Playing Dead pb-3

by Allison Brennan

  Hamilton had caused far more problems by killing himself than they had with the Feds and that bitchy little investigator from Rogan-Caruso. The police would be all over his penthouse and the courthouse. And no matter how careful Hamilton had been with the records, something was going to leak out.

  Which meant damage control.

  Jeffrey needed a good plan. When the police came calling, he and Richie would of course be shocked and dismayed over Judge Drake’s secret life. They had no idea he was involved with anything illegal. The cops might not believe them, but they’d need proof. And right now, there was proof of nothing.

  “Dammit, Richie, where are you?”

  Jeffrey got out of his car and typed in the code to the gate. It swung open and he drove his car through. The gate closed behind him, and he circled around to the front door, stopping behind Richie’s Escalade.

  Damn them all, Richie was panicking, too. Was he going to skip town and leave Jeffrey alone to answer all the questions? They’d agreed last night that as long as they stuck together and gave the same story, they’d be able to ride out the storm. Jeffrey couldn’t just walk out. He was a public figure. A congressman, and he was going to win the U.S. Senate seat. These problems were deterring him from his responsibilities and his job. He was a winner. This crap wasn’t going to touch him.

  Jeffrey jumped out of his car. He looked in the Escalade. Dammit, packed bags were in the back. Bastard.

  He stormed up the front steps and pounded on the door.

  It swung open.

  Jeffrey stared at the bodies in the foyer. Richie was dead. Shot multiple times in the head and torso. His wife was lying in the living room, dead. And Harper. Harper had taken out his gun, had seen a threat, but he hadn’t reacted fast enough.

  Jeffrey knew only one person who had the ability to kill in cold blood like this. Ability, and a reason to do it.

  Hamilton hadn’t killed himself. He was pushed.

  Jeffrey was next.

  “Not on your life, fucking asshole. I’ll nail your tough hide to the wall.”

  He needed to watch his back, because Jeffrey was certain that he was next on Bruce’s hit list. But what if Jeffrey surprised him instead?

  Jeffrey’s entire life, his future, was in jeopardy. Everything he’d worked for, all the bribes, the lies, the manipulation, the hours he’d put into obtaining power and control. He was so close! The United States Senate! He’d had plans. Senate pro tem, and then who knew? President? He would have been the greatest of the twenty-first century.

  His dreams shattered in front of him.

  He would kill the bastard assassin Bruce and then Jeffrey would disappear. As much as he didn’t want to give up everything he’d earned, everything he’d worked so hard for, self-preservation was the most important thing. He would have to change his name and alter his appearance and create a power base in some pathetic third-world country.

  After all, he still had plenty of money. And with Richie and Hamilton dead, he now controlled it all.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Though Claire had told Bill and Dave that she didn’t mind them bringing the rest of the gang, she felt overwhelmed within ten minutes, even though Manny was with Jill, who was at the hospital in labor.

  Bill sensed her distress. He eased her out of the kitchen where the three cops were dishing up take-out Italian, and sat her in the living room. “One hour, kiddo. You look tired.”

  She smiled. “It’s okay. I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Dad was supposed to go into surgery at eight last night, but the surgeon was concerned about some test results, so they ran more tests and took more X-rays and didn’t even start until three this morning. And he’s still there. It shouldn’t take this long, should it? What if-”

  Bill squeezed her hand. “Don’t do that. He’s still in surgery and that’s positive. Trust the doctors.”

  Claire just wanted her dad back, her life settled. “I hate not being there. I talked to Nelia this morning, and she’s worried, but I think my pacing made her nervous.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to get out of here? We’ll leave the food and let you-”

  “I want you to stay.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  Dave came in. “Do you want me to serve you up?” he asked Claire.

  “I’ll eat in the kitchen,” she said, standing.

  “There’s plenty,” Dave told Agent Warren. “Help yourself.”

