by Alan Chaput
She chuckled. “Mama? Heavens no. She was obsessed with his financial techniques.”
“In what way?”
“She questioned everything he did and spent a lot of time trying to get into his mind. It bothered him. He told her to find another accountant, but she stayed with him.”
“Why?”
“Because he was so good, damned good. She was obsessed with finding out how he was so successful, plus I think she wanted to know his story.”
“What story is that?”
“Sonny moved here from South Carolina twenty years ago. No one seems to know what he did before moving here, but once he set up business here he prospered. Word got around that he was an excellent money manager. Who doesn’t want a guy like that on their team?”
“You said he disappeared?”
“Without a trace.”
“When?”
“About the time of Mama’s death.”
His brow creased. “I see what you mean about the strange timing of his departure.”
“What are you going to do with all this information?”
“The money path seems the best route to the killer. I’ll have someone duplicate Meredith’s work.”
“I’m impressed. I didn’t know the church has such resources.”
“Nothing to be impressed with yet, Patricia.”
A light breeze scented with the jasmine-like scent of tea olive picked up, cooling her skin. She gestured toward the house. “How about another cookie?”
He looked at his cell phone. “Thank you, but I really need to be on my way. I appreciate you being open with me.”
Her mind settled. She’d done the right thing. The world around her brightened. Then, seeing Simon watching from a back window, she heaved a sigh. His endless spying on her seemed spooky. But she was vulnerable, and he was there to protect her. Though guilt surged at her not accepting and appreciating his oversight, she ached to be free of him.
Once in the house, she gave Thomas a bag of the Irish cookies and saw him to the door. He left smiling.
Patricia considered calling Chief Patrick to get that ordeal over with, then decided to put it off until he called. Instead, she sought out Simon, who had set up a command post in the formal dining room just as he had done on other occasions. Black-clad electronic gear nearly filled the oversized table. Positioned in front of him was a large monitor tuned to the six exterior surveillance cameras he’d installed. One had a distant view of the arbor in the backyard. Propped against the wall next to Simon were several rifles with big scopes, a shotgun, and what was probably an automatic weapon. All black-clad. He looked up as she approached.
“Everything secure?” she asked.
“There’s no such thing. We just try to tilt the odds more in our favor.”
“I’d like to spend some time with Alisa this afternoon. Did you get the security clearance on her?”
He smiled. “Everyone came back spick-and-span, Mrs. Falcon.”
“How do I do this?”
“Your driver, Mike, is outside right now. If you give me your phone, I’ll put his number in as a speed dial. Would D, for driver, be okay?”
“Sure.” She handed him the phone.
When he returned the phone, she asked, “Am I free to go?”
“Of course. Punch D and ask Mike to bring the car around. He’ll let me know when he’s at the curb. I’ll escort you to the car. Mike will take you to anyone on our secure list. If you go to a public place, Mike will accompany you inside but will sit apart from you. In time, you won’t even notice him.”
She punched D.
Five minutes later, she settled into the backseat of the new Escalade. She smiled with joy. She was free from that damn prison. Free to go where she wished, when she wished. She’d never take her freedom for granted again.
“Where to, Mrs. Falcon?” Mike asked in a voice befitting his bulk.
“Just drive around for a moment while I make a call.”
As the SUV merged with traffic, Patricia called Alisa. “How are you doing, Alisa?”
“Honey, I’m going stir-crazy. Too many restrictions. No privacy. How about you?”
“I broke out and thought we might have a chat and latte at The French Bakery.”
“Oh my. I’d love that.” Alisa’s voice simmered with glee. “What time?”
Patricia noted her surroundings. “I could pick you up in five minutes.”
“I’ll be ready, and I’ll be bringing my new bodyguard.”
Patricia chuckled. “He can keep mine company.”
When the call was complete, she gave Mike the address and settled back. It was nice not to drive. Under different circumstances, she could get used to that. Might even take time to appreciate the bountiful azaleas that graced each square they passed.
