a night and a matinee on Saturday. It’s good, you should come sometime. Singing, dancing, acting. We do it all. Even comedy skits.” He glanced at Laredo. “You know, good, wholesome family entertainment.”

  “More power to you,” replied Laredo.

  “I started life as a corporate lawyer,” admitted Blakely. “Hated every minute of it. Now this, this is what I was born to do.”

  “Did Layne Gillespie feel the same way?” asked Pine.

  “I think so, yes. He got kicked out of the Army, you know.”

  “We didn’t know exactly why,” said Pine.

  “He was caught performing in full costume. It was harmless, and it wasn’t even on the base or anything. But they gave him the old heave-ho. And from what I heard Layne was a good soldier. He could fight. Strong as a bull, really athletic. He performed this one act where he had to climb these long, flowing fabric ropes and do cartwheels and such. He was the only one here who could do that. I would’ve broken my neck.” Blakely paused and looked down at his lap. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “So no problems with anyone? Or someone new in his life?” asked Pine.

  “No, no one that I can think of. Everyone really liked Layne.”

  “No jilted lover or a patron here who wanted more than to see him in an act?” said Laredo.

  “We do have some of that here, but nothing specific to Layne.”

  Pine thought of something. “What was Layne doing before he came here? How did you know him?”

  “Oh, well, it was through a friend of mine.”

  “What friend?”

  “He’s dead now. Boating accident down in Miami. But he was in the um, film business.” Blakely looked nervously at them.

  They all looked at one another. Pine said sharply, “Wait a minute. Do you mean the porn film business?”

  “Yes, Layne acted in porn films.”

  “Where did he do this?” asked Pine, her tone betraying her excitement that they might have finally gotten a break in the case.

  Blakely wadded up a tissue as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He absently rubbed a spot of wet foundation off his cheek. “He’d…he’d go down to Miami or close to there to do it. It paid really well, apparently. I thought about doing it once, but it just wasn’t for me. I…I couldn’t do it, not in front of a camera.” He blushed and looked around them. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. You don’t care about that, I know.”

  Pine said, “Did Layne ever mention a woman named Hanna Rebane or Beth Clemmons?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Please think about it, it’s really, really important,” Pine urged.

  Blakely did so but then shook his head. “I’m sorry. Those names don’t ring any bells.”

  Pine looked very disappointed.

  Wallis interjected, “We visited one person who acted in porn films. Her apartment was very luxurious, while Mr. Gillespie’s, well, wasn’t. Do you know why?”

  “Layne was also helping to support his mother, grandmother, a sister, and a brother. It didn’t leave much for him, but he never really cared about money for himself. I think he did the films so he could send the dollars to his family. But he stopped doing that when he came to work here. At least as far as I know.”

  Wallis cleared his throat and said, “Well, it was good of him to take care of his family. That makes him okay in my book. No matter, well, no matter how he went about it.”

  “Just to be clear, did he perform in gay porn or…?” said Pine.

  Blakely looked confused. “Oh, I see. No, it was straight porn, not gay. Why, do you think just because someone performs in drag for a living that he has to be exclusively gay?”

  Wallis looked at the others. “Well, I’ll admit that I thought that.”

  “I actually don’t know what Layne’s sexuality was and I never asked. And while a lot of men who do drag are gay, they can be of any sexuality, really. But I will tell you that I have seen Layne with young ladies, and they did not seem to me to be just friends. I’ll let you arrive at your own conclusions on that.”

  Pine said, “We’re going to have to. Hopefully, sooner rather than later.”

  Chapter 38

  THEY STAYED OVER in Savannah that night and drove back to Andersonville the following afternoon. While in Savannah they checked out some leads provided by Blakely and Spotter, none of which amounted to anything. Gillespie was well liked and had no known enemies.

  When they got back to Andersonville around five thirty they split up into two teams. Wallis and Laredo would attend the postmortem on Layne Gillespie, while Pine and Blum headed on to Columbus, Georgia, to speak once more to Beth Clemmons.

  “So at least we have a connection between the victims: adult films,” said Blum as they drove on the short trip to Columbus.

  “But let’s not put the cart before the horse. We have no idea if Layne Gillespie knew or worked with Hanna Rebane. But even if he didn’t, the killer could be someone with a hatred of porn films and actors. That could be a solid lead for us.”

  “And the veil and tuxedo?”

  “No clue as yet. Although it could be some sort of insult to them. Porn stars made to look like old-fashioned toppers on a traditional wedding cake.”

  “If Rebane worked with Gillespie, he might have also worked with Clemmons.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping, because we can’t ask Rebane any questions.”

  “What do you think is going on, Agent Pine?”

  “Something that seems really complicated.” She paused and stared out the windshield. “Which of course means it could actually be incredibly simple.”

