The Unforgivable Fix: A Justice Novel

by T. E. Woods

  “You plan to keep me posted?”

  Bauer leveled a stare and Lydia again saw the playful specks of gold in his eyes. “I have several plans for you, Lydia.”

  —

  Lydia snapped the computer file closed when she heard the door to her outer office open. She’d spent the morning trying to get her affairs in order, her thoughts roiling. If Allie planned to inform the authorities The Fixer wasn’t dead, as Robbie’s book had speculated, but was living a quiet life as a clinical psychologist in Olympia, Washington, she wanted to make sure whatever assets she had went where they’d do the most good. She’d finished drafting the documents authorizing her attorney to deed her home and property to a local wildlife organization, and was working on making sense of the several nested bank accounts she held in various aliases in four different countries. There was more money than she’d anticipated. Her investments had done well during the two years since her retirement from the assassination business. She’d run a rough total, and it looked like she had just over four million dollars to dispose of. She tried to estimate when Allie might be arrested. Any distribution of funds would have to be done anonymously before Mort’s daughter offered her up. Once Lydia had things settled, she could focus on what would come next.

  One last climb up the side of the cliff. A warm blanket of calm determination wrapped around her as she went about her tasks. Not much longer. Then I can rest.

  She glanced at the clock: 11:26. Her patient wasn’t due until noon, but she understood the urgency of people in pain.

  “Liddy?” Mort’s familiar voice called out. “You back there?” His voice grew closer as Lydia switched off her computer and slid her calculator and notepad into a drawer. “There you are.”

  Mort walked into her office, his face lined with fatigue and worry. Lydia’s effort to greet him with a smile ended when Allie scooted past her father and burst into her office. She was wearing Lydia’s black cashmere sweater and brown leather jacket.

  “So this is where you do all the headshrinking?” Allie spun a slow circle as she took in the books and art decorating the office. “Nice. I can see you here. It’s not unlike the way you decorate your house. Classy. Understated.” Her smile widened when she turned it to Lydia. “I haven’t seen that lately. Island decor is typically a little over the top.”

  Lydia held her gaze, trying to ascertain what she’d shared with her father, but Allie’s face betrayed nothing but a disposition far sunnier than the chilly November day warranted.

  “Dad’s springing for lunch,” Allie said. “I drove him crazy with my incessant pleading to get out of the house. Grab your coat, tell us the most expensive restaurant in this town, and let’s go spend some of his expense money.”

  Lydia reflected on the various characters and guises she’d used during her time as The Fixer. From sex kitten to homeless bag lady, she’d assumed any manner of poses to gain access to her targets. She’d been good enough to slip past the tightest security systems and the most paranoid of victims. But The Fixer had nothing on Allie Grant. Mort’s daughter could shift into whatever act or mood fit the situation. Last night she’d been the weary sophisticate, calmly explaining how she’d come to the conclusion Lydia was The Fixer. Today she’d resumed her role as the perky live-wire daughter of a doting father whose innocent curiosity and drive toward adventure sometimes got her in hot water.

  Lydia threw Mort a questioning glance. Was he there to arrest her or warn her?

  “Allie, I need to speak with Lydia alone.” Mort’s set jaw and stern tone gave no clue as to what would come next. “There’s a bathroom down the hall from the waiting room. Go freshen up.”

  Allie’s eyes narrowed as her lips pushed out into a pout Lydia was certain was well rehearsed. “You promised me lunch, Daddy. In a nice place.”

  “Go to the bathroom, Allie.” Mort didn’t sound like he wanted to play. “Two minutes. That’s all I ask.”

  Allie turned and left the office without another word of protest. When she was gone, Mort stepped toward Lydia’s desk and knelt beside her. She swallowed the tight ball of fear threatening to choke her. “What’s going on?”

  “Patrick Duncan is dead.” Mort’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He was found in a warehouse on the Seattle waterfront. Coroner puts his time of death sometime early afternoon two days ago.” His eyes locked on to Lydia’s. “He’d been tortured. His hands were cut off.”