A block from Alisa’s home, Mike’s phone went to his ear. Patricia assumed he was calling ahead to let them know of his approach. At Alisa’s house, the SUV swung to the curb and paused. Wrought-iron gates in the ivy-covered brick wall swung open. A tall, crew-cut guy dressed in black appeared and opened the side door. Alisa, in skinny black jeans, a white T-shirt and a topknot scurried across the slate sidewalk and into the Escalade. She gave Patricia a squeeze. She’d changed cologne again. This one smelled of oranges. Her bodyguard closed the door and went up front to sit with Mike.
“Where to, Mrs. Falcon?”
“The French Bakery on Sullivan.”
As the SUV pulled from the curb, Alisa tucked a strand of blond hair into her messy topknot and turned to Patricia. “I’m so happy to be out of that infernal jail.”
“Do they listen in on your calls?” Patricia asked.
Alisa grimaced. “Lordy, do they. They watch and listen to everything. I’m afraid to undress or shower. And poor Sterling had the nerve to try to get frisky with me last night. If they were listening to that conversation, they must think I’m a horrible wife. I’m so paranoid, I turn off the lights to pee.”
“I know.” Patricia looked around. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had everything bugged, including our cars.”
“We do,” Mike said from the front, then chuckled. “But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
Alisa raised an eyebrow. “Not the ladies room? Please tell me I can turn the lights back on.”
“Nah,” Patricia said. “They wouldn’t.”
Mike shook his head.
“Good,” Alisa said. “Because I don’t think I could do it with a guy in the same room.”
Patricia folded her hands in her lap. Being guarded was a strange situation, and it was getting stranger by the hour. Like a rudderless ship, the only certainty for her was uncertainty.
The SUV pulled into a seedy alley. Mike cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mrs. Falcon. We’ll take you in the back entrance, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” Who was she to object? She supposed alley entrances were standard security protocol when available and wondered what Nancy would think of Alisa and her traipsing through the bakery’s prep area. Kindhearted Nancy would probably take it all in stride and not even say a word.
Just as the Escalade stopped, a metal door swung open to reveal Nancy, dressed in a red polo shirt and black slacks, beaming as always. Despite spending every day in a bakery, Nancy was eternally reed thin. Work didn’t seem to faze her. Her short blond hair looked like she’d just left the beauty salon.
Alisa’s bodyguard got out and went into the place. A couple of minutes later he returned for them. The garbage stench of the alley quickly gave way to the delicious aromas of fresh-baked bread and chocolate. The back of the bakery was spacious and tidy. A flour-dusted baker piped chocolate on a tray of Napoleons.
As Patricia and Alisa settled at a table in the back of the main shop, Nancy chin-nodded toward Alisa’s bodyguard. “What’s up with him?”
“After the attempt on Meredith’s life, Sterling felt it advisable.”
“Bless his heart. Y’all want something to drink?”
They both ordered latte.
Mike, a black tablet computer in hand, came in and sat, facing the front door, with Alisa’s bodyguard, who continued to face them.
Patricia turned her back to the bodyguards, leaned toward Alisa, and whispered, “Bishop Reilly is going to see if he can duplicate Meredith’s work tracing Mama’s money.”
Alisa’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Apparently, Mama had some special relationship with the church and they want to see her killer brought to justice as much as we do. With Meredith out of the picture, we don’t have the ability to continue her work.”
“And the bishop does?” Alisa asked.
“Apparently so. But wait, there’s more. Our work has been compromised.”
Alisa’s lips parted. “What do you mean?”
“Someone got into my laptop last night.” Patricia moved closer and, lowering her voice, filled Alisa in on the network security breach Simon had discovered.
“Who do you think it could be?”
“It’s too coincidental not to be the person responsible for Mama’s murder, the attack on Meredith and the attempt on me. Or someone at least connected with the killer.”
“You’re right.”
