"He took me back to Atlanta and let me stay in his extra room until I got my wits about me. He said if I needed anything, I could call on him. Seemed like a nice enough guy. And O'Hanlon's thugs did go after him later on because they thought he took the money and the records."
"Where'd you learn to fight? Did he teach you?"
"No. I picked that up the hard way, on the streets, when I was a kid. The neighborhood I grew up in was gang turf. I did what I had to to survive; I'd rather not talk about that right now, though."
"Sure, that's fine."
"The Daileys owned a sailboat, a thirty-footer. They lived in a mansion on the beach, and they kept the boat in a little private marina close to their home. It was on the back side of the barrier island, on the Intracoastal Waterway. They let me live on the boat to help me save money. They offered their guest house to me, but that was more than I could accept. The boat was one thing; living rent-free at their mansion was something else. I looked after the boat for them. They didn't use it anyway, and they were paying a maintenance service to keep it up. I took care of it, and they saved money. I felt okay about that; like I was earning my keep. That's how I learned to sail. I made up the story about my dad racing Lightnings."
"Okay," I said, stifling a yawn. "And the Folkboat, too?"
"Yes, that too." She sighed. "I feel better, now that I've come clean with you. I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you to begin with."
"You had to get to know me. I understand that. Don't give it another thought."
She smiled. "Thanks, Finn. I feel that nap coming on, now, big-time."
She gave me another kiss on the cheek and moved to the port settee, stretching out on it. She was asleep in a minute or two, leaving me to ponder what she told me.
She was smart as hell. Street smart, for sure, but there was more to her than that. She figured I was snooping on her past while I was online. I didn't know how much of her latest story was true, but she touched all the bases I knew about, anyhow.
There were still things about the Daileys' son that didn't add up. Like why he bothered to track her down after his parents' murders, for example. And what made O'Hanlon think the son took the money and the records?
Then there was the whole story about her time with the Daileys. I wondered how many other people worked for them. I knew developers often didn't have a lot of employees, but judging from the publicity the Daileys got, I didn't see them as a three-person shop. What happened to the other employees?
I forced myself to come to grips with my real, deep-down, central question. What the hell was I doing here? With Mary, I mean. I didn't survive all these years without learning to question my motives every so often.
I was lonely and a little bored with this retirement thing. I got enough jobs to keep me from going 'round the bend, but I still spent more time alone than was healthy. Mary was a nice distraction for me; I wanted to keep this relationship going, but part of me realized I was pathetic.
I was objective; I knew what I was. For my age, I was an attractive enough specimen. I was fit; I still had all my teeth and most of my hair. I could be personable when it suited me; I could mix and mingle with people.
But what did I offer Mary? She wasn't much older than my daughter. I could tell she liked me, but I knew I was just a fling for her. Given that she stumbled onto me, I could see why she would hang on. I was useful to her at the moment.
For whatever reason, she was on the run. I was cover and company, and I was no slouch in a fight. But I still felt a nagging worry about her showing up in my life.
I'm skeptical of coincidence. What were the odds of Mary's finding somebody like me right when I could do her the most good? This wasn't the first time I plowed this particular ground, but with what I just learned about her, I needed to work it some more.
There were lots of variations, but I only saw three options to explain her presence. She could be on the run — that is, she was what she said she was. People on the run often didn't tell a coherent story about themselves. That was option one. She could be working for the same people I worked for, here to check up on me. That was option two. Or, she could work for an unknown enemy who wanted to pick my brain. That was option three. It helped to boil it down that way.
There were three explanations for Mary's being here. I worked through them before, but I still needed to figure out which one applied.
She might be a plant, sent by my former employer to check up on me. Did I do something that caused them to send someone like Mary to check me out?
I couldn't think of anything. Besides, while Mary fit the pattern of one of our agents in some ways, there were things that made her unlikely in that role.
For one, she killed that woman in Bequia. Or did she? Thinking about that, I realized that she told me she killed the woman in Bequia. There was no independent verification. That whole scene could have been staged. So could the one in Puerto Real, for that matter.
She could also be working for someone else, someone who knew enough about me to arrange our encounter. I'm not a valuable target in my own right, but somebody might want to leverage what I know. Some of my targets over the years were well-known. Our enemies could harvest a wealth of propaganda if they could extract what was in my memory. It was possible that Mary was bait.
I didn't like admitting it to myself, but the more I thought about it, the more probable it seemed that Mary was a plant. I already knew she wasn't what she appeared to be. If she worked for my employer, then I would play along and see where we ended up. But if she were working for anybody else, I'd have to do away with her.
I didn't like that idea; I was far too attached to her for my own good. I needed to work out a rationale for her presence in my life.
If she was sent here, I knew what to do. In one case, I would play along; in the other, I would take her out in deep water and do away with her.
Or, if she were indeed on the run, I needed to know who was chasing her. I would help her if she were a victim of the mob. But it occurred to me that I didn't have any verification that she was on the run from a mobster named O'Hanlon -- nothing except her word.
