by Polly Iyer
“You know who did this?”
“I have an idea,” Luke said.
Jeff came over and mouthed something to Luke. After a glance at Abby, Luke turned back to his friend. The paramedic said, “You coming?” Luke made his choice. He shook his head. The doors to the back of the ambulance closed. Luke watched it drive away, then hurried with Jeff to his car.
* * * * *
Collyer almost made it to I-95 when he saw the flashing light on the dash of the unmarked SUV. Damn, he’d been so careful. Never drove over the speed limit. No burned out bulbs. He could have taken back roads, but it would have doubled his time, and he needed to get out of the country. His car was registered to a shell company, one of many in the Gentry-Serrano network. Legal but untraceable, as long as no one took the time to unravel the tangled provenance. Why the fuck was the damn cop stopping him?
He’d arranged everything in advance. He wasn’t chancing a nearby airport like Jacksonville or Myrtle Beach or even Atlanta. That’s exactly what they’d expect. No, he always devised an escape route, and as soon as he got in the car, he set it in motion. With new papers in hand, he’d arranged a private jet out of Richmond bound for Amsterdam. He’d be back in South Africa before the cops got their asses in gear. He didn’t need the distraction of an overzealous cop aiming for his monthly quota.
Pulling to the side of the highway, he popped the glove compartment for the papers. A button inside released his Sig. He tucked it under his right thigh, ready. He sure as hell didn’t want to leave a dead cop behind, but he would if he had to.
Damn, two cops. The one riding shotgun got out and walked towards him. Big guy. Walked with his head down so that Collyer saw only the top of head. Couldn’t make out his face or the face of the one in the car. Goddamn state police, driving unmarked vehicles. Sneaky bastards. A fleeting thought questioned why he wasn’t in uniform.
Stay cool. You didn’t do anything wrong. They couldn’t have a make on this car.
He rolled down the window, papers ready. “Was I speeding, officer?”
“Get out of your car, sir,” the trooper said. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”
The driver looked up. He saw the gun pointing at his face. What in hell was going on? Then he looked at the cop’s face. “Fuck,” he said.
The trooper read his lips. “No, fuck you.”
Collyer reached under his leg for the Sig, but it was too late. The timing was all wrong.
“Abby said for you to go to hell,” the cop said.
Chapter Forty-Five
Payback
Luke sat in a chair next to Abby’s hospital bed the whole night, nodding in and out of sleep. Morning light filtered in through the closed curtains of her room. He saw her move. She opened her swollen eyes and turned her head in his direction, reaching out her hand to touch him.
“Is that you, Luke? I smell your aftershave.”
“I’m not sure what you said, but I’m here.” He took hold of her hand, breathing a sigh of relief that she was okay.
“How long have I been out?”
“Repeat, darling,” Luke said. “I missed that.”
She did, and he answered, “It’s the next morning. You’ve been out all night.”
“Have you been here the whole time?”
“All night. The doctor said you’ll be fine after some rest.” He caressed her face, careful not to touch the area around her broken nose.
“I must look like I’ve gone ten rounds.”
“Black and blue are good colors for you.”
She chuckled and slapped his hand. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
He bent down and kissed her cheek, then whispered in her ear. “Actually, I’ve never seen a sight more beautiful.”
“Really? My eyes and nose are on fire from the fumes.”
“It’ll pass.”
“Whew, that’s a relief. I worried I might go blind.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I know. Sorry. Humor is my way of covering up how I really feel, which is very sore and scared to death.” She reached for his arm. “My chest hurts, too, from breathing in those vapors and from the wrong end of Collyer’s shoe. I’m afraid I antagonized him.”
“Which accounts for the two broken ribs. You’re lucky it isn’t worse.”
“Tell me the truth. Am I really going to be all right?”
