Blowout ft-9

by Catherine Coulter

  “Now Luciano is a seriously cute dog,” Callie said. “What’s his breed?”

  Mr. Avery leaned close, whispered, “He’s a miniature poodle, but he doesn’t know it. If you asked him, he’d say he’s human.” He patted the dog, raised his voice, and waved them in. “All right, you come in and sit down. Marylee doesn’t use the sound on the TV, couldn’t hear it unless it was loud enough to blast out the neighbors, but she likes it on while she knits. Good lip-reader, Marylee.”

  Mr. Avery settled himself in a matching La-Z-Boy, settled Luciano on his bony legs, and waved Ben and Callie to a very lovely brocade sofa opposite him.

  “All right. Ask your questions, Detective Raven.”

  “Let’s go over exactly where you were when you saw this man, Mr. Avery.”

  “I was maybe twenty feet south of my house.”

  “There was a half-moon last night, so that means light. Were you wearing your glasses?”

  “Yep, have to when Luciano does his business because I gotta scoop it up. And I don’t want a car to run me down when Luciano wants to walk over to Madison Avenue, that’s one of his favorite areas around here.”

  “Okay, so you saw a man. How old was he? What did you think when you saw him?”

  “He wasn’t old, but gawldarn, Detective Raven, a guy’d have to be seventy before I wouldn’t think he was a kid. Okay, let’s say he was getting up there, middle age, fifties, I’d say. He was big, looked fit, no fat that I could tell. He was wearing a Burberry coat. I know Burberrys because that’s all my brother wears, the affected dufuss. I only noticed him because he was running. You don’t see that very often on a Saturday night in this neighborhood. No druggies hang out here, just good solid folks, like Marylee and me and Luciano. We’ve been here for forty-five years.”

  “Where was his car parked?”

  “About twenty feet north of my house, on this side, it was the only car out on the street. Like I said, this is a homey neighborhood, folks have garages and use them. No punks with cars up on blocks in their driveways or on the street.”

  “You said it was a white car, maybe a pale gray?”

  “I think now it was white.”

  Callie beamed at him. “So you remember that now.”

  “Yep, thought about it a lot, like Detective Raven said I’d do. I told the other cops it was a gray or white Toyota, late model, maybe a 2000 or a 2001, but I wasn’t all that sure at the time. Guess they had good reason not to take me seriously about it. I saw a couple of Toyotas today, and that’s what it was. The Toyota had two doors, not four. It was clean, even the radial tires.”

  Ben said, “So the guy runs up to the driver’s side, pulls open the door, jumps in, starts the car, and peels away from the curb.”

  Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “You know what—hey, Luciano, come back to Daddy—don’t chew on Marylee’s slipper!—good boy, that’s a good boy. Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, the thing is, now that I think about it, the car was already running.”

  Ben didn’t move a muscle.

  “That’s something else I remember now. You see, Detective Raven, there wasn’t time for this guy to run to the car, open the door, stick the key in the ignition, turn over the engine, and take off. Nope, he jumped in the driver’s side.” Mr. Avery snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I remember that clearly now. The car had to be running. And he didn’t have to open that door, it was already ajar.”

  Ben, doubtful now, and hating it, hoping the cops weren’t right about Mr. Avery making things up, nonetheless said, “Were you going to call the FBI about remembering this, Mr. Avery?”

  Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “Well, maybe, if they’d asked again, but I knew they were thinking I was just an old buzzard with pudding for brains and probably blind and deaf as a post, like poor Marylee. They sort of acted that way last night. I mean, they were respectful, and they nodded a lot, but you know, I saw them looking at each other when they didn’t think I’d notice. Why waste my time?” Mr. Avery paused a moment, then cursed. “Yeah, I would have called tomorrow, anyway. My pa was a cop, taught me what was right.”

  “Good for you,” Callie said.

  Ben sat forward, hands flexing on his knees. His eyes were bright, and he felt his heart begin to pound. “Well, I’m here, Mr. Avery, and it seems to me you’re as sound as I am, sir. Okay, then, were you saying there was someone else in the car?”

