Mortal Faults

by Michael Prescott

“So he gives hope to all the other mediocrities in politics?”

  “That’s a cheap shot, Sinclair. I’m starting to lose my respect for you.”

  “You had never mine to begin with.”

  “What is it you wanted to say?”

  Abby looked up from her lunch and focused her stare on Stenzel. “Privacy, please?”

  He started to protest, but Reynolds cut him off. “Wait outside, Kip. Tell the folks I’ll rejoin them in a minute.”

  Stenzel opened the door, then turned back. “She’s not wearing a wire. I had security check her twice.” So that was the reason for the do-over.

  Reynolds nodded, and Stenzel was gone, the door closing after him. With his campaign manager out of the way, Reynolds seemed more relaxed. He rose and moved to a liquor cabinet. “Drink?” he asked, sounding almost cordial.

  “If you can make a New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, I won’t turn it down.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “My own invention. Splash of rum, splash of gin, splash of vodka, splash of tequila, splash of rye, and a soupcon of carrot juice.”

  “Sounds god-awful.”

  “It really is.”

  Reynolds poured himself a Scotch, fixing nothing for her. She contented herself with the chicken. It was a little overcooked, but you couldn’t beat the price.

  “Tell me what this is all about,” Reynolds said as he resumed his seat.

  “First of all, there was an attempt on Andrea Lowry’s life yesterday afternoon.”

  He gave her his best poker face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about or how it could possibly have anything to do with me.”

  “Right. Then let me make it clearer.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Andrea used to be known as Bethany Willett. You and she had an affair. It didn’t end well.”

  “I’ve never known anyone by that name.”

  “Give it a rest, Jack. Andrea and I have become pals. She opened up to me, told me the whole story. All the sordid details, like your floating love nest, The Mariner. She told me how you would have your intimate moments below deck, then share a nightcap under the stars.”

  “This is all bullshit. If the woman said any of this, she’s delusional.”

  “She’s not delusional, and you know it. This has been your nightmare for the last twenty years. Your past coming back to hurt you. A couple of months ago, it finally happened. The woman you knew as Bethany started showing up at your campaign events. You didn’t know what she was up to. Maybe she was planning to go public. Maybe she was thinking of blackmailing you. Maybe she wanted to assassinate you. You were terrified, but you couldn’t raise your concerns with the police, not without risking the exposure of your relationship. And exposure would kill your career, which means almost as much to you as life itself. Hell, maybe more.”

  Reynolds was doing his best to look bored. “Let’s not get carried away. The electorate isn’t so squeamish about infidelity anymore. We’ve come a long way from Gary Hart and Donna Rice noodling each other on the good ship Monkey Business. These days, in some circles a little extramarital activity may even be seen as a plus.”

  “How about two dead babies? Are they a plus? Especially when they’re your flesh and blood, and your mistress shot them to death before shooting herself? And then there’s the part about how you kindly arranged to put Bethany in the nuthouse so she couldn’t talk about it. This is not the sort of thing that looks good on the resume of an Orange County family man and former crusading D.A.”

  “You’re making a lot of wild allegations—”

  “Cut the crap. You were scared out of your gourd, so you tried to find Bethany. I’m guessing you put Stenzel on the job. He called the hospital where Bethany had been treated, but he couldn’t get any info. At least I assume it was Stenzel who called. I don’t think you’d be ballsy enough to call them yourself.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “Point is, you had no luck tracking her down. How could you? She was living under a new name. You got desperate, so you brought me in. You figured I might succeed where your flunky had, well, flunked. And I did. But I wouldn’t give you her new name or her whereabouts. Somehow you found her, anyway.”

  “Who says I found her?”

  “The jacketed hollowpoints that were dug out of her wall. I’m really not wearing a wire, Jack. This conversation will go a whole lot faster if you decide to be straight with me.”

  Reynolds stood up, Scotch in hand. He hadn’t touched it before, but now he took a good swallow.

