What Lies Behind

by J. T. Ellison

  She glanced out the window. The sun had finally broken out; there was a fine mist of condensation on the glass. It was time to start crunching data, see what they could come up with. Someone was following a rather clear path. Robin just needed to find out what path that was.

  She turned to leave and walked into the barrel of a gun.

  Chapter 35

  Falls Church, Virginia

  BEAUTY WAS WATCHING television when he heard the car. There had been little traffic since he moved in, one of the reasons he’d chosen this place. He went on alert, strode to the window. It was a cop. He wasn’t in uniform—a detective, then—but there was no mistaking the demeanor. Cocky, arrogant, owned the world. He was a big meaty one, too, with arms the size of tree trunks and thick legs straining against his dark pants.

  The cop took off his sunglasses and glanced toward the house. His hair was cut short and tight across his skull, his mouth was cruel. He held a red folder in his hands. Another patrol car slid up behind the unmarked, and two more cops got out. As they conferred among themselves, he felt the panic begin to rise.

  Oh, God. They’d found him, already. He thought he’d have more time. He thought so many things.

  The gun was in the cookie cabinet above the refrigerator. It was a nothing piece, one he’d picked up in Little Rock, a pearl-handled .22. It would do the job, though, if he positioned it in the right place. Just to the inside corner of his right eye, angled in twenty-five degrees. That should do it. He wasn’t going to go back to jail yet. Not until he was damn good and ready, too old to lift a knife or get it up without pills.

  He was breathing heavily; the very idea of this being it had frozen him in place. He had a plan. He wanted last meals and priests and television cameras and families surrounding him at the end. But it was too soon; he wasn’t finished. He had so much more to do.

  A deep breath shook him, and rational thought returned.

  Would they send a lone detective to arrest him? One that would let himself be seen? No. If they had any idea, they’d have sent their SWAT team. Maybe this wasn’t what he thought. Maybe they wanted something else.

  There was a knock at the door. He propelled himself into motion, jumped across the room, grabbed the gun from its hiding place, stuck it in the waistband of his jeans, in the small of his back, where he could feel the metal growing hot and slick against his skin.

  The knocking sounded again.

  Breathe, cher. Breathe.

  He turned up the burner under the potpourri on the stove, making sure the scent of cinnamon and apples was strong, then went to the door and opened it.

  “Yes?”

  The cop looked surprised. Most people did upon meeting him. The blessing and the curse that gave him his true name. He stifled a giggle. He did so love to see first reactions.

  The cop’s voice was deep, mellifluous. He’d have done well with voice-over work. “Good afternoon. I’m looking for Mr. Toliver Pryce.”

  “Yes, that’s me. Is there a problem, Officer?”

  The cop handed him a card. “I’m Detective Hart, with Metro D.C. homicide. You own a gray Honda Accord, is that correct?”

  “Yes. But as far as I know, it hasn’t killed anyone.” Clever boy. Be amusing, disarming. Smile that perfect smile.

  The cop had dropped eye contact now, was looking past Beauty’s body, trying to see inside. “Ha-ha. That’s pretty funny. Can I come in, Mr. Pryce?”

  Beauty simply did not know what to do. If they wanted to search the house, he was screwed. The cop wasn’t putting off any vibes, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know. No, he didn’t. Beauty was safe. Of course he was. So careful, always so very careful.

  He wanted to dance a little jig, but stopped himself. He must act accordingly.

  “Goodness, forgive me. Of course. Please, come in.” He opened the door farther, gestured for the cop to come in. “Can I get you a drink?” And pour Drano in it so you’ll turn into a choking mass of blue on my living room floor?

  Now, now. No need to get aggressive, cher.

  “Thank you,” Hart said.

  He got the cop situated on the couch, handed him a glass of water. “So, how can I help you, Detective? My car was being naughty, I take it?”

  “You were in Georgetown yesterday.” It wasn’t a question.

  Go careful. Maybe they do know something. “Mmm-hmm?”

  “Can I ask what you were doing?”

  “In Georgetown? Nothing terribly exciting, I’m afraid. I was having dinner. A little place called the Tombs. Have you been there? I’ve always loved the food, the atmosphere—” he leaned forward, conspiratorially, winked “—the coeds.”

  Detective Hart didn’t look surprised. “Girl watching? Aren’t the college girls too young for you?”

  “Not at all. What’s the rule—half your age plus seven? They’re well within the bounds. Well, the freshmen might be a little young. Now, tell me. What is this all about?”

  “Did you go straight home after dinner, Mr. Pryce, or did you go elsewhere?”

  Beauty gave him a frank look.

  “Not...exactly. I met...a friend.” He made an unmistakably lewd gesture with his hands, and the cop caught on.

  “I see. I’m not here to make trouble for you, Mr. Pryce. What you did or didn’t do was your own affair, though I’d advise you to be careful. We do run stings, and it can be very embarrassing for those men caught with the wrong sort of girl.”

  “I understand. Thank you for letting me know. I’d hate to get anyone in trouble.”

  “Noted. You drove past a crime scene at approximately twelve-thirty this morning. We were hoping you might have seen something.”

