by Неизвестный
19
Two HOURS LATER, Ramsey and Molly sat opposite Dillon Savich and Sherlock in the small breakfast room off the kitchen. Miles had served coffee and some special nut bread he said he'd baked just that morning. He said Emma had told him she liked nut bread, but only with walnuts. Miles and Gunther stood in the shadows back by the outside door.
"Yeah," said Ramsey. "It was an excellent likeness of President Clinton."
Sherlock, who was drinking some of Miles's rich Jamaican coffee, choked.
Savich slapped her on the back. "Get a hold, Sherlock. It may not have been a coincidence. It may have been a mask. But he wore a mask the whole time? That would get real uncomfortable."
"Yes," Molly said, handing Sherlock a glass of water, "but it also means that they-whoever they are-wanted Emma alive, and they continued the disguise so she wouldn't be able to identify that man later."
"It still doesn't make sense," Ramsey said, picking a big chunk of walnut out of the bread. "Then why the attempts on our lives? Believe me, Savich, someone wanted Emma, alive? Dead? I'm not sure which."
Sherlock took another sip of her coffee, then shuddered. She said, "This coffee is delicious but I think it's trying to kill me."
"You shouldn't drink it in any case. You're pregnant. It's not good for you."
"Thanks for announcing it," Sherlock said, grabbed her stomach, and flew through the door Miles quickly opened for her. "Just down the hall on the left," he shouted.
Savich shook his head. "I forgot. You won't believe this, but usually she's just fine. But when I mention the word pregnant in front of her, she has to heave."
Ramsey started to say something, then shook his head, smiling. "I'm not going to go there, Savich." He stuck out his hand. "Congratulations."
"Me too," Molly said.
"She'll be just fine when she gets back, and I'll try harder to watch my mouth. Poor Sherlock. She hates it ' when she loses control."
"She married you," Ramsey said. "She can't hate losing control all that much."
Savich laughed. "Point that out to her and see what she has to say."
Molly said, "You're both FBI agents, you're married, and she's pregnant. You have a transgender laptop and you took a week off to come and help us. Why?"
Suddenly serious, Savich leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands, his elbows on the table. "I've known Ramsey for a while now. We were both in law enforcement, Ramsey with the U.S. Attorney's office in San Francisco, and I with the FBI. We found we had a lot in common.
"We've kept in touch. I admire him, Mrs. Santera. I don't like what's happening. As for Sherlock, she's been a special agent less than a year now, but she's tough and bright, and although she's pregnant, she wouldn't have dreamed of not coming. Uh, if you could not mention the word pregnant in front of her, both of us would appreciate it."
"So it's anyone who says the word pregnant?"
Savich grinned at Ramsey. "As in she blames any messenger or just the guy who got her in this condition?"
"That's it."
"I don't know. I thought it was just me. Maybe you could drop the word by accident and we'll run a small scientific experiment."
"I wouldn't do that to another woman," Molly said. "Thank you both for coming."
"No problem. This is a royal mess. Sherlock doesn't like what's happening to you guys, either. So, this guy was either wearing a Clinton mask or he was a master at makeup and disguises. But it'd have to be a really good mask for Emma not to have realized it was a mask. I vote for a guy who's really good at disguises."
"Yes, that sounds more reasonable," Molly said. "Emma even put bad teeth in Clinton's mouth. Emma's bright."
Ramsey said, "I'm not her mother, but she's right. Emma's three dozen points sharper than Molly's razor."
"I told you not to use it."
"I was lucky not to cut my throat." He turned to Savich. "Did you mean it? You're not here to take over the case from the locals?"
"Nope. Sherlock and I are off for a week. But I've got MAXINE-"
"MAX experienced another sex change just three days ago," Sherlock said from the doorway, a wet washcloth in her hand. She daubed at her forehead, but she was smiling. "It's happened twice since I've known Dillon."
"I might have thought it meant MAX didn't know how to relate to her," Savich said. "That he was trying to make an accommodation since he knew she was here to stay. But the fact is he's gone back and forth now for about four years."
Ramsey said simply, "Molly and I both appreciate your help."
"We know that, Ramsey." He smiled up at his wife. "You okay, Sherlock?"
She nodded. "Just a brief brush with the devil." She turned to Molly. "That's what Dillon calls it every time I'm sick. Now, we'll put every scrap of information we can get our hands on into MAXINE and see what she comes up with." She saw that Molly didn't understand. "Dillon is the chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit or CAU at the FBI. We don't do profiling, but we work with the profilers and with local law enforcement to catch serial killers. We use a number of programs that Dillon's developed. We plug in all the information we can get our hands on, including everything from the local police, the forensic reports, the autopsy reports, witness statements, you name it. MAXINE isn't better at figuring things out than real people, but he or she, depending on the month, is faster and looks at the data in many different ways. In just the first year, we solved six cases along with the local cops. We think we can apply that experience to help us catch this monster."
Savich said, "Ramsey, I'll speak to Agent Anchor and get all the reports on the cabin where Emma was kept. There's bound to be some physical evidence left. I'll get MAXINE to work on child molesters who have an M.O. using disguises."