  “The Russian.” Lydia kept her voice as low as Mort’s. “And since we’re whispering, I assume Allie doesn’t know.”

  Mort shook his head. “If it is Tokarev who killed Duncan, he’s close. I don’t want to terrify her any more than she is.”

  Of all the things Allie was, terrified wasn’t one of them. Lydia wondered if that was because Allie knew she had nothing to fear from the authorities. I’m her get-out-of-jail-free card. Lydia focused on the raindrops clinging to Mort’s hair and jacket. Will she trade you, too?

  “What do you want from me?”

  Mort held her gaze. “I have to get up to Seattle. Someone tipped off the Russian. Pulled Patrick Duncan away and sent him to be slaughtered. No more than five people knew where we planned to take him down. One of them is dirty. I need you to stay with Allie while I get up to Micki and Jimmy and figure out who it is.” He glanced toward the door. “Let’s take her to lunch. Settle her down a bit. Then I’ll drop the two of you back off at your place and head north.”

  Lydia’s spine pulsed out a steady beat of warning. She wanted to push Mort away…tell him his daughter could rot in hell for all she cared. Run, Mort, run. Far away from this trap knowing me has built for you. Run away from your daughter and me. We can do nothing but destroy you.

  But she needed time to complete her tasks before climbing that cliff one last time. Allie hadn’t told Mort what she knew about Lydia. Time alone with her might allow Lydia the chance to learn if she’d told anyone else.

  “I have patients scheduled. I’ll need to call and cancel them.” Lydia shook her head. “Take your daughter to lunch. I’ll meet you back at the house. I’ll be there by one.”

  Chapter 48

  She locked the door behind her, set her purse on the counter, and leaned in to the mirror to check her makeup. She gently massaged the tiny crow’s feet bracketing her eyes. Too much time in the sun. I should know better. Still, the whites of her eyes were clear and fresh. I’m aging. How long will it be before I’m invisible? She pinched her cheeks and her skin immediately popped back into place. I’ve got plenty of time.

  She turned away from her reflection, pulled out her cell phone, and scrolled through her screen of contacts. She touched D.

  “I was hoping you’d call.” His voice was relaxed. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you. I told Jillian. She wept with joy and says she can’t wait to thank you in person.”

  She conjured up a memory of Jillian, so beautiful with her creamy English Rose complexion and wide-set lavender eyes. Jillian had always carried herself with the regal bearing of a goddess. She hadn’t seen Jillian since Patrick used her to teach her husband what disappointing him might cost. She’d heard there was hope Jillian might walk again, though it would always be accompanied by a walker and pain.

  “Let her know I send my best,” she said. “And that I look forward to another one of our long discussions. Tell her it’s my turn to pick the book this time.”

  Nigel Lancaster was silent for a moment. “We both know what this cost you. We are forever in your debt.”

  “Did he suffer?” she asked. “I know that was important to you.”

  Again he hesitated. “You don’t want to hear this.”

  “Never speak for me,” she snapped. “And never tell me what I do or don’t want.”

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Yes, he was in tremendous agony. But only for a few moments. The Russian put an end to his torment. If it were left to me, I would have had him linger. Though there’s no way he could ever experience the years of pain Jillian
will.”

  She tried to picture Patrick Duncan’s last moments. She’d had such high hopes for him in the beginning. But he proved himself incapable of managing his emotions. The danger of his violent tantrums excited her at first, but through the years grew to bore her.

  She’d choose better next time.

  “I have another task for you,” she said.

  “I will do anything.” His gratitude echoed through his words.

  “I want you to give the Russian an address. Tell him I will be there.”

  “No!” His appreciation instantly morphed to fear. “He’ll kill you.”

  Her tone left no room for concession. “You will do this for me. Tell him tomorrow. Midnight.” She gave him the address. “Prove to me you’re the man Jillian brags about. Keep your word and tell the Russian I’ll be waiting for him.”