  “I did? How gruesome. Where was it?”

  “On O Street. Almost to Wisconsin. If you were coming from the Tombs, heading out here to Falls Church, I’d expect you to go a different route.”

  “And yet, I’ve just made it clear I wasn’t headed home after dinner. On the contrary, I drove down to the Mall, parked and took a moonlight stroll. I certainly don’t recall seeing anything out of the ordinary on the drive. Can you be more specific—what might I have seen?”

  Detective Hart smiled. He had cold eyes, Beauty thought, cold and shrewd. They belied his demeanor, and his physique.

  “Can’t tell you that, sir. I don’t want to taint your testimony, should it come to a trial. Just take a moment, think about what you saw when you left the restaurant. People on the street, cars, sounds. Anything might help.”

  Beauty closed his eyes, envisioning the drive. He hadn’t exactly been coming from the Tombs. Rather, he had, but he’d circled the block four times, watching until the light went off in the little wren’s house.

  His eyes popped open. “How did you know I was there?”

  The cop smiled. “Cameras. All over the streets down there. Gotta keep the coeds safe.”

  So they knew he’d been around the block a few times, damn them. Lying wasn’t an option.

  “I’m sorry, Detective. I can’t remember anything out of place. It was dark, I’d had a drink. I was...looking to hang out with someone. I didn’t see anything of interest, if you will, in Georgetown. Which is why I headed farther into the city, in hopes of finding something a bit more to my liking.”

  “What about the ordinary? It was late, but were there people about? Any neighbors walking their dogs, any people at all?”

  Give him something and get him the hell out of here.

  He’d seen quite a bit that night, watching, but he didn’t think the cop would appreciate those details. He turned inward, mentally replayed his loops around the neighborhood. It truly had been quiet, with few people around. “I saw a woman jogging, and two young girls—they looked like they were still in high school—standing on the corner of N and Wisconsin. Othe
r than that, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Which direction was the jogger going?”

  “Toward M Street. She had reflective clothing on, she was easy to see. I didn’t notice a face.”

  He gave his most charming smile and flexed the business card in his hand. He’d been gripping it so tightly his knuckle popped. “If I think of anything else that seemed out of place, I will absolutely give you a call.”

  Detective Hart nodded and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Pryce. I appreciate you being honest with me about what you were doing. It helps explain why you drove past the crime scene so many times that night.”

  Beauty gave him a thin smile. “Yes, well. World’s oldest profession.”

  “Indeed.” Hart didn’t offer to shake hands, and Beauty was glad; his own was as wet as if he’d poured the glass of water over it. “Well, anything that comes to you, sir, please let me know. I’ll see myself out.”

  Beauty watched him go, latched the door behind him. Moved quickly to the window, waited for the damn man to drive away and his minions to follow. Ran cold fingers along the gun at his back. So glad. So glad he hadn’t overreacted.

  But now he had to move, and move fast. The cop hadn’t believed him. And he couldn’t run the risk of anyone finding out what he was really doing.

  It was time to move on.

  The bedroom was small, the closet claustrophobic. He opened the door to see the real Toliver Pryce—a decent-looking man under normal circumstances, not quite as handsome as Beauty, but close enough to trick the cop—staring at him, his eyes wide, pleading, the gag in his mouth cutting into the soft flesh in the corners, his teeth comically bared.

  “What shall we do with you, my friend?” Beauty murmured.

  Pryce moaned against the gag, thrashed a bit. It didn’t last long. He was tiring. He’d been in the closet for nearly two days now with no food or water. Beauty could just leave him there and he’d probably pass in another day or two, but he didn’t think he could take the chance.

  “No, I’m sorry. I can’t let you go. I’m afraid it’s time for you to meet your Maker.” He flourished the gun, and pulled a knife out of a sheath that was secreted inside his pants. “Which shall it be? A bullet or the blade?”

  Pryce became hysterical.

  In the end, the blade was necessary. Beauty was careful not to splash blood on himself. When it was done, he stripped off his clothes and gloves while Pryce bled to death on his closet floor.

  The adrenaline, the rush, the pure, unadulterated joy he derived from the fear on Pryce’s face, would last him for weeks. He hoped. Freshly dressed, packed and ready to move on, Beauty picked up the phone with shaking hands. It took two tries to dial the number.

  A thin voice answered. “US Marshal’s office. How may I direct your call?”

  “Extension 467 please.”

  A click, then a hearty, “Hello, Sauger here.”

  Beauty breathed a sigh of relief; he’d caught him in the office. Good. They could make things happen immediately. They’d done it before.

  “Edward? Long time no talk.”

  “You son of a bitch. Where the fuck are you?”

  “Now, now. There’s no reason to resort to vulgarities. I had some business to attend to. Unfortunately, in the course of said business, I happened to come across the radar of a police detective in Washington, D.C.”

  “No reason? You dropped off the radar four months ago, you perverted little shit. After all I did to get you relocated to Arizona, fulfill all your bizarre requests, and you go AWOL on me? Damn right I’m going to call you names. You nearly cost me my job.”

  “Well, I am sorry, Edward dear. It was unavoidable.”

