by Lis Wiehl
While she couldn’t see the tellers, she was pretty sure it was one of them that kept screaming and screaming. A few of the tellers’ customers were in her line of sight. One man in a pinstriped suit was crouched on the floor, while a middle-aged woman had her arm around an old lady with a walker. All of them were staring in the same direction the others had, at the spot Allison couldn’t see.
A second gunshot roared and faded. The shock of it stole Allison’s breath. Now everyone was shrieking and moaning, all of them staring at whatever it was. She risked raising her head another inch, but it wasn’t far enough for her to see anything.
A short, plump man dressed in black suddenly burst from the direction of the teller area and into her line of vision, running for the door. Allison’s first incongruous thought was how hot his black ski mask must be. He had a gun in one hand and a second in his waistband, and he was clutching a bulging white pillowcase. And here came a second man, this one from the loan area. He was also wearing a mask and dark clothes. Taller and more fit, he loped after the first man, a gun in his fist.
“Don’t anyone try to be a hero,” the second man shouted back over his shoulder. “You’ve seen what happens.” And then both men were through the front door and out of her line of vision.
The bank robbery was over, Allison realized. Over almost before it had begun. But the teller didn’t stop screaming. And the loan officer’s expression didn’t ease. Her lips were still pulled back from her teeth in an expression that mingled horror and disbelief. The old woman in front of the teller’s window was crossing herself. And everyone was still staring at that same spot.
Staring at someone, she realized. They weren’t staring at something but at someone.
Allison shouldered open the door. Then she stopped so abruptly she almost fell.
In front of Annie’s desk, Lindsay lay on her back. Her eyes were closed. One hand was limp on her chest, the other flung back to rest by her head, her fingers curled like a sleeping child’s.
No. Not Lindsay. No. There wasn’t much blood, just some bright splashes on the white blouse she had borrowed from Allison that morning. Maybe she had simply fainted.
Then Allison saw two dark holes. Right over her sister’s heart.
Lindsay’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze sharpened when she saw Allison’s face. “You!” she said urgently. Allison read her lips more than heard the word.
Falling to her knees, she pressed her hand over the wounds as she put her ear next to her sister’s lips. Lindsay’s hand rose and touched the side of Allison’s face. Her fingertips smelled of coppery blood.
Lindsay labored to speak. “He . . . thought . . . I . . . was . . . you.”
Allison pulled back and stared at her sister. Scarlet blood was frothing on her lips. Her skin was bone white. “What?”
Each word was followed by a panting gasp. “He said . . . say . . . hello . . . to . . . Cassidy . . . Allison.”
Allison stilled. “Did he say anything else, Lindsay?”
She watched her sister’s lips, but they didn’t move anymore. Her eyes were open, but fixed. A bubble of blood appeared between her lips and then burst. But that bubble meant she was still breathing, didn’t it? Didn’t it?
“Lindsay? Lindsay?” Allison patted her cheek, gently at first and then harder. She couldn’t even form a prayer, just a wordless cry for help. “Stay with me! Stay with me!”
And for a moment the spark of life returned to Lindsay’s eyes. Reaching up with one wavering finger, she touched Allison’s cross. Then her gaze shifted to something past Allison, something above her, and she smiled, her expression radiant.
Then her eyes went fixed and still. Her face slackened and settled back, empty of all expression.
Allison’s frantic fingers searched for the pulse in her sister’s neck. Searched and found nothing. Lindsay was dead.
A second later a wave of nausea had hit Allison so forcefully that she had barely made it back to the bathroom. She had vomited again and again, vomited as if the evil was actually inside her instead of loose in the world. Five minutes later the police had burst in. Five minutes too late for Lindsay.
As Leif and Nicole hurried her into the car, Allison tried to make herself believe that what had happened back in the bank was real. Believe that it was really supposed to have been her, lying with her eyes open, a sterile sheet over her face. Not playing dead but really dead. As dead as poor Lindsay was now.
