by T. E. Woods
“Do you have to leave right now?”
He looked at his watch. “Five minutes ago, actually. I’m meeting Gehrking and Sampson down at the police station.”
“The Olympia police station?”
“Yeah,” Mort said. “Why? You got something against me going to Oly PD?”
Lydia shook her head. “Small-world stuff is all. I had a visit from an Olympia detective this afternoon. Paul Bauer. You know him?”
“Name’s familiar.” Mort turned his eyes away as though running through his mental contact list. “Big black guy with an aw-shucks attitude…that is, until he springs something on you?”
“That would be the one.”
Mort smiled. “Our paths have crossed at a couple of conferences. I partnered with him a few years back for a golf tournament. Cops versus the attorneys. Good guy.” His smile disappeared. “His visit anything we should worry about?”
Lydia shook her head. “He was following up on a case one of my patients is involved in. Routine stuff.”
Mort thought about that for a few seconds. “A cop like Bauer doesn’t get involved with routine things. Let’s talk more about this when I get back.”
Lydia reminded him the DEA was waiting. She stepped to the pantry, pulled a short-muzzled handgun from behind a canister of self-rising flour, and tucked it in behind the small of her back.
“Don’t worry about us,” she called. “We’ll be fine here.”
—
Allie came into the breakfast nook as Lydia set the two bowls of chili on the table. Her hair had the rumpled tangles of someone who’d spent the day in bed. She wore the same pair of jeans as yesterday, but she paired it with a pumpkin cashmere pullover Lydia instantly recognized.
“My closet is off limits, Allie.” Lydia sat and pointed to the chair opposite her. “You’re welcome to use the laundry facilities if you need some fresh clothes.”
Allie shuffled to the table. She set the book she carried beside her. Lydia tightened the grip on her soup spoon when she saw the cover.
“It’s Robbie’s,” Allie said. “I have to admit it’s good. I’m reading it for the second time and I’m catching so many more details. Have you read it?”
Lydia focused on getting the spoonful of chili into her mouth, and allowed the spicy heat of Mort’s concoction to hold her attention until she could answer in a nonchalant voice.
“I’m familiar with the story. I don’t know if your dad told you this, but our meeting had some indirect connection with the subject of Robbie’s book.”
Allie crumbled saltines into her bowl. “Yeah. Dad said you had a patient who he first thought might be a killer or something. Whatever became of that?”
A wave of sadness washed over Lydia at the mention of Savannah. A brief wisp of her patrician beauty floated through Lydia’s mind, replaced by the grisly memory of the last time she’d seen her. Savannah had been lying in a coma in a local ICU, her neck bruised and torn from the rough rope she’d used to hang herself.
“She died,” Lydia whispered. “Suicide.”
Allie stirred her crackers into her chili. “Oh, man. A patient of yours killed herself. What’s that like? Good thing you work for yourself, right? Something like that could get you fired if someone else was in charge.”
Lydia slammed her hand on the table. Allie reared back.
“What the hell?” Allie yelled. “You scared the pants off me. You know how freaked I’ve been since our little visit from the stalking wolves. What the hell, Lydia!”
“I just told you a woman killed herself.” Lydia struggled to keep from shouting. “She hanged herself, choked the very life out of her own body rather than deal with another moment of pain. Do you think that’s something to be taken lightly? To make into a joke about whether or not it cost me my job?”
Allie’s face shifted into remorse. She looked down into her bowl, then off to the side.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget what a first-class bitch I am. My words were thoughtless. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
“I think you’re a spoiled little girl masquerading in an adult’s body.”
Allie looked up with a curtain of tears clouding her blue eyes. “I deserve that.”
“You’ll never know what you truly deserve, Allie.” Lydia’s tone was cold. But to her, Allie represented everything contemptible in the human condition. Allie had been gifted with the finest of everything. She had beauty and intelligence; born into a family with loving parents dedicated to providing her with whatever tools she’d need to succeed. When she stumbled, there were always nurturing hands to pick her up. Oh, what Lydia would have given to experience one day of what Allie had taken for granted every moment she drew breath. But Allie repaid the generosity of the universe by using her favors for selfish and decadent ends. Mort might not be able to see his daughter for what she was, but Lydia would not allow herself to be used as entertainment for Allie’s boring evening.
