Chapter Thirty-nine
I was quiet on the ride back. Pavarotti’s head rested between the seats. She’d been waiting for us when we came out of the apartment. Slipping past us when we’d opened the door, she checked the apartment, slurped a little water, and came back to stand next to me. I couldn’t leave her locked up in the apartment by herself. When we got to the car, she got in.
Connor left me with my own thoughts. I kept circling around. There were still a lot of loose ends. Nothing was matching up. John’s apartment, for one. He had an apartment. I’d missed it. His clothes, his hair. They’d said homeless. His hands. Hindsight really was twenty-twenty. They’d been soft. Not calloused. Not used to living hard. Pavarotti, too. She was well fed. Not skittish. There’d been plenty of clues and I’d missed them all. John had to be living somewhere, with those hands. I don’t know why I was so mad at him. It wasn’t like he told me he was homeless. It wasn’t his fault that I’d assumed. I hated feeling stupid.
Pavarotti laid her head on my shoulder. I met her eyes in the rearview mirror and reached up to scratch her chin. An apartment. Dog bowls full of food and water. The perfect picture. So why did John leave the dog now? Every time I’d seen John, and at least a half dozen other times, the dog was free. Roaming. Now she was riding in the car with us and John was nowhere. It was like his hands—nothing fit.
‘‘Why did he leave the dog?’’ I asked Connor.
‘‘Maybe he didn’t. It’s possible the dog comes and goes as she pleases.’’
‘‘Does it feel right to you?’’
‘‘We don’t know this guy, babe. We don’t know what makes him tick.’’
He seemed satisfied with that. We weren’t alike in that way. SEALs apparently didn’t need to know why. Just do. Handle the task and move on. I couldn’t stop asking the question. I couldn’t help digging. Connor might not need it, but I needed some reason for things.
When we got to the condo, Connor checked in. If his mood was anything to go by, his team still hadn’t found Jack. I went to the patio, sliding open the door and moving over to the railing. Pavarotti sat down next to me and we watched the boats in the distance. The dog chatted with me. She didn’t seem to require a response. Connor handed me a cold bottle. Water. How very abstemious of him. He leaned against the railing with his back to the setting sun.
‘‘John passed the polygraph,’’ I said. ‘‘He didn’t lie.’’
‘‘No, he didn’t.’’
‘‘A measure of belief. Isn’t that how you put it? John believes he is Charles Smiths.’’
‘‘He does.’’
‘‘It could still be the truth.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘Just because his knowledge about the deaths of the Smithses and Capgras syndrome can be explained by the papers we found at his apartment, it doesn’t necessarily follow that he didn’t know that stuff anyway.’’
All of which was true but didn’t seem make me feel better. Even I could hear the rationalization.
‘‘Do you think John beat up Pablo Esteban to get the police report?’’ We’d seen the dog. Maybe John had been there, too. Maybe, hell. Probably.
‘‘Maybe, but there were other ways. The reporter might have had a copy. Researched the subject. Esteban’s partner, their lieutenant at the time, or anyone else in the police or the brass could have ended up with the statements. DeVries was a journalist. He’d have had his own sources.’’
‘‘Maybe he handed a copy to John before the interview, ’’ I added, warming to the idea. ‘‘Especially if he was genuinely convinced that he was going to get the first real sit-down with the elusive Charles Smiths. Getting him to open up about his parents, priming the pump for dramatic revelations, etc. Yeah. Okay. That works. For the article, too, if DeVries found out John was being treated by the great Gretchen at the time of the murders. It’s possible Henry put two and two together and figured out Charles was the killer.’’
Connor drank and thought. ‘‘Probably not.’’
I stared. This theory fit as well as anything and meant I hadn’t led an old man into a brutal beating. I liked it better than our previous analysis and I wasn’t ready to give up on it yet.
‘‘Why not?’’ I asked with a bit too much unwarranted hostility.
‘‘DeVries didn’t ask him questions about Gretchen. DeVries would have raged on about violations of patient confidentiality and how the government and its chosen ones hide behind their medical licenses and the AMA to get away with murder.’’
