“Sir, please call me Chase.”
“Very well, Chase. I spoke to Ms. Santos.”
O’Malley’s entire face lit up. “How did she look? Is she holding up okay?”
“Emotionally, she seems to be coping well enough.”
“Jesus, what a fucking mess I’ve dragged her into.”
Kavanaugh waited a bit. “Don’t you want to know the good news?”
“I thought that was the good news.”
“The agents apparently lied to you. She claims she has not, and will not, identify you.”
Kavanaugh watched as a series of emotions cascaded over his client’s face. The extent of his relief was evident as his shoulders suddenly relaxed, and he slouched back in his chair with a long exhale. “Chase, do you have feelings for this woman?”
“I … I deeply regret what I’ve put her through.”
“There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible, as the conscience that dwells in the heart of every man. I believe it was Polybius who said that. However, if it’s any consolation, Ms. Santos has apparently forgiven you. Unfortunately, I have bad news as well. They’re going to check your vehicle for her DNA.”
“I thoroughly cleaned and vacuumed, so they may not find anything. What else did she say?”
“She asked your name. I saw no reason not to tell her.”
“That’s fine. Anything else?”
“That was it. A female agent sporting a very manly haircut cut our conversation short.”
“Sengupta. She strikes me as competent, but inexperienced. Jarvis, on the other hand, is both intelligent and observant, always a bad combination in an adversary. He can smell weakness the way a dog smells fear. Larissa will have a hard time holding her own against him.”
“I got the impression Ms. Santos possesses not only intelligence but considerable strength of character.”
A genuine smile wreathed O’Malley’s face. “You have no idea.”
CHAPTER 25
When Special Agent Edison Jarvis finished speaking with William Kavanaugh, he returned to his office, lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and arranged the crease in his trousers. “It certainly didn’t take O’Malley long to lawyer-up. I thought he hadn’t made any phone calls.”
“He hasn’t,” Emily Sengupta assured him.
“And yet he already has an attorney. Interesting.”
“I hear Kavanaugh’s good. What‘d he have to say?”
“In addition to the usual blather about his client being innocent, he warned that he’ll file a civil-action lawsuit if we release O’Malley’s name to the media. With the criminal records of our three witnesses, a jury’s not going to find them very credible and, if Ms. Santos continues to refuse to identify O’Malley, there’s a good chance he’ll walk. So, until we have some concrete evidence, we will withhold his name from the media.”
“The man’s a suspect!”
“So was Richard Jewell. I know it was before your time, but do you remember when he was mistakenly arrested as the Atlanta bomber?”
“Only vaguely,” she admitted.
“Once cleared of the charges, not only did he realize a tidy sum from numerous lawsuits, U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno had to go on television and make a public apology because the Bureau released his name to the media.”
“That was unfortunate,” she agreed. “I hate to say I told you so, but it should’ve been you playing the hard-ass with Santos.”
“I’m not comfortable intimidating women, especially one who’s so recently been victimized.”
“And you think I am?”
“Since a woman’s toughest adversaries are usually other women, I knew you’d be more believable in the role.”
“So you don’t find me too girly?”
“Not at all. You could intimidate me out of my lunch money any day.”
“If you weren’t my superior, I’d call you an asshole.”
“Despite the fact that she saw through our ploy, you did well. When you lunged across the table, I almost believed it myself.”
“It wasn’t that much of a stretch of my meager acting abilities — I was sorely tempted to bitch-slap her into next week. Shall I ease up, or come across harder?”
“Ease up. If we push her unduly, she might invoke the dreaded lawyer request.”
“Why didn’t you come down hard on O’Malley?”
“I immediately sensed it would be pointless. He’s clearly not a man easily intimidated.”
“Yeah, I got the same impression. His lack of emotion indicates he’s a psychopath.” Sengupta handed a folder across the desk. “His military record arrived while we were interrogating him.”
Jarvis opened it and glanced at the first page. Even though he never used profanity at work, he was unable to suppress a frustrated “Motherfucker!”
He felt, rather than saw, Sengupta’s startled reaction to his outburst. “What is it?”
“O’Malley was Special Forces, which explains his extraordinary composure.” Sengupta was quiet as he quickly read though the report. When he finished, he closed his eyes and wearily pinched the broad bridge of his nose. “Goddamn it.”
“So, do you still like him for this?”
He opened his eyes to find Sengupta regarding him curiously. “Oh, he’s definitely our man. Any word on the men he assaulted?”
“Two agents are in San Bernardino looking for them.” She leaned back in her chair, scanned the file, and blew out a long, low whistle. “This asshole was the recipient of two Purple Hearts and the Medal of fucking Valor. Why would a guy with such an impressive record stoop to kidnapping?”
“For a man like O’Malley, returning to the tedium and monotony of civilian life would have been a tough adjustment. Not only would he have missed the adrenaline rush of constantly living life on the edge, he’d gotten used to living by his own rules.”
“You sound as if you’re speaking from firsthand experience.”
Jarvis shrugged noncommittally. “I think he was just trying to add a little excitement to his life.”