Ramsey said, "Emma said he smoked, had bad teeth, and drank. Once when she was coming out of a nightmare, she remembered he'd said that he needed her more than God needed him."
Molly said, "He also used twine to tie her up." She swallowed and looked down. "He used twine because she was just a little girl."
"That's a start," Savich said.
Sherlock patted Molly's shoulder as she said, "Dillon and I took a week's vacation. We're at your command."
"I already told them," Savich said, pulling her down onto his lap. "They haven't applauded just yet, but when they see what we can do, they'll do handsprings. I'll also speak to the police in Denver. We can add stuff from forensics from the explosion. Sherlock can help us by translating what you know into data for MAXINE."
"Then we push a button and MAXINE becomes the brightest Cuisinart on the planet," Sherlock said. "While Dillon talks to the cops, why don't we make a list of all the things you guys can remember.
"Where," Sherlock began, "do you think Louey Santera planned to go if he did manage to get the Mercedes off the estate?"
"Nowhere," Molly said. "He hadn't thought that far ahead. He was scared and he lost it. He did that sometimes."
"This time it was fatal," Ramsey said. "Poor bastard."
"Not a poor bastard if he was the one who staged Emma's kidnapping," Molly said, her voice hard. "How will we prove it if he was behind it?"
"Follow the money," Savich said. "I'll get a warrant to search through all Santera's financial records. There's always something there, always."
"You don't need a warrant. I'll get the records." Mason Lord stood in the kitchen doorway, Gunther standing right behind his right shoulder.
"I'd just as soon you didn't do anything, Mr. Lord," Savich said. "It's our job. Let us do it on the up and up. Admittedly it takes a bit longer. On the other hand, it's legal. There are advantages to being really legal in this situation."
Mason said, "I know Louey's accountant. I will speak personally with him. Warren will plead to tell me everything he knows, to show me every record he's ever entered. Warren has always been useful and informative."
"You know," Sherlock said slowly, eyeing Mason Lord, wondering how he could be so utterly different from her own father
yet look so remarkably like him. Both men had power, but they were on opposite sides of the law. "Just maybe since Mr. Lord and Mr. Santera's accountant are such good acquaintances, it wouldn't be a bad thing. What do you think, Judge Hunt? Does that sound kosher enough to you? Would evidence from such a source give the defense a shot at an appeal?"
"Not that I can see. Hey, why not? We're on Mason Lord's turf. Let him glean information for the case." He grinned at Lord. "I would discourage breaking and entering, though."
In that instant Molly realized her father had been standing there stiff as a poker. Now she saw him ease up, saw those aristocratic hands unclench, the long lean fingers uncurl. The cops were admitting him. They wanted to involve him. He didn't smile, no, he'd never go that far, but there was something in his expression that held at least some degree more warmth than usual.
WARREN O'Dell was completely bald-probably through shaving-and looked like a longshoreman, exactly the opposite from what you'd expect of an accountant. He did wear wire-rimmed glasses, though. He had something of the look of Michael Jordan.
When he spoke, you saw he had yellow teeth from too much smoking. He had calluses on the pads of his fingers and his palms. He spared one glance for Ramsey, his full attention on Mason Lord. Then he did a double take. "I know you," he said, staring hard.
Ramsey smiled and said, "I'm Ramsey Hunt."
"You're that federal judge in California who jumped over the railing and chopped up a group of terrorists in your courtroom."
"That's the way things worked out. It was just a little group."
Mason Lord cleared his throat, and suddenly Warren O'Dell turned pale. "Uh, sir," he said, nodding his head and making a sweeping gesture with his hand toward an expensive white leather sofa. "Please, sit down. I was devastated at the news of Louey's death. I was going to call you."
"Were you now, Warren?" Mason said. "Why?"
It was obvious that Warren O'Dell was scared spitless. He was standing in the middle of his beautifully furnished office on the nineteenth floor of the McCord Building on Michigan Avenue looking as if he wanted to jump out a window.
"Yes, sir," he said finally. "I would have called you as soon as it happened, but it was such a shock, you know. I couldn't pull myself together until just this morning. Louey's dead, blown up by a car bomb. I can't believe it. It doesn't seem possible. I heard you allowed the cops to investigate?"
Ramsey felt a small ripple of surprise in his gut. Did O'Dell consider Mason Lord to be some sort of god with total immunity?
"It was murder, Warren. I'm a law-abiding citizen," Mason said, his voice austere, as if he'd been the one to insist on the cops coming in. He looked toward Ramsey. "Judge Hunt is the man who saved Molly's daughter."
"Oh, yes, now I see. I couldn't imagine why he was here, with you, seeing me. It's the shock of Louey's death. It's shaken me badly. I gave my girl the day off I was so upset."
"I see you have some boxes shoved behind your desk, Warren. I don't suppose you were planning to destroy some documents? Perhaps in preparation for a nice long vacation?"
"Oh no, sir. I was just cleaning house. Nothing more."
"I'll see that you get any assistance you require," Mason said.
"No, sir, I'm just fine, really."
