Mortal Faults

by Michael Prescott

  “Well, she must have something there. Records, computer disks—did you get into her PC?”

  “Got a tech working on it now. I’m not too confident, though.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t think this woman is stupid enough to leave anything for us to find. She’s the kind who covers her tracks.”

  “Sounds about right,” Tess said.

  Michaelson told her to shut up. To Hauser he said, “We’ll have to BOLO her Miata.”

  “There are a million of them in L.A. Hold on.” Hauser was gone briefly, then returned. “They tell me she’s stopped. Hasn’t moved in three minutes.”

  “Where?”

  “Central business district. Parameters are Flower Street and Hill Street to the north and south, Sixth Street and Fourth Street to the west and east.”

  Michaelson paced. “What’s there? Bunch of office buildings, all closed for the night?”

  “And the library, the Brayton Hotel, Pershing Square, a lot of smaller places. Plus she could be in one of the office towers, even if it is technically closed. Doing some sort of black bag work, maybe.”

  “It’s a lot of territory to cover.” Michaelson rubbed his head. “Say we send in every available street agent. We comb the entire area, find her vehicle, and close in on her.”

  “If she spots us first, she’ll take off.”

  “We cordon off the perimeter so she can’t get away.”

  “Cordon off downtown L.A.? We don’t have the manpower.”

  “Get LAPD involved,” Michaelson yelled.

  Hauser wasn’t budging. “It’ll take an hour just to work out the logistics.”

  “I have an idea.” Tess spoke quietly, her calm voice drilling through the clutter. “Let me talk to her on the phone.”

  Michaelson stared at her. “And say what, exactly?”

  “I’ll tell her we need to meet. We’ve had meetings before. It shouldn’t tip her off.”

  She expected Michaelson to dismiss the idea out of hand. It was a measure of his desperation that he did not. “You think,” he said slowly, “you can get her to agree to a rendezvous?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not she still trusts me. She knows I was suspicious about Garrick’s death.”

  “It’s too risky,” Hauser said over the speaker. “If she senses a trap, she’ll make a break for it. We’re better off taking her unawares.”

  Tess shook her head. “Deploy two hundred agents to scour the business district, and there’s a fair chance she’ll see them before they see her. If she knows she’s been made, she probably won’t take the Mazda. She’ll hotwire something or find some other way out. Roadblocks won’t stop her.”

  “As long as she’s got her phone,” Hauser said, “we can still track her.”

  “The phone will be the first thing to go. She’s not stupid. That’s the thing you both have to understand. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  Michaelson pursed his lips. “But she’s not smart enough to see through you if you call?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He hesitated for a long moment. “Call her,” he said finally. “And be convincing.”

  Tess took out her cell phone and punched in Abby’s number. She counted four rings before the call was answered.

  “Hey, Tess,” Abby said without preamble, obviously having recognized the number on the caller ID screen. “I enjoyed our picnic in the park this morning.”

  Tess swallowed. “Actually, that’s what I called to talk about.”

  “Another lecture?”

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  “Really?”

  “It was wrong of me to suspect you.” She held her voice steady. “All the signs point to a gang hit.”

  “Or maybe I just set it up to look that way.”

  “Stop playing games, Abby. This is serious.”

  “Sorry. Winsome drollery is my nature. Apology accepted, no hard feelings, yada yada. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “There’s more.”

  “More apologizing? I’ve hit the jackpot.”

  “Not more apologies, just more to talk about. Something’s about to go down. We’re thinking of making a move tonight. A big move.”

  “Gonna nail a major target? Give somebody a one-way ticket to the slammer?”

  Tess shut her eyes. “That’s the plan. But I need to ask you a few questions first.”

  “I’m a little busy now—”

  “I don’t want to discuss it over the phone, anyway. Can we meet? Just for a few minutes?”

  “I’m nowhere near Westwood.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I can come to you. Name a place, I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, I’m at the central library. You can meet me in the main lobby.”

  “It’ll take me about a half hour to get there.”

  “Longer than that, if you’re coming from Westwood.”

  “I’m closer than Westwood.” A lie, but she could hardly tell Abby she’d be using her red light to cut through traffic and shorten the trip. “Thirty, thirty-five minutes. What are you doing in the library, anyway?”

  “Catching up on my reading, what else? See you in a few, soul sister.”

  Soul sister, Tess thought numbly.

  She didn’t feel anything like Abby’s sister right now.

  44

  “Who was that?” Andrea asked. “Why did you say you were at the library?”

  “It’s not important.” Abby slipped the phone back into her purse and kept walking. “Just a pal of mine, playing games.”

  She knew what was going on. By now Tess must have linked her to Dylan Garrick. Presumably she was looking to bring her in for questioning. Tess could determine Abby’s general whereabouts with the cell phone’s signal, but she wouldn’t be able to zero in on her exact location. The library was across the street from the Brayton Hotel—close enough, Abby thought, for government work.

  When Tess failed to find her, she and her fellow feds—Abby assumed she was working with her colleagues at this point—would search the area. They might find the Miata, but maybe not, or at least not right away. She’d made Andrea park in an alley near the Brayton rather than in the hotel’s underground garage. The garage was too obvious a place to stash the car, and in a situation like this, when meeting a man like Reynolds, it was best never to be obvious.

