Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

  Joseph sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Stevie. You’re right. But I just had to do three notifications to next of kin. I’m . . . I’m running on empty.’

  Stevie reached across the table, gripping his hand. Then she blinked. ‘Wait. Three notifications? I thought you lost two agents.’

  Joseph sighed again. ‘I wondered how Drive-by knew to come straight to this suite last night. Phin Radcliffe found his cameraman’s body this morning. He went to check on him when the guy didn’t answer his phone or show up to work. Found him dead in his car.’

  Stevie closed her eyes. ‘Hell. We laid a trap and used those two men to do it. We’re responsible for that man’s death.’

  ‘No,’ Clay said, sliding his hands up her shoulders to the curve of her neck. ‘I told them the cops would give them protection and they said no.’

  ‘I had agents on protective detail,’ Joseph added. ‘Both Radcliffe and his cameraman eluded them. This morning, Radcliffe told us that his cameraman had gone to a bar to unwind. We got video from the bar showing him sitting with Drive-by.’

  Clay sat in the chair beside Stevie, his expression guilty despite his assertion that they were not to blame. ‘Are we any closer to having a real name on her?’

  ‘No. But she’s really shaky now. Needs that morning belt to get her going. That’s one of the reasons I came. To tell you that she’s about ready to give us some answers.’

  ‘How did Radcliffe find his cameraman?’ Stevie asked.

  ‘Tracked his phone. They had a buddy system set up because Radcliffe’s life is “routinely threatened”, in his words. He’s pretty rattled, as you might expect.’

  Stevie sighed. Joseph had endured a long night. And her daughter was safe. Still she had to fight the urge to run to the phone and call her. You will call her. Get the information you need and then call your daughter and tell her you love her.

  ‘The shooter was most likely Robinette or one of his men. He took out two of your agents,’ she said. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘The shooter started running toward Ethan and the poor pizza delivery guy. I think he planned to use one or both to get Maggie to let him through the gate.’ Joseph looked over her head at Clay, his mouth curved in a true smile. ‘But Alec stopped him.’

  Clay stared at him. ‘How?’

  ‘Alec got the same motion detector alarm that Ethan had, about the shooter. He deactivated the bolt hole, went over, and reactivated, just like Ethan had shown him. He followed the shooter and got him in the arm.’

  ‘Was Alec hit?’ Clay asked hoarsely.

  ‘Not a scratch. Well, a few scratches from twigs. None from bullets.’

  ‘But the shooter got away?’ Stevie hoped the answer would be no. Knew it would not.

  ‘Yeah, unfortunately, in a Jeep, which probably means he knows about the BOLO on the Tahoe. But Alec kept his cool. Kept himself safe and gave us some evidence.’ Joseph looked grimly satisfied. ‘Bastard left some blood behind.’

  ‘Then we’ll be able to tie him to the shooting at the dock,’ Stevie said with a hard nod. ‘He left a hair behind, there in the trees where he waited to take his shots.’ She took Clay’s hand. He looked a little gray. ‘Alec is okay.’

  ‘I know, but . . . my God. He’s . . . he’s like a son to me.’

  Stevie squeezed the hand she held. ‘You can call and talk to him just like I’ll talk to Cordelia. Satisfy yourself that he’s unharmed. Joseph, when will you interview Drive-by?’

  ‘After I shower and change. Give me thirty minutes.’ Joseph walked to the door, then paused and checked his phone with a frown.

  ‘What is it?’ Stevie asked. ‘Please, not more bad news.’

  ‘No,’ Joseph said. ‘But puzzling. We’ve had techs checking toll cameras for that Chevy Tahoe since the dock shooting yesterday morning. We found it coming over the Bay Bridge late Sunday night from Baltimore, but the camera didn’t get his face. He wore a mask and covered most of it with the brim of a baseball cap. He used the E-Z pass lanes, so no booth operators interacted with him.’

  ‘So you got a registration on the E-Z pass?’ Clay asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, but it didn’t match the Tahoe. The E-Z pass sticker was probably stolen from another car. That’s not the puzzling part. It’s the route he took.’