“I am sorry, Lydia. I say the cruelest things. If I give myself a moment to think, I realize I never mean them. But say them I do.” Allie paused. “Every now and then I think about my life. I don’t do it often. I don’t like it. But every now and again I wonder who is really there for me.” She stared into nothingness. “There are always people around. They’ll laugh at my witty sayings and fawn over my beautiful new dress or jewels. But it’s because they want what Patrick gives me. They want the money, the drugs, the feeling of superiority that comes from breaking every rule…every law…every moral with complete impunity. To slough off the expectations of propriety and be able to indulge in pure self-gratification. That’s what they want. And if it means having to suck up to me, they’ll do it.” Allie squeezed her eyes shut. “But when I’m alone…when I don’t have Patrick’s magic world to offer them, where are they?” She opened her eyes and turned to Lydia. “Here I am. All alone, eating my daddy’s chili with a woman who, despite how rude and selfish I’ve been to her, still agrees to protect me. And I insult her.” She laid her arm across the table, extending an open hand in supplication. “Will you forgive me?”
Lydia looked down at the perfectly manicured fingers stretched out to her. She dipped her spoon into her bowl for another bite of dinner. “Eat your chili, Allie.”
—
Lydia and Allie made light conversation while Allie washed the dishes and Lydia dried and put them away. Allie continued to be fascinated with what she’d read in her brother’s bestseller about The Fixer and persisted in trying to steer their discussion toward what she described as “one kick-ass woman who knew how to make things right.” Lydia sidestepped the topic each time. It didn’t take long before Allie returned to her musings about fashion and Hollywood gossip. Lydia suggested Allie take a bubble bath in the soaker tub in the master bathroom.
“You could use a good, relaxing time alone,” Lydia had said. “Tonight will be tough.”
Allie grabbed her book, headed down the hall, and Lydia was left alone to finish up the chores. She was rinsing out the sink when she saw headlights turn into her long driveway.
Lydia instinctively flipped off the interior lights and stepped back from the window. Landscape lighting and several porch lamps illuminated the exterior, giving her an unobstructed view of her property. She reached behind her back, rested her hand on her gun, and watched the car approach. She relaxed only when she saw Mort’s Honda emerge from the mist and pull up next to the garage.
“How are my ladies doing?” Mort asked as he walked in.
Lydia swallowed a defensive comment and complimented him on his chili. He told her the recipe was an old favorite of Edie’s.
“It’s got two secrets. The first is to use both beef and pork. The second is to add one tiny habanero pepper.” He suggested they make a giant pot together once he was settled in his new place.
“How’d it go with the DEA?” Lydia asked. “Do you have the phone?”
Mort crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He aske
d her if she wanted one and opened his when she declined.
“I’ve got the phone.” He took a long drink straight from the bottle. “That was the easy part. Coming up with the plan took longer. But I think we’re there.” He looked around. “Where’s Allie? You got her tied up in the basement?”
Lydia wanted to assure him that the basement was the last place she’d want his daughter to be, tied or not, but he seemed in a better mood than he’d been in in days. She didn’t want to spoil it by reminding him he was in the home of The Fixer.
“She’s taking a bath. Want me to get her?”
“No, let her relax.” He pulled a zippered neoprene bag from his jacket and set it on the counter. “Want to play James Bond?” He opened the bag and brought out what looked like a common cell phone with a tiny USB bud sticking out from it. “This little guy will simultaneously record and transmit that recording to the base the DEA has set up downtown.”
Lydia didn’t have the heart to tell him that his phone looked like tin cans and a string compared to the communication system she had in her basement.
“You’re telling me they still have no idea where you and Allie are staying?” she asked.