  Both Callie and Ben waited to the sound of Marylee humming to the theme song of a television show no one could hear, her knitting needles clacking loud in the silence. Luciano was standing on his hind legs, his front paws on Mr. Avery’s knee, tail wagging, as if waiting to hear what his master was going to say, too.

  “You know, I don’t remember hearing the car running, but then, I wasn’t really paying any attention, until I saw this guy heading toward that car on a dead run, that Burberry coat flapping around his legs. I guess someone in the car saw him coming, and that someone had to turn on the ignition key. The driver’s side door wasn’t shut, yeah, it had to be partly open, that’s it, because, like I told you, that guy comes running up—he wasn’t even out of breath, I remember that too—and he pulls the door open, jumps in, his foot slams down hard on the gas, and he fishtails it away from the curb.”

  Callie’s foot was tapping. She was sitting forward.

  Mr. Avery pulled Luciano back up on his lap. “Jeez, yeah, now I see it, you know what else? Someone moved inside the car, in the passenger seat. I remember when he floored the gas and the car fishtailed a little bit, someone’s head jerked back. It had to be a woman because her hair sort of fanned out. Yeah, it was a woman waiting for him, a woman who turned on that car. That or some sort of weird hippie guy with long hair.”

  It was close, but Ben avoided picking up Mr. Avery and Luciano and waltzing them around the living room.

  Ten minutes later, Ben was on his cell to Savich, telling him how smart old Mr. Avery turned out to be.

  Savich said, “You’re sure the old man has it together and he wasn’t spinning a good story for you?”

  Ben said, “He’s a piece of work, I’ll grant you that. Initially he comes across on the flaky side, but his brain is intact, Savich. I’m as sure of that as I am that my mother found my stash of Playboy magazines when I was eleven years old.”

  “Okay. You’re right, Ben, this could be big. Well done. Tell Callie she’s a princess. Oh yeah, did you guys enjoy Filomena’s?”

  “Probably as much as you intended us to.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  When Ben hung up, he turned to Callie. “Savich said you were a princess. Does that make you proud?”

  Callie laughed, then sobered quickly. “All right. What are we going to do now?”

  “I’m taking you home. I think we’ve got enough for tonight.”

  “I agree. So there was a woman in Günter’s car. I suppose now Savich will find out where every woman involved in the case was last night. Oh, Ben, you will call me the minute you find out anything about Giffey?”

  “You got it.”

  He turned the Crown Vic around and headed toward Margaret Califano’s house on Beckhurst Lane.

  After about five minutes of staring straight ahead through the windshield, Callie said, “You know, you did look like a natural.”

  “What? A natural what?”

  “When you were holding Sean last night. You looked like a natural.”

  “Oh yeah, well, I got four nieces and nephews, two of each. I’ve changed a couple of diapers in my time.”

  Now she did turn to face him. “Really? You’ve really changed diapers yourself?”

  “It isn’t rocket science, Callie. What with the Velcro tapes, I’d bet you a baby could do his own diaper. Where’s this coming from?”

  She shrugged. “We did have a lovely dinner, didn’t we?”

  “I was salivating more over that dress of yours than I was the swordfish.”

  “It’s been just over a week. It doesn’t seem real.�
��

  He nodded, turned smoothly onto Caledonia Street and continued west. He wanted to ask if she’d like to neck with him, but managed to hold his tongue.

  “Hey,” she said, “Mr. Avery is something else, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is, and that little dog is a ridiculous little bit of fluff, but you know what? I liked him. Happy little critter. Can’t believe I’d say that about a poodle. A miniature poodle, for God’s sake. Thing is, I can see him crawling all over me at six in the morning, licking my face off.”

  As a matter of fact, Callie could picture it too, and that was a surprise. What wasn’t a surprise was that she could also see herself, lying next to Ben Raven, laughing, waiting for Luciano to leap over on her. Why did feelings and attachments have to sprout like weeds at a time like this?