“Anyway, I’m operating on that basis.” Patricia slipped the note with the truck’s license number from her purse. “The only lead not in my computer is the plate number of the hacker’s truck.”
“How did—”
“I’ll tell you later. Right now I need to know if your cousin at the DMV can track down the owner of an out-of-state vehicle from the plate number.”
“He’s got all sorts of contacts. I don’t see why not.”
Patricia handed Alisa the note.
“I’ll call as soon as I get the information.”
Patricia gave a slight nod toward the bodyguards. “Don’t call. I don’t want the boys to know what we’re doing.”
“Everything face-to-face?”
“Exactly.”
“What about Judy?”
“I’ll call her later and set up something for the three of us for tomorrow. How’s lunch sound?”
Alisa smiled. “That works.”
After dropping Alisa off at her home, Patricia called Judy. “I’m just down the street. I don’t mean to be a bother, but could I stop by for a moment?”
“Certainly,” Judy said. “What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
She terminated the connection and gave Mike Judy’s address.
Five minutes later, the Escalade pulled up to the gated entrance to Judy’s drive. Two black-suited men patrolled the periphery stone wall. The ornate gate swung open, and Mike drove in.
“Please remain in the car until I come back, Mrs. Falcon.” Mike said. “And after I return, don’t get out until I open your door.”
She straightened. “Is there a problem?”
“Though Mrs. Simpson is pre-cleared, I have to make sure there’s no one else in there.”
“She has live-in security.”
“Good. That’ll make everything quicker.” Mike pulled a black automatic from inside his coat, opened the slide and checked for a chambered round. Then, gun in hand, he left the SUV and went to the entrance. A wiry man dressed in black jeans and T-shirt, also gun in hand, met him at the door. They talked and exchanged something, probably identification cards. Mike entered.
Patricia would have laughed at the absurdity of this security charade if her world wasn’t unraveling.
Patricia caressed the grip of the pistol in her purse as she scanned Judy’s manicured front lawn. This was not a good time or place to be alone.
The ornate solid wood front door of the home opened, and Mike, followed by a wide-eyed Judy, appeared. Judy, dressed in jeans shorts and a tank top, looked flushed and hastily thrown together.
Mike hastened to the SUV and opened the door. “I’ll wait here,” he said as Patricia got out.
“I won’t be long,” she said.
Judy stood in the doorway, talking on her phone. “Patricia’s here. I’ve got to go. We’re going to have a chat.” She looked at Patricia and mouthed ‘Beau.’
They cheek kissed. Judy seemed to have shrunk. Patricia looked down. Judy was barefoot.
“How’re you handling the lockdown?” Patricia asked.
Judy shrugged, pulled Patricia inside, and dead bolted the front door. “It sure beats the alternative.”
Patricia exhaled, attempting to mask her nerves.
Judy grinned. “Seriously, I’m enjoying the downtime.”
“There’s too much idleness for me,” Patricia said. “By the way, does your security team monitor your phone calls?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Judy stuck her head into the dining room. “Hey, Joseph, do you listen in on my phone calls?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Judy, wide-eyed, turned to Patricia, arms extended. “I guess I’m wrong. Why?”
Patricia stepped closer to Judy and whispered, “Since they’re listening to our calls, we can’t discuss our investigation on the phone.”
Patricia stepped back, meeting Judy’s solemn gaze.
Judy nodded and gestured toward the back of her house. “Patricia, honey, would you like to take a stroll out back? The gardener put in some new annuals this morning,” she said in a flat voice, her hand imploring. “They’re simply gorgeous.”
“Why yes.” Patricia followed Judy outside to the fire pit on the other side of the garden. As she arrived, she studied the immediate area for a video camera but found nothing. They sat on a concrete bench facing away from the house.
“I’ve got some terrible news, Judy. Someone got into my computer last night and accessed my case notes.”
Judy’s jaw fell open.