I nodded. ‘‘It’s not the crime that kills you. It’s the cover-up. Call Michael Moore. I can sell the film rights.’’
Connor saluted me with his water bottle.
‘‘If it wasn’t John, who attacked Pablo? My money is on Jack. Not personally, of course. He’d never get his hands dirty.’’
‘‘You changed your mind pretty fast.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘It was only a couple of days ago you were telling me that Jack didn’t have the stomach for anything really bad.’’
‘‘That was a couple of days ago. Before the maid. Before Esteban. Before we knew that the only way that suit at the banquet could get away with pretending to be Charles Smiths was if the doctor went along with it.’’
‘‘Or killing John Doe. They killed plenty of others. Why not just kill him and be done with it?’’
‘‘We found him.’’
‘‘He found you. He’s been missing since the explosion, and my team has been looking. We haven’t spotted him yet. This guy is not easily found.’’
‘‘Which explains the banquet guy. The impostor is plan B.’’
‘‘So he went along. Jack was screwing with the insurance. We figured it out. Someone else might have, too. Maybe he was being blackmailed.’’
‘‘If he was, we’d know. He couldn’t get that kind of money without Siobhan’s help. Unlike you, he married for money.’’ Connor paced toward the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator open and a bottle cap hit the garbage can.
Oh, no. What did she say? Hundreds of thousands. I’d promised. I told Siobhan I wouldn’t tell him. Wouldn’t it just make him madder? He came back and handed me a beer. I took a sip. Then another.
‘‘He’s a liar and an adulterer, Con. Assaulter of old men doesn’t fit. Not to mention murderer.’’
‘‘Esteban is weak. Reed preys on the weak.’’
He was thinking about his sister. I didn’t blame him. Jackson Reed had a lot to answer for no matter how you looked at it.
‘‘How would Jack know about Pablo Esteban? Do you think he followed us?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘We didn’t see him.’’ I stared at Connor. ‘‘Did you see him?’’
‘‘No.’’ It sounded grudging.
I hated imagining Pablo all bruised and battered. But Jack? A bribe, sure. He probably paid off the bank. Get them to stop looking. Used his joint account with Siobhan to do it, but if he were going to do that, he wouldn’t need to eliminate witnesses. I wanted to tell Connor. I didn’t want to betray Siobhan.
‘‘The only reason to go after that old man was to keep him from talking, from helping us.’’ I played devil’s advocate. ‘‘Maybe John was afraid that Esteban wasn’t going to stay silent about that night. That the Smithses’ family secret would come to light.’’
Connor took the chair next to me. ‘‘Esteban’s been protecting him for twenty-seven years. We’re talking about a documented teenage mental patient and a cold case that was never really investigated. Add in Charles Smiths’s assets and no prosecutor in his right mind files a case. I don’t think the assault was the point. I think the theft was.’’
‘‘Jack broke in to steal the police report? Why? How would he know it even existed?’’
‘‘If he followed us, he knew we thought the old man knew something. Twenty-seven years? No one has that kind of memory. Details that old would require checking a file.’’
I drank and thought. It made sense. ‘‘You’ve got a big hole in your theory. Even if Jack suspected there was a personal file, getting rid of Pablo doesn’t get close to getting rid of the information. It’s easier to assume there’s an official file.’’
‘‘An official file held by a police officer with political ambitions? One who’d need money for his next campaign, maybe? Or support with the party from a society doctor? Believe me, Jack could make an official record disappear a lot easier than he could get an honorable old man to give it up.’’
‘‘Maybe we should go back to the insurance thing. Try to make a case that way. At least it would be something, ’’ I suggested.
‘‘White-collar crime? He wouldn’t even get a slap on the wrist.’’
‘‘He might get more than that. We know about the billing thing with Smiths. Thieves never steal once, right?’’
‘‘Where are you going with this?’’
‘‘Gretchen. She’d never get her talk show if her partner was outted for his role in scamming the cream of San Diego society into thinking a fake was Charles Smiths, right?’’
‘‘You expect her to silence him?’’
‘‘I expect her to be the Unabomber’s brother and sacrifice those she loves for the greater good.’’
