End Game

by David Baldacci

  “We did Holly, and we saw pictures of Luke. So you can nail that prick for murder.”

  He gazed up at them. “I don’t know much about you two. But I made some calls, and I know enough to understand that you didn’t come here to be witnesses in a murder trial. You came here to find this Walton guy, who obviously is very important to this country.”

  “Correct,” said Reel.

  “Then I suggest you let me continue to build a case against Dolph and others. We’ll nail the SOB. I go after just Dolph now, years of work goes down the drain. There’re a lot more out there just like him. And I want them all.”

  Reel snapped, “No way! He killed Holly in cold blood. We can’t just let this scum walk away. What if he’s trying to get out of the country right now?”

  “Like I said, I’ve got inside ears. I’d know.”

  “We should be calling the cops, the state police,” persisted Reel.

  “You do that, then a big part of my investigation goes to shit. And are you two willing to testify to what you saw? Because otherwise there is no case against Dolph.”

  Robie and Reel exchanged another glance.

  Robie said, “That might be problematic for us.”

  “Yeah, I thought so. See, Dolph has lawyers. I know that for a fact. And they’re good lawyers, so if we arrest him and try to bring a case, they’re going to get their shot at you. And they may dig up stuff on you two that the government doesn’t want dug up. And the reason why you’re here in the first place to find Mr. Walton will also come out. They’ll drag this thing out for a long, long time. I doubt your boss back in DC will be pleased by that.”

  “Shit,” said Reel.

  “We can’t do that, Jess,” said Robie.

  “Let me handle this,” said Sanders. “It’s what I do for a living. When the time is right, the hammer will come down and he will stand trial for Holly’s murder. I swear to you he will.”

  “But if we can’t testify?”

  “Were there other people in the room when he did it?”

  “Yes, quite a few,” said Robie.

  “I’ll have enough leverage over his stormtroopers by then that I’ll get them to turn on him for a plea deal.”

  “Just keep eyes on him. He knows we’re Feds. And he knows we saw what he did. He may make a run for it.”

  “If he does try to flee, we’ll pick him up.”

  “But now that you rescued us, won’t he be coming for the Apostles? He’ll know it was you, right?”

  “We’ve been at odds for a long time, and this was not our first skirmish. But you two being there complicates things for Dolph. He’s not going to be worried about retaliating against me so much as he’s going to be concerned with saving his own ass.”

  “What’s the source of Dolph’s funding?” asked Robie.

  “Myriad. Gun running. Intimidation. Racketeering.”

  “Human trafficking?” asked Reel. “Drugs?”

  “I’ve seen nothing linked to those.” He stood. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll try to have your backs when I can, but I can’t promise I’ll always be there.” He passed Robie a slip of paper. “Here’s a number where you can contact me if you need anything. If I’m still breathing, I’ll get back to you.”

  Robie put out his hand. “Thanks, but you’ve done more than enough, Agent Sanders.”

  After shaking both their hands Sanders left. A minute later they heard vehicles driving away.

  Robie put the slip of paper in his wallet and sat down on the bed. “Well, that puts a whole new spin on things. So do we tell Sheriff Malloy that her sister is dead?”

  Reel pondered this for a few moments. “I don’t see how we can and not have her storm that place with her one deputy. With the result they both get killed.”

  “So we keep quiet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, but I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like anything about this damn place,” replied Reel.

  Chapter

  34

  “I COULDN’T HAVE shot you.”

  Robie glanced over at her as the pair was driving toward Lamarre’s place. They had cleaned up and changed out of the clothes Dolph had made them wear. They were both gunned up and watching their vehicle’s mirrors carefully for any sign of pursuers.

  It was now around nine at night and car lights could be easily seen. There were none back there.

  “There was no reason for both of us to die,” replied Robie.

  She shook her head in disagreement. “You dead, me not, what would have been the point?”

  “I don’t get you sometimes. No, I don’t get you most of the time.”

  She shrugged. “What can I say, Robie? It’s a Mars-Venus thing.”

  “No, I don’t think you’re in the same universe as me, actually.”

  “On the other hand, I should have shot him.”