  “Simple? You won’t catch me describing it that way.”

  “Never say never, Carol. It’ll save you a lot of time.”

  * * *

  They arrived in Columbus a little over an hour after leaving Andersonville. It was around seven in the evening. It was warmer here than it had been in Andersonville, but cooler and less humid than Savannah. Pine had phoned Clemmons but gotten no answer. They pulled to a stop in front of the condo building, got out, and walked into the lobby. They checked in with the concierge, and Pine’s badge got them into the elevator and up to the sixth floor. They knocked on Clemmons’s door but got no answer.

  “She could be out, but you’d think the concierge would have told us that,” said Pine.

  “Or there could be another reason she’s not answering,” said Blum ominously.

  “We have no reason to go into the apartment. I can’t break the door down.”

  Pine knocked harder. No response.

  “That’s funny,” said a voice.

  They turned to see a young, bespectacled man standing in his open doorway across the plushly carpeted hall.

  “What’s funny?” said Pine.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure that Beth is home. I was coming up a few hours ago and she was going into her place.”

  “She could have gone back out,” said Blum.

  “No, she said she was going to take a hot bath an
d stay in for the evening. And I’ve been sitting in my front room all this time reading. I’m pretty sure I would have heard her if she had gone out.”

  Pine looked at Blum, then at the door. “Think that gives us probable cause to go in?”

  “I would think so.”

  “You guys cops?” said the man.

  Pine produced her FBI shield. “Go down and tell the concierge to come up here right now with a key. Go!”

  The startled man raced off down the hall. They heard the elevator ding seconds later.

  The concierge and the man came back up a minute later. The former was holding a key.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Pine said, “We have it on good authority that Ms. Clemmons is home but she’s not answering our knocks. We’re concerned for her welfare. We need you to open this door right now.”

  The concierge paled, hurried forward, and unlocked the door. Pine took out her gun and motioned the three of them to stay right where they were.

  She moved into the darkened apartment, her gun and gaze sweeping the areas in front of her. “Ms. Clemmons?” she called out. “Beth? It’s Agent Pine with the FBI. Are you in here?”

  There was no answer, and Pine could hear no movement. She cleared the front rooms and the kitchen and made her way down the hall to the bedrooms. She went through Clemmons’s bedroom.

  It was empty.

  But there were some clothes on the floor of Clemmons’s closet. And her purse with her phone in it was on the nightstand.

  She’s here, or at least she was.

  The door of the attached bathroom stood open; the light was on.

  Pine braced herself. She first got down on her knees and checked for a pair of feet showing from underneath the bathroom door. No one was hiding behind it. She quickly moved into the space, her pistol making arcs in the air.

  The bathroom was huge, with a clawfoot bathtub set inside the walk-in shower.

  From here she could see water right up to the top of the tub.

  Shit.

  She feared that the woman had overdosed while in the water, and then drowned.

  She slowly entered the shower area and looked down.

  This was not what she had been expecting. The tub was empty except for the water.

  Confused, she stepped back out and checked the large cabinets lining the walls. There was nobody stuffed into any of them. Well, the full tub was perplexing. But there was still Hanna Rebane’s bedroom left. But she couldn’t understand why Clemmons would be in there when the bath was drawn in here.

  She approached the door to leave the room and froze as she fixed on the crevice between the door and the wall.

  She edged it farther open. Beth Clemmons was hanging from a hook on the back of the bathroom door, a ligature around her neck and a plastic bag over her head.

  Chapter 39

  THE QUIET, UPSCALE residential building was now full of police activity.

  A lot of moving parts and absolutely no traction.

  Or so this was Pine’s take on things.

  While the local police were examining the body and searching Clemmons’s apartment, Pine and Blum were across the hall talking to the neighbor who had called out to them.

  He sat on his costly couch in his fashionably decorated condo looking like he might throw up on his expensive Oriental rug.

  “I…I might have been the last person to see her alive,” said the man, who had identified himself as Gene Martin. He was in his early thirties and obviously did something for a living that paid handsomely.

  “Other than the person who killed her,” remarked Blum, causing Martin to stare bug-eyed at her.

  “What, yes, of course.” He looked at the stoic Pine. “Wait, you can’t think? I…I had nothing to do with what happened.” He jumped to his feet. “Jesus, I would never kill anybody. I’m…I’m a CPA. The only way I’ve ever ‘hurt’ someone is by disallowing a deduction.”

  “I don’t think you killed her, Mr. Martin. I’m much more interested in what you might have seen or heard.”

  “But I don’t know anything.”

  “Take a moment to calm down, sit back down, clear your head, and think back. Take it one step at a time. You said you were reading. You had earlier seen Clemmons. She was going to take a bath and relax for the evening. She went inside her place and you went inside yours. Take it from there starting with what time that was.”