  Ben shot her a look, but didn’t say a word. When they got to Margaret’s house, he walked Callie to the front door. The lights were all off except for the porch light.

  “Looks like your mom’s friends have gone for the evening.” He waited until she’d unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  “Callie, about this natural thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Ah, forget it. Never mind. I’ll call you when I find out anything about Giffey.” She was bundled up in her black wool coat, a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck, but he could clearly picture that sexy little black dress beneath. No, it wasn’t the time, dammit. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to leave when she grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Then she looked up at him and said, “Don’t go. Oh dear, am I an idiot or what? I forgot that my mom told me she wanted me to move back to my own place this evening. She said she was fine now, that she needed to be by herself for a while. I told her I would, that I’d see her for dinner tomorrow night. I forgot. I wonder what I should do.”

  “Check on her, make sure she’s okay, then I’ll take you to your apartment.”

  She nodded. “Okay. What will we be doing tomorrow?”

  “I have a meeting with Captain Halloway and Police Commissioner Holt at the Daly Building at eight-thirty, but I’ll call, let you know when I’ll be coming by to get you. Savich will have something for us to do, count on it.”

  “Come in with me. I’ll check on Mom, then we can have some of her fancy French roast coffee. Anything I’d have at home would be stale, probably growing mold. And Mom always keeps some croissants in the freezer. What do you think?”

  Ben wasn’t tired either. He was hyped. He could take on the world. The fact was he wanted to take her to bed, and that made everything even more intense. “Okay, a croissant sounds good. You got real butter?”

  “Maybe Mom does. You’ll have to take your chances.”

  She took him to the ultra-modern stainless-steel kitchen, gave him a bag of gourmet coffee, and pointed him to the coffee machine, a European thing that looked like you’d need a degree in French engineering to figure it out.

  Callie said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Let me go upstairs and check on Mom. Thing is, I’m still worried about her. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Yeah, go on up, make sure she’s really asleep. If she wakes up, hears us moving around down here, it might scare her since she’s expecting to be alone.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m right here,” Margaret said, smiling at both of them as she walked into the kitchen. She looked pretty good, Ben thought, as he nodded to her.

  “You having any problems with the coffeemaker, Ben?”

  “He’s a guy, Mom. It’s in his genes.”

  Margaret laughed. “Stewart never had that particular gene.” Her voice dropped off, but she didn’t start crying. She walked to the cabinet and reached for coffee mugs.

  Ben’s cell phone rang. “Raven here.”

  Both women watched him as he listened for several moments. When he punched off, he said, “I’m sorry, but something’s come up. Mrs. Califano, Callie, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  And he was gone.

  Callie started to go after him, then stopped. “I wonder what’s going on?”

  “He’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, but in the meantime I’ll miss all the fun.”

  Margaret said, “I think I’d rather have tea. Will you join me?”

  CHAPTER

  36

  BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

  SURGICAL INTENSIVE CARE UNIT

  THE LARGE ROOM was filled with shadows except for the semicircular workstation where six nurses and three clerks manned computers and monitoring equipment, filed reports, and wrote notes in the patients’ charts in the muted light of their individual desk lamps. Conversation within the group was low but frequent, just above the hum and repetitive beeping of the monitoring equipment.

  Only the curtain to cubicle twelve was pulled back slightly.

  At eleven-thirty, an X-ray technician slid her I.D. badge through the slot reader in the SICU door and maneuvered in, pushing the portable X-ray unit in front of her. She was wearing rubber-soled shoes and made no sound when she walked over to the dry erase board to find the cubicle of her patient. She nodded to one of the nurses, who looked at her from behind the console, nodded toward cubicle twelve, and looked back down at the chart she was checking. The X-ray tech located the patient, and disappeared inside uncurtained cubicle number five. There was a soft murmur of voices, the sound of a machine being positioned, then silence.

