When the sixth man stepped back into line, she said, “He’s not there.”
The two agents exchanged sharp glances. Jarvis asked, “Are you sure?”
If they could somehow prove she was lying, what would they do to her? Would they charge her with a crime?
Could she go to prison?
Another dizzying wave of nausea rolled through her. “I’m positive.” She turned back to the window. “Number One is too thin, and a little too short. Number Two is too stocky, and too blond. Number Three is too dark, too muscular, and too tall. Number Four and Number Six both have too much belly. Number Five could almost be him, except that his forearms are way too hairy and his voice is all wrong.”
The two agents once again exchanged glances, obviously not believing her. Jarvis stepped closer and she forced herself to stand her ground as his eyes bored down into hers. “You’ve emphasized the fact that your abductor treated you well. Is it is possible you’re now trying to protect him out of a misplaced feeling of gratitude?”
Ignoring her cartwheeling stomach, she looked him straight in the eye. “The son-of-a-bitch drugged me, tied me up and gagged me, transported me clear across the country, then turned me over to a psycho who planned to kill me. There’s no way in hell I’d protect him.”
CHAPTER 24
A chill flowed through Chase’s body, tightening his chest and making his heart beat in quick, hard thumps. After the line-up, two humorless FBI agents had locked him in this interrogation room and he’d now been here for over an hour. Despite the fact that he’d committed a heinous act beyond pardon, he had no intention of confessing. Doing so would be tantamount to surrender.
When the door abruptly opened, he steeled his face into impassivity as a different pair of agents entered. Skipping the preliminaries, the large black man said, “I’m Special Agent Jarvis. This is Special Agent Sengupta. We’d like to ask you some questions.”
“Certainly.”
Sengupta’s intense, exotic features were too strong for conventional beauty, while her close-cropped dark hair and unyielding bearing suggested that she was overcompensating for being female in a mostly male environment.
Square-chested and thick through the shoulders, Agent Jarvis topped his own six-two by a couple inches, while his buzz cut lent him an air of military authority. Although his expression was friendly, Chase was not fooled. Jarvis had the merciless eyes of a predator.
As they settled into seats around the table, Jarvis asked, “Do you know why you’re here?”
Chase naturally assumed that Larissa had identified him. However, at least one of the punks from the alley had required medical attention and, even though such men wouldn’t normally go to the police, it would be prudent to admit to the incident right up front. Mounted high up on the wall in the corner, a video camera’s lens aimed directly at him. Assuming it was set to record, he did his best to radiate integrity and decency of character. “I suspect it has something to do with the incident in the alley in San Bernardino, this morning.”
“Tell us about that.”
* * * * *
Special Agent Edison Jarvis listened patiently as O’Malley recounted his version of the incident. He was surprised to learn there’d been five men, rather than the three of whom he was aware. When O’Malley finished, Jarvis asked, “Where are the firearms you confiscated from them?”
“I discarded the separate components into several dumpsters.”
“Can you tell us the locations of those dumpsters?”
O’Malley shrugged. “No, sir, although I could probably retrace my route and find them.”
“And the knife?”
“It’s probably still in the alley. I snapped the blade.”
“So you freely admit to assaulting the young men after you returned to find them breaking into your vehicle?”
Maintaining steady eye contact, O’Malley slouched back in his chair, the very picture of confident unconcern. “Yes, sir, but only in self-defense.”
“Why did you park in an alley in what was clearly a high-crime area when you could have parked on the street.”
“I stopped in the alley to take a piss. Once out of the vehicle, I decided to go for a walk.”
Jarvis hiked his brows. “A walk?”
O’Malley touched a finger to his bruised temple. “My head was pounding. I thought some fresh air might offer a measure of relief.”
“Where did you walk?”
“I circled the blocks surrounding the alley.”
“What did you see?”
“See?”
“Businesses? Bars? Fast-food restaurants?”
“The only thing I saw was the sidewalk before my feet.”
Jarvis gave him “the stare” for several moments. Rather than squirming as most suspects did, O’Malley calmly returned the scrutiny. “So you went for a stroll and, when you returned to the alley, you found…?”
“As I said before: Five punks breaking into my vehicle. If you’ll examine it, you’ll see that they broke the lock when they crowbarred the side panel door. Why is the FBI investigating this?”
“We’re questioning you with the purpose of establishing or eliminating you as a primary suspect.”
“A suspect in what? Five men attempted to assault me and I reacted accordingly. I admit I’ve been out of the country a while, but I find it hard to believe that defending oneself is now a crime.”
“Five men, three of whom were armed, confronted you and, rather than retreating to call law enforcement, you decided to take them on. Does that not strike you as somewhat foolhardy?”
O’Malley shrugged. “I’m skilled in Krav Maga, so I was confident I could handle them.”
“You assaulted one of the men much worse than the others. According to the doctor I spoke to, there was a sort of vicious methodicalness to the beating, as if a lot of rage went into it. I understand you broke multiple bones.”
“If you’re referring to the fat one with the gold teeth, he was foolish enough to put up more of a fight than the others.”
