by R L Dunn
When she was able to open her eyes, a grate in the ceiling caught her attention. Pushing herself to her feet, she stood on the bed and pried it from its housing. A small camera fell into her hands. The type of wiring told her the server was nearby. Cassie found the strength to leave the room and continue her search.
At the end of the hall, she found a secured door. After a few tries, one of the keys unlocked it, and cool air wrapped around her. Leaving her drink, map, and ledgers by the door, she walked up and down rows of industrial shelving. One full wall was filled with VHS tapes, DVDs, and binders filled with SD discs, each labeled with only a number. The numbers matched the ones in the red book.
She inserted a random DVD into a computer terminal. Disgust ravaged her depleted body at the sight of a young brunette tied to the floral bed. She recognized all five attackers. Unable to continue viewing, she pocketed a handful of SD discs.
In the back of the room were two large easels, each holding a canvas in production. The subjects were all perfect copies of popular fine art. A few steps over, she found several large trolleys filled with framed paintings.
Cassie gasped. In between two beautiful pieces by new modern artists, she found a painting long thought to be destroyed: Van Gogh’s The Lovers, Poets Garden IV. She examined it as carefully as she could. It was the original; she was sure of it. She grabbed the map, ledgers, and her soda, intending to return to the stolen Jeep.
Chapter Fifty
Despite the late hour, Houseman’s buzzed with the sounds of happy bar patrons. Martin and Mike—dressed like professionals out for a drink, moved toward their targets. Kevin Tyler and Burt Marshall were sitting in a rear booth when the Eagle’s Talon men took seats next to them, preventing any egress.
“These seats are taken,” Burt said.
“Yeah, by us.” Mike Johnson signaled the waitress for four more beers.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Kevin asked.
“Friends of Cassie Ellis. We have a few questions,” Mike said.
“The first one is for you, Burt. Your mom and dad like art, don’t they?”
“How do you know my name?” Burt glared at him.
“Don’t worry how—answer my question.” Mike raised a brow.
“Got no idea what you mean.” Burt looked down, and Kevin drank from his glass.
“Burt, if I have to sit here much longer, I’m going to get crabby.” Mike grabbed an onion ring off his plate. “Mom, Dad, and art?”
Burt snarled. “Yeah, the house is covered. My dad gets off on them.”
“What about the paintings Mom and Dad don’t share with too many people?” Mike’s voice was clipped.
Kevin kicked his friend under the table, and Burt turned red. “Yeah, they have a screening room for the special stuff. Dad says it’s to protect the shit. I don’t pay attention.”
“Very good. Now to the next question,” Mike said.
Martin looked feral. “Six years ago, Cassie Ellis.”
“She was our friend’s fiancée. They ended it.” Kevin had trouble saying the words.
Martin took a sip of beer. “Do you know why?”
Burt bristled. “Yeah, it has nothing to do with us. She got herself raped. Couldn’t deal. She ended the engagement.”
“What would you say if we told you Garett ended the relationship? Did you know your friends Robby and Sebastian were her attackers? Sebastian told her all about it before he almost killed her again,” Martin said.
“Still don’t know what it has to do with us.” Burt tried to act disinterested.
“Gentlemen, you don’t seem to understand what we’re doing here. My friend and I ask questions. You give us truthful answers. Now it can go two ways. The first way, we sit here as friends, and over the beers we just bought you, you tell us what we need to know. Or we haul your asses out of here, go to a not-very-comfortable place, and you answer our questions,” Mike said.
“You can’t do that to us. We have rights,” Burt hissed.
Mike laughed, wrapped Burt’s tie around his wrist, and dragged him across the table. “Right now, you have no rights.”
“It was for Garett. He said he wanted to fake out his folks. He was gonna take Cassie away and do her for the first time.” Kevin was close to tears.
“His mom is a piece of work, and Garett needed an escape route. He told us Cassie was coming to the house, and he planned to elope with her. Garett was supposed to drive Cassie away, but to get past his mom, I dropped Burt at Garett’s house to get Cassie’s car and drove to the restaurant. Garett and I could pass for twins, and Phyllis dressed up in a wig. Cassie always wore these super high heels—even then she met eye to eye with Garett. But Phyllis was Garett’s height, so she decided to wear flats—to look like Cassie.
“Burt showed up with Cassie’s car and parked it. Phyllis and I play-fought in the parking lot, and Phyllis ran off. We met Phyllis, without the wig, around the corner and came here.
“Garett figured his mother would buy that she ran off, and he was looking for her. When they came back, it would be too late for Adrienne to interfere. The next morning, Garett called, all freaked out about what happened to Cassie. That’s it.” Kevin was covered in a fine sweat.
Mike tapped his finger on the table. “Burt, it’s on you again. Did you see anything at Garett’s house when you got the car?”
Burt swallowed hard. “Cassie’s car was parked in the apron of the driveway, but there were no keys. I was also surprised to see Robby’s car. He should have left by then. I went to the door, and no one answered, so I went in. The main floor was empty, so I headed up to Garett’s room. I could hear a woman begging for someone to stop and asking for help. I heard Garett’s mom yelling at her. I ran past the room and knocked on Garett’s door. When he answered, he had a handprint on his face and was crying. He gave me the keys and told me to go.”
“And you did nothing? Didn’t try to help?” Martin asked.
Burt shrugged.
Mike shook his head. “Was it Cassie?”
Burt nodded.
“Think before you answer this question. Robby and Seb took Cassie somewhere and hurt her. Where would they take her?”
When neither man answered, Mike continued tapping his finger.
After a minute of silence, Martin had had it. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s go, boys.”
“Wait,” Burt yelled. Martin sat back down. “Robby has a warehouse on Fourth and Atlantic. He has it set up as a crash pad. It’s hard living with your folks.”
“One more question: do you know if Cassie was ever at that building?” Mike stared at Burt.
“Yeah. Robby wanted Cassie to invest in a project. She blew him off, told him the idea wasn’t sound.”
“Thanks, boys.” Mike dropped cash on the table for the tab.
Martin scowled. “Fourth and Atlantic is a shithole. Do you think she’s there?”
Mike hit the Bluetooth as the security team initiated the tail on Burt and Kevin. “Go,” Kieran answered.
“Bynum Jr. has a place at Fourth and Atlantic. Want us to head there?” Martin asked.
A white flash ignited the sky, followed by the rumble of the ground. Martin and Mike jumped in their seats. “Patrol 1, target vehicle just exploded. No survivors. Multiple collateral injuries. Police and fire notified,” the report from the car following Burt and Kevin came.
“Base, did you hear that?” Mike stared at the smoky sky.
Kieran’s voice sounded shaky. “Roger, head to Fourth and Atlantic. We will acquire the exact address.”
Ian was more alert after his fifth cup of coffee. Brock Carpenter, head of the Chase legal department, sat beside him scanning paperwork. “Ian, she’s in a lot of trouble. EAF made at least one large overseas purchase per month or sponsored a show of new artists. Cassie authorized every customs tag. It also looks like millions of dollars were skimmed from EAF and deposited into foreign accounts—all at her behest.”
“She didn’t do it
, Brock.”
“I need to ask: how well do you know her?”
Ian’s nostrils flared. “Brock, I hired you because you’re damn good at what you do. That is why I’m not going to rip your head off. Keep digging. Cassie didn’t do this. She was used.”
“My team will keep digging, but, as it stands, the evidence against Cassie is compelling,” Brock cautioned.
Javier walked in. “We just