  Things were little complicated, but she could handle it—or die trying.

  She guided Andrea toward the hotel entrance, trying to think good thoughts.

  ***

  There was no way for Michaelson to keep Tess off the arrest squad. She had to be in place in order to draw Abby into view.

  “We’ll settle matters when you get back,” the ADIC growled.

  “Great, Dick. Something for me to look forward to.”

  Tess took out the red Kojak light carried by all Bureau cars and mounted it on her dashboard, then made her way to Abby’s condo building at high speed. The sun in her rearview mirror was a brassy ball of glare. Still more than two hours till sunset. By the time the sun went down, Abby would probably be in custody—and then she would rarely see the sun again.

  The trip didn’t take long. As it turned out, Abby lived only a few blocks from the federal building, a fact that struck Tess as somehow ironic. In the condominium tower’s curving driveway she met up with Hauser and six other agents, among them Crandall. The rest of Hauser’s people were still upstairs going through Abby’s things.

  Crandall and two men Tess didn’t know crowded into her car, while Hauser and the other four took a second Bureau sedan. Ordinarily they would have worn raid jackets for an arrest, but in this case they wanted to keep a low profile once they arrived downtown. With red lights flashing, they cut down to Olympic and sped east, sticking to surface streets because the freeway was jammed.

  By now everyone was miked up, and conversation between the two cars was possible on
a scrambled tac frequency. In the backseat of Tess’s car, someone had brought up a map of the library on his laptop. “There are three entrances to the main lobby—Fifth Street, Hope Street, Flower Street. If Sinclair tries to run, we won’t know which exit to cover.”

  “We can cover them all,” Tess said.

  “No time,” Hauser said over Tess’s earpiece. “We’re barely going to make there on time as it is. And the damn library closes at six.”

  Crandall frowned. “You don’t think she’s setting us up, do you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tess said quietly. “But I can’t be sure.”

  Hauser’s voice grated in her ear. “She can’t be sure. Terrific.”

  ***

  Abby sat Andrea down on a sofa near the registration desk in the lobby of the Brayton Hotel. Andrea gazed around, blinking at the spacious expense of saltillo tile, the great potted palms and indoor koi pond.

  When was the last time she’d ventured into a hotel, any hotel? Before her institutionalization, probably. That was twenty years ago.

  “Okay, kiddo,” Abby said. “Focus. This is where I reveal my master plan.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’re going to help me out. And with luck, I’m going to help you out. We’re like two baboons picking nits off each other. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Abby didn’t blame her. She wasn’t sure she followed herself. She got like this in the minutes before a potentially explosive situation. She talked too much and made little sense. It could be disconcerting to others. Heck, it could be disconcerting to her.

  With effort she pulled herself together. “Here’s the thing. I’m going to sit over there.” She pointed at a scattering of tables and armchairs almost dead center on the lobby floor. “You’ll sit close, but out of sight. Behind that plant, I think.”

  “That’s a tree. A palm tree.”

  “Tree, plant, whatever. It’s green, it has chlorophyll, and it provides better cover than, say, carpet moss. Or Kate Moss, for that matter. From my table you’ll be invisible, I think. Let’s test it out.”

  She placed Andrea at the hidden table and inspected the result.

  “It works. You’re totally concealed. Unless the tree starts molting, we’ll be fine.”

  “Trees don’t molt.”

  “Even better.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “You’ll be eavesdropping on a conversation I’m about to have. At a certain point you’ll emerge from the greenery and confront the other party. Shock value is what we’re going for.”

  “Shock value,” Andrea echoed blankly.

  “Amazing how a little honest surprise can penetrate someone’s defenses. See, look at this.” Abby produced an item from her purse. “Microcassette recorder. Not as handy as a garlic genius, but you can’t have everything. Normally I use it for dictation. Note to self, that kind of thing. Tonight I’m using it as a clandestine recording device. I’m going to get the conversation on tape.”

  “The conversation with ...?” Then Andrea understood. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Not him.”

  “In the very flesh. He’s coming here at six.”

  “But ... why?”

  “He thinks I’m planning to betray you to him.” Abby held up a reassuring hand. “Just a ruse. There’s no betrayal.”

  “Jack ... coming here ...”

  “I told him I’d tell him where to find you. In exchange, I get a pile of money. But what Jack doesn’t know is, I’m not all that materialistic. Money can’t buy happiness, or at least not enough happiness to tempt me.”

  The information finally penetrated. “He expects you to deliver me to him?”

  “Right.”

  “He’ll be furious when he finds out you lied.”

  “Good. Anger is another way of lowering a person’s defenses. Angry people tend to blurt things out. I’m hoping J.R. will do a lot of world-class blurting tonight.”

  “J.R. That’s funny.” Andrea had a faraway look. “I called him that once. He hated it. He didn’t want to be a villain on a prime time soap.”

  “But he ended up as one, anyway. A villain, that is. He hasn’t made it to prime time yet.”

