Fugitive: A Novel

by Phillip Margolin

  “How did the gun get to the Westmont?”

  “Delmar Epps brought it. He loved toting that gun around, pretending he was Wyatt Earp. I remember him twirling it on his finger in the car, because the limo hit a bump and he dropped it. I almost had a heart attack. The damn thing was pointing at me when it bounced off the floor. I thought it would go off. I yelled at Delmar to put the damn thing away and I have a clear picture of him putting it on the seat next to him while we were driving.”

  “Did he have the gun when he left the car?”

  Keys’s brow furrowed. “Delmar usually had the gun stuck in the waistband of his pants, but I don’t know if he had it on him when he got out of the limo. Some guy Charlie knew opened the door to the limo instead of the chauffeur and Delmar got in his face. I was concentrating on that while I got out of the car. Then I moved back as fast as I could because I didn’t want to be in the way if a fight started.”

  “Do you know where Epps is now?” Kate asked.

  “Actually, I do. He’s dead, killed in a car accident. They had a story in the newspaper about it because of his involvement with Charlie.”

  A knock on the door interrupted Kate as she was about to ask her next question.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss Jaffe,” the receptionist said, “but there’s an FBI agent in the waiting room who’d like to speak to you.”

  Amanda frowned. She had a few cases going in federal court but she couldn’t think of any reason for an agent to be contacting her.

  “You two go on,” she said before leaving the room.

  A stocky, broad-shouldered man with wavy black hair, whom Amanda didn’t recognize, was standing in the reception area. He was wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit, a crisp white shirt, and a tasteful dark blue tie with narrow red and yellow stripes.

  “I’m Amanda Jaffe,” she said as she offered him her hand.

  “Agent Daniel Cordova from the FBI office in Seattle,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m pleased to meet you. They say good things about you in the Portland office.”

  “Uh-oh. That means I’m probably not doing my job very well,” Amanda answered with her own smile.

  “From what I hear, you do it too well.”

  “What can I do for you, Agent Cordova?”

  “Is there someplace private we can talk?”

  Kate was still interviewing Mickey Keys, and the Pope file still covered the table in the conference room. Frank was in court, so Amanda led the FBI agent to her father’s office.

  “You’re representing Charles Marsh on a state murder charge,” Cordova said when they were seated.

  “Yes,” Amanda answered cautiously.

  “In the course of your representation, have you come across the name Gary Hass?”

  “He was a criminal associate of Werner Rollins, one of the witnesses against Sally Pope, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s right. And Mr. Hass is still a criminal, someone we are very anxious to arrest. A few days ago, a Russian drug dealer named Ivan Mikhailov was tortured to death in Seattle. Mikhailov was trying to take over territory serviced by Julio Dominguez, another dealer with ties to a South American cartel. An informant told us that Hass murdered Mikhailov on orders from Dominguez.”

  “What does this have to do with Charlie?”

  “Hopefully, nothing. But we searched Hass’s hotel room. He’d collected several articles about Mr. Marsh and his return to Oregon to stand trial. Do you know if Hass and Mr. Marsh had a falling-out before Marsh fled the country?”

  “I can’t reveal attorney-client confidences, but why do you want to know?”

  “Hass is a peculiar person. He’s very smart, very violent, and he’s known to harbor grudges for years. It’s possible that he’s in Oregon seeking to even an old score.”

  “Have you heard that a sniper tried to kill Charlie after his bail hearing?” Amanda asked.

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “You think Hass was the sniper?”

  “We have no evidence to support that but I’d like to talk to your client to see if he knows anything that will help us catch Hass. If Hass is trying to kill your client he’ll benefit by cooperating.”

  “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll call Charlie.”

  Amanda closed the door and started down the hall to the conference room when her cell phone rang.

  “Have you spoken with your client, Miss Jaffe?” Nathan Tuazama asked. Amanda’s pulse began to race. She hated to admit it, but the Batangan frightened her.

  “He’s thinking about your request.”

  “I will be calling you this afternoon. If you don’t have a positive response for me I will go to plan B.”

  Tuazama disconnected. Amanda swore and hurried into the conference room. She dialed Charlie’s hotel room from the phone on the credenza. Marsh picked up on the second ring.

  “I called you for two reasons, Charlie. Both serious. There’s an FBI agent named Cordova in the office. He wants to talk to you about Gary Hass.”

  Amanda heard an intake of breath on the line. “Charlie?”

  “What about Gary?”

  “They think he was in Seattle recently. He’s a suspect in a murder up there. When they searched his hotel room the FBI found articles about you. Would there be a reason he would try to kill you?”

  “The FBI thinks he’s the sniper?”

  “I don’t think they have anything concrete, but Cordova wants to talk to you about Gary to see if there’s a reason he might be in Oregon looking for you. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Oh, man. This is all I need, Tuazama and Hass after me.”

  “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Nathan Tuazama just called. He wants an answer by this afternoon.”