Mort’s tone was serious. “I would never compromise you, Lydia. Not after what you’re doing for my girl. The agents understand this whole deal falls apart if they follow me. Besides, I’m careful when I come here. I haven’t had a tail. Trust me, I’m good at identifying a shadow. No one knows we’re here.”
Yeah? Let me tell you about the two visitors with night scopes and gutting knives we had the other night. She shut the thought down. There was nothing to tell until whoever sent them showed themselves.
“Allie will call Patrick.” Mort turned back to the plan. “She told me he has one phone that only she knows the number to. When it rings, you can bet your last nickel he’ll pick up.”
“And you think he’ll agree to meet with Allie?” Lydia didn’t believe it would be that simple. “Guys like Patrick Duncan don’t take kindly to being abandoned.”
Mort’s face signaled his understanding of the risks. “That’s Allie’s job.” He looked down the hall. “Let’s hope she’s good at it.”
Lydia picked up the phone, turned it over, and used the dull end of a butter knife to pop open its case.
“What are you doing?”
Lydia traced her eyes over the circuitry and power cells. When she was satisfied, she pressed the casing back in place and handed the phone back to Mort.
“Looks like these DEA folks trust you. There’s nothing extra to track and transmit the location of the phone.” Lydia excused herself and went downstairs. She was back in the kitchen in three minutes.
“Where’d you go?” Mort asked.
“Every smartphone can be tracked once it’s turned on. It’s how apps allow a subscriber to get locations, or maps, or find their way home if they’re lost.” She gave Mort a solemn look. “I don’t want anyone, not the DEA, and certainly not Patrick Duncan, being able to tell where this phone is when Allie makes the call. My system bounces signals to and from cell towers all over the planet in a random pattern. No one will be able to track it.”
Mort considered this new information for several seconds. “Thank you, Lydia.” He laid his hand over hers. “I’m glad we’re on the same team.”
Lydia looked down at the hand that covered hers. Allie’s call from down the hall protected her from responding.
“Daddy’s home.” Allie approached them wearing Lydia’s favorite chenille bathrobe. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss her father’s cheek.
“Great chili, Dad. Just like Mom’s.”
Lydia stepped away to allow the two of them a few minutes of pleasant conversation. She was glad to see the bath had improved Allie’s spirits to the point that she was again speaking to her father. She poured herself a glass of pinot grigio, took a seat at the breakfast nook table, and marveled that a part of her liked coming home to a house that wasn’t empty. She found herself enjoying the low murmuring of Mort and Allie at the far end of her kitchen. When the two of them came to join her, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Lydia straightened her shoulders and reminded herself that for her, it wasn’t.
“It’s time, Allie.” Mort set the phone in front of her.
Allie stared at it. Despite her years of clinical training, Lydia couldn’t get a handle on Allie’s state of mind.
“It has to be tonight?” Allie asked.
“The longer we wait, the longer you’re in danger,” Mort reminded her. “One call. Let’s do it and get it done.”
Allie took a soft breath, then nodded. “Tell me what to say.”
Lydia listened as Mort outlined the plan. Basically, Allie needed to convince Patrick to meet her. The DEA had decided Mort’s new houseboat was the perfect spot to take Duncan into custody. The restricted access would assure Duncan couldn’t bring an entourage.
“Patrick would never come any way but alone,” Allie assured her father. “He’s different with me. Softer. He knows that would make him appear weak in front of his men. As angry as he may be, I can assure you he misses me. He won’t bring backup.”
Despite Allie’s confidence, Mort explained the ease of defending a location that had only one entrance: the gangplank. The DEA would have agents stationed as neighbors, looking to all the world like upper-income haves enjoying the good life on their floating architectural trophies.
“If this goes down the way I hope it does, Duncan is in handcuffs before he gets within twenty feet of my boat. At least twelve jurisdictions have outstanding warrants waiting for the DEA to serve.”