  “Save me some,” he said. “Though a cold soda would be good.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Phil said, “I got it, Dave. Grab the bread out of the warmer.”

  Claire walked into the kitchen and saw the spread-and the accompanying mess. “I’ll clean up,” Dave assured her.

  “You’d better,” she said and smiled. Even though she’d have preferred to be alone, all she’d been doing this morning was sulking and worrying about her father’s surgery. That was hardly working to prove her father’s innocence. Though Agent Elliott told her that they were taking her father’s claims seriously, as well as following up on everything Claire had uncovered, Claire wasn’t there to know herself. She was tired, but she couldn’t sleep if she tried.

  “Thanks for coming by,” she told Dave quietly.

  He rubbed her shoulder. “I love you, kid.”

  Claire didn’t feel much like eating, but to appease Dave and Bill, she ate a small plate of spaghetti. Agent Warren took his soda and stood guard, leaving her alone with her friends. She wondered what Mitch was doing. Following up on information? Leads? Was he interviewing Collier yet? She wished she could go down to FBI headquarters and find out exactly what was going on. The waiting game was going to kill her.

  She excused herself and made a call. SSA Megan Elliott had given her a private number, and Claire didn’t feel guilty about using it.

  “Elliott.”

  “Agent Elliott, this is Claire O’Brien.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. But I wanted to know what was going on. No one has called, I don’t know if you have Collier, or what happened to Lora Lane, or if-”

  “Okay,” the Fed interrupted. “I get it. I hate being out of the loop as well, but right now I can’t give you the information you want.”

  “But-”

  “We’re swamped. I have a dead judge, Collier in custody but not talking, and the media has set up shop outside the building.”

  “Judge?” Claire remembered the news report, and it clicked. “Judge Drake-he’s the one who arraigned Frank Lowe. Detective Abrahamson told me yesterday he was most likely to know the details of any plea agreement between Lowe and the D.A.’s office.”

  Agent Elliott asked quickly, “Did you say Drake? Judge Hamilton Drake?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Will you keep me in the loop? Please?” Claire hated to beg, but she didn’t want to make Megan Elliott so mad she wouldn’t keep her informed.

  “As much as I can, I will.”

  “I guess I’ll take it.”

  “Thanks, Claire. If you want a recommendation to Quantico, let me know.”

  She laughed. The first laugh in far too long. “Thanks, but I like working for Rogan-Caruso.”

  “I can imagine.” She hung up.

  Claire felt better knowing that the FBI was working the case hard. The truth would come out. It had to.

  Yawning, she returned to the living room. The guys were all sitting around, relaxing. She sat on the couch next to Bill. “Eat too much?”

  “I didn’t think so, but I sure feel like it.” He put an arm around her. “You holding up?”

  “Yeah. I just talked to Agent Elliott and I know they’re on top of things. It’s just I wish I was there. I hate not doing anything.”

  “You’ve already done more than enough,” Bill said. “If not for you, I don’t think they’d have half the info they have.”
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  “Maybe not,” she said. “I don’t know.” She yawned again.

  “Claire, go ahead and go to bed. You’ve had a rough night.”

  “Thought you guys were going to clean up?” she teased Dave.

  “Phil’s doing the dishes,” Dave said. “He drew the short straw.”

  She leaned her head against Bill’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “I’m so glad I have my dad back, Bill. But you will always be special to me. I wouldn’t have survived those years without you and Dave.” She felt herself drifting off. Bill didn’t say anything. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt thick.

  “Claire?”

  She heard a voice. Agent Warren? She thought she’d spoken out loud, but her tongue felt thick. A sliver of fear ran up her spine when she heard a heavy thud.

  Then she heard nothing.

  Mitch was the bad cop and he was irritated enough to play the role to a T.

  Don Collier, the bastard, was saying nothing. He’d requested a damn lawyer who still hadn’t shown, and Mitch wanted to smash the defense-attorney-turned-law-professor’s smug face.