  ‘Why?’ Stevie asked. ‘The Bay Bridge is the route everyone takes to the beach.’

  ‘But it’s not the way he went back,’ Joseph said. ‘We tried to find him coming back over the bridge, but got nothing – because he drove south to Virginia first. We got him going through the Bay Bridge Tunnel towards Newport News at nine thirty A.M.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Stevie wondered. ‘Could he live down there?’

  ‘Maybe. There have been no confirmed sightings of the Tahoe since then.’

  ‘And last night’s shooter drove a Jeep,’ Clay said. ‘My gut tells me they’re the same guys, but I could have sworn Drive-by was male, too. Has the Jeep been found?’

  ‘Kind of. He pulled a page out of Drive-by’s notebook and torched it. So far we’ve found no viable blood samples. Right now, our best bet is to break Drive-by. I’ll meet you in thirty.’

  ‘That gives me time to call Cordelia,’ Stevie said. ‘And Clay to call Alec.’ She hesitated. ‘Joseph? Thank you for keeping my daughter safe.’

  Joseph’s smile was tired. ‘Always, Stevie. Like I said, you’ve put your life on the line for so many of us, so many times. It’s time for us to give back.’

  ‘Two men did,’ she murmured. ‘Now that I’ve had a chance to calm down and think . . . I’m so sorry for those men and their families. I’d like the names of the agents you lost so that I can write letters to their next of kin, thanking them for their sacrifice.’

  Joseph nodded. ‘That would be nice. They were good men. They’ll be missed.’

  Tuesday, March 18, 9.03 A.M.

  ‘I wish I could let you take the videos with you, but you have to watch them here.’ Ruby’s news studio contact pointed to a computer monitor on a desk in an otherwise empty room. ‘Rules,’ he added with a shrug. ‘Buzz me when you’re done. I’ll walk you two out.’

  Sam frowned as two station employees passed by the room’s open door, weeping quietly. They were not the first people he’d seen crying in the newsroom. ‘What’s happened here?’

  The man sighed. ‘We lost a cameraman last night. He went out for a drink and left the bar with the wrong woman. She shot him then stole his wallet and all his gear. We’re in . . . shock.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ruby said softly. ‘I usually hear about these things, but I took a day off.’

  The man shook his head. ‘Pascal was always picking up women in bars. I worried that he’d pick the wrong one. I’m supposed to be in the control booth. Call if you need anything.’

  ‘We will,’ Ruby said. ‘Pull up a chair, Sam.’

  Sam did, and watched Ruby’s long red nails clatter on the keyboard as she ran a search on the rows and rows of titles and dates. ‘We want March 15, eight years ago. Here it is.’ She glanced over at him soberly. ‘You ready?’

  He nodded. ‘Play it.’ When she did, Sam forgot to breathe.

  The man who walked into the convenience store that March day eight years ago moved like his father. His hands were his father’s. His face was hidden from the camera by the Orioles cap on his head. ‘That’s my cap. Oh my God. He wore it that day.’

  And it had been returned to Sam three days ago.

  Ruby looked doubtful. ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Stop the video, on that frame. Can you enlarge?’ She did and he pointed to the screen. ‘There’s a chunk missing from the plastic band in the back. See it? I had a dog then. It was before my father got addicted. The dog was chewing on my cap and when I yanked it away, part of the plastic band got notc
hed out by the dog’s teeth. The cap was in the package that got delivered to my mother’s house on Saturday.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ruby murmured. ‘Should I go on? The rest of this is hard to watch. I remember seeing it over and over during the trial.’

  ‘You went to the trial?’

  ‘I retrieved Mr Mazzetti’s body.’ She swallowed hard. ‘And the body of his son. I always go to the trials, if I can. At least for a day. I figure it’s the least I can do.’

  Sam’s heart turned over. ‘I’ve been to a few autopsies for just that reason. I figured someone should.’

  ‘You don’t need to watch the rest of this, Sam.’

  ‘I do. I need to know, Ruby. Please play the rest.’

  ‘All right.’ She hit play and the video continued. Sam’s father reached up under the cap and pulled a ski mask over his face. Then he walked to the counter, pulled out a gun and shot Paul Mazzetti in the chest and Mazzetti went down. Oh God.