  “You told me she had a schedule of my events,” he said as he started pacing behind the desk.

  “So?”

  “We mail those out.”

  Abby got it. “Mailing list. Shit.” She cursed herself for being dumb. Dumbness was the one unforgivable crime in her line of work, the original sin.

  Having polished off the chicken, she assuaged her guilt with a forkful of potato salad.

  “Okay,” she said, her mouth full, “so you knew where she was, and you sent in the stormtroopers. You didn’t know what she had in mind, and the only way to be sure she wouldn’t do something crazy was to have her killed.”

  Reynolds gulped more Scotch. “The woman is crazy. Unpredictable. I had to be proactive.”

  “Well, the best laid plans of mice and men, et cetera. Andrea, nee Bethany, is very much alive. And the police have taken an interest in her.”

  She used the word police advisedly. She had decided not to mention the involvement of the FBI. As a Washington insider, Reynolds might have contacts in the Bureau. It was best to let him think that only the local authorities were on the case.

  “I’m sure she wants nothing to do with law enforcement,” Reynolds said, though he didn’t sound sure at all.

  “You’re right. But my guess is, they’re looking into her past. They’ll find out that her credit history goes back only eight years. Then they’ll question her. And she’ll talk. She’ll have to talk.”

  She paused to let the comment sink in. Reynolds drained his glass and poured another.

  “She’ll talk,” Abby went on, “unless you silence her first. But here’s the rub—you can’t get near her. Police protection, you know. That’s the thing about a failed hit, Jack. It’s twice as hard to get to the victim a second time. So it looks like you’re royally fucked. Unless you let me help you.”

  “You can’t help me,” Reynolds said.

  “Yes, I can. Andrea trusts me. I can take advantage of that fact for our mutual benefit, as I told you last night.”

  “By handing her over to me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yesterday you quit on me because I didn’t meet your high ethical standards. Now all of a sudden you’re willing to deliver the woman?”

  “Ethics is a luxury I can no longer afford.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I need to get out of town. For a long time. Maybe for good. And I need to do it fast.”

  “Sounds like you’re in trouble.”

  She looked down at her plate. Her voice was low. “I am.”

  “What a shame. Care to tell me about it?”

  “Maybe you’ve heard what happened to Dylan Garrick.”

  “I may have read something about it in the newspaper.” Reynolds narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re the one who offed him?”

  “Me? I’m just a simple Arizona girl making her way in the big city. But I was seen with him.”

  “You mean you tracked him down?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “So you did kill him.”

  “Haven’t said that.” Abby set down her plate and got up, facing him. “Whatever I may or may not have done, people are going to suspect the worst, and I’m not going to have any way of proving them wrong.”

  A moment passed while Reynolds stood motionless. Then he lifted his glass and took a slow, thoughtful sip. “All right, maybe I can believe you need to go on the run.”

  “And
to do that, I need a sudden infusion of cash, courtesy of you. I need money, you need Andrea. We can work together and solve both our problems.”

  “If the police are watching Andrea, how can you possibly deliver her to me?”

  “She trusts me, like I said.”

  “So what?”

  “I can get her to leave the house and ditch her police escort. Once she does, she’ll be all yours.”

  “You’re bullshitting.”

  “No, I’m not, Jack. I can get her away from the police. And I can do it tonight.”

  He considered the idea. “Once I’ve got her, you get paid? Is that it?”

  “I get paid up front.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars. In cash, obviously. I’m afraid I can’t take a personal check.”

  “I don’t have fifty grand in cash here in the house.”

  “But you can get it.”

  “It’s Saturday afternoon. My bank is already closed.”

  “Make the manager open up.”

  “You think I keep fifty thousand dollars in my checking account?”

  “It’s your rich wife’s account, more likely, but I’m sure you have privileges. Or maybe you can borrow it from your campaign fund. Cut yourself a check and run one less billboard ad. Or take out a loan and say it’s for the campaign. I don’t care, as long as you have it by six o’clock tonight.”