  “As you wish.” His words choked him. “I will never forget you, Olwen.”

  “Don’t ever speak that name again,” she barked. “That was Patrick’s name for me.”

  “I don’t mean to offend you. Tell me the name I shall remember in my dreams.”

  Allie checked her lipstick in the mirror. “Let me think about that. I’ll get back to you.”

  Chapter 49

  “We’re coming up with nothing, Liddy.” She could hear Mort’s weariness over the phone. “Micki’s done deep background on both Gehrking and Sampson.”

  “The DEA agents?” Lydia was in her communications room. She had her phone on speaker as she sat at the keyboard. “How are you spelling those names?”

  Mort rattled off the particulars he had on the two federal agents. “You’re down in your lair, aren’t you? You think your Batman setup is going to find something we can’t, with all the goodies the taxpayers buy for us?”

  She rebuffed his exhausted attempt at humor. “You’d be surprised what you can get when you’re not burdened with the need to go with the lowest bidder. Who else are you looking at?”

  “Besides Gehrking and Sampson, it’s their immediate supervisor…a guy named Erskine Hammersly.” He waited while she clicked in that name. “The chief of police here, you, and me. Anybody else in on the arrest—or what should have been the arrest—didn’t learn a thing about it until a few hours before it all went down. There’s nobody else. Unless…”

  Her defenses kicked in. “Unless what, Mort?”

  His sigh was long and heavy. “Liddy, my mind keeps going back to that night I left you and Allie alone. The night she heard those gunshots. You told me there were wolves in your yard. You were scaring them away.”

  Lydia said nothing.

  “What are you not telling me, Lydia?”

  Two dead invaders were sunk somewhere in Puget Sound. Silence seemed her best option.

  “Not talking? Okay, how about you listen?” His irritation came through loud and clear. “What if those wolves were the kind who walked around on two feet? What if you were right, and someone did follow Allie home from the grocery store? What if whatever it was you heard in the bushes that night were people…sent by Patrick Duncan, or maybe even Vadim Tokarev? What if they placed some sort of device—maybe something stuck to your house—that let them listen in on Allie’s call to Duncan? It’s the only thing I can come up with. The only way Duncan could have known we were waiting for him.”

  Lydia steadied herself for her lie. “I wish it was that easy, Mort, but it just can’t be. First of all, I know my property. I get critters here all the time. Secondly, if it was Duncan or Tokarev who sent people, if they came upon two women alone, one of them being Allie, the woman they’re both searching for, do you think they’d settle for planting a bug? It would be far more likely they’d barge in, guns blazing, and take what they wanted.”

  “No one would get past you, Lydia. Any man who took you as defenseless would pay dearly.”

  Lydia again flashed on the two dead men who’d done just that. “And then there’s the big thing you’re overlooking,” she said.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Before Allie made the call…remember she was using the government phone?”

  “I remember. But you checked it. There was no bug, no recording device, no nothing.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I came down here and I set up a scramble. I put in an extra layer of antitrace protection. My equipment is better than anything the government buys with its war-on-drugs budget money. Trust me. No one tracked that call.”

  She heard the exasperated sigh of a desperate man who’d had his last hope yanked out of his grasp.

  “There’s got to be something, Liddy.” He shifted gears. “How’s Allie? Her mood was a little better after she got out for lunch.”

  “She’s fine. She’s upstairs binge-watching some television show about a high-school show choir.” Lydia didn’t mention she had every motion sensor and video monitor in her security system trained on her. Allie had made a few trips to the kitchen for snacks, but other than that, she was right where she said she’d be, glued to the television in her room.

  “You didn’t tell her about Patrick being dead, did you?”

  “Actually, we’re both giving each other a pretty wide berth.” Allie had tried to assure Lydia her “secret identity” was safe with her, and seemed more interested in continuing their earlier discussion about human nature and the ability to change. But Lydia’s internal warning system was fully activated. People like Allie owed their allegiance to no one but themselves. Lydia had not wanted to put herself in the position of being milked for information Allie might use in future negotiations with law enforcement. “We’re enjoying our quiet time.”