  “I still don’t get it, Abby. What can he possibly say? You think he’ll admit to sending those gunmen to my house?”

  “That—and maybe some other things. All you need to do is listen. At the right moment, step out from behind the foliage and confront him.”

  “What’s the right moment?”

  “You’ll know. Trust your instincts. Whenever it happens, it’ll scare the bejeezus out of him. He hasn’t been up close and personal with you in twenty years. He’s not expecting to see you now.”

  “But he wants me dead.”

  “I know it.”

  “If he sees me—”

  “There’s nothing he can do. Not here. Look around you. We’re in a very public place. The lobby of a five-star hotel.”

  Andrea nodded slowly, not quite believing it. “What do you want me to say to him?”

  “Anything you like.”

  “I don’t have any idea—after all these years—my mind’s a blank.”

  “It won’t be. You’ll find the words. You’ll have plenty to say to the distinguished congressman, believe me.”

  Andrea looked away. “You should have told me what I was getting into.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “I might not have.”

  “Well, you’re here now. This will all work out for the best.” Abby put a hand on her arm. “You still trust me, right?”

  “I trust you.” Andrea smiled, a startling sight on her pale, serious face. “You’re completely crazy, of course, but I do trust you.”

  Abby smiled back. “Nicest thing I’ve heard all day.”

  ***

  The agent in the backseat of Tess’s car was still reviewing files on his laptop. “There are security stations at the lobby entrances. Metal detectors. To go in armed, you’ll have to show your Bureau ID.”

  Tess wasn’t going to do that. “If I start flashing my creds, Abby will notice, and she’ll know I’m carrying. That’ll be enough to tip her off.”

  “Well, you can’t be unarmed,” Hauser said over the air.

  “Sure I can. Remember, she can’t bring a gun inside, either.”

  “How sure are you she can’t sneak a weapon past security?”

  Tess, who was quite certain Abby could outwit any library rent-a-cop, didn’t answer directly. “She’s not going to take me out, for God’s sake.”

  “Even if she thinks you’ve betrayed her?” Hauser pressed. “She took out Garrick for shooting at her, and that was just business. With you, it’s personal.”

  “She won’t shoot me,” Tess insisted, hoping she was right.

  “We’ll send a man after you to watch your back.”

  “Abby can make a Bureau agent without even trying. Anyone you send in will be spotted immediately. I’m going in alone.”

  “I think, Agent McCallum, you’ve forfeited the right to work solo in this organization.”

  “We don’t have any choice about it. Either I go in alone or Abby will be spooked for sure.”

  “Maybe you want to be alone with her so you can pass on a warning.”

  “If I’d wanted to warn her, I could have phoned her at any time.”

  Hauser drew an audible breath. “All right. We’ll play it your way. But you won’t be making the arrest alone.”

  “You’re right about that.” Tess almost laughed. Taking down Abby single-handedly was the last thing she wanted to try. “I’ll wear my radio under my jacket. When I want you to move, I’ll use a code phrase. I’ll say ...”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll say The Godfather. She’s always talking about that movie. You hear The Godfather, you move.”

  “The Godfather.” Hauser grunted. “Le
t’s just hope this doesn’t end up like Sonny at the tollbooth.”

  Tess didn’t get the reference and didn’t particularly want to. It sounded bad.

  This whole thing sounded bad. But it had to be done. She just kept telling herself that. It had to be done.

  45

  Show time.

  Abby reached into her purse and activated the tape recorder. Across the lobby, a familiar figure was entering through the main doors.

  Standing, she caught Reynolds’ eye. He strode forward, a briefcase in his hand. He was nicely attired—suit jacket and tie—looking every inch the gentleman, a fact that only proved how deceiving appearances could be.

  Abby waited until he had arrived at the table before sitting down again. She signaled for him to do likewise.

  “So where is she?” he asked, forgoing small talk.

  “First things first. As Tom Cruise would say, show me the money.”

  “It’s all there,” Reynolds said, handing over the briefcase.

  Abby put the case on her lap. “Must have been tough to get all this cash together so fast.”

  “I’ve faced bigger challenges.”

  She popped the latches and found herself staring at rubber-banded wads of hundred-dollar bills. She had never seen $50,000 in cash, and she found the sight strangely compelling.

  Reynolds’ voice roused her. “Now it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain.”

  “Hey, what ever happened to the fine art of conversation?”

  “I’m not in the mood for pleasantries.”

  “See, Jack, that’s your basic problem. You don’t take time to stop and smell the roses. You’re a driven man. You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you’re not careful.”

  “I’m touched by your concern. Where the hell is she?”

  ***

  The library, built in the 1920s, was a massive pile of eccentric architecture complete with carved sphinxes and a rooftop pyramid. Tess entered via the Fifth Street door, passing through the metal detector without incident because her Sig Sauer had been left in the car.

  She stepped into the main lobby, a large room with a mess of abstract shapes painted on the ceiling in vivid colors. A few customers were lined up at the checkout counter playing beat-the-clock. One of the clerks at the counter gave Tess a disapproving glance, as if daring her to head for the stacks at closing time.