  The cashier made a sudden move – a gun. She’d pulled a gun from beneath the counter. Sam watched his father shoot the woman in the head and she collapsed onto the counter, the blood rushing from the wound. And then . . . Sam blinked as Paul Mazzetti got up.

  The prosecutor had worn a bullet-proof vest. His father’s back went ramrod stiff – shocked that Mazzetti wasn’t dead. His father hesitated, then pointed his gun at the man’s head.

  Just as a little boy ran into the store, his young face contorted with fury.

  Sam’s racing heart pounded faster, harder until all he could hear was his pulse thundering in his ears. No, he wanted to shout. Stop. But there was no stopping it. It had been done.

  His father pulled the trigger.

  ‘The bullet passed through Paul Mazzetti’s arm,’ Ruby said quietly. ‘And . . . hit the boy.’

  The little boy crumpled to the floor, Paul Mazzetti hovering over him as he twisted around to grab Hudson’s gun. Another shot – this one to Mazzetti’s head – and Mazzetti fell on top of his son. A full ten seconds passed as Sam’s father stared at the two bodies on the floor.

  ‘The boy wasn’t dead yet,’ Ruby murmured. ‘The paramedics told me that he died right after they got there.’ Her fingers brushed his cheeks and Sam realized he was crying.

  He watched, numbly now, as his father ran from the store.

  Sam pressed his fist against his lips, the tears flowing freely down his face. Ruby tucked some tissues into his free hand. As he used them on his cheeks, it registered in his mind that the tissues smelled like her. Spicy. Sweet. He drew a breath as she rubbed his back.

  ‘Why?’ he whispered. ‘Why would he do such a thing? He didn’t even take the money.’

  ‘Maybe he got scared and just ran, Sam.’

  ‘Then why drag me into it?’ He took the mouse and rewound the film, freezing it so that he could look at his father’s gun. ‘This isn’t the gun I found next to me. Why drug me and leave me in a hotel room with a different gun next to my head? The gun that killed my father? Why?’

  She said nothing. Just rubbed his back with big, sweeping circles.

  ‘He wore my hat. My hat, Ruby. Why?’

  ‘Maybe it made him feel close to you.’

  ‘While he was murdering three innocent people?’ Sam cried. ‘No. I don’t want him to have felt close to me. I don’t want him to have even been my father, but that’s out of my hands.’

  ‘My father died when I was five, Sam. He was a drug dealer and was killed in a deal gone very bad. He sold poison to children. Yet every night he’d tuck me into bed and sing to me. You can’t choose your parents and you can’t choose how they feel about you.’

  ‘You’re right. I know you are. What are you doing?’ he asked when she took the mouse.

  ‘Checking something. I didn’t pay attention to it before and I don’t think it came up in the trial.’ She rewound the tape again, hit play, then froze it. ‘Look. He’s standing at the oil can display and he takes out his phone. Looks at something. What’s he looking at?’

  It was an old-fashioned flip phone with a small screen. ‘Can you enlarge it?’

  ‘I can try.’ She enlarged, re-centered, enlarged again. ‘It’s a person,’ she finally said, and he could see it, although the picture was now hopelessly pixelated. ‘Tied to a chair.’

  And then Sam knew. ‘It’s me,’ he whispered. ‘Oh my God, that’s me. There was a cushion on the floor next to me when I woke up. I remember it was this hideous orange color.’ His finger trembling, he pointed to an unfocused blob of orange. ‘It’s the chair cushion.’

  ‘That’s why you were taken,’ Ruby whispered. ‘So that your father could be forced to do this terrible thing.’

  Sam closed his eyes. ‘And he did it. For me. I can’t believe this. He killed a man . . . killed a child. Dammit, Ruby, what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to feel?’

  She was quiet, her hand back on his back, rubbing big circles again. ‘That he loved you? That he was very flawed, but at the end . . . he loved you.’

  ‘No. If he’d really loved me he couldn’t have killed for me. How can I live with this? How can I live knowing three innocent people died? How do I make amends for this?’

  ‘You did nothing wrong, Sam. You did nothing wrong.’