“Then he should have hired a couple of hookers.” She closed the file and passed it back to him. “It looks like it’s gonna take some time to wear him down.”
“You don’t understand, Emily. The man has been trained to withstand torture. Nothing we say or do is going to ‘wear him down’.”
She drummed deceptively fragile-looking fingers on the desk. “So we’ll have to wring the truth from Santos.”
Jarvis nodded. “But gently. Let’s not forget that she’s the victim.”
“I don’t get it. If O’Malley’s our man, why is she protecting him? Did he terrorize her so severely that she’s afraid to identify him?” Sengupta’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Ah, fuck. They spent four nights together. He seduced her, didn’t he?”
“There’s yet another possibility. She may have seduced him, in an attempt to dissuade him from delivering her to Sparrow.”
“If so, she clearly wasn’t successful, so why protect him?”
“Perhaps out of gratitude that he saved her from the men in the alley.”
“So you think they attempted to rape her?”
“With Waddell’s history of sexual assault, my guess is that he’d have been unable to resist taking advantage of the situation.”
Sengupta nodded her agreement. “And O’Malley was pissed when he caught him at it. Why didn’t the detectives have a rape kit performed while she was at the hospital?”
“Fahey said she refused.” When his cell phone chimed, he fished it from an inner jacket pocket. “Special Agent Jarvis.” He listened for a moment, said, “Assemble another line-up,” and disconnected. “Agents just delivered our three witnesses from the alley.”
“Since O’Malley’s already admitted to the incident, putting him in another line-up seems kind of pointless. But since the men claim to have seen Santos in the back of his vehicle, maybe we should put her in a line-u
p.”
Jarvis shook his head. “As much as I’d like to do that, it wouldn’t be appropriate. However, we’ll see if they can pick her out of a photo array.”
* * * * *
Jarvis was not surprised that each one of the rough-looking trio, separately and without hesitation, picked O’Malley out of the line-up, despite the fact that he’d been wearing a ski mask at the time of the assault.
All three bore numerous bruises and abrasions, and a sling immobilized one of Andre Gant’s shoulders, but O’Malley had definitely done a number on Malik Waddell. His right arm was casted, and two broken legs confined him to a wheelchair. Although Waddell had never been charged with murder, it would have been no surprise to learn that he’d legitimately earned each tattooed teardrop.
Under his manufactured façade of confidence, Waddell was clearly nervous as he gave his version of the morning’s events. When he finished, Jarvis said, “So, you got a good look at the woman.”
“Yeah.”
He fanned a dozen photos out on the desk. “Do you recognize her?”
Waddell studied them for nearly a minute before picking Santos’ out. “This be her, but this morning she weren’t all beat-the-fuck-up.” With his one unbroken limb, he absently reached up to touch the puffy abrasion on his forehead.
“This morning, you weren’t all ‘beat-the-fuck-up’. The suspect assaulted you much worse than he did your companions. Why was that?”
The sullen face turned even uglier. “’Cause I was the only one who stood up to him like a man. Rest of ‘em just laid down like bitches.”
“I would imagine it was difficult to stand up to him once you had one broken limb, and yet he kept beating you until you had two additional.”
Apparently sensing the direction the conversation was taking, Waddell scowled. “What you sayin’, yo?”
“Only that it seems as though the suspect concentrated the majority of his anger on you. What did you do to the woman that sent him into such a rage?”
Waddell’s jaw clenched. “I done tole you, we was tryin’ to rescue her.”
“How did you know she was in the vehicle.”
“She was callin’ fo’ help.”
“I thought you said she was gagged.”
“What I means is, she was makin’ noise. Kinda like moanin’.”
“So, without knowing who or what was in the vehicle, you heard a sound like ‘moaning’, and took it upon yourselves to break into the vehicle. It didn’t occur to you that a couple might have been inside having sex?”
Waddell appeared distinctly uncomfortable. “Naw. Didn’t sound like that kinda moanin’.”
“Why didn’t you simply report your suspicions to the police?”
“Weren’t no police around.”
“I see. And not one of you had a cell phone?” Waddell simply glared belligerently. “Mr. Waddell, you’re only twenty-two, and yet you already have a long and violent criminal history that includes arrests for sexual assault and a conviction for rape.”
“Yo, what you tryin’ to say?”
“Only that it must have made your day to find a woman tied up, gagged, and totally helpless.”
Waddell’s face grew tight with anger. “Whatever that fuckin’ bitch sayin’, she be lyin’.”
“So the suspect didn’t beat you half to death because you attempted to sexually assault her?”
“I got beat down ‘cause I was tryin’ to help that bitch. And, yo, what that motherfucker say ‘bout why he had her all tied up?”
“Actually, he claims there was no woman in his vehicle. He says he caught you and your companions breaking into it, three of you pulled weapons, and he defended himself. Incidentally, one of the armed men fits your description. Carrying a firearm would be a violation of the terms of your parole.”
Waddell’s chin went up defiantly. “I ain’t had no fuckin’ gatt.”
They hadn’t yet recovered the weapons, but Waddell didn’t know that. “So we won’t find your fingerprints on either of them?”
Waddell’s eyes slid away. “Naw, man. If’n he say she weren’t there, what she say?”