She could be a crook herself, in which case I was less inclined to side with her. That wasn't an absolute, though. In my view of the world, there are degrees of evil. Good and bad run together most of the time.
What I needed to do was establish whether O'Hanlon was real. That might not be his name, but it would do for a place holder — and whether he was after Mary. If those two things were true, I could eliminate the other two explanations for her presence.
Once I ruled out the other two explanations, my choices would depend on how the relative merits of Mary's game balanced against those of her enemy's game.
My grasp of the situation was better now; I needed to find out about this O'Hanlon character, and I could start with what Mary knew. She should have every reason to level with me about him. If he didn't exist, well… I'd miss her when she was gone — either back to my employers or to the briny deep. She would be out of my life either way.
I hoped that she was telling me the truth, at least in a macro sense. I was seriously attached to her. But she said it herself; I would do what my survival required.
Having solved all the puzzles I could solve without more information, I swung my legs up onto the starboard settee and stretched out for my own nap. As I was dropping off, I took a last look at Mary. She was sleeping peacefully. I hoped that meant she was what she said she was.
24
"Hey, Mary, did the cops ever figure out who killed the Daileys?"
She took a sip of wine to wash down the cheese and cracker she was finishing. We were having refreshments after our naps.
"Not that I know of. They grilled me and Frankie pretty thoroughly, but — "
"Frankie?" I asked.
"Their son. He's Francis X., Junior. Anyway, I don't guess they saw either of us as suspects after they got through with us. The murders were big news for several weeks, and then i
t all went quiet."
I nodded and took a sip of my wine. We were in the cockpit, in the shade of a tarp lashed over the boom. We were sitting on either side of the companionway, leaning against the coachroof, facing aft.
The cheese and crackers were on a platter on the bridge deck between us. We were in a perfect spot to enjoy what promised to be an outstanding sunset. I didn't want to spoil the magic, but I needed to ask a few more questions.
I put down my wine and picked up a cracker. Mary was watching me, waiting, inviting me to continue.
"Didn't the cops think it was suspicious that you took off running instead of reporting the bodies?"
"Yes, at first. It didn't help that my prints were on the safe where Mrs. Dailey kept her jewelry, either."
"You mentioned that before. You said it was open and empty when the cops got there. Does that mean you emptied it after you found them?"
"Yes. It was hidden. Whoever killed them didn't know about it, I guess."
"Was there anything that might have indicated the killer searched the house?"
"No. Not when I found them."
"Why did you open the safe?"
She picked up a cracker and nibbled at a corner, her eyes fixed on the cheese platter for several seconds. She looked at me, her face drawn, her eyes beginning to tear up.
"Look, Finn. I am what I am. I never got a break until I met the Daileys. They were the first good thing that ever happened to me. I was devastated when I found them dead, but my reaction was like, 'Oh, shit! End of the gravy train. What am I going to do now? No job, living on a boat I don't own and couldn't afford, student loans to pay.' I freaked out, all right. Like I told you, but not for any reasons I'm proud of. I fell back on my survival skills from childhood."
"And you knew about the safe?"
"Yes. It was behind the mirror over her dresser. You had to know how to swing the mirror aside. It had this trick catch, and it was hinged, but it looked like it was permanently fastened to the wall."
"How did you know the safe was there?"
"She liked to show off her jewelry, and she treated me like her daughter when I let her. She let me wear some of it, for these business-related social events we'd have to attend."
"Did you go in and out of the safe much? You knew the combination, I take it."
"Yes, and yes. She gave me the combination. Sometimes when we were going from the office to a social function, she'd send me to the house to get a piece of jewelry out of the safe for her. Or for myself, if she suggested it."
"Did it occur to you to wipe your prints off the safe?"
She nodded. "But their absence might have been suspicious, so I decided not to. I worked for her, remember? My prints were all over the place — their house and the office — and other people knew she loaned me her jewelry sometimes."
"She must have really trusted you," I said.
"She did. And I trusted them. I wouldn't have done anything to hurt her. Or him. She was a nice lady. Frank was a great guy, too. Not what you'd expect from big-time crooks. They were good to me, just out of kindness. They never asked for anything in return. I figured they were trying to fill the hole left by their son by taking me in."
"Did you ever learn why they were estranged from him?"
"He told me. They never discussed what went wrong, but I asked him. He figured out they were crooked sometime in his teens. He was a straight arrow, boy-scout type of guy. He ran away and joined the Army as soon as he was old enough. Cut them off completely."
"You said the records and the money were in the safe. Had you seen them before you found the bodies?"
"No. They were in two of those metal document boxes in the back of the safe. I knew the boxes were in there, but she told me they were personal papers, deeds, stock certificates, that sort of thing." Mary shrugged. "After I found them dead, I took everything. I suspected that they were laundering money for somebody. I told you that, already."
"You never told anybody you took the stuff out of the safe?"