“I’d imagine he found it difficult to put up much of a fight once he had one broken limb, and yet you continued beating him until he had two additional.” The bruise on O’Malley’s temple was clearly more than several hours old. Certain he would catch him in a lie, Jarvis asked, “Did the men in the alley give you that bruise?”
“No, sir. A friend and I had a disagreement last night.”
“Your address of record is Los Angeles. What were you doing in San Bernardino?”
“Passing through on my way home.”
“Home from where?”
“A friend’s cabin in the Mojave.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Taking a sabbatical.”
Sengupta snorted. “A sabbatical from what?”
O’Malley shrugged. “From this rat race we call life.”
“How long were you there?” Jarvis asked.
“Five days.”
“And your friend will corroborate this assertion?”
“He will, as will two others.”
“Give us an account of your activities over the past five days.”
“What does any of that have to do with this morning’s incident?”
“Just do it,” Sengupta snapped.
As O’Malley gave an accounting of his activities and whereabouts, Jarvis let him speak without interrupting. O’Malley ended by saying, “Then I pulled into the alley to take a piss, and you know the rest.”
“Sounds like an enjoyable few days, except for the altercation with your buddy. You said he hit you with a rock?”
“No, sir. I said I hit my head on a rock when I went down.”
“You handled the five men in the alley with ease, and yet one man — a friend, no less — was able to put you on the ground.”
“Not only was I pretty drunk at the time, Travis is trained in Krav Maga as well.”
“What were you two fighting about?”
“I don’t remember. As I said, I was pretty drunk.”
“Do you always don a ski mask before going for a stroll?”
The expression of puzzlement on O’Malley’s face appeared genuine. “Sir?”
“Why were you wearing the fucking ski mask?” Sengupta barked.
“I wasn’t.”
“So, we won’t find one in your vehicle?”
“Absolutely not.”
Having gotten from the hospital the names of the three men who’d sought medical attention, the Bureau had pulled up their arrest records. Jarvis had already taken the time to review them, and it was clear that all three men were on the fast track to prison.
Travell Parnes had been arrested on two separate occasions for possession with intent to sell. The second man, Andre Gant, had several arrests for drugs, as well as one for B & E.
The one with the multiple broken limbs was Malik Waddell. Waddell had a long and violent history dating back to when he was twelve-years-old. There’d been several arrests on drug-related charges, assault-and-batteries, and a couple B & E's. In addition, there were multiple instances of aggravated sexual assault, and he’d served barely three years of a measly five-year sentence for raping and sodomizing a fourteen-year-old girl.
With Waddell’s history of violence against women, Jarvis couldn’t help but wonder if the severity of his beating had something to do with the woman. Intently scrutinizing O’Malley’s face, he said, “Ms. Santos told us the fat man attempted to sexually assault her. I suspect that’s why you gave him such a brutal beating.”
O’Malley’s expression never faltered but, just for an instant, something that might have been fear flickered behind the blue eyes. “Who is Ms. Santos?”
“The woman in your vehicle.”
O’Malley frowned as if puzzled. “There was no woman in my vehicle.”
“So, Ms. Santos is lying?”
O’Malley’s face was deceptively placid, but a rapid pulse jumped in his throat. “If a woman is claiming she was in my vehicle this morning then, yes, she’s lying.”
Sengupta snapped, “Do you really expect us to buy that you’ve been out in the desert for the past five days?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then why is Ms. Santos claiming you kidnapped her?”
O’Malley crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll have to ask her that question.”
* * * * *
Unable to shake his story or his composure, Chase’s two interrogators finally left. He leaned back in his chair and wearily massaged his temples. Jesus, he’d gotten himself into one hell of a fucking predicament.
The knowledge that Larissa had identified him didn’t surprise him, but it hurt more than he would have imagined possible. Nonetheless, he didn’t hold anything against her. After all he’d put her through, how could he reasonably expect her not to incriminate him.
Although … it was possible the agents had tricked her into inadvertently revealing something, and then she’d have had no choice but to confess all. He was thankful he’d had the foresight to outline an alibi with Mad Dog, Travis, and Roach ahead of time. No matter what Larissa told them, he intended to stick to his claim of innocence.
A short while later, a different agent unlocked the door. He automatically got to his feet as a man with a red crew cut, wearing a pair of hideous green-plaid pants, yellow polo shirt, and golf shoes strode into the room. The agent closed the door behind the newcomer and locked it, leaving them alone.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked
There was something very familiar about him, and Chase felt he’d seen him before. But where? He was certain they’d never met. Then the red hair and gray eyes rang a bell and he realized he’d seen him in photographs. “Yes, sir. You’re Mad Dog’s … I mean, James Kavanaugh’s father.” He extended his hand and the man clasped it in both of his.
“William Kavanaugh. I’m here because my son owes his life to you.”