  “Who?”

  “Dolph. I had him on the ground begging for his life. My muzzle was a foot from his chest. One pull, dead.” She paused. “And I didn’t do it.”

  “You couldn’t kill the guy in cold blood, asshole or not.”

  “We kill in cold blood all the time, Robie.”

  “On orders. It’s different when it’s a personal thing.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I still should have done it. I would have saved the world a ton of grief. I get a second chance, he’s a dead man.”

  And Robie didn’t argue the point.

  The house where Lamarre had stayed, according to his boss, was a tumbledown bare-bones cottage, but despite its derelict appearance there was what looked to be a new car parked out front, and they could see lights on inside.

  Robie stopped the truck about a hundred feet from the house and they got out, their hands on their backup guns, which had replaced the ones lost to Dolph’s ambush.

  “Think we’re going to find a headless body inside?” Reel asked.

  “I’ve found out here that anything is possible.”

  They approached the front of the house.

  Robie touched the hood of the vehicle, a Toyota Land Cruiser.

  “Cold,” he said.

  They stepped to the front porch. Reel stood to the right of the door, her gun ready, while Robie rapped on the wood and then stepped to the left.

  They heard footsteps padding toward the door.

  It opened and a young woman looked back at them.

  She was about five four, in her thirties, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair possessing dark roots. A nose ring hung from each nostril. She had on jeans with a tank top revealing a spread of tattoo that swept over her left shoulder and continued down to her wrist.

  It looked to Robie like a woman being swept along by rough water.

  “Can I help you?” she said, looking first at Robie and then Reel.

  Robie said, “We’re federal agents.”

  “Where are your badges?” she demanded.

  They held out their creds.

  “What do you want?”

  “We’re looking for Clément Lamarre. We understand he used to live here.”

  “‘Used to’ is right.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Do I have to tell you?”

  “You don’t have to do anything. But we can take you in for questioning somewhere more formal. And I don’t see how telling us your name is being too invasive.”

  “Beverly Drango.”

  “This your house?” asked Reel.

  “It was my momma’s, and she left it to me when she passed on.”

  “You know where Lamarre is?”

  “No.”

  “When was he last here?” asked Robie.

  “I can’t remember.”

  “We have his last paycheck,” Robie said. “Two hundred bucks.”

  Drango’s eyes bulged. “In cash?”

  “No, a check that he has to endorse on the back to cash.”

  Her eyes returned to normal. “Figures,” she said disgustedly.
<
br />   Robie said, “Sonny Driscoll said Lamarre never even showed up to get it.”

  “Sounds like Clém,” said Drango bitterly. “He had no problem mooching off me, but God forbid he ever chipped in a dime. That money should be mine, plus a whole lot more.”

  “So if you help us, maybe we can work something out on that score,” said Robie.

  “Really?” she said eagerly.

  “Can we come in?” asked Reel.

  Drango looked nervous. “I don’t usually have visitors. I mean, the place ain’t too clean.”

  “I can guarantee you that I’ve seen worse,” said Reel.

  Drango held the door open and stepped back.

  The room they walked into could accurately be described as a pigsty. Drango moved some junk off two chairs, and Robie and Reel sat down.

  Robie pointed to her tat. “What does that mean? Someone being swept away?”

  “Yeah, me. That’s my life, out of control.”

  “Okay,” said Robie.

  “Why are Feds looking for Clém? Any illegal shit he does is definitely small potatoes.”

  “He ever talk to you about something he saw?” asked Robie.

  “Saw? Like what?”

  “Like people being held against their will?” said Reel.

  “Against their will? Like prisoners?”

  “In hoods and shackles,” added Robie.

  Drango didn’t nod or shake her head. She just stood there looking down at them.

  Reel looked over the woman’s shoulder at the lighted backyard that held a rusted swing set and an assortment of faded toys. In a bookcase behind Drango were shelves of children’s books.

  “Where are your kids?”

  “Don’t have any.”

  “What are those for, then?” asked Reel, pointing out the window. “And those books?”

  “I used to run a day care.”

  “Really?” said Reel, looking around at the trash pit that was the woman’s home.