  Martin sat back down, took off his glasses, cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief clutched in a shaky hand, and put them back on.

  “Okay, I spoke with Beth and then came in here. I remember looking at my watch. It was a couple minutes past four.”

  “Okay, so you had seen her a few minutes before that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that the only time you saw her today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you home at that time of day?” asked Blum.

  “I took a few days off to catch up on some things and rest up. I just finished a financial audit on a large public company. Worked four months straight, seven days a week. I was totally burned out.”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “I made a cup of tea, that took about two minutes. Then I sat down with my book. It’s a biography of Churchill.” He picked it up from the coffee table. “It’s fascinating, but a door stopper as you can see.”

  Pine glanced at the thick book. “Right. What then?”

  “I sat and drank my tea and read my book.”

  “No sounds out in the hall? Doors opening or closing? Footsteps? Voices?”

  “Most people on this floor don’t get home that early. Six, seven is the norm.”

  “But not Clemmons?”

  “No, not her. God, it’s so awful to think that someone killed her. Right here in this building.” His face paled and he again looked like he might be sick.

  Pine said in a calming tone, “Take some deep breaths and relax. Just focus your mind and think back. We’ll wait. No rush. Just calm down and collect your thoughts. You’re an accountant, so you’re detail oriented. That’s what we want, details.”

  Martin took some deep, regulated breaths, sat back on the couch, and tapped the arm of it. As his fingers drummed along, they grew slower and more rhythmic.

  “You know, I did hear someone out in the hall. It was about thirty minutes later. A little before five.”

  “Exactly what sounds did you hear?”

  “Someone walking away, but before that, I heard…well, I heard a door opening and then closing. It was very slight, but I did hear it.”

  “Did you get up to look?”

  “Not because of the sounds, no. I mean, there’s nothing sinister about doors opening or people walking in a residential building. But my tea had gotten cold, and I was going to reheat it. Then I decided to just poke my head out and see who it was.” He looked embarrassed. “I thought it might be Beth. Spur-of-the-moment thing. I…I liked her. I liked talking to her.”

  “I’m sure,” said Blum. “She was a very lovely young woman.”

  “And did you see anyone?” asked Pine.

  “Well, I looked toward the direction of the elevators initially. I mean, that’s the way someone would be going, right?”

  “Right,” said Pine. “But?”

  “But I didn’t see anyone. Then I looked the other way.”

  “And?” said Pine a bit impatiently, when it appeared he was not going to continue.

  “Well, I couldn’t swear to it, but I thought I saw the back of a shoe turn the corner. Obviously a shoe someone was wearing.”

  “What’s in that direction?” asked Blum.

  “Well, the freight elevators, for one.”

  “Was it a man’s shoe?” asked Pine.

  “Yes. I mean, it wasn’t a high heel or anything.”

  “Could you see anything else?”

  “Not, not really. Wait, I think he might have had gray pants on.”

  “Gray pants. Like dress slacks?”

>   “No, not like that. I misspoke. It wasn’t pants, at least I don’t think so. It was like maybe overalls. And the shoe I saw looked like a work boot.”

  Pine looked at Blum. “A workman heading to the freight elevators?”

  “Could be.”

  They asked Martin some more questions but got nothing else of use from him.

  A minute later Pine headed to the freight elevators with Blum right behind.

  They reached a pair of elevators after taking two turns, a right and a left. They were located at the end of the corridor.

  Pine hit a button and they rode the car down. It opened into the underground parking lot for the building near the exit.

  “Makes sense,” said Pine. “If you’re moving in or out, you pull your truck in here and use the elevator to bring your stuff in or out.” She looked around. “I don’t see any cameras in the vicinity. And there’s no gate, so anyone can just pull in or out of here.”

  Pine looked at the door they’d just exited. She tried to tug it open. “But you need a key card to get in the door,” she noted, pointing to a card reader port.

  “Presumably the workman had one.”

  “We’ll need the local cops to check this out, talk to Martin, and then see if anybody else saw someone on that hall at around that time.”

  “But Martin said he only heard a door open and close once. Wouldn’t he have heard it when the guy went in, and then again when he exited?”

  Pine said, “Not if the guy was already in the apartment and waiting for Clemmons to come home. The bath was full. She was obviously going to get in it. She had undressed and was in her bathrobe. He must have attacked her before she got into the tub.”

  “So he could have been in her apartment for some time before she arrived? But how did he get in?”

  “There was no forced entry. And if she wasn’t home to let him in, then he had to have a key. I just wonder where he got it.” She looked at the card reader on the rear door. “Maybe the same place he got that.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Blum.

  “If you’re thinking the killer used the key and key card he took from Hanna Rebane, then yes, we’re on the same page.”

  “And the motive was to silence her, because she might tell us something damaging to someone?”