Luke’s gaze was fixed on Abby’s mouth, concentrating on deciphering every word. When he found her in that warehouse, unconscious and bloodied, his heart had stopped. In that brief moment of panic when he thought she might be dead, his only thought was that he failed to tell her how much he loved her. How he couldn’t imagine life without her. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let the moment pass again. The words had never come easily, and he’d never said it straight out. Not to anyone.
“I love you, Abby.”
She reached for his hand and he took hold. She put it to her mouth, settling a soft kiss on his palm. “I love you, too, Luke. But you already knew that.”
“I want you home with me, but the doctor is ordering you to stay here a day or two longer to run some tests as a precaution. He said we got you out in time—any longer and it would have been iffy. But any longer and we wouldn’t have had anything to worry about. The building blew like a missile hit it.” He didn’t want to scare Abby by reminding her that there was a cop on her door.
“Cleo?”
“Cleo’s going to make it.”
“Thank God. And that nice young cop?”
Luke hesitated, anger and frustration building at the loss of another innocent person. “I’m sorry. He died at the scene.”
“Oh, no.” Tears filled her eyes. “And the people inside the lab building?”
“We got them out safely. A couple have serious problems, but none are life-threatening.”
Abby tugged him closer. “Stewart tried to save my life, Luke. He jumped Collyer from behind, knowing he didn’t have a chance. From what I heard, he almost succeeded. But Stewart was weak and filled with drugs. Collyer shot him in cold blood.” Abby’s bottom lip quivered. “They experimented on him all those years to make him give up the papers, and he never would.”
“I know. Scanlon’s talking like a parrot on a major dose of his own speed. Every time he opens his mouth, his lawyer tries to make a deal.”
“Bastard. He needs to be locked up and the key put into the next space shuttle. He took a beautiful human being and destroyed him.”
“This was major business, Abby. Murder, fraud, money laundering, illegal drug production and distribution in the States and out of the country. Scanlon, a.k.a. the infamous Dr. Quack, I mean Crock, developed illegal drugs. There was an operating room where he experimented on people who slipped through the cracks: homeless, mental patients, you name it. Been going on for years. It’s a mess.”
“Mrs. Gentry told me all about it when they thought I wasn’t going to be around to implicate them.”
“The FBI’s forensic accountants are going over Matt’s papers. Unfortunately, the ones you took from the safe deposit box went up with the building. Mrs. Gentry wasn’t going to let those turn up. Not after all the trouble and pain she caused to get them. Even though the numbers are eight years old, they indicate a major diversion of the Serrano-Gentry Foundation’s funds in the guise of philanthropy to subsidize a huge drug operation, controlled by Anthony Serrano. The feds have seized the foundation’s books. Their accountant filtered money from one place to another and covered the trail in a labyrinth of corporate deception. I guess Mrs. Gentry didn’t want another set of papers coming back to bite her in the ass. But it’s all there. Just needs untangling. Contributors are calling for her head on a silver platter.”
A smile crossed Abby’s lips. “Good. I hope it’s silver plated, not sterling. That woman condoned the murder of her own son.” Abby paused and dabbed at her burning tears. “And Collyer?”
Another hesitation. Luke hated lying to her, but he was abo
ut to. “Collyer was Serrano’s mechanic, his hit man. He’s finished. If they find him. Um, he’s disappeared.”
Abby tried to sit up in bed and winced from the pain. “You mean he got away?”
Luke hesitated. “Looks that way.” He patted Abby’s shoulder. “Take it easy. They’ll get him.”
“He shot me full of drugs.” She pulled up the sleeve of her blouse, fingering the needle’s point of entry. “Anything there?”
“I saw it before they put you in the ambulance,” Luke said. “I wanted to kill the bastard, but like I said, he took off.”
“It was the experience of a lifetime and one I hope never to repeat. What a trip. I actually saw things.”
“He’ll never bother you again. I promise.”
“Everything he did was to satisfy his twisted sense of fun. To alleviate his boredom until they found the envelope. I hope the FBI finds him and locks him in a cell with a psycho worse than he is.”
“He’ll get his. One way or the other.”