Nicole talked about Marshall, about the loan officer, but Allison was mostly on autopilot, not really in her body.
After Nicole left, Leif touched Allison’s arm and said, “Keep your head down like you’re looking for something on the floor. I need to get you out of here without anyone noticing you.”
Allison did as she was told, her face pressed against one knee. As the car took a quick series of sharp turns, she fought off waves of dizziness. Her memory kept replaying what had happened. The horror on people’s faces. The fear that had almost paralyzed her. How her bones had turned to water when she finally saw what they were looking at. The way Lindsay had used her last bit of breath to warn her. The bright blood that had bubbled between her lips.
“Okay, you can sit up now,” Leif said after a few minutes. “I looped back to make sure that no one was following us.”
Allison straightened up. She hadn’t thought of that, that someone might be watching the bank, making sure the killing had gone off without a hitch. If Nicole’s plan didn’t work, then sooner or later they would come after her again. And she would be the one dying on cheap blue carpeting.
“Somebody put some planning into this,” Leif said. “Who knew you were going to be at the bank today?”
Allison barely heard him. An endless loop kept playing in her head. Lindsay touching her cross and then slumping back to the floor. The light going out of her eyes. The feel of the cool, slick skin of her throat, a throat that no longer held a pulse.
“Allison.” Leif shook her shoulder, summoning her back to reality. “Help me out. Who knew you were going to be at the bank today?”
She thought of Lindsay’s joyful pride. “Lindsay probably told a bunch of people. She was always talking about her coffee cart.”
“It doesn’t matter how many people she told, because none of them would have shown up looking for you,” Leif pointed out. “These guys obviously didn’t know your sister was going to be there. So who else knew?”
“Marshall knew, our mom knew . . . and . . .” Allison realized what was missing. “And people in my office. We all keep our calendars online. Dan likes us to. It makes meeting planning a lot easier.”
“Did your calendar say you would be at the bank with Lindsay?”
Allison concentrated. “No. Just something like Loan Officer, 2 p.m., Seventh Avenue Oregon Federal.”
“And who has access to your calendar? Just the secretaries?”
“No. Everyone in the office.”
Leif’s eyes widened. “How many people is that?”
Allison tried to focus. “Probably over a hundred.”
Leif swore under his breath. “I think that it’s possible someone at your job gave out the information.”
She straightened up. “Knowing I was going to be killed?”
“Probably not. It’s likely that someone just got pretexted. This guy could have called around, pretended to be someone he’s not, gone fishing until he caught someone who was a little too chatty. But it’s also possible that whoever gave up your schedule knew exactly what they were doing, and now they think you’re dead. That’s why we can’t give anyone a reason to think differently.” Leif said what she had been thinking. “Because if they know you’re still alive, they’ll come back. Only next time, they’ll make sure you really are dead.”
Allison was at risk, but she realized Leif was putting himself in a different kind of danger by helping her. “This isn’t safe for you either. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I think you should just drop me off at a bus sto
p. Give me the address, and I’ll figure out where Ophelia’s house is on my own.”
“What are you talking about, Allison? Of course I’m going to drive you there. You’ve just had the biggest shock in the world. You could barely walk to the car.”
Some of the strength came back into Allison as she focused, not on the dead, but on the living. “Nicole told me she already got a lecture from Bond about nosing around Cassidy’s death. You could both end your careers if Bond finds out you helped me switch identities with Lindsay.”
“It doesn’t matter.” A muscle tensed in Leif’s jaw. “You’re not safe if the truth gets out. And Nic genuinely thought that was you dead on the floor back there, at least at first. So it’s not even that much of a lie. More like a misunderstanding.”
Allison had a feeling Bond wouldn’t see it that way. “Isn’t someone going to ask questions about why you left the bank?”
“I’m not on the bank robbery squad, so it’s not like I’m expected to be there. With luck, things are still so chaotic that no one even noticed us leaving. But the killing of a bystander at a bank robbery is going to make this everyone’s business. And killing a federal prosecutor? They’re going to want all hands on deck.”