  ‘I hear your words,’ he said, his throat gone too thick to breathe. ‘But I can’t accept them.’

  She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Then for now I’ll accept them for you.’ She exhaled slowly. ‘Last night you forgave Kayla Richards for allowing you to be drugged and dragged away. You didn’t blink an eye, even though she actually did do something wrong. But you forgave her. Eventually you’ll find that forgiveness for yourself. Even though you have done nothing that demands forgiveness or amends. You are a victim, Sam.’

  ‘Not like the Mazzettis. Or that cashier.’

  She sighed. ‘I see so many families come into the morgue, grieving. I can’t tell you how many times they raise their faces to God and demand to know why. Why the deceased was taken and not them? It’s survivor guilt you’re feeling, cariño.’

  He nodded, not wanting to deny her words because she clearly believed them.

  Ruby smiled sadly, as if reading his mind. ‘If you ask me – and you did – I think you’d be better served throwing all this upset . . . this energy into figuring out who did this to you.’

  On that he could wholeheartedly agree. ‘You’re right. I need to find out who Kayla Richards saw dragging me out of the Rabbit Hole that night.’

  ‘When will that police artist be available?’

  ‘I still haven’t heard from him. I need to report this but Thorne made me promise I’d come to him before I talked to the cops.’

  ‘Then call him and ask him to meet us.’

  Sam made the call, looked at Ruby with relief when he’d hung up. ‘He wants me to talk to JD Fitzpatrick. Thorne will come with me. He says Fitzpatrick can be trusted to handle this.’

  ‘Thorne is right. I can personally vouch for JD. His wife, Lucy, was my boss before she went on family leave. JD’s a good man.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I’ve heard that from a lot of people. Will you come with me, too?’

  ‘I’d like to see anyone try to stop me.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, March 18, 10.30 A.M.

  Henderson hurt. The cravings had become bad a few hours before and now the need for a drink was nearly unbearable. Just a little. Just a taste. Just enough to take off the edge.

  I need to be able to think. I can’t think.

  They’d dumped her in an interview room, shackling her leg to a ring in the floor, taking her out once to use the bathroom. She had no concept of time, had no idea of how long she’d waited.

  Henderson supposed on some level she’d known the
setup at the Peabody would be a trap. Unfortunately, wherever that level was, it hadn’t been front and center of her mind last night when she’d made her decision to go in and get Mazzetti. And now I’m fucked. Busted.

  Except they couldn’t prove anything. They could get her for B&E and carrying a concealed weapon, but they couldn’t pin anything else on her.

  So what if they had her flask? She’d swear she stole it. They couldn’t prove shit.

  The door opened and a woman in her mid-forties walked in. She wore a charcoal suit, a fuchsia blouse and three-hundred-dollar shoes. ‘Miss Smith, I’m your attorney, Cecilia Wright.’

  Miss Smith. The Feds still didn’t have her ID’d, Henderson thought. ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘I’ve been retained by a friend. I’m trying to get you out on bail.’

  Henderson frowned. ‘Which friend?’

  Wright looked pointedly at the two-way mirror. ‘I’ll share that information in a more private place. Say nothing. Let me do the talking and I’ll get you out of here in no time at all.’

  Robinette, Henderson thought. He’d hired the Wright woman to get her out. Then I’ll be where he wants me. Out in the open and vulnerable. Bye-bye me.

  The door opened again, admitting the Fed who’d cuffed her the night before. His smile was caustically brittle. ‘I’m Special Agent Carter. I trust you remember me from last night.’

  Cecilia Wright closed a hand over her wrist. ‘I’ve advised my client to say nothing.’

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ the Fed said. ‘But I think I can change her mind.’

  Tuesday, March 18, 10.30 A.M.

  ‘Sit down, Sam,’ Ruby said, patting the chair beside her. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

  Sam halted his pacing and forced himself to sit along with Ruby, Thomas Thorne, and Kayla Richards in the small meeting room on the homicide floor of BPD.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said. ‘How much longer will Fitzpatrick make us wait? My sketch artist friend said he might be able to squeeze us in before noon. Kayla has to get back to work.’