“You watch too much TV,” Angela said.
“Actually, I don’t. It’s like you said, I know criminals.”
“Okay, then, we need to talk to Waverly.”
“That’s exactly what we shouldn’t do. The dude ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He’ll just screw everything up.”
Angela uncrossed her legs and tucked them underneath her. “If you’re right, she could’ve called somebody and told them where we are.”
“Nope,” Dre said. “She has no idea where she is. When my boy Mossy brought her over last night, he blindfolded her.”
“You’re kidding.”
“My boy don’t play. He picked her up around the corner from the hotel so he could make sure they weren’t being followed. The girl definitely wants to know where we are, though. She just asked me about going out for groceries, and last night, right before I turned out the lights, she asked me if I subscribed to any magazines.”
Angela’s face went blank. “You lost me.”
“If you wanted a magazine to read, you’d ask me if I had any magazines. You wouldn’t ask me if I subscribed to any magazines. She wants a magazine with my address on it so she can give it to whoever she’s working with.”
Once again, Angela seemed to be impressed with Dre’s assessment of their situation.
“There’s nothin’ around here that has the address on it, not even my driver’s license,” Dre said. “I have a plan to set her up. If she bites, then we’ll know we’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of plan?”
“I’m goin’ to—”
“Hey, Dre,” Britney called from the front room, “your phone is ringing.”
Dre left to retrieve his cell, then headed back to the bedroom, still holding the phone to his ear. He finished the call with a big smile on his face. “I’m sooooo good,” Dre gloated.
“What’s going on?” Angela asked.
“That was Mossy, the one who picked up Britney last night. He said he’s been rackin’ his brain all night trying to figure out where he knows her from. And this morning it finally clicked.”
“What did he say?”
“The girl’s a stripper,” Dre said. “In Vegas.”
Angela hopped off the bed.
“That means she’s probably hooked up with some pretty shady people,” Dre continued. “And it also means that happy Valley Girl act she’s playin’ is total bullshit.”
CHAPTER 83
Waverly had a bad feeling the minute he woke up. Not that things could actually get any worse than they already were.
It started with the frantic call from his brother, Quincy, who’d seen the news reports. After calming him down, Waverly had to contend with the increasingly violent threats Rico was leaving on his voicemail. Then there was his throbbing headache from alcohol withdrawal. It was just his luck to be hiding out with a real-life drug dealer who didn’t have a drop of alcohol in his place.
Everybody else in the apartment was already up and about. Dre and Angela were sitting at the kitchen table. Britney was watching MTV, rapping along with Snoop Dogg.
“I made scrambled eggs and toast,” she said, turning back to face Waverly. “There wasn’t any breakfast meat. Want me to fix you a plate?”
Waverly yawned. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”
“We’re out of orange juice.” Britney peered into the refrigerator. “Should I run out and stock up on groceries?” she asked Waverly. “It’s not like anybody’s looking for me.”
Dre threw Angela a furtive look that Waverly wasn’t able to decipher.
“I’ll have one of my buddies drop off some food for us later on,” Dre said. “In the meantime, nobody’s leavin’ here until it’s safe for all of us to go. Waverly won’t die if he doesn’t have orange juice for breakfast.”
Waverly went to the bathroom to wash up, changing into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt Dre had loaned him. When he exited, Dre and Angela were standing at the end of the hallway speaking in hushed voices. They abruptly stopped talking when he walked up.
“Is something going on that I don’t know about?” he asked.
“What makes you think that?” Dre replied.
“I don’t know. Just a feeling.”
“We’re just putting our heads together trying to figure out our next step,” Angela said. “We can’t stay here forever.”
The three of them walked back into the living room.
“What are they saying about us on the news?” Angela asked.
“You don’t even wanna know,” Britney said. “You’re all either dead, injured or on the run.”
Angela’s face grew distraught. “I can certainly kiss my career good-bye. We haven’t exactly been cleared in Cornell’s death. It doesn’t look good that we’re in hiding.”
Britney got up to turn on the dishwasher, then picked up her purse from the kitchen table. “Mind if I use the bedroom to lie down awhile?” she asked Dre. “That couch killed my back.”
“Go right ahead,” Dre said.
Unless Waverly was imagining things, once again, Dre and Angela traded wary glances. “You two need to tell me what’s going on,” Waverly said.
“We will soon enough,” Angela replied hesitantly. “For the time being, just trust us.”
Britney came out of the bedroom less than ten minutes later.
“That was a quick nap,” Dre said.
“I couldn’t sleep.” She stretched her arms wide. “I’d rather stay in here and hang out with you guys anyway.”
They watched news coverage of the shootout and their escape until it depressed them. Britney made the wise move to turn on a sitcom Waverly had never seen before.
Both Dre and Angela kept fidgeting and looking at each other. An hour later, when Dre’s phone rang, both of them jumped at the same time. Dre grabbed the phone and walked into the bedroom to take the call.
There was an angry look on Dre’s face when he returned. He nodded to Angela, then marched straight over to Britney’s purse and dumped its contents on the floor.