  “What if I pay you the fifty and then you renege on the deal?”

  “I’ll have Andrea close by. The way I’ll work it, you’ll know you’ve got her before I take off. You’ll have her, and you won’t be able to touch me. It’s not as complicated as it sounds.”

  “Let’s say we were to have this meeting at six. Where would it be?”

  “Brayton Hotel, just like before. Only in the lobby this time. Oh, and Jack—I want you to make the drop-off. Not Kip or some other low-level player. I want you to get your hands dirty, just like me.”

  “How do I know you’re not setting me up? This could be some kind of sting.”

  “Do I strike you as the type who works hand in glove with the police?”

  “No. But I wouldn’t have seen you as the type to sell out Bethany, either. It’s pretty cold, Sinclair. You really expect me to believe you’re capable of it?”

  “Brass ovaries, remember? You don’t survive in my line of work unless you’re willing to pull the trigger.”

  “Like you did on Garrick?”

  “No comment, Mr. Congressman.”

  Reynolds studied her. “Okay. We have a deal.” He showed her an archly cynical smile. “You know, you’re a lot smarter than I thought you were.”

  “Am I? Funny. You’re exactly as smart as I thought you were.” Abby picked up her plate and dumped it in a wastebasket. She headed for the door. “Thanks for the chow. Tell Stenzel I’ll let myself out.”

  36

  Kip Stenzel wondered why politicians never learned anything from Nixon. Despite the example of Watergate, they continued to wire their offices with electronic recording and eavesdropping equipment. His boss was no exception. In his desk he had installed a microphone and transmitter, which sent a signal to a receiver in a room down the hall. He recorded his phone calls and teleconferences with his staff in D.C., and he liked to have Stenzel available to listen in on ostensibly private conversations, as he was doing now.

  The audio clarity was excellent. Stenzel heard every word of Reynolds’ discussion with Abby Sinclair. Truthfully, he’d heard more than he’d wanted to know. It was advantageous to retain some degree of deniability.

  He waited until he was sure Sinclair had gone before he emerged from hiding. When he entered the office, he found Reynolds standing by his desk, talking into the phone.

  “Save your breath, Ron. I’m still not interested in any excuses. But if you want another chance to redeem yourself, there may be an opportunity.”

  Reynolds listened to the reply and sipped his drink. Scotch, of course. It was always Scotch, but under normal circumstances Stenzel’s boss wouldn’t have been drinking before the dinner hour, especially with fat-cat contributors in the backyard waiting to jawbone him.

  “Okay,” Reynolds said. “Then meet me tonight at five thirty, one block west of the Brayton Hotel in downtown L.A. I want you driving your van. Come heavy, and come alone. You’ll need duct tape and handcuffs ... Remember that lesson in loyalty I mentioned? Well, school is in session.”

  He set down the phone hard enough to shake the table, then looked at Stenzel. “You heard?”

  “I heard.”

  “Things are getting complicated,” Reynolds said.

  Stenzel swallowed. “Maybe too complicated. Now might be a propitious time to back off, Jack.”

  “Back off? How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Cut our losses, walk away. Sinclair can’t prove we had anything to do with the attack on Andrea Lowry. Right now all they can get you on is some shit that happened twenty years ago.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “If it comes out, it’s not necessarily fatal. We can spin it. The woman’s a head case, shot her own kids, went to a mental hospital.”

  “She knows enough to make her story credible. A million details. Like the boat we used to meet on. No way Sinclair could have known about that unless Bethany—I mean Andrea—told her.”

  “I’m not saying we deny the affair. But it’s the past, it’s ancient history. We get Nora on board, have her stand by you, say all is forgiven. The voters figure if your wife says it’s no big deal, who are they to care?”

  Reynolds downed another gulp of Scotch. “You don’t get it, Kip. She blames me for pushing her over the edge. She thinks I’m the one who drove her to shoot the kids.”