“Not only does she deny being in the vehicle, she denies ever having met the suspect.”
“If that bitch ain’t been in his fuckin’ vehicle then, yo, how the fuck she gonna say I put my hands on her?”
Jarvis grinned at him. “The woman didn’t tell us that, Malik. You did.”
He interviewed the two other men in turn. All three of their stories meshed and were credible, up to a point. Parnes and Gant also initially claimed to have heard the woman calling for help although, when reminded she was gagged, they also adjusted their stories. Both men denied that any of them had touched Santos.
Jarvis inquired about the two men who had not sought medical treatment, hoping against the odds that they might be somewhat more credible as witnesses. Unsurprisingly, all three men professed ignorance as to the other two men’s names and whereabouts. After they signed their statements, Jarvis reluctantly released them for transport back to San Bernardino.
When he and Sengupta returned to their office, she prompted, “Well?”
“They saw Santos tied up in the back of the vehicle, just as they claim. But since their testimonies aren’t going to account for squat in court, we need Santos to ID O’Malley.” He stared at his steepled fingers. “If O’Malley was headed to Chatsworth, why did he exit the expressway in San Bernardino? Why did he stop in that alley?”
He pondered the matter for several minutes. “Detective Fahey said Santos was treated at the ER for asthma, and she stated her abductor was quick to provide her with her asthma medication whenever she needed it. Maybe she ran out.”
A smile momentarily relieved the severity of Sengupta’s face. “Forcing O’Malley to make an unanticipated stop to buy another.”
Jarvis nodded. “Exactly what I’m thinking. I wonder if there’s a pharmacy proximate to where the altercation took place.”
“I’ll find out.”
“Do that. Who knows, with a little luck, the pharmacy may have a video of O’Malley buying the inhaler. In the meantime though, I’d like to perform a little experiment. I’m curious to see how O’Malley and Santos react to each other.”
* * * * *
In the interrogation room, Chase slouched back in his chair, trying futilely to ignore the insistent pounding in his skull. Kavanaugh had finally left, after admonishing him once again not to answer any further questions without him present to run interference.
He straightened as Agent Sengupta opened the door. “Come with me, O’Malley.”
Despite already knowing the answer, he asked, “Am I being released?”
She gave him a vicious little smile. “I’m afraid you’ll be enjoying our hospitality for a while yet.” He followed her down the corridor until she stopped before a door labeled INTERVIEW ROOM THREE. Moving the slider to the OCCUPIED position, she pushed the door open and stepped aside, a silent injunction for him to enter.
The first thing that caught his eye was the four-foot-by-six-foot, two-way mirror built into the opposite wall.
The second was Larissa, slumped over the room’s only table, her head resting on her folded arms. The sight of her brought him to an abrupt halt.
Sengupta stepped back into the hallway and closed the door. As the lock clicked into place, Larissa wearily looked up and blinked at him. It wrenched his guts to see the ghastly patchwork of sullen reddish-purple bruises that had blossomed on her beautiful face. Two tiny sutures held the split in her lower lip closed, and the injured eye now swollen shut looked painful as hell.
When shocked recognition widened the uninjured eye, he flicked his own to the mirror, a silent warning that they were under observation. She gave a barely perceptible nod to indicate that she understood.
Tears blurred his sight, making the room swim. He’d done this to her as surely as if he’d taken his own fists to her, and he knew with an absolute certainty that the memory of he
r battered face would haunt him for the rest of his life. It was a goddamned shame that Sparrow had died so quickly. It would have been immensely satisfying to have given the murdering cocksucker a foretaste of Hell before actually sending him there.
Trying to act normally lest he alert the agents on the other side of the glass to the undercurrents between them, he extended his hand across the table and cleared his throat of the obstruction lodged there. “Chase O’Malley.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, her small hand trembling in his. “Larissa Santos.”
Reversing the chair across from her, he straddled it backwards and rested his forearms across its back. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
Her hand went self-consciously to her swollen eye as she lowered her gaze to the table. “That’s all right.”
Jesus, she looked about to drop. The sutures and the lack of wheezing indicated she’d received medical treatment. Longing to wrap his arms around her and soothe her battered body and spirits, it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to do so. Goddamn it. Why the fuck was she still here? Well, the answer to that was clear. The bastards were trying to wear her down.
Silence, thick and uncomfortable, settled over them like a damp blanket. Her gaze constantly flicked to his face, then away again. Other than when she’d viewed him in the line-up, this was the first clear look she had of his face, and so she was understandably curious about him.
She was also clearly nervous. Fidgeting restlessly, her hands were in constant, jerky motion, vainly trying to smooth the wrinkles from her tee shirt, brushing wayward strands of hair back from her face, touching her sutured lip and swollen eye.
There were a hundred things he wanted to say to her, foremost of which was to apologize once again but — painfully conscious of those observing on the other side of the two-way mirror — he remained silent.
She drummed her fingers on the metal table, broken nails clicking loudly in the silence. When he gave her a subtle warning look, she crossed her arms over her chest and sat there rigidly.
The Heart Has Reasons Page 26