“I think the hacker could be Mama’s killer. If so, he knows who we are and what we’ve been up to. Luckily, while he was hacking my computer a friend of mine was jotting down his license plate number. Alisa’s cousin is tracing the license number. For the time being, the killer doesn’t know we’re tracing his truck.”
Judy just stared at her.
“Judy, say something.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Since the killer knows who we are and what we’ve been doing, we have to be very careful from now on.”
Judy scooted back and extended her hand, palm out. “Ah, wait a minute. Hold on. Are you sure we should take the risk to continue our investigation?”
Patricia clamped Judy’s hand between hers. “I understand your concern, honey. You don’t have to help if you don’t want to, but Alisa is on board.”
Judy’s teeth bit her collagen-enhanced lower lip. Her eyes momentarily closed as she shook her head. A deep breath later, she opened her eyes and said, “So am I, Patricia.”
“I’d like to meet with you and Alisa tomorrow at Cohen’s at noon to discuss where we go from here. With any luck, Alisa should have the hacker’s name by then. Are you game?”
Judy nodded.
“Remember, no phone calls about our business. Everything face-to-face.”
“Got it.”
A man’s loud voice sounded from outside the rear wall of the yard. Both women jumped to their feet and looked in the direction the voice had come from.
An object hurled through the air toward the women.
Patricia grabbed Judy, threw her to the ground, and covered her with her body.
Tires screeched. More shouts.
Patricia eased her head up. Less than ten feet away lay a brick partially wrapped in paper. Gun in her trembling hand, Patricia crawled over to the brick. The paper had writing on it.
“What is it?” Judy asked, as she pushed up into a seated position.
“A note.”
“What does it say?”
Patricia eyed Judy for a second. “It says, ‘You’re next.’”
* * *
The limo with Willie pulled up next to a small jet on the ge
neral aviation tarmac. “A private jet?” Willie asked.
“My boss likes freedom. Freedom from schedules. And he likes privacy.”
“What kind of plane is this?”
The giant smiled. “You like?”
Willie nodded.
“It Cessna Citation X. Fastest civilian plane available.”
Willie’s eyes saw the luxurious plane, but his mind saw dollar signs piling up in his bank account.
Once inside the empty jet, he selected a seat with an unobstructed view of the cockpit. As he fastened his seatbelt, the hatch closed. Only then did it occur to him that the giant had not boarded the jet.
Chapter 23
Father John crossed his hotel room to the wall of photos, then wrote the name Herman Stockford beneath the enhanced photo of the driver of the black truck. The Vatican facial recognition service had matched the submitted photo to Herman’s driver’s license and had provided the name in record time. Below the picture, John taped a summary of the basic profile information he’d pilfered from the Joint Operations database. In the past hour, the profile of Meredith’s attacker was slowly beginning to fill in, but it still had plenty of cavities.
Herman was ordinary enough. Out-of-state high school education. No criminal record. A Vatican researcher was working on locating any linkage between Herman and Henrietta. Another researcher was at work trying to locate the man through cell phone and credit card activity. With any luck, John would be speaking face-to-face with Herman Stockford in a matter of hours.
John pursed his lips. He’d have plenty of questions for the man. Was Herman Henrietta’s murderer, or did he simply work for the killer? What did Herman know about the missing money? And why, just before crashing into Meredith’s car, was Herman smiling? Just a coincidence or something sinister? Perhaps the man’s primary motive wasn’t money.
Yet, Henrietta’s money had been transferred, probably on behalf of her killer. And if so, Bishop Reilly’s interrogation of Patricia Falcon had been the key to reopening the financial path to Henrietta’s killer. The Vatican’s Financial Office had quickly duplicated Meredith’s work and confirmed Henrietta’s funds were still at the unregistered Hilton Head Island money transfer agency. Chinese specialists under contract to the Vatican Security Force were busy hacking the so-called bank’s computer records. It was just a matter of time before they’d produce a name associated with the missing funds. And if the name wasn’t Herman Stockford, there would be yet another person John would soon be interviewing face-to-face.