“Of course. I apologize. Let me run through it from the beginning. From what I have been able to gather, Amelia and Jacques secured over seven million dollars in seed money. They used it to set up a bogus racing stable to impress their jet-setting friends in Europe. Amelia and Jacques came back here and set themselves up in a luxurious apartment in Washington. They started buying up top-bred horses. They also went to auctions. They cut deals with horse owners to buy a particular horse with a top bloodline by agreeing to buy other less impressive horses that they didn’t really want. It costs a great deal of time and money to care for a horse. They then turned around and sold the prize horses for double the money they paid for them. The others were left to fend for themselves. They literally starved to death. As far as I’ve been able to determine, no vet has ever visited the Barrington farm. At least, no vet from this area. This has been done four times that I’m aware of. That’s all I’ve been able to trace up to this point, but I’m not giving up since this has been going on for five years.”
“And the foreman?” Isabelle asked.
“According to the police, he left in the middle of the night. He left no trail to follow. I doubt the name that Amelia Barrington gave to the police is the foreman’s real name, since there is no trace of him to be found.”
“It is most sad that animals died because of starvation,” Yoko said, tears in her eyes. “This is America with food for all, including animals. I wonder how Miss Barrington would handle starvation.”
Kathryn sat straight up in her chair, her eyes spewing sparks. “Yoko is right, there is no excuse for what those people did. That’s what we should do, we should starve that bitch! I’m never going to get those pictures of those poor animals out of my head. On second thought, starving is too good for her. We should do something more drastic,” she said, venom dripping from her lips.
Nikki clenched her teeth. “That works for me. All we have to do is come up with a plan and make it work.”
“Then let’s put our heads together and come up with a plan while Charles continues to do what he does best,” Myra said.
Nikki locked her gaze with Myra’s. “Doesn’t Judge Easter live at the Watergate?”
“Why, yes, dear, she does live there. Ah, I see where your thoughts are taking you. With Jenny about to give birth any second, Nellie will be staying with her for a little while, which means her apartment will be empty. Well, that’s one problem solved. We’ll have easy access to Miss Barrington.”
Alexis frowned. “Are we just going to go there and say, ‘We’re going to starve you to death’?”
“If that’s what we have to do, then, yes, that’s what we do. There are other things we could do. We can let their jet-setting friends know that they were ripped off. They will then be persona non grata in that social scene, which is obviously important to Barrington and Duquesne. We need to know how Duquesne got here and has been able to stay so long. Maybe we can have him deported so he goes back in disgrace. He might actually have to work for a living. There are all kinds of possibilities open to us if we care to pursue them. Most important, we can’t forget about Judge Krackhoff and Allison Banks,” Nikki said.
Myra reached inside the shoe box sitting in the middle of the table. She handed out pencils. “All right, let’s get to it!”
Mark Lane turned off his computer, un-capped a beer and then propped his feet up on his desk. He looked around and was suddenly aware of the silence. When Jack was here he was forever whistling, snapping his fingers or muttering about something or other. Mark realized that he missed his partner. He knew the business would survive without him, but it was nice to have someone at arm’s length to hash things over with. But Jack belonged in the DA’s office — always had, always would.
Mark liked being his own boss, liked being the one who issued the orders and then followed them up. Not like when he was at the FBI, where he had to march to orders, like it or not. He liked making his own hours, liked the fact that he helped people and actually got to see the results of his operatives’ work.
He looked around again at the cluttered office. The only neat spot was Jack’s old desk. Maybe he should give some thought to hiring a replacement for Jack. Then again, maybe he should hire a temporary secretary instead. A secretary would make noise, make coffee, run errands and water plants once he bought some. The idea was so pleasing, he jotted down a reminder to himself to call an employment agency in the morning.
Time to go home, back to his empty apartment. He was going to miss Jack and his clutter. Maybe he’d get a cat. A big old cat who meowed when he came in and hissed when he wasn’t fed on time. A cat and a secretary. It sounded like a plan. Then he laughed. He couldn’t wait to tell Jack he’d replaced him with a secretary and a big old cat. He was still laughing when he locked the office and headed for his car. It was raining, which meant he’d have to fight traffic with a bunch of asshole drivers who did eighty miles an hour in a twenty-five-mile zone. He jogged to his car and was turning over the ignition when his cell phone rang. He picked it up on the third ring; then a red light appeared, which meant his battery was either dying or already dead. The moment he said hello, the battery died. Now, if he had a secretary, she would be responsible for charging the battery. He shrugged. Whoever it was would call back or else they’d leave a message on his landline. He shrugged a second time. Rarely in the private-eye business was there a true emergency.
In no hurry to go home to his apartment, Mark stopped to pick up some Chinese food and a six pack of Miller Lite. It was ten o’clock when he finally unlocked his door. He was disappointed that there was no cat to greet him. He decided to make the cat a priority.
Inside, he shed his jacket and kicked off his sneakers before he even hit the kitchen. That’s when the phone rang. He muttered a greeting as he spooned shrimp chow mein onto a plate. He stopped what he was doing when he heard Jack’s angry, agitated voice. “Whoa, whoa, Jack. Slow down. What happened?”