“What are you doing?” she yelled, scrambling to grab her stuff. She reached for her metallic pink Nokia, but Dre kicked it across the room and Angela grabbed it.
“Give it back!” Britney shouted, then charged toward Angela.
Angela tossed the phone to Dre.
Waverly watched the whole scene, not sure what to do or say.
“Waverly, help me!” Britney yelled to him.
Waverly was too dumbfounded to react.
Britney tried to snatch the phone from Dre, but he held it high above his head, out of her reach.
“What do you need a phone for?” Dre asked. “Who do you have to call?”
“None of your business!”
“You’re not gettin’ it back,” Dre said. “I need to see who you’ve been callin’. We know you set up my boy over here. So you need to back up.”
Dre’s words stopped her cold.
She planted her hands on her hips and pouted. “You must be smoking something.”
Dre turned to Waverly. “I left a utility bill on the kitchen counter because I had a feeling your girl was workin’ with somebody who’s tryin’ to get to you. Except they don’t know where we are.
“The bill had my name on it, so she assumed it was for this place. She called somebody and gave ’em the address. But it was actually the bill for a foreclosure I’m fixin’ up.” He stared angrily at Britney. “A couple of your friends showed up there. They broke in, apparently lookin’ for Waverly. But nobody was there because I knew what you were up to.”
Britney’s face colored and she took a step back.
Waverly felt nothing but rage. He walked up to Britney. “Is that true?”
“Of course not.” She brushed her bangs from her forehead. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“I risked my life to try to save yours and you’re trying to get me killed?”
Britney rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Waverly snatched her by the arm, but before he could sling her across the room like he wanted to, Dre pried her arm free and pulled him away.
“Hold up, man. Just cool out. I got everything under control. Now that you know the deal, we can school you.”
Waverly sat down, angry and embarrassed.
“Your cancer patient is a stripper. I suspect somebody put her up to this. I also suspect she doesn’t have cancer. Is that right?”
“Screw you!” Britney shouted.
“That’s more like it. Now you’re actin’ like the little hoochie that you really are.”
Dre dragged her into the kitchen and forced her into one of the chairs. Britney kicked and screamed, but Waverly held her down while Dre wrapped an extension cord around her upper body, tying her to the chair. Waverly and Dre then picked up the chair and carried Britney to the middle of the living room.
“We’re tired of playin’ games with you,” Dre said. “You need to tell us exactly what’s goin’ on.”
“This is kidnapping!” Britney yelled.
Dre was about to stuff a dishtowel into her mouth, when Angela stopped him.
“She’s right,” Angela said. “So far, we haven’t done anything illegal except break the speed limit and run for our lives. If we hold her here against her will, that would be kidnapping. I can’t be a part of that.”
Dre let the dishtowel fall to the floor. “If you’re tellin’ me you want me to let her go, then fine. But that will put all of our lives at risk. The way I see it, we don’t have much of a choice. We need to know what’s goin’ down and she’s the only one who can tell us.”
Angela closed her eyes, seemingly torn.
“I’m with Dre,” Waverly said. “We need to make her talk.”
“Go ahead. I’ve probably already been fired anyway.” She fell onto the couch. “When all of this is over, maybe they’ll let all four of us share the same jail cell.”
CHAPTER 84
Just as Erickson had not expected the man he trusted most in the world to betray him, he also had not expected to lose two careers.
After being forced to resign as Attorney General, his law firm partners dealt him another blow. Instead of allowing him to return to his post as chairman of Jankowski, Parkins, an emergency vote of the Management Committee stripped him of the job. The Committee also requested that he take a leave of absence until the situation surrounding his wife’s death had been resolved. Overnight, he had gone from a Washington power broker to a pariah.
He should have known that Becker had his own motives when he so eagerly suggested murdering Claire. Erickson had been too preoccupied with his own rise to success to realize that Becker wanted the chairmanship of the firm and would do anything to get it.
He glanced at his watch. Nolan Flanagan would be arriving soon. Flanagan was a long-time friend and noted criminal defense attorney. Fearing that he could ultimately be charged with Claire’s murder, Erickson had asked him to come over to discuss representing him.
When Flanagan arrived, Erickson showed him to the backyard where they sat on the patio to talk.
“I’ve been reading quite a bit about your wife’s death in the papers,” Flanagan said. “It’s not pretty.” He had dark unruly hair and a thick mustache. When he wasn’t standing before a jury, he was usually dressed in corduroys and a sports coat.
“First things first,” Erickson said. “What’s your hourly rate?”
Flanagan waved him off. “I’m here as a friend, Larry. We can talk about money later.”
Erickson no longer believed in friendship. He would never again trust another living soul.
“No,” Erickson insisted, “I want to make absolutely sure our communications are protected by the attorney-client privilege. We’re going to do this by the book. What’s your rate?”
“Five hundred,” Flanagan said reluctantly.
Erickson picked up his checkbook and scribbled out a check for fifteen hundred dollars. He tore it out and slid it across the table. “I suspect three hours should do it for today. We can work out a more formal arrangement later.”