  “We should let him go,” Hans said.

  Mitch didn’t know what Hans had planned, and his initial reaction was to curse. He trusted Hans enough to follow through on the lead-in. “Shit, Vigo, what are you thinking?”

  A faint nod told him that Hans had a plan and Mitch was on track.

  “We really don’t have enough to keep him. Keep his passport, by all means, but let him go home.”

  “I’d rather keep him behind bars,” Mitch said. “Lose him in the system.”

  Collier wanted to say something, Mitch saw his jaw working, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “Mitch, I’ve told you before that you’re going to keep going up before the OPR every time you let your temper run the investigation.” Hans stood, tapped on the window, and Meg came in. “Is the media still out front?”

  “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Right outside the gate. I can’t get rid of them.”

  “Is there a back door where Mr. Collier can leave?”

  “Sure, but they’re lining that street as well.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. Why don’t you make a statement that Professor Collier isn’t under arrest, that he’s only wanted for questioning. I’m sure that will alleviate his mind. He’s probably worried about his position and tenure. I don’t want him to fear his job security because of this situation, especially if nothing comes of it.”

  “No problem, I’ll write up a statement and have the SAC read it-”

  “No!” Collier pounded his fist on the table.

  Hans turned to him. “Mr. Collier, I don’t want to waste your time or mine. We can bring you in for a formal interview Monday morning. We simply want to make sure you can’t leave the country, until we find the answers we need.”

  “Just-I’ll wait for my attorney. I want to get this over with.”

  “So do we,” Hans said. “But your attorney is late.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s one o’clock on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. No one wants to be here.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Collier said. “You’re trying to get me killed.”

  Mitch stared at him. “Give me a fucking break.”

  “You want me to lead you to who killed Oliver? I had nothing to do with that, I had nothing to do with anything, and I’m not going to let you get me killed.”

  Hans sat down. “I’m in a position to offer you immunity, Mr. Collier.”

  “You’re not an attorney. You can offer me nothing.”

  “I have a lot more clout than you might think. I’m not simply a babysitter transporting criminals cross-country.”

  “I’m not a criminal,” Collier said. “I’ll stay here until my attorney arrives. And I’m going to sue you for false arrest, transport across country without my permission, and harassment.”

  Mitch’s phone beeped and he frowned. He looked at the message. It was from Grant.

  We found the S550. Registered to Chad Harper, we’re at his residence. He lives in a guest house on the property of Richard and Tiffany Mancini. He’s dead as well as the Mancinis. Call me ASAP.

  Tom tried to open his eyes, but everything was too bright. His whole body felt bruised and heavy, but he wasn’t in any acute pain.

  “Tom?”

  Nelia was still here. “Umm,” he moaned.

  “Thank God.”

  He felt something warm touching his hand. Was Nelia holding his hand? He couldn’t tell. But he was alive.

  “Claire came by early this morning,” Nelia said.

  She’d looked so tired last night, but she’d come to him. His daughter believed in him. He had her back. The overwhelming relief and joy settled his soul like nothing else could.

  “Am I-” Every word was a chore.

  “Shh, don’t talk. Now that you’re awake, you’re going to be fine. Better than fine. The surgery lasted over eleven hours, but they got the bullet out and repaired the damage. You just need time to heal.”

  Time. Did he have time?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Nelia whispered close to his ear. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. I will do everything in my power to make sure you are cleared. Claire is working on it. The FBI believed you yesterday, they are following up on what you told them and everything Claire learned. Agent Elliott and Agent Bianchi both came by to check on you. They have a man on the door, but I think it’s more as protection for you at this point.”

  “Good.” It was all he could say. Except, “Love you.”

  “I love you, Tom. We’re going to get through this. You, me, Claire, all of us. There’s no one who deserves peace more than you.”

  “Call Claire.”

  “And tell her you’re awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll do it as soon as I find a nurse.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Mitch stared at the three dead bodies in the entry of the midtown mansion.