"Nobody but you. Once I found out what I had, I knew it would be worth my life if it got back to O'Hanlon."
"Yeah, I can see that. Seems he found out anyway."
"From the police report. It mentioned my fingerprints on the safe."
"How do you know that?"
"From the men on Sisyphus. They told me. They said I could save myself a lot of pain if I handed it all over before O'Hanlon got rough with me."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"I was never introduced. I knew when he was around, but the Daileys kept me away from him, like they were ashamed of him, sort of. He came to their house — never to the office. They'd always tell me they needed private time with him, and I'd get lost."
"You said you overheard an argument they had with him."
"Yes, I did. Not long before I found them. I couldn't hear everything, but I picked up that he was accusing them of skimming."
"What do you know about him?"
"I think I've told you everything I know about him. He's from Boston; some kind of Irish Mafia big shot. I looked through enough of the files to get a feel for what he was into, which was just about anything crooked that you can imagine. And he has some well-known politicians on his payroll."
"What did you do with the stuff you took? You emptied the offshore accounts, but what about the jewelry and the files?"
"They're in safe deposit boxes. I spread them around. Different banks in different cities, under my O'Brien name."
"Thought about what you're going to do with them? I mean the records, in particular."
"No. I wish I'd never touched them, now. O'Hanlon's people on Sisyphus said he might be willing to cut a deal with me — trade the money for those files."
"What do you think about that?"
"I think it was bullshit. People like that don't make deals with somebody like me. Or they for sure don't honor them."
"If you could be sure they'd honor their deal, would you do it?" That was a test for her. I was curious to see her reaction.
She gave me a hard look, those pale gray eyes cold as ice. "No way. They kill people, Finn."
I was searching for how to respond, but she shook her head and kept talking.
"I know what you're thinking. I killed that guy on Sisyphus, and the woman in Bequia. I didn't have much choice. It was them or me. O'Hanlon and his bunch are cold. They only care about making money. They don't give a shit who gets hurt."
I nodded. She was right. I didn't point out that it was her own greed that got her into this. But I knew what she would say. She already laid the groundwork.
"Suppose you could call your fairy godmother and get her to sort this out for you. How would it end?"
"Don't, Finn. You know enough about me by now to know I don't have a fairy godmother. I only see two ways for this to end."
"Yeah? What are they?"
"One is with me dead. I don't like that one."
"And the other one?" I asked. "That has to be with O'Hanlon dead, I guess."
"I wish it could be that easy," she said, "but it's not."
"You don't really think killing a guy like him would be easy, do you?" I asked.
"No, but even if that could be done, there will always be another asshole like him, or worse. You know how these people work. Somebody's already waiting in the wings to take his place."
"So that's not your second outcome?"
"No. It's probably a necessary step, but it's not the end game."
"So, what is the end game?"
"I don't know yet. I'm still working on that. You got any ideas?"
"I'm still working on it, too. I'll let you know if I come up with something."
"Please do; I feel like I'm running out of time."
"We've got time, Mary." I poured a little more wine in our glasses. "Let's forget O'Hanlon and watch the sunset. Then we've got the whole evening ahead of us. We'll have a nice dinner in Ste. Anne. And after that, one of us will think of something."
> "Thanks, Finn. If I had a life, I'd spend it with you."
"Yeah, I know. I feel the same way. We'll work things out. Now, watch the sunset. We may get a green flash."
25
I sat in the cockpit in the cool of the evening, envying Mary's ability to drop off to sleep as soon as she closed her eyes.
After she told me about taking the Daileys' files, we went ashore for an early dinner in Ste. Anne. Both still exhausted from the overnight trip, we came back to the boat and went to bed. Mary was snoring softly seconds after her head hit the pillow.
I wasn't so lucky. I tossed and turned for a while trying to make sense of all the different stories Mary told me since we left Puerto Rico. After half an hour, I gave up. I poured myself a drink and took it up to the cockpit.
This young woman was playing me. I needed to hold onto that thought. I might be falling in love with her, but I couldn't let my feelings obscure the fact that she was manipulating me.
Her confession this afternoon rang true, but then so did some of the other tales she told me. The woman was smart, and she was an accomplished liar.
I dealt with plenty of less than truthful people over the years. Most of them had a tell, a quirk that gave them away once you learned what to look for. A change in the facial muscles, a blink, something. If Mary had one, I wasn't able to spot it.
She confessed that lying was a survival skill for her. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't afford to trust her. Before I could weigh the risk of sticking with her, I needed to know what she was up to.
I resisted the urge to construct a scenario to explain her behavior. My judgment was impaired by my emotional attachment. As seductive as it was, coming up with a rationale for her lying would have been too easy.
I wanted more information on the Daileys and O'Hanlon. My only source so far was Mary, and she wasn't reliable.
Some people I've run across had distorted perceptions of reality. They spun convincing tales as readily as Mary did. The shrinks said they believed their own lies. Several of my targets over the years possessed that trait.
Assassins and Liars Page 11