Abby pushed the hair off her face and touched her swollen nose. “Where’s Jeff?”
“He’s around.”
“You don’t think he went after Collyer, do you?”
Luke fidgeted in his seat before he spoke. “Naw, he’ll let the feds take care of him. Jeff doesn’t do that kind of thing any more.”
“And the big one: Mrs. Gentry?”
“They arrested her yesterday, but she’s out on bail, claiming she knew nothing about drugs or any illegal activities. It’ll never hold up. Not with Scanlon shooting off his mouth.”
Abby pulled herself to a sitting position. “Is my purse here? I had it with me.”
“I took it from the lab. It’s right here. Why?”
“Give it to me, please?”
He handed her the purse. She fished inside a front pocket and took out her small digital recorder.
“It’s all here.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Collyer broke into my office, I was listening to the files of my next patient. He went to the coat closet to get my cane so I wouldn’t look conspicuous, and I slipped the recorder into my purse. It activates on sound. It’s all on here, Luke. Collyer implicating Serrano and Mrs. Gentry, and best of all, Mrs. Gentry confessing everything. I mean everything. Right back to her arranged marriage into the Gentry clan to save their financial hides. She divulged the whole, sordid story. Some very influential people will be sweating bullets before this thing is over.”
Luke caught enough of what she said to bring a smile to his lips. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Did I ever mention you were brilliant?”
“Not brilliant. Resourceful. I have to be.”
Luke took the recorder. “I wish I could hear this. I’ll have to wait for the transcript. This goes to Norm. He’ll get it to the right people. Unlike Stewart’s taped indictment of his mother, Mrs. Gentry’s confession will not be erased.”
* * * * *
Carlotta Gentry folded her clothes into the large Louis Vuitton suitcase. She’d buy a new wardrobe later when she reached her destination. A quick check of her watch confirmed she had less than an hour before the limo would take her to the airport. Damn the district attorney. He argued to withhold bail, claiming she was a flight risk, but the judge was a friend. One of the few that remained. He set bail at half a million. Her lawyer got her out within hours of her arrest. Money was never a problem. Under duress, however, the judge confiscated her passport. Silly. Did they think the daughter of Anthony Serrano wouldn’t have a backup plan?
Footage of the explosion of the old warehouse filled every news channel since it happened. The police had yet to release anything about who, what, or why. Remains from the fiery blast would take awhile to identify. She turned off the TV. How many times could she watch the fireworks?
With Abby and Stewart dead, her only problem was Herbert Scanlon. Collyer was supposed to take care of him, but she had no illusions. The South African would have fled the area before the building stopped shooting bricks, leaving that little weasel Scanlon to trade everything he knew to save his ass. Then she doubted Herbert ever had a mother. More likely he was hatched.
The money she kept in an offshore account would allow her to disappear forever into a life of luxury. It had been a great ride, but she was a pragmatist. She could stay and fight, but why take the chance she’d lose? And she would. Too many people involved. Some of them would like nothing better than to see her disgraced, even if they implicated themselves in the process. She’d tightened the screws on them, and now they’d return the favor. They’d talk, make deals, turn state’s evidence. Just human nature.
She’d given the servants the day off. They’d offered their best wishes, sure the authorities would realize their mistake. They wouldn’t, of course, but she appreciated the phony optimism.
She wandered through her beloved house in silence, clicking mental snapshots to embrace during the days ahead. Martin Junior would have his golf clubs moved in before her plane landed. The thought caused a small chuckle deep in her throat. He was like her in so many ways. She’d miss him. Her daughter too. And then, of course, there was Stewart. He really was the best of the lot. Unconventional, with the same ridiculous code of ethics as her husband. Dear Martin. She missed him most of all. Oh, well. Life goes on. Now was no time to wallow in the past and what might have been if only he could have looked the other way, bent the rules a little.