Kavanaugh glanced up at the camera and, although the red light was no longer blinking, he reached up and disconnected the power cord before taking a seat at the table. Chase followed suit. “James, or Mad Dog if you prefer, told his mother and I how you carried him down a mountain when he was gravely injured, and after you yourself had been shot. If not for you, he might now be dead.”
“Sir, he’d have done the same for me.”
“No doubt. But because of what you did, I’m here to offer my services to you pro bono.” The attorney eyed the bruise at his temple. “Did the authorities give you that?”
“No, sir.”
“James told me very little. What have they charged you with?”
“So far, they haven’t said.” He closed his eyes and released a long exhale. “But when they do, it’ll be with kidnapping.”
The red eyebrows rose. Leaning close and lowering his voice, Kavanaugh said, “I need you to tell me everything that happened. Anything you tell me is, of course, attorney-client privilege.”
Chase quickly gave him the highlights of the last five days, leaving nothing out. He finished by saying, “Larissa swore not to identify me but, according to the FBI agents, she has.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Only about the incident with the punks in the alley, denying, of course, Larissa’s presence.”
“No matter what happens, don’t admit to anything. In fact, you will not speak again to anyone without me being present. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s in your favor that you never directly harmed the woman but, unfortunately, she was injured as a result of your actions. Kidnapping involving bodily injury is a capital offense, which is most likely what the prosecution will attempt to charge you with.” A small vertical crease appeared in Kavanaugh’s forehead as the red brows pulled together in thought. “Let me think about our options. Would you like a coffee?”
“Yes sir, I would. Thank you.”
* * * * *
Kavanaugh stopped before the coffee machine in the vending alcove. He was fishing in a pocket for change when, down the corridor, a door to a public restroom opened. A young, dark-haired woman with a severely battered face stepped out into the hallway. If this were the woman in question, then O’Malley hadn’t exaggerated. The man his client knew as “Keswick” had really done a number on her.
As she limped down the hallway toward him, it soon became obvious that a beautiful woman lurked somewhere beneath the multitude of assorted bruises. “Larissa Santos?”
Cautious green eyes flicked to him. “Yes?”
“My name is William Kavanaugh. I’m the attorney of the man accused of abducting you.”
This pronouncement brought her to an abrupt stop. She glanced up and down the hallway, then limped over to stand before an adjacent vending machine. He dug through his pockets for change. “May I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Green eyes skimmed over his golf clothes. “How do I know you’re really his attorney and not with the FBI?”
She had the most delightful southern accent. Kavanaugh fed coins into the machine and made a selection. “Do the agents know that after seducing your kidnapper, you temporarily eluded him by fleeing into the woods, then bashed him in the temple with a rock when he recaptured you?”
Color blazed into her face and her eyes dropped to the floor. “I only seduced him because I was desperate to escape.”
“Which is completely understandable. And if you’d been up against any other man, I’ve no doubt you’d have been successful.”
She glanced up and down the corridor. “Would you please tell him I haven’t identified him?”
As coffee dispensed into a paper cup, he said, “The agents claim you have.”
“What? I swear I didn’t!”
So, she was keeping her word not to identify him. At least, so far. He removed the steaming cup from the machine. “May I ask why you’re willing to protect the very man accused of abducting you?”
&
nbsp; She lowered her voice to the faintest of whispers. “Sparrow conned him. I’m not defending his actions but, at great risk to himself, he returned to save me from an unspeakable death. I gave my word not to identify him and, no matter what happens, I will not do so. He hasn’t confessed to anything, has he?”
“No.”
“Please make sure he doesn’t.”
Kavanaugh fed more coins into the machine. “You may rest assured he’ll do no such thing.”
She glanced once more up and down the corridor. “The agents don’t believe me. They’re planning to check his vehicle for my DNA, and they want me to give them a reference sample. Do I have to allow it?”
“If you refuse, they’ll simply get a warrant. They’re going to do everything in their power to wear down your defenses. I don’t wish to alarm you, but kidnapping is a grave offense carrying a penalty of up to twenty-five years.” He returned his attention to the vending machine, pressed a few buttons, and a second cup dropped down.
“Mr. Kavanaugh, what’s his name?”
“You don’t know?” When she shook her head, he said, “Chase O’Malley.”
She repeated the name thoughtfully, started to smile, then winced and raised a hand to her swollen and sutured lower lip. “The name suits him.”
Behind them, rapidly approaching pumps made sharp staccato sounds on the grey linoleum, and a woman’s voice called out, “Ms. Santos!” Kavanaugh removed the second cup of coffee from the machine and turned. A petite East Indian woman in a dark pantsuit shot him a suspicious glance. He nodded to her and, as he strode away with the two cups of coffee, heard her demand, “What were you and that man talking about?”
Santos’ quick answer was a relief. “He suggested I should be seen by a doctor, and I explained that I’d already been to the emergency room.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yes, why? Who is he?”
“No one you should be talking to.”
In the interrogation room, O’Malley looked up wearily, wearing the expression of a man on his way to his own execution. Kavanaugh set one of the cups before him. “Cheer up, Mr. O’Malley. I bring good news.”
The Heart Has Reasons Page 25