  The X-ray tech emerged from the cubicle five minutes later, gave a small wave to the staff behind the large workstation, and wheeled out her equipment. Minutes later, another I.D. badge slid through the door slot. A tall older man walked in silently, wearing a white lab coat over green scrubs, carrying a plastic tray with blood-drawing paraphernalia. He was whistling under his breath. The nurse gave only an infinitesimal start, then shook her head at the obvious black dye job on his hair and mustache. Her fingers moved away from a small button at her side.

  The lab tech smiled at her, and then, like the x-ray tech, checked the dry erase board for his patient. “You’d think,” he said, “that docs would try to schedule these nonemergent blood draws when the patient has a chance of being awake.”

  “Nah,” one of the nurses said, “better to catch them half asleep, they don’t worry as much.”

  The lab tech carried his tray to cubicle number four and quietly pushed the door open, disappeared inside.

  After the lab tech left, it was silent again in the large room, and in fact hardly anything seemed to happen in the SICU for the next two hours. The monitors continued their repetitive low-hum vigil, and the patients’ heart rates and blood pressures read out as curiously stable for an intensive care unit. None of the nurses left the central workstation.

  At a quarter to one in the morning, the door to cubicle twelve opened. Agents Savich and Sherlock came out stretching.

  Savich said, “It’s time for a shift change. Are all the new patients ready?”

  “I got a buzz from Agent Brady. He says all’s clear, and they should be arriving as a group just about now.”

  In the next moment, the door to the SICU swung open and three men and two women dressed in hospital nightgowns came walking in, behind them a score of new nurses, clerks, and techs.

  “Hurry,” said one of the patients. “Brady said they just spotted a guy coming this way from the pathology lab.”

  A patient with a huge bandage wrapped turban-style around his head waved an IV line toward his assigned nurse, who rolled her eyes at him.

  Within two minutes, new patients were lying in beds in five of the cubicles. The nurses and staff were settled in behind the workstation, and the machines and monitors resumed their low buzz, the sign all was normal once again.

  Savich paused a moment in the doorway to check over the SICU once more. “Let’s go home, Sherlock.”

  FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Savich pulled the Porsche into his garage. Sherlock punched in the code to disarm the security system, say
ing over her shoulder, “I’m bushed. Nothing’s as tiring as waiting for someone who doesn’t show.”

  Savich rubbed her shoulders as they walked into the kitchen. She turned on the overhead light.

  “Bed never sounded so good,” Savich said as he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator, unscrewed the lid, and took a long drink. He wiped his hand across his mouth and said to his wife, who was leaning against the counter, “Günter is crazy, no doubt in my mind about that. Given the risks he’s taken to date, I was betting he’d take this one too. But he fooled me.”

  “Maybe he’ll show in the middle of the night.”

  Savich shook his head. “Too quiet. Too empty. He’s crazy, but he’s not stupid.”

  He drank deeply again.

  His fingers tightened slightly around the bottle when he heard a whisper of movement not ten feet away from the dark dining room.

  Sherlock caught his eye. She picked up a dishcloth, wiped down the island surface, and turned to face him, looking relaxed, her arms crossed over her chest. “Even though Günter’s crazy, he must have realized his luck couldn’t hold out. He’s an old man, Dillon, old and used up. Quantico was his last hurrah. He’s got no more in him. So why is he here now?”

  A man’s deep voice came out of the shadows, a bit of a slow Southern pace to his words. “Because I knew you flat-footed morons were setting another obvious trap at Bethesda, just like at Quantico. I’ve been waiting for you here, Savich, for quite some time. And now you’ll tell me where you’ve hidden Elaine LaFleurette.”

  “I believe we have a guest, Sherlock. Günter, come into the light, no need to be shy.”

  A tall barrel-chested man walked into the doorway, a SIG-Sauer held in his left hand. As soon as Savich saw he wasn’t hiding his face, he knew Günter intended to kill them. He was dressed in black, even his hands were gloved in black leather, a black cap pulled down to his ears. He looked fit and strong, but his face was deeply seamed, his mouth small and deeply grooved. He looked old, like he’d lived through too many long nights planning too much death. Did he look crazy? His eyes did, Savich thought, cold and empty.