  “If I talk to the FBI, will they protect me?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t think they can do anything while you’re facing a murder charge unless you have some amazing evidence about some huge case the feds need help with. I get the impression Cordova just wants to find out if there’s a reason Hass might be in Oregon. Do you want to talk to him? I’ll make sure he doesn’t ask you anything that will hurt your case. If the FBI arrests Hass, that’s one less thing you have to worry about.”

  “Okay, bring him over. It’ll give me something to do.”

  “I’ll be right there. By the way, the problem with Mickey Keys is settled. He signed a waiver to any rights he may have had as your agent.”

  “How much did it cost me?”

  “Seventy-five.”

  “Damn, I’m bleeding money.”

  “Think of it as one less problem you have.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Do you know what you want me to tell Tuazama?”

  “No, not yet. I still want to think about what I’m going to do and this stuff about Gary isn’t making that any easier.”

  “MR. MARSH, DO you know why Gary Hass would have newspaper articles about you in his hotel room?” Agent Cordova asked as soon as the introductions were completed.

  “Gary and me go way back and he was there when the congressman was killed, so it’s natural he’d be interested in reading about me and the case.”

  “Other than curiosity, why would he be interested in you? Does he have a reason to want to hurt you?”

  Charlie thought about that. “He might. The day Pope died, Gary came to one of my book signings and threatened me.”

  “About what?” Cordova asked.

  Charlie suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  “Don’t answer that if you were talking about something criminal,” Amanda cautioned.

  “Miss Jaffe and Mr. Marsh, I’m not taking notes on this and I promise you I will not use anything Mr. Marsh tells me to get him in trouble. The Bureau wants Hass badly. This is strictly background.”

  Charlie looked at Amanda. She nodded.

  “Gary said there were incidents in the book from his life and he wanted to get paid.”

  �
�What kind of incidents?” Cordova asked.

  “There was a chapter about a bank robbery. That’s the one I remember.”

  “What about a bank robbery?”

  “I wrote about one where I was robbing a bank and everything got messed up and some people were killed. He said I wasn’t there and he wanted to get paid because he said I was taking credit for something he did.”

  “What did you do when he asked for the money?” Cordova asked.

  “I told him that I wasn’t going to give him any.”

  “How did he react to that?”

  “Gary was pissed off. He doesn’t deal well with rejection. He said he was going to give me time to think and we’d discuss the money later at the country club. He showed up but we never got the chance to talk because of the murder.”

  “Did you see him after that?”

  “No. I was in Africa until a few days ago. I never even thought about Gary.”

  “Do you think Hass would hold a grudge all these years?” Cordova asked.

  “Gary’s brain doesn’t work like a normal person’s brain,” Charlie explained to the agent. “He doesn’t believe in forgive and forget. So he might.”

  “Would he be angry enough to try and shoot you?”

  “You mean the sniper?” Charlie shook his head. “I can’t see him doing that. Gary likes to hear his victims scream. Also, I never heard of him being a great shot. A knife is more his style. Or a handgun. He’d use one of those but he’d be close when he used it.”

  “WHAT DO YOU really think about the possibility of Hass being the sniper?” Amanda asked when Cordova was gone.

  “I meant what I said. I just don’t see it. Gary is a psycho. He wants to see suffering up close. A long-range shot doesn’t sound right.”

  “What about Tuazama?”

  “Oh, he’d do it all right. He doesn’t kill for pleasure. I don’t think he knows what pleasure is. He’s a technician. If a person needs to be dead, Nathan kills them. It’s like fixing a flat tire for him.”

  “If he’s that dangerous, what do I tell him about the diamonds?”

  “I can’t do it. It would dishonor Bernadette’s memory.”

  “If that’s your decision, I think we should use some of the money I have in trust to hire a bodyguard.”

  “That’s not going to help. If Tuazama wants me dead, nothing’s going to stop him. That’s another reason why I can’t give him the diamonds. Once he has them, he won’t have any reason to let me live. Those stones are the only thing keeping me alive.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Charlie was going stir crazy but he didn’t dare leave his hotel room with Tuazama on the loose. He called room service for dinner, watched an in-room movie, then tried to get to sleep. The moment he closed his eyes, he thought about Tuazama, and his pulse rate accelerated. He finally fell asleep from exhaustion at 1:30, after downing several small bottles of booze he found in the minibar. At 2:17, the jarring ring of the bedside phone cut into Charlie’s brain like a razor.

  “Who the fuck is this?” he asked after fumbling in the dark for the receiver.

  “Charlie?” a woman asked. It was a voice he would never forget. Charlie sat up and turned on the lamp on his end table.

  “Sally? What’s going on? It’s two in the morning.”

  “I have to see you.”

  “When?” Charlie asked, still groggy from the shock of being jarred out of a deep sleep.

  “Now, tonight.”

  Charlie thought Sally sounded desperate but he had no intention of leaving the safety of his hotel room in the dead of night.

  “Didn’t you hear me? It’s two in the morning. I was sound asleep.”

  “It has to be now.”

  Sally’s voice trembled and that made Charlie pause. The Sally he knew was never out of control.

  “What’s so important that it can’t wait a few hours?”

  “It’s about your case. There’s something I have to show you. It can’t wait until morning.”

  “I don’t even know where you live. I don’t have a car.”