‘‘The greater good being her reputation.’’
‘‘Exactly. Now all we need to do is prove that John Doe is Charles Smiths. The eye color won’t be enough. We need tangible proof. Then we’ve got a hundred witnesses who saw Jack sing the school song with Smiths at the Yacht Club the night of the charity benefit.’’
‘‘Wait a minute.’’ Connor got up and disappeared into the condo. He came back carrying the file with my notes in it. ‘‘It’s a long shot.’’
‘‘What is?’’ I asked.
He flipped pages.
‘‘We don’t have base prints, Con. If we could find fingerprints at all, we couldn’t match them up to anyone. Oh, I’m so stupid.’’ I jumped up and raced into the kitchen. Spotless. I pulled open the dishwasher. It smelled clean. The glasses shone. I slammed the appliance shut and returned to the patio.
‘‘We had them. The night he was here. He drank from the glass. Probably touched the plate.’’
Connor looked up. He nodded. ‘‘It’s the maid’s day.’’
I sat down. ‘‘We have a maid?’’
‘‘Still hate the money?’’
‘‘I’m adjusting. It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no way we’d be able to get prints off that statement from 1981.’’
‘‘It was in a file cabinet in an attic. They got pulled before it was in an official file. Before it was accessible anywhere. That leaves your prints, mine, his, maybe his partner’s, and at least one other set.’’
‘‘From the Charles Smiths who wrote it,’’ I said.
Chapter Forty
‘‘Just don’t kill the messenger, okay?’’ Ryan spoke without so much as a hello.
I switched the phone to my other ear.
‘‘What did he do now?’’ I sighed.
‘‘I don’t want you to tell him it was me, either. I mean, he’ll probably know but he won’t really know, get it?’’
‘‘Fine. What is it?’’ No doubt Ryan would come up untarnished while I got to play the recalcitrant wife. Partners. My suggestion. Of course, that was before duty called Connor and I was stuck twiddling my thumbs. No sense losing the whole day, and I’d have Ryan with me.
‘‘Siobhan’s planning to see Jack.’’
‘‘What?’’ I exploded. I never thought she’d do something that dumb.
‘‘She figures that even if he catches her, he probably won’t hurt her.’’
‘‘Catch her doing what?’’
‘‘Finding dirt.’’
‘‘Oh, God, didn’t you try to talk her out of it?’’
‘‘Of course I did. She won’t listen. She’s a woman.’’
‘‘I’ll try. What’s her number?’’
‘‘Her cell phone is out of range.’’
‘‘That’s good, though. It means she didn’t go to his office. Or that apartment Lily mentioned. Right?’’ I took a couple of deep breaths. Ryan had scared me to death.
‘‘Not good.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘His boat.’’
‘‘What about his boat?’’
‘‘His boat is definitely out of range. It’s in Mexico. Ensenada.’’
‘‘Goddamn it.’’
‘‘I told her she should talk to you first. You’d have a much better chance of sneaking onto the thing than she would. Besides, she was already hagged out from Friday night.’’
‘‘Ryan, in two seconds I’m coming through the phone. Where in the hell is she?’’
‘‘Tijuana.’’
‘‘Christ. If she calls you, tell her to get back over the border. Tell her I said so.’’
‘‘Somehow I don’t think that’s gonna work.’’
‘‘Don’t I know it,’’ I muttered, and hung up. I dialed Connor’s office.
‘‘Chief Petty Officer Todd. May I help you?’’
‘‘Thank God it’s you.’’
‘‘Sara?’’
‘‘Is Connor there?’’
‘‘No. What’s the matter?’’
‘‘Where is he? Can you get a message to him?’’
‘‘Unlikely. One of the tads got hurt. He’s in surgery and Rock’s at the hospital. Probably out of range. What’s up?’’
‘‘Tad?’’
‘‘Tadpole. New guy. What do you need?’’
‘‘I’ve got to go to Mexico. Ensenada via Tijuana.’’ I tucked the phone on my shoulder and started pulling on my clothes. I stepped into the bathroom. Yikes. Bad hair.
‘‘No. Wait there.’’