“Never mind what happened. Meet me at the emergency room of George Washington Hospital. Like now, Mark.”
Mark looked down at the chow mein on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry. He scooped everything back into the carton and shoved it in the refrigerator. He scrounged around inside his closet, found his deck shoes and a dry lightweight jacket, then headed back out to his car, his mind going a thousand miles an hour. What the hell had Jack done now?
An hour later, when Mark pulled up to the emergency entrance, he was stunned to see Jack pacing up and down, the bright light from inside ricocheting off his back. He watched for a second as his old partner smacked his clenched fist into the palm of his hand. Jack Emery was pissed off. Big-time.
Mark maneuvered his SUV out of the ambulance lane. Jack hopped in before Mark could even shift into park.
“What the hell is going on, Jack? Do you know what time it is? What are you doing here?”
“Those goddamn gold shields got to Ted Robinson. That’s what’s going on. Those bastards didn’t give up; they’ve been following us ever since they beat the crap out of me. They worked Ted over worse than they worked me over. He managed to call nine-one-one after they left and the hospital called me. He’s in surgery right now having his spleen removed. Now you can say something.”
“Oh, shit!”
Nine
Nikki tossed and turned in the narrow bed, the same bed she’d slept in as a child. Back then, she and Barbara had whispered long into the night, sharing secrets, giggling and laughing. At times they would stretch their arms across the space between the beds and hold hands. Even though they weren’t related by blood, they were still sisters.
Nikki knew there wasn’t going to be any more sleep for her, so she might as well get up. Something was wrong. She could sense it, literally feel it. Her gut instinct told her that whatever it was had something to do with Jack. Did she dare call him to find out if her instincts were on target?
“This might be a good time for you to make an appearance, Barb. Help me out
here,” she said into the darkness.
“It’s the middle of the night, Nik. Go back to sleep. I’ll sit here and rock with Willie.”
“I can’t sleep. Something is wrong, I can sense it. Do you know what it is?”
“I’m a spirit, Nik. I don’t have anyone’s ear. You really need to learn to relax. Going on all cylinders is not good. Things will work out. You’re happy about the thing with Jack?”
“ Well, sure, I’m happy. I wish I were there right now. I’m telling you, something is wrong and I’m sure it involves Jack. I want to call him.”
“Then for heaven’s sake, call him. If that’s what you have to do to get some sleep, then you should do it. Curl up in the bed and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. I promise not to listen.”
It was all Nikki needed; permission to call the man she loved. If Myra or Charles had a way of listening in, so be it. Her fingers moved at the speed of light as she tapped out Jack’s number. She was stunned when he picked up on the first ring. Her eyes flew to the digital clock on the nightstand.
“Did I wake you?” she whispered.
“No. I haven’t gone to bed yet. I’m at the hospital with Mark.”
Nikki’s heartbeat raced. “What’s wrong with him? Is he OK?”
Jack’s voice came over the wire tired, weary, angry and cool. “It’s not Mark, it’s Robinson. He had to have his spleen removed. He’s in the recovery room right now. Mark and I are waiting to see if he’s OK. Before you ask, those gold shields got to him and beat the living shit out of him.”
“Oh, God! Is there anything I can do?” Nikki asked in a choked voice.
Jack’s voice was so cool that Nikki shivered inside her flannel pajamas. “Not unless you can give him back his spleen. I guess those goons have been following all of us. For some crazy reason, I thought they backed off after they beat the crap out of me. It appears I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Yeah. You know, Nik, right now I feel like I made a pact with the Devil. I don’t want to say anything else that I might regret later. I don’t think you do, either. Let’s hang up so I can wait to hear how my friend is doing. Call me tomorrow.”
Nikki licked her dry lips as she clicked off her cell phone. She looked over at the rocking chair. “Well, hearing that isn’t going to let me go to sleep.”
“Shift into neutral, Nik. Sleep will come if you let it. Here, Willie will keep you company.”
The next thing Nikki saw was the stuffed bear sailing through the air. She caught it and snuggled beneath the blankets. “Night, Barb.”
“Everything will work out, Nik.”
Nikki wasn’t sure, but she thought she felt something soft and feathery touch her cheek. A smile settled on her lips as she drifted off to sleep.
Nikki wasn’t the only one who was having difficulty sleeping.
Myra’s arm snaked out only to touch Charles’s pillow. She moved her hand up and down the place where her man should have been sleeping. She sighed as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Four o’clock in the morning was too early to start the day. She found herself muttering as she made her way downstairs. She was almost to the bottom when she was joined by the dogs, Murphy and Grady.
The dogs settled themselves under the kitchen table while Myra made coffee. While the coffee dripped into the pot, Myra handed out treats, which both dogs ignored. Perplexed, she opened the refrigerator and took out two slices of roast beef, which she dangled in front of them. Both dogs gobbled the unexpected treat and then went back to sleep just as the coffee finished dripping into the pot. When the last popping sound was heard, Myra fixed a tray with two cups and carried it to the secret entrance that led to the tunnels.