Allison remembered the reading of Ecclesiastes at Cassidy’s funeral. There was a time for weeping and a time for war. She pulled her shoulders back and gritted her teeth. No more weeping. Not right now. Right now, it was war. She gritted her teeth.
“This guy just killed my baby sister. He killed her just when she was turning her life around. I’m not going to rest until I get him. And when I do, I’m going to make sure he goes to jail and stays there for the rest of his life.”
“That’s what we all want,” Leif said. “Just before we came to the bank, Nic told me about the prints on the knife, about how someone framed Rick. Did you see the guy who shot your sister? Was it a bald white guy?”
Allison tried to remember what she had seen when she had only been looking for Lindsay. “He was tall and thin, that’s all I know. He was dressed all in black and wearing gloves and a ski mask, with no skin showing. He could have been a bald white guy or a black guy with dreads for all I know.”
“Dark clothes and a ski mask are going to stand out on a 102-degree day,” Leif said. “Let’s hope they got rid of some of that near the bank and we can get touch DNA.”
“Whoever shot Lindsay thinking it was me has to be the same guy who killed Cassidy. He tried to make it look like a coincidence, but when he bragged to her, he gave away the truth.” Allison was sickened, thinking of how he had boasted to one dying woman about killing another. “And the main thing Cassidy and I have in common are our jobs. Crime.”
“The Triple Threat,” Leif said.
“Right. Cassidy didn’t cover every story that we did, but Nicole and I work together on nearly everything. I think that’s why this guy went to the trouble to frame Rick, and why he staged a robbery this afternoon. Because he wants to get all of us. And that means he’s hoping to be able to get close to Nicole without her knowing she’s in danger.”
It hit Allison full force, the huge flaw in Leif and Nicole’s hastily cobbled-together plan.
“And now that he thinks both Cassidy and I are dead,” Allison said, “he’ll go after Nicole.”
CHAPTER 27
Is Marshall in the office today?” Nic asked the girl with two slender silver rings in her right nostril. With the help of her badge and some fast talking, Nic had persuaded a young patrol office who had just arrived at the scene of the bank robbery to take her to the ad agency where Marshall worked. During the short drive she had thought about what needed to happen next for the fiction she and Leif had created to hold together. The only way Allison could stay alive would be if everyone continued to think she was dead.
The receptionist was sitting behind a curved waist-high stainless steel counter inset with glowing translucent inserts shaped vaguely like fish. To Nic, who spent most of her time at bureaucracies with government-issued furniture made of laminate over particleboard, the advertising agency’s reception desk seemed like something out of a dream.
Suddenly she was so tired. All she wanted to do was curl up on the polished cement floor, pillow her head on her arm, and go to sleep. And wake up in a world where Cassidy and Lindsay were still alive, and no one had to worry about being a target.
“Yes, Mr. Pierce is working today.” Marshall was the agency’s art director. The girl was already reaching for the phone. “Shall I tell him he has a visitor?”
“Tell him Nicole Hedges is here.”
“Okay.” After a brief conversation the girl put down the phone and pointed to an office in the corner.
Marshall was already opening the door by the time Nic got to it. Behind him, a single pristine cobalt blue and acid green athletic shoe sat in the middle of his black polished desk.
“Nicole?” Marshall’s thick, dark eyebrows were raised. “What’s wrong? Why are you here? Is Allison all right?” His blue eyes pleaded with her as the color drained from his face.
She gestured at him to step back into his office, then followed him inside and closed the door. Leaning against it, Nic said quickly, “This isn’t about Allison. She’s okay. It’s about Lindsay.”
“What?” His forehead wrinkled. “Lindsay?”
“Listen to me carefully, Marshall. Lindsay and Allison were at a bank today when it was robbed. Allison was in the bathroom when the robbers came in. In the course of the robbery, Lindsay was shot.” She paused, met his confused eyes. “I’m afraid that the wound was fatal. Lindsay is dead, Marshall.”