  “My ass it was. And now you’re in trouble and you’re asking me to get you back in the program?”

  “I knew you’d be happy to hear from me,” Beauty purred.

  There was a heavy sigh from the other side of the call. “This is the last time. You understand? You disappear on me again and I’ll let them have you.”

  Chapter 36

  Georgetown

  XANDER WOKE JAMES Denon with a nudge of his boot to the man’s leg. He’d been sleeping like the dead on the couch, an arm thrown over his face to block out the light. Only an innocent man could sleep in the midst of such chaos. Or a guilty one, confident he wasn’t going to be caught.

  Denon sat up and yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly five. You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours, and the natives are getting restless.” He pointed at Denon’s people, all sitting around the dining room table with laptops and cell phones out, so absorbed in their work they didn’t notice the boss was awake.

  “Didn’t sleep last night.” He spied the sandwich on the plate, reached for it. “Thanks. I’m starving.”

  “Tell me about Juliet Bouchard.”

  Denon’s hand paused, the sandwich halfway to his mouth. He set it gently back onto the plate.

  “Where did you get that name?”

  Xander didn’t budge. His face was hard, a look that would make most men shake in their boots. His First Sergeant face.

  Denon was susceptible. He looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “She didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “How can you be so sure? She came to the States with you. She was on the plane’s inbound manifest out of London. I have video of her getting off the jet at Teterboro. And then she just ups and disappears, and you nearly get shot? Too much of a coincidence for me.”

  Denon shook his head vehemently. Heedles noticed her boss was awake, started to rise from the table. Denon held up a hand, and she subsided back into the chair, looking worried. He spoke quietly, ducking his head. “Juliet’s a friend. I gave her a ride. That’s all.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We need to find her.” Xander nodded toward Denon’s phone. “Why don’t we give her a call, see where she is.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s got nothing to do with this. I know her. You have to believe me.” He was already speed-dialing a number.

  He put the phone to his ear. Xander could hear the ringing, then voice mail pick up. “Call me,” Denon said, then disconnected with a frown.

  “That’s odd. She usually answers whenever I call.”

  Xander changed tactics. “How well do you know this woman? What’s her role in your organization?”

  “I know her quite well, and she doesn’t work for me.” He crossed his arms and sat back against the white leather, clearly finished talking about the woman. But Xander wasn’t deterred.

  “Mr. Denon, let me tell you what I’ve found out about Juliet Bouchard. She’s a French national. She came to the United States on your plane. She currently works for a company called BARE in Paris. She’s got a degree in microbiology and worked at the Sorbonne and the Pasteur Institute.”

  “Yes?”

  “And she died in 1942. So you can see why this raises my suspicions.”

  Denon squinted at him, tapped his fingers against his jaw.

  “That’s not possible. Juliet—”

  “Sir. I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me everything that’s going on. Chalk’s in there ready to blow this woman up. If she’s a friendly, you’re going to have to prove it, and fast.”

  He put up his hands. “Don’t. Don’t. She is a friendly. We’ve been dating, okay? She’s my girlfriend.”

  Xander glanced at Denon’s thick gold wedding ring. “Your mistress, you mean. I take it Mrs. Denon doesn’t know about it?”

  “Mrs. Denon wouldn’t care a whit, so long as her accounts are paid at the end of the month. We’ve had an understanding for a very long time. She does her thing, I do mine. We’re discreet about it, very discreet. This is
the sort of thing that brings down CEOs.”

  Xander crossed his arms on his chest. “Why don’t you just get divorced?”

  “Because I don’t particularly want to be married to anyone else. This arrangement is beneficial to us both. My wife and I have been great friends for a very long time. We do things together. Events, parties, holidays. We have children, though they’re grown now. We just don’t have sex anymore. At least, not with each other. Divorce isn’t necessary.”

  “And Juliet? The latest in a string of casual encounters, or someone special?”

  “Very special. We’ve been exclusive for months now. She likes the arrangement, as well. It suits her needs. She’s very busy, and doesn’t have time to cater to a man any more than I do another wife.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  Denon looked to his team, typing away, industriously keeping his company running through the air. He met Xander’s eyes. “Come now, my boy. Is this really necessary? This is my private life we’re talking about.”

  Xander’s smile was grim. “It is absolutely necessary. You’ve managed to keep something very personal under the radar, Mr. Denon. It makes me wonder what other secrets you’re keeping.”

  “There are no other secrets. This is my great shame.” He laughed, not pleasantly. “My wife’s family is exceptionally rich. I need the funds to keep things running. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Where did you meet Bouchard?”

  Denon sighed heavily. “In Paris, June, last year. I was speaking at a conference, she was an attendee. She approached me after my speech, offered to buy me a drink. One thing led to another. I got a leg over, and she seemed not to mind too terribly much. We met up regularly after that.”

  “She’s much younger.”

  The mischievous schoolboy was back. “Aren’t they always?”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She had some sort of conference to attend in New York. I gave her a ride across the pond. She’s finding her own way home.”

  “Does your staff know?”

  “Only my secretary. And she’s been with me longer than my wife.”