Leaning back in his lawn chair, Erickson looked past his friend out into his garden. “What I’m about to disclose is definitely going to shock you. But I’m going to tell you everything because you need to have the full picture if you’re going to properly represent me.”
Erickson planned to reveal all, with one exception. He would never tell anyone about his affinity for kiddie porn.
Flanagan held up a hand. “If you killed your wife, I don’t want to know.”
Erickson understood. An attorney could not intentionally put on evidence that he knew was false. But if he didn’t know for sure, he had free reign.
“I did not kill my wife.” Erickson looked him squarely in the eyes. “And that’s the honest truth.”
He began by explaining Becker’s suggestion that they kill Claire to keep her from ruining his chances to become Attorney General.
“You were willing to kill your wife to get that job?” Flanagan asked, not hiding his amazement.
“She was already dying,” Erickson said coldly. “Anyway, it was Becker’s idea, not mine. He even agreed to commit the murder himself.”
Flanagan gripped both arms of his chair. “And why would he do that for you?”
Erickson wished he’d taken the time to ask himself the same question weeks ago. “At the time, I assumed he did it out of loyalty.”
“That’s an awful lot of loyalty. I don’t know anyone loyal enough to commit murder for me.”
“He had another reason,” Erickson said. “I just didn’t realize it at the time, but Becker wanted the chairmanship of the firm. He wanted me to get the AG job simply to clear the way for him to step into my shoes. He was always reluctant about becoming my deputy. After I got the job, I think he set out to personally destroy me.”
“So Becker killed your wife?”
“No, my stepdaughter, Ashley, killed Claire.”
“Forgive me,” Flanagan said, leaning over the patio table, “but I think I need a stiff drink.”
Erickson returned from the kitchen with two bottles of beer. “Unfortunately,” he said with a wry smile, “I’ve consumed all the hard liquor in the house.”
He continued with his story and when he was done, Flanagan spent thirty minutes peppering him with questions.
“Tell me something,” Flanagan said. “Why does Ashley hate you so much?”
Erickson absently tapped the beer bottle with his index finger. “She was quite a handful when Claire and I got married. She resented my being in their lives. Claire couldn’t control her so we decided to send her off to boarding school. Ashley, however, blames me for that decision.”
“What evidence do you have that Ashley killed her mother?”
“None, really.”
“Then it’s possible Becker actually did it?”
Erickson shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”
He could almost see the wheels turning in Flanagan’s head. The best criminal attorneys didn’t care about guilt or innocence. For them, the intellectual challenge came from winning an unwinnable case.
“From a defense perspective,” Flanagan said, “it’s easier to prove reasonable doubt when there’s another plausible suspect to point the finger at.”
“Well, we have at least two. Both Becker and Ashley have strong motives.”
“If we point a finger at Becker as the murderer,” Flanagan continued, “the plot to kill Claire will no doubt come to light. That would make you an accessory.”
Flanagan stopped and took a long pull on his beer. “For your sake, let’s hope Ashley did kill her mother. If she didn’t and Becker goes down for murder, you could, too.”
CHAPTER 85
Dre knew that it wouldn’t take long for Britney to fold. Depriving her of food and water for three hours and twenty-two minutes was all it took.
Angela and Waverly were sitting in front of the TV eating a p
epperoni pizza delivered by Domino’s when Britney started pleading. “You can’t just let me starve.”
Dre looked over at her. “Yes, we can.”
“I need to go to the bathroom!”
“Guess you’ll have to hold it until you tell us what we want to know.”
“I already told you, I don’t know anything!”
Both Angela and Waverly had begun to think that maybe she didn’t, but Dre wasn’t buying her denials. “I think you do,” he repeatedly challenged her.
It went back and forth like that until the pizza was almost gone. Britney finally started talking once they untied her and gave a slice of pizza and a bathroom break.
“How did you end up at that church meeting where you met me?” Waverly asked.
“My boyfriend told me to go.”
“Who’s your boyfriend?”
“His name’s Ricardo. Ricardo Montoya.”
“Why’d he want you to go?”
“He runs this scam, okay? I don’t have cancer. The medical records I gave you were fakes. But even if they had been real, I wasn’t sick enough to qualify for one of those policies. Ricardo figured you would buy my sob story and sell my policy anyway. And you did.”
“I helped you because I felt sorry for you,” Waverly said. “You’re the only client I ever did that for.” From the look on his face, the betrayal still hadn’t sunk in.
Britney smiled. “Guess that makes me a pretty good actress, huh?”
“How can we get in contact with Ricardo?” Dre asked.
“His number’s in my phone. He’s the one I gave the address to.”
“Where does he live?” Dre asked.
“He lives in Vegas. When he comes to L.A., he usually stays at my place.”
“What’s Ricardo’s line of work?”
“He’s a dealer. Primarily meth, occasionally crack. Can I have something to drink?”
“Not until we’re done,” Dre said. “So was Ricardo killin’ Waverly’s clients after he bought their policies?”
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