He moved over to his desk and sat down heavily. “Oh no. No. Poor Lindsay. That’s terrible.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Then his eyes flashed up to hers. “But what about Allison?”
“Here’s the thing, Marshall. Before Lindsay died, she told Allison that the man who shot her thought she was Allison. Remember how I said Allison was in the bathroom when the robbery started? Well, this guy called Lindsay by Allison’s name after he shot her. And he told her to say hello to Cassidy. Then he shot her in the chest.”
Marshall touched his own chest. “Wait. What? I’m not sure I’m following you. Someone killed Lindsay but thought it was Allison? Are you sure? Are you sure it’s Lindsay that’s dead?” His eyes were the color of gas flames. “How do you know it isn’t Allison?”
“Because I saw them both myself. I saw Lindsay dead and I saw Allison alive. But when I first saw Lindsay’s body, before I saw Allison, I made the same mistake the killer must have.” Even remembering the horror of that moment nearly overwhelmed her. “Because for some reason, today Allison and Lindsay looked like twins.”
Marshall leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. “They had an appointment with a loan officer about Lindsay’s coffee cart. Lindsay wanted to make a good impression, so Allison gave her one of her old court outfits to wear to the meeting. She even fixed Lindsay’s hair.” Marshall raised his head, his hands balling into fists. “But I still don’t understand. Why would anyone want to kill Allison?”
“I don’t understand it either, Marshall. All I know is that it means that the murders of Lindsay and Cassidy must be connected. And that neither of them is what it seems to be. Earlier today we found evidence that someone framed Rick for Cassidy’s murder. And whoever was in that bank just now wanted to make it look like a robbery gone bad, so he could cover up killing Allison. I think the same man is responsible for both murders.”
“But what happens when he finds out he killed the wrong person?” Marshall asked.
“Then he’ll come after her again. Which is why we’re going to make sure he doesn’t find out. We’re going to let whoever shot poor Lindsay think that he accomplished exactly what he set out to do. I identified Lindsay’s body as Allison’s and then sneaked her out of the bank. Right now, Leif is taking her . . .” Nic hesitated. It wasn’t inconceivable that if the killer found out Allison wasn’t dead, he would hunt down Marsha
ll and force him to say where his wife was. “He’s taking her someplace safe.”
Marshall scraped a hand through his hair, leaving furrows. “I don’t understand why you did any of this. Why did Allison leave the bank? Why did you say Lindsay was Allison? Why didn’t you just tell the authorities what really happened?”
“Because someone let these killers know that Allison would be at the bank today.” Nic had puzzled it out on the way over. “I think it must have been someone in the federal prosecutor’s office. Until we have time to figure out what’s going on, the fewer people who know she’s alive, the better. Even if we just told a few of the higher-ups, I don’t think they could keep a lid on it. And I don’t think they would agree to telling the world that Allison is dead.” Nic took a deep, shuddering breath. “Look, Marshall. When I realized it wasn’t Allison but Lindsay lying on the floor, I knew I had a choice. To tell the truth or to let the lie stand. Maybe I made the wrong choice, but I think it’s safer for Allison, at least for right now, if she stays dead.”
“Do you really think you can pull this off?”
“I have no idea,” she said honestly. “But I’ll do anything to keep Allison safe, and I know you will too. Pretty soon, homicide is going to show up here and give you the news. They’re going to say that Allison is dead. And you’ll need to convince them that you believe that your wife was murdered and that you’re falling apart.”
There was something like a challenge in Marshall’s eyes. “So I’m supposed to act as if I really believe it’s true?”
“With the homicide detective, yes. And then you need to get out of town as soon as possible. Tell your office that you need some time alone. They’ll understand. Go home, pack a bag, and then go hole up someplace quiet at the beach or the mountains and don’t answer your cell phone.”