She strolled onto the veranda. She’d remember this perfect day. Cloudless blue sky, hardly a ripple breaking the glasslike surface of the water. She returned a wave to a couple sailing by. Maybe she’d recline on the chaise for a few minutes, let the sun soak into her. Then, as if from nowhere, a cloud floated across the sun, casting a shadow over her. The chill prompted a shiver. She turned to fetch her suit jacket and gasped at the unexpected visitors. The deaf cop and his pervert friend. What was his name? Conti? Yes, that was it. Both wore latex gloves.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did you get in?”
“We’ve come to pay our respects,” Conti said.
“Leave. Leave now, before I call the police.”
“Go ahead,” McCallister said. “I’m sure they’ll be interested in that packed suitcase and this plane ticket.” He waved it in the air, then pulled it from its folder. “Morocco, huh? No extradition, I assume. The judge can add attempt to jump bail to your charges. And it won’t be a judge you have in your pocket.” He tore the ticket in half. “I’ll keep the pieces to show the police when they get here.”
She started to grab for it but stopped. Show no concern. “That won’t stop me from leaving,” she said, her chin thrust out in defiance. “If the airlines won’t reissue it, I’ll purchase another ticket at the airport.”
Conti smiled. “What makes you think you’re going anywhere?”
Carlotta Gentry started to say something, but her eyes were riveted to McCallister as he pulled something from his pocket. It looked like a digital recorder.
“This is Abby’s. It’s all here. Your confession. The who, what, where, why, and when.”
Hot sweat trickled down her back. “You’re bluffing. Even if Abigael had a recorder with her, it’s buried under tons of smoldering rubble.” McCallister turned it on, and her words replaced the sounds around her as if the outside world had suddenly disappeared. Her stupid acknowledgment of everything she’d ever done, spoken to Abigael inside the building. Her heart rate accelerated. The significance of that tiny piece of technology in his hand resonated with the truth of her situation. The cop’s words filtered through a fog of panic.
“You obviously haven’t heard the news,” McCallister said. “I’m surprised none of your friends called you. But I doubt you have any friends left, do you? People are distancing themselves as if you had the plague. I’ll fill you in. Abby will be fine, as will most of the people your doctor friend experimented on. Oh, and by the way, he hasn’t shut his mouth since the police took him into custody.
Your friend Herbie is talking a blue streak.”
“That’s what Norm said,” Conti added. “When he finishes blabbing no one in this town will look you in the eye, unless it’s through the bars of a cell.”
How could this have happened? She saw the building explode on television. No one could have gotten out alive. But Abigael escaped and so had Herbert’s detritus. Think, Carlotta. Think. Everyone has a price. Even these two.
“I’ll pay whatever you want. You, McCallister. You’d have more money than you could ever make as a cop. My daughter-in-law could have all the things you can’t afford to give her.”
“Will that money give Abby back her sight, Mrs. Gentry, or the life you stole from her? Will it give back her child? Your grandchild?” McCallister snorted. “No. Stuff your money. It’s no good to her, and it’s no good to me.”
“Talk sense into your friend, Conti. Think about your needs. Security. Whatever you and your partner want to do. Travel, see the world.”
“I’m a simple man,” Conti said, “and I’ve seen enough of the world. I don’t need much. Besides, I’ve caused enough damage working for dirty money, and I still have a bad taste in my mouth to remind me. Naw, I’m fine the way things are. But thanks anyway.”
“What’s wrong with you two? I’m offering you a life out of the realm of your possibilities. Without that recorder, it’s Scanlon’s word and everyone else’s against mine. Me, Carlotta Gentry.” The two men looked at her. Neither moved. She squared her shoulders. “A million dollars each,” she said, unable to smother the tone of desperation. “For the recorder. A million dollars to forget it exists. That’s not chump change, gentlemen. A million fucking dollars. Did I mention, each?”
Conti reached inside his jacket and extracted the gun she kept in her bedside drawer. The gun she’d planned to leave behind because she couldn’t take it on the plane. He laid it on the outdoor table and pulled his own from a shoulder holster.