Charles looked up when the door to the war room opened soundlessly. His eyes were bright and alert, his smile warm and welcoming. So warm and welcoming, Myra felt good all over. There were times when Charles didn’t want company down here in the bowels of the farmhouse, but his smile told her that today he was grateful for her company at this early hour of the morning.
“Ah, coffee. I think you’re getting more and more tuned into my thoughts, old girl. I was just thinking how good a cup of coffee would be right now. Couldn’t you sleep?”
“I missed you,” Myra said simply. “How are things going, dear?”
Charles eyed his true love over the rim of the bone-china cup. “I regret to say, not as good as I would like. I’ve been working on dossiers of all our key players who are involved in our next mission. What’s that expression Nikki uses all the time? Oh, yes, slam dunk. It is not a slam dunk the way I thought it would be. I have calls and encrypted e-mails going out to all my old colleagues, who will in turn call in favors from some of our own people who are still in the game.”
Myra sipped at her hot coffee. “Is there any one thing in particular that is bothering you, dear?”
Charles slouched back in the swivel chair, something he never did. His posture was always the same, sitting or standing: ramrod-stiff.
“Yes and no. It would appear no one involved is really who they seem to be. Take Conway Barrington, Amelia Barrington’s brother. Imagine this, Myra. Amelia Barrington doesn’t have a brother. Conway Barrington isn’t married and Conway Barrington doesn’t have children. That was all a facade. I don’t know who he is. He is not Amelia Barrington’s husband, either. There are no records anywhere to back up the story that the courts and the press put out. I have my people on it, my dear.”
“Are you saying Mr. Barrington…borrowed a family and passed them off as his own? Once a lawsuit is under way, don’t the authorities check the backgrounds of the individuals involved?”
“One would think so. Obviously, that didn’t happen. Then there is Judge Robert Krackhoff. The man is also a bit of a mystery at this moment. I’ve been able to track his financials. He has a very robust brokerage account. At first glance there is nothing suspicious about that; many people dabble in the stock market. But if you factor in his income, living expenses and so on, you have to wonder how he could have such a high balance in his account. Even if he were a super-duper wizard he couldn’t have racked up that much money in four years. He’s had some help from somewhere in regard to his paper trail.”
“Do you think the man has been taking bribes?”
“That’s one explanation. I have a colleague going back over every case he’s ever presided over to see if any of his brokerage transactions coincide with those trials. It’s going to take a little time to get it all together. I don’t want you to fret about it. My man is the best of the best. He’ll sort through it all. For a judge, Krackhoff does have some questionable friends and acquaintances.”
“I wonder if Nellie knows anything about the judge. She would be in an excellent position to hear gossip. Judges are not above a little gossip, Charles, so don’t look at me like that. Everyone likes to gossip. I can ask her, if that won’t upset things with your people.”
“It might come to that, dear, but not right now. Let me muddle along here with my people. I don’t like involving outsiders unless it’s a dire emergency.”
“Did you run any checks on that…that twit Nikki hired, the one who defended the Barringtons?”
“I certainly did. Miss Allison Banks isn’t really Miss Allison Banks. I don’t know who she is. Obviously, she is an attorney, but with an alias. The real Allison Banks died in a car accident three months after she took the bar exam. The real Allison Banks went to New York University Law School and lived in Manhattan. She has a sister who lives somewhere in the Midwest. I haven’t been able to locate her at this time. Based on what I’ve found out so far, I think the…ah…twit assumed Miss Banks’s identity. I have a picture of the real Allison and, while there is a resemblance — blonde hair, brown eyes, more or less the same height — our twit isn’t the same person. If you place both photos side by side, you can tell the difference between the two women. I used one of the pictures I saved from the newsp
apers for a comparison.”
“Then that means…that means this is all a big conspiracy. Is that what you’re saying, Charles?”
“Yes, dear. We have five players here. Barrington, Duquesne, the bogus brother, Judge Krackhoff and Allison Banks. It’s entirely possible the bogus brother was born on the wrong side of the blanket. I just don’t know yet, Myra.”
Myra looked down into her empty coffee cup as though she thought more coffee would materialize just by her looking. “It sounds so complicated. Nikki’s revenge was to be Amelia Barrington and her neglect of the horses. Now…now it has grown legs. Are we up to this, dear?”
Charles’s eyes twinkled. “Let me put it this way. It will definitely be a challenge, but I do think we’re up to it. At the end of the day, it will be Nikki’s decision and her mission. If she wants to go all the way, then that’s what we’ll do. If she just wants to punish the Barringtons, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“I have a wonderful idea. Let’s go upstairs so you can cook breakfast. The girls will be up soon. The dogs need to go outside, too. We can make decisions later this morning.”
Charles got up and then picked up the tray. “You do have a way of diverting me, don’t you? How do waffles and fresh berries sound?”
“They sound wonderful. I so wish I were half the cook you are, Charles. It’s still a mystery to me why my mother never taught me to cook.” Myra shrugged as she followed Charles from the war room and up the steps to the main part of the house. Both dogs were sitting at attention when the secret door opened. They whined softly and then raced to the kitchen door.
“My dear, cooking is not something you should worry about. You have so many other talents, your lack of culinary expertise is hardly noticeable.”
The Jury Page 8