  “She’s a freak. We can paint her—”

  “No matter how we spin it, the media will play it their way. She bore my children out of wedlock and killed them when I broke her heart.”

  “I’m not saying we won’t take a hit.”

  “A hit? This will fucking destroy me.”

  “I think you can recover.”

  “Easy for you to say. If I go down, you just find some up-and-comer to latch on to, and you’re back in the game.”

  Stenzel stiffened. “I don’t appreciate your questioning my loyalty, Jack.” He waited for an apology, got none, and forged ahead. “Bottom line, we’re not in too deep yet. The incident yesterday afternoon can’t be tied to you. We’re still only talking about a love affair that went south. If you take it to the next level, there’s no going back.”

  “There’s never been any going back. Andrea Lowry is a problem. The way you deal with problems is you eliminate them.”

  “That may be how it’s done on the streets—”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly how it’s done on the streets. What kind of war do you think we’re fighting? This isn’t the one of your fucking focus groups. This is armed combat. If you haven’t got the stomach for it, then get out of the way.”

  “I have the stomach for whatever is necessary,” Stenzel said quietly.

  “Then shut the hell up about cutting our losses. We’re not playing defense. We’re on offense. We’re going to have Andrea handed over to us tonight.”

  “According to Sinclair. You think her proposal is on the level?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “So you think she aced the biker?”

  “Probably.”

  “I don’t get that vibe from her. She’s not a killer.”

  “Anybody is a killer, given the right circumstances. And she’s a street fighter. Vigilante type. She could have offed Garrick. Definitely.”

  Stenzel thought about the woman’s hard-ass attitude. It was possible, he decided. “Did you know this guy Garrick?”

  “No. But the newspaper said he croaked last night—shot in the face. If Sinclair had something to do with it, or even if it only looks like she did, then she’s not lying when she says she needs to get out of town.”

&
nbsp; “What was the phone call about?”

  “Friend of mine. His particular talents are going to come in handy tonight.”

  Stenzel figured he understood the game plan. The friend, Ron, would remove Andrea after Reynolds learned her whereabouts. More outsourcing. He wasn’t happy about it, but he knew the boss was in no mood for argument.

  “So I take it you’ll pay Sinclair the fifty and trust her to come up with Lowry?”

  “Trust has nothing to do with it. We’re not taking action only with regard to Andrea. We’re going to snuff Sinclair, too.”

  Stenzel required a moment to absorb this information. Then he saw why Reynolds’ friend would be stationed near the hotel. Sinclair was his target. She would be taken out when she tried to leave. Gunned down—or maybe snatched alive. Reynolds had said something about duct tape, handcuffs. Stenzel didn’t know. He was way outside his comfort zone.

  “Jack,” he said softly, in his calmest, most reasonable tone, “I understand your desire to recover your investment, but—”

  “The fifty thou? I’m not worried about that, God damn it.”

  “Then I don’t see the rationale for this move.”

  “The rationale, Kip, is that I don’t trust Sinclair any more than you do. She may be planning to stiff me on the payment. She may have some other game in mind. She was pretty vague about the details of this handoff she’s arranging.”

  “If you think it’s a con, don’t go.”

  “I don’t know if it’s a con. If it is, then I intend to get Sinclair. If she’s on the level, then I intend to get Lowry—and Sinclair, too.”

  “There’s something more going on here than covering your bases, Jack.”

  “Damn straight there’s more. Sinclair betrayed me. She’s not getting away with it. I don’t take betrayal well. Just ask Joe Ferris.”

  The name meant nothing to Stenzel. “Who?”

  “Never mind. He was before your time.”

  Stenzel was trying hard to focus, but he wasn’t sure he could. It had been one thing to track down Andrea Lowry and provide her address. He hadn’t had to concern himself with the end result. And he’d never even met Lowry. She was an abstraction. This was different. This was real.

  “So what you’re saying is”—he spoke slowly—“you plan to, uh, terminate both women?”