  “You really don’t like her, do you?”

  Again Lydia opted not to respond.

  “You okay if I spend another couple of hours up here?” Mort asked. “I don’t know how many times we can go ramming into a dead end, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something we’ve overlooked.”

  “Stay as long as you need, Mort.” Lydia looked at the monitor screen and saw Allie tapping her foot to some unheard music. “I’ve got this.”

  Lydia hung up the phone. She still had a few more details to finish on her estate distribution. She turned back to her keyboard to close the screen where she’d recorded the DEA agents’ names, but then, on impulse, began a search on Gehrking and Sampson. Seventeen minutes later, despite the advanced technology she had at her disposal, she came up with the same result Mort and his crew had.

  Both agents were clean.

  Lydia then searched on their boss, Erskine Hammersly. She learned all about his career, his citations and awards, his family, and his habit of purchasing expensive fly-fishing equipment, despite never having applied for a fishing license. Hammersly’s bank statements showed no deposits that couldn’t be accounted for by his salary. His home modem showed no relays to off-shore addresses. His cell phones had no suspicious calls or texts. The same was true for his wife, Helene, his nineteen-year-old son Charlie, and Florence, his sixty-eight-year-old mother who lived in Boca Raton.

  Frustrated, Lydia called up the file that had captured and recorded Allie’s call to Patrick that night. She wondered if Mort might be right. Could one of the men now floating in the deep have planted a device that foiled her electronic scramble? If so, I’ve got one well-paid techno-geek who’s going to have his ass handed to him. She clicked through the properties and settings. Hundreds of lines of code flashed over her screen, indicating the random and various times Allie’s call had been bounced. She slowed the information down and scanned for a tag, a hack, or a trace.

  Nothing. Lydia’s equipment had worked precisely as it should. No one had traced the call.

  Mort’s voice came back to her. No more than five people knew. She clicked them off. Jerry Gehrking and Rachel Sampson, the two DEA agents. Erskine Hammersly, their boss. The Seattle chief of police made four, and Mort was the fifth. Of course he wouldn’t compromise Lydia by telling any of the others about her. No more than five peop
le knew.

  Lydia screened up the recording itself. She listened to the phone conversation she first heard as she sat next to Allie while she was making it. Lydia jotted notes as the call progressed.

  Patrick angry.

  “I love you to the moon and back.”

  Patrick calmer now.

  “I wanted to go back to the place where it all began…”

  “If only the gods would grant us one wish…”

  “Do you remember?”

  “Our souls are in communion…”

  “And…and…”

  “And…and…”

  “Two thirty.”

  “And…and…”

  “And…and…”

  Lydia listened to the call again. Then a third time. She underlined and added to her notes with each passing.

  Then she ran upstairs.

  —

  Allie came into the living room when Lydia called for her. She was holding a bowl of popcorn and asked Lydia if she wanted some.

  “Popcorn goes great with chardonnay. Did you know that?” Allie pointed to the refrigerator. “I pulled a bottle from your rack to chill. It should be ready now. Want some?”

  “Sit down, Allie.”

  Mort’s daughter sat and sighed in reaction to Lydia’s tone. “Is this going to be another lengthy denial about you being The Fixer? Liddy, you’re safe. Nobody’s going to learn anything from me. That’s a promise.”

  “I imagine you gave Patrick Duncan many promises through the years.” Lydia stood in the middle of the room. “Probably even more heartfelt than the one you’re offering me now. Patrick was your lover, after all. And yet, when you needed to, you led him straight to his death. You’ll forgive me if I put no trust in your promises to me.”

  Allie’s face contorted into a mask of fear and confusion. “Patrick? What are you talking about Lydia?”

  “Stop it, Allie.” Lydia felt the power she always did when she assumed this role. “You told me earlier how alike you think we are. Perhaps you’re right.” She settled into a chair across from Allie. “You reminded me I’ve killed a lot of people.”