  “When the kids were here this place was spic-and-span. Took good care of ’em. Fed ’em. Played with ’em.” She plucked out a book from the shelf. “Read to ’em. Kids like books.”

  “What happened?”

  “I…I made some bad decisions. I’m what you call a bum magnet. Moms didn’t like their kids being around them.”

  “Okay, getting back to whether Lamarre talked to you about seeing these people?” prompted Robie.

  Drango sighed, put the book back, and leaned against a bookcase. “You got to understand that probably half his life Clém was stoned, okay? He talked shit all the time. I never believed none of it.”

  “What kind of shit? Like seeing prisoners somewhere?”

  “Are you telling me that he did see that?”

  “We think he did. It might be the reason he’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? Hell, he probably just run off. Boys like him do, you know. Going to get his honey from another hive, so to speak. I seen his kind all my damn life.”

  “Other people we think might have been involved in this have disappeared,” said Reel. “Including one person we really need to find. So maybe ‘Clém’ didn’t run off for fresh honey.”

  “But who would be keeping prisoners out here?” she asked.

  “You know somebody named Dolph?”

  Drango’s top lip quivered just a bit. “No.”

  “You want to think about that and try again?” asked Robie.

  Drango perched her butt on top of the bookcase. “Look, everybody around here knows about that psycho. But I don’t know him.”

  “We’ve made his acquaintance,” said Reel. “And I would affirm your description that he’s a psycho. But are you saying he’s not the sort to take prisoners?”

  “I think he’s the sort that would do whatever the hell he wanted.”

  Robie cocked his head and looked at her curiously. “You sound like you know more about him than you’re letting on, Ms. Drango.”

  Drango fidgeted with one of her fingernails before saying, “I would not put it past those creeps to take prisoners. But I don’t know if that’s what Clém was talking about or not.”

  “The last time you saw him, was it before or after he left rehab?”

  Drango hesitated.

  “Just tell us the truth. You’re not going to get in any trouble doing that,” said Robie. “But if you lie to us, that’s a whole other ballgame.”

  “After. He came back here one night. He looked clean. I mean really clean from drugs. I thought he’d just left me, and I was pissed. But then he told me he’d gone into rehab voluntarily. Gotten himself off the crap. He said he really wanted to get his act together.” She stopped and rubbed at a sudden tear clinging to her right eye. “He said…he said maybe we should get married.”

  “So it sounds like he was planning on staying around,” said Reel.

  “Yeah, it sounded like it.”

  “When he came back from rehab did he have his belongings with him?” asked Robie.

  “He had a suitcase with clothes and stuff. He had left a few things here before he went away.”

  “So did he take the suitcase with him when he left here?” he asked.

  “Well, no, come to think. It’s still in the closet in my bedroom.”

  “Can we see it?” asked Reel.

  She led them back to a bedroom that, if anything, was more of a mess than the front room. She opened a closet door and pulled out a suitcase. “I haven’t even opened the damn thing, I was so pissed.”

  “When exactly did he leave?” asked Robie.

  “Let’s see. I guess, yeah, it was over a week ago because I had just got home from a party I worked at over in Denver. I do private bartending and in-home casino work on the side. You know, pretend casino where you don’t play with real money. Some rich asshole’s birthday party. Paid me more to pour drinks and work a craps table in one night than I make waitressing in a week. Anyway, I’d called Clém and we were supposed to go out and get drinks and something to eat at this little place down the road called the Gold Coast. Don’t know where they got that name. Sure as hell ain’t no coast around here and no damn gold. He said that’d be cool. So when I got home I expected him to be here. Only he wasn’t. I called and left voice mails. I texted and e-mailed and got zip. No Clém.”

  “We understand he had a vehicle?”

  “A beat-to-shit Datsun pickup. That was gone too. I just figured he left his crap here because he didn’t want to be bothered taking it with him. Then I quit caring. I just thought he got strung out again or something.”

  “But you said you talked to him that night, before you came home. Not enough time to get strung out, surely?” said Reel.

  “With Clém and meth it only took one pop for him to be totally effed