  “Get a taxi. I’ll drive you back.”

  Sally gave him directions to her house.

  “That’s in the middle of nowhere,” Charlie said. “I’m not going to hell and gone tonight. Besides, if this is about my case, I want my lawyer along.”

  “No! This can’t wait until morning. It has to be now,” she repeated. “And you have to come alone. I know something that will help you get your case dismissed.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I can’t tell you over the phone. I have to show you. Please.”

  Charlie was wide awake and wise enough to know that there was no way he would be able to get back to sleep. If he didn’t go, he’d be up all night imagining what Sally wanted to show him.

  “All right, I’m coming, but this better be good.”

  “Thank you, Charlie. Thank you.”

  Sally hung up and Charlie sat on the edge of the bed reviewing what had just happened. She’d said she could show him something that would get his case dismissed. It sounded too good to be true. What could she possibly know now that she didn’t know twelve years ago?

  Sally hadn’t sounded happy or confident. She’d sounded desperate and panicky, emotions he would never have associated with her. What was she afraid of and why couldn’t she wait until morning to show her evidence to him? It was very confusing, but he was too tired to work out the problem and too revved up to fall asleep. He called the front desk, asked them to get a taxi for him, and got dressed.

  THE CABBIE WAS a grizzled, talkative Ukrainian who spent the early part of the ride giving Charlie his unsolicited opinion of the current state of soccer in the United States. Much to Charlie’s relief, he shut up after they left the highway and the signs of civilization faded away. It was spooky driving through the sparsely populated farm country in the dark.

  Even with Sally’s directions the driver almost missed the narrow entrance to her estate. The woods closed around them as soon as they passed through the break in the stonework, giving Charlie the unsettling, claustrophobic feeling that he was inside a coffin of leaves. His anxiety didn’t ease when they drove out of the forest. In daylight, the colorful flower beds and bright green lawn made Sally’s antebellum mansion look cheerful. At night, with only the pale rays of a half moon to illuminate it, the house resembled a skull.

  When they drove up to the front of the house, Charlie looked for some sign of life and finally spotted dim yellow light seeping through the curtains in a downstairs room.

  “Stop here,” Charlie said when the cab reached the front door.

  “You want me to wait?” the driver asked.

  Charlie thought about that. Sally had said she would drive him back to town, and he had a cell phone.

  “No, you can go.”

  Charlie got out and the cab drove off. There was a soft breeze, a faint smell of freshly mown grass, night sounds, and nothing else. He was spooked, so he turned in a slow circle to make sure no one was behind him. He had almost completed his turn when he thought he saw movement where the woods ended and the lawn began. He peered into the darkness. The space between the low branches of a tree seemed to disappear and reappear. He strained to find the cause but heard and saw nothing. He blamed the phantom on his imagination and climbed the porch steps.

  No one had left a light on, so it took Charlie a moment to find the doorbell. The chimes echoed hollowly in the downstairs hall. As Charlie waited for Sally, there was a faint sound behind him. He turned toward the yard but still saw nothing. When he turned back, his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark and he noticed that the front door was not flush with the frame. He pushed and it opened. Charlie hesitated before stepping inside. There was a glow at the end of a long hall. Charlie inched toward the light and called Sally’s name. He was waiting for an answer when he saw the dog. It lay on its side partially hidden by a low cedar chest that stood against the staircase to the second floor
. Charlie assumed the collie was sleeping. Then it dawned on him that, sleeping or not, the dog would have come awake when he called to Sally.

  Charlie walked to the chest and peered over it. The collie’s head was in a shadow and it took him a moment to see that it was resting in a puddle of blood. He jumped back, almost tripping over his own feet. If Charlie’s DNA contained a gene for common sense, he would have fled. Instead, he picked up a brass candlestick from the top of the chest and started down the hall toward the light. His feet made no sound on the carpet and he could hear his heart beating rapidly. Charlie’s heightened senses focused on the open doorway at the end of the hall. As he inched closer, he could see a rug, the end of a couch, and part of a table.

  Charlie pressed his back to the wall and slid sideways toward the room, brandishing the candlestick like a club. When he reached the doorway, Charlie paused and took a deep breath. Then he spun through the door, his arm raised above his head.

  He was in a large living room and the light he’d seen from the end of the hall came from a table lamp that stood next to a phone. Next to the end table was a straight-backed, wooden chair. Sally Pope was secured to it by duct tape. Her head had fallen forward. She was wearing a white nightgown that showed the blood that drenched the front of it to maximum effect.

  Charlie also took in the body of a dark-haired woman sprawled on the floor in front of a long couch. He couldn’t tell if she was dead or unconscious. He was about to go to her when a muffled sound brought him around. A wild-eyed teenage boy was lying on the floor near the fireplace, tied tight by the same gray duct tape that bound Sally to her chair. He was trying to tell Charlie something but his words were muffled by the tape that sealed his mouth.

  Charlie started toward the boy, who jerked his head violently toward the drapes hanging on either side of French doors that opened onto the patio. The drapes moved and a man appeared. He was dressed in black and his face was hidden behind a ski mask.