  Richard Mancini was a wealthy and successful Sacramento area developer. His bodyguard-for lack of a better word-Chad Harper had drawn his gun. His wife was dead just over the threshold of the living room.

  He saw how it played out. Someone came to the door-had to be buzzed through, unless they had the code-and Harper opened the door. Did he see the threat immediately and draw his weapon? Or were they having a conversation, and it wasn’t until a few minutes later that he suspected a threat? Pulled his gun, but the shooter was faster. And accurate. Twice in the chest and once in head. Bang bang bang. Mancini must have been next, because there was no attempt to flee.

  This was an experienced, professional, cold-blooded killer.

  Mrs. Mancini, the least threatening, had been the last victim. She’d run toward the living room, perhaps toward a phone or just to get away from the shooter. She’d been shot in the back three times.

  Why were they killed? Mitch looked around. There was a secure gate at the entrance, secure locks at the doors, there had to be cameras and added security.

  “Did you find any cameras?”

  “Yes, all digital, all erased. I have an e-team coming down to see if there are backups anywhere, but we couldn’t find anything.”

  “The killer knew there was digital security. He knew the victims.”

  “I’m guessing yes.” Grant led Mitch back outside. “The Escalade is registered to Richard Mancini. It’s packed with suitcases. His passport was in his pocket, Dina Mancini had a passport in her purse. They were going on a trip, and it hadn’t been planned. We’re calling the airports to learn their destination. The S550 is registered to Chad Harper. And guess what we found in the trunk?”

  They walked over to the covered garage. The sheriff’s deputy was guarding the car; the trunk had been popped. Inside were dozens of shoeboxes. “Lora Lane’s shoebox collection,” Mitch said. Stuffed behind the boxes were clothes stained with what Mitch knew was blood. Lora Lane’s blood.

  Grant reached down and
took the lid off one box. Inside were several journals. He handed Mitch the one on top.

  Mitch opened it. In perfect, frilly script:

  December 10, 2007.

  I arrived at the Rabbit Hole at 6:07 pm. I was late because Daddy had a special order for lures for his friend John Deynor, who likes sturgeon. I made two of my best lures, and they took me time because I wanted to make sure they were perfect.

  Tip was behind the bar. He wore a white shirt and black jeans. He got a haircut today. Also in the bar were. .

  “What’s this? Her diaries? Why would someone kill her for her diaries?”

  “I haven’t looked at them all, but they’re not diaries. They are notes on Tip Barney, but she also adds in her random thoughts and observations. They appear to go all the way back to when he first opened the bar in Isleton. The sheriff is letting us have the boxes, and I’m waiting for a team to transport them to the lab. We’ll work on it until we have an answer.”

  Mitch glanced toward the house. “Why did Harper have them in his car? Why was Lora Lane. . stalking Frank Lowe? Why would Harper care?”

  “All good questions. I have no answers yet-”

  Mitch shook his head. “Sorry. I was just thinking out loud.”

  Mitch looked around. This felt odd. There was obviously a connection, but it eluded him.

  His first reaction had been that a distraught Police Chief Lane had learned who had killed his daughter and came here for vengeance. But Mitch knew Chief Lane hadn’t left Isleton. Two agents were down there watching him and the Rabbit Hole.

  Mancini. Developer. “Grant, do you know if Mancini was involved at all with Waterstone?”

  “No idea. Meg was researching that.”

  Mitch called Meg. “Who are the principals of Waterstone Development, other than Judge Drake?”

  “Hold a sec.” A moment later, she said, “Jeffrey Riordan and Richard Mancini. Riordan is a congressman,” she added. “He’s running for Senate.”

  “And Mancini is dead. What if Judge Drake didn’t fall or jump?”

  “The Sac PD is all over the scene. I’ve spoken to the chief of police. He’s treating this as a possible homicide and has pulled the security tapes. His people are canvassing the building and immediate area.”