Mason Lord barely raised his voice. "Gunther."
The huge man was there in the doorway, looking dead on at Warren O'Dell. As if O'Dell were a bug, Ramsey thought.
"Yes, Mr. Lord?"
"We need to assist Mr. O'Dell. See those boxes shoved behind that impressive mahogany desk of his? We'll take those and have a look at them. Ramsey, maybe you would be so kind as to look through Mr. O'Dell's file cabinets."
"I have some questions first," Ramsey said.
"Please, Mr. Lord, there's really nothing-"
Mason Lord raised his hand. O'Dell was instantly silent. "Judge Hunt wants to ask you some questions, Warren. You will answer them completely and honestly."
Warren O'Dell's bald head glistened with perspiration. He watched Gunther carrying out the boxes. He licked his lips. "Yes, sir."
Ramsey felt exceedingly strange. Here he was with a powerful criminal boss who had a potential witness nearly pissing in his pants, and he, Ramsey, a federal judge, was a co-conspirator in what was probably extortion, at least duress. Who cared? "Mr. O'Dell, tell me about Mr. Santera's finances."
Warren O'Dell swallowed. He looked again toward Gunther, who was coming back into the office, his gun in its shoulder holster clearly visible because his coat was open.
"Louey was broke," he said at last. "Dead broke. He was doing this tour to try to pay off his debts. There's nothing now that he broke his contract, not even loose change."
"Louey was broke?" Ramsey repeated. "Did he owe a lot of money?"
"Louey wasn't ever big on denying himself. Then he got butt-deep in debt. There's this small consortium in Las Vegas. I think they arranged for Louey to lose heavily at the craps table, which he did. He was a lousy gambler, but he wouldn't admit it. He thought he was the greatest in just about everything. No, in everything. He was into them for nearly a million dollars. They kept him gambling and he couldn't begin to pay them off. They just kept adding on interest. They made threats. On him, on your daughter, sir, and on your granddaughter."
"Names, please, O'Dell," Ramsey said. "Give me names and then give me records."
Mason rose and walked to the small bar, a chrome-and-glass affair on wheels with three gold leaf-framed glass levels. He picked up the brandy decanter and poured an inch into a snifter. He never turned, just stood there, looking out the wide windows, sipping on the brandy. He said quietly, "I know who it is."
"Who, sir?" Ramsey asked.
"Rule Shaker. Am I right, Warren?"
"Mr. Rule Shaker's the main player, yes sir. Louey had turned him down on a long engagement to play in Las Vegas. Mr. Shaker insisted, Louey kept saying no, even after he was in for all that money. That's when he decided to go on tour in Europe. He thought he could make back all the money. He's very popular in Europe, much more so than here in the U.S. He would have been able to repay Mr. Shaker if he'd stayed on his tour."
Ramsey said quietly, "You must have heard that Emma and Molly were the targets of that bomb, not Louey."
"Yeah, I heard. That's why I was heading out of town, until things settled down, just as Mr. Lord said. Mr. Shaker told Louey that no one he knew was safe. He was the one behind the car blowing up, there's no doubt in my mind about that. But he didn't want to kill Louey. He was after Louey's kid. He wanted to use the kid to show Louey he was serious."
"You think then Mr. Shaker also ordered Emma taken?"
Warren O'Dell said, "Louey was sure it was him. Didn't surprise me either. Louey called me from Germany. He didn't know what to do. I didn't either."
"Yes," Mason said. "Rule Shaker had Emma kidnapped. Rule killed Louey by mistake. I wonder why?"
Mason had spoken very quietly, but Ramsey had heard him. He said to Warren O'Dell, "How much money did Louey make before he died?"
"About three hundred thousand. There would have been taxes, of course, and some extra overhead we hadn't figured in, but he was getting there. If he'd been able to finish his tour, he might have been able to pay back every cent."
"Where's the money?"
"I don't know."
"You're his accountant," Mason said, his voice soft and clear as he turned from the huge glass window. "His accountant. Louey was particularly feckless, couldn't even seem to understand the most basic concept of how the dollar worked. I'm sure you must have been the one who guided him after he and my daughter divorced. I know that she handled all the finances during their marriage, but after? No, Warren, it was you. Now, tell Judge Hunt where the money went."
"I'm not lying, sir. I swear to you, I don't know. Louey wouldn't tell me. I've got the records, sir. Withdrawals from the bank, nearly all of it. He just took it out, didn't say a thing to me."
"When did he withdraw
the money, Mr. O'Dell?" Ramsey asked.
"Just before he went to Germany. He was broke, but he still managed to talk the backers out of a huge advance, nearly two hundred thousand, if I remember correctly. Another hundred thousand was coming later, after he was in Germany performing, and that's gone too. Louey took all of it. He didn't tell me a thing, I swear it."
Gunther stood by the door, silent.
"You have all of Mr. O'Dell's papers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then we'll be off. Judge Hunt, do you have more questions for Warren?"
"Yes. Where were you early this morning?"
Warren O'Dell looked as if he was going to faint. He cleared his throat. He swallowed and made himself cough. He said at last, "I was home in bed."