Lydia kept her eyes on Allie. She reminded herself Allie had lived with Patrick Duncan for more than four years. They’d shared a life and a bed. Now she was about to hand him over to be held accountable for every despicable act that had funded the lavish life they’d shared. Her lover would be arrested and most likely spend the rest of his life in prison. Lydia settled on a name for what she saw in Allie. It was betrayal.
“Are you ready?” Mort asked his daughter. “Do you want to take a few minutes?”
Allie looked at the clock. It was nearly nine thirty. “When do you want him to come?”
“The sooner the better.” Mort’s voice was firm. “Find out where he is. As soon as he can get to Seattle, have him meet you. Remember the time. Two thirty in the afternoon. We want that dock to be as empty as possible.”
Allie picked up the phone. “You sure you two want to be here while I do this?”
“The conversation’s going to be recorded, you know that. And Lydia and I will both be listening in on this end. I have to be able to testify you did nothing to tip Duncan off.” Mort nodded toward Lydia. “And I’d like Lydia to be here to verify that testimony. Just in case anyone questions what I might do to protect my daughter.”
“Suit yourself. Just be aware you may hear some things you don’t want to. Oh, and he’ll call me Olwen. That’s his pet name for me. It means beautiful in Welsh.” Allie turned to Lydia and smiled. “Patrick really can be very romantic.”
Lydia and Mort said nothing in response to her picture of the drug lord with a poet’s soul. Each of them plugged the buds attached to the phone into their own ears. Allie inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, picked up the phone, and dialed.
“Yes?” The voice Lydia heard answer the phone sounded hesitant.
“Patrick? Is it really you, my love?” Lydia shot a look to Mort. Allie’s voice had dropped two octaves from that of the chatty young woman she’d been listening to for a week. From the look on Mort’s face, he’d never heard his daughter use that sultry voice, either.
“I’m here, Olwen. Where are you?” Patrick sounded angry now.
“I love you to the moon and back, my heart.” Allie’s voice was pure seduction. “Each day without you has been a day without light in my soul. I can’t bear to be without you one moment longer.”
“Where are you, Olwen?” His voice was softer.
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“I had to leave, my darling.” Allie shifted her tone to one of desperation. “The Russian was coming for me. I couldn’t risk having you near when he found me. Then you’d be in danger, too. My plan was to go as far from you as possible. To keep you safe. I’d let him find me.” Allie allowed her voice to crack, as though on the cusp of tears. “I’d let him kill me. It would be worth it to keep you safe, my love.”
Lydia had to hand it to her, she was good.
“But I realized life without you is already death.” Allie’s voice was full of throaty whispers. “It weakened me. I wanted to die in the place where it all began. Oh, Patrick, if only the gods would grant us one wish. To meet again. Do you remember, my love?”
“I do, Olwen,” Patrick said. “Of course I do. Are you telling me you’re in Seattle?”
“I am.” Allie said.
Patrick gave a joyous sound. Lydia couldn’t tell if it was laughter or tears. “My darling, once again our souls are in communion in a way our minds could never comprehend. I, too, am in Seattle. My heart told me to find you. It led me to you.”
Allie’s head jerked up. She glanced at her father, who nodded fiercely. He tapped his watch to remind her that the sooner she could set up the meeting, the better.
“Are you saying my agony is over?” Allie resumed her teasing voice of sexual promise. “What about the Russian?”
“We’ll face him together, my love.” Patrick’s voice was that of a child learning he’d be headed for Disneyland tomorrow. “Let him come. I’ll protect you, dear Olwen. You were willing to die for me. Let me show you we can live. Come to me now, Olwen.”
Allie looked up to see her father shaking his head. Mort mouthed plan to remind his daughter to stick with what he and the DEA had decided.
“I want to be ready for you, my love,” Allie told Patrick. “Tomorrow. We’ll meet tomorrow…and, and…” She looked to her father for reassurance. Mort used his fingers to remind her: he flashed her two fingers, then three, then made a zero of his thumb and forefinger. “Meet me at two thirty. I know a place. I’ve rented a houseboat. I wanted to die by the water. It could remind me of our wonderful times by the sea.” Allie gave him the address.