‘‘I can’t. This is an emergency. Where is Connor?’’
‘‘Unavailable.’’
‘‘What does that mean?’’ I put toothpaste onto my toothbrush.
‘‘It means stay there. I’ll let him know as soon as he’s free.’’ Blue sounded a little perturbed. Welcome to my world, buddy.
‘‘Tell him to meet me there.’’
‘‘No, Sara—’’
I hung up. One of them was bound to show.
My phone rang as I merged onto I-5.
‘‘Sara?’’
‘‘Hi, honey. How’s work?’’
‘‘Are you under arrest?’’
‘‘Not yet.’’
‘‘That’s good, because you know the Mexican jails aren’t generous with conjugal visits.’’
‘‘That’ll suck.’’
‘‘You need backup.’’
‘‘I need my head checked. Yeah. Backup would be good. I’m going to Ensenada. Juanito’s Docks. The Hippocratic Oath. Slip A-thirty-one.’’ I accelerated past a truck, the speedometer hovering near ninety.
‘‘Jack’s sloop’s in Ensenada?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘We were supposed to go together when I got home.’’ Now he sounded mad. Besides, I didn’t remember anything about going to Mexico. I couldn’t tell him Siobhan was already en route. I didn’t know how much of a head start she had on me, and he’d blow a gasket. Probably do something dangerous, like speed. No, better just to wait until I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
‘‘How’s the guppy?’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘The one who got hurt.’’
‘‘Tadpole,’’ he corrected. ‘‘He’s gonna be okay.’’
‘‘I’m glad.’’ I slammed on the brakes and pounded the horn, dropping the phone. At this speed I had to use feel to find the darn thing again. Taking my eyes off the road could prove hazardous. ‘‘Connor? You still there?’’
Silence.
‘‘Connor?’’
‘‘I’m on my way. What else?’’ That was too quiet. He was definitely going to be yelling later to even things out.
‘�
��Put together a plan B. If this goes bad, we’re going to need someone to get us out of Mexico.’’
‘‘Sure. I’ll do that.’’ He clicked the phone off. With that head of steam, he might beat me to Old Mexico.
I paid twenty bucks to park close to the border. I didn’t have the patience to wait while cars crept toward the border patrol. The guard barely looked up when I showed him my passport.
‘‘Reason for going to Mexico, señorita?’’
‘‘Pleasure.’’ A misnomer, for sure.
‘‘How long are you staying?’’
‘‘I’ll be back tonight.’’
‘‘Gracias.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’
I passed through the turnstile and into the Mexican sunshine. I took the first cab at the curb without even haggling about the price.
‘‘Juanito’s Docks.’’
‘‘Sí, señorita.’’
The taxi rocketed away from the curb and screeched to a halt ten feet away as the driver waited for the river of humanity to part. I tapped my fingers on the armrest. Siobhan couldn’t have had that much of a head start on me. I should have asked Ryan when I had him on the phone. Naive to think that she could handle Jack. One alfresco altercation did not a heavyweight make. Without the audience, who knew what he’d do? Put her down? Rip her confidence away? I wouldn’t put it past the guy to take a swing at her. No. Connor would rip his heart out. Ryan, too. Jack wasn’t that stupid. Then again, I was just a stranger. ‘‘Twenty more if you step on it.’’
‘‘Sí, señorita.’’
The cabbie earned his twenty bucks and then some. Riding with Russ, who’d passed his driver’s test only on the fifth try, hadn’t been that life threatening. At the marina I had the cabbie stop at the entrance. I tossed forty dollars to him and got out.
I should have brought binoculars. There were at least thirty boats tied up at the marina, large boats shielding smaller ones from view. I didn’t even know what a sloop looked like. They all looked like boats to me. I hesitated for a minute. I could work my way toward the end of the pier. If I stayed close to the boats and Jack was on one of them, he might not see me until I was pretty close. Then again, Siobhan wouldn’t think twice about walking straight up to him. Better to go in guns blazing. Knock him back long enough for Connor to get there. Jack might call the cops. No. First real perk in the family lotto. Jack couldn’t outbribe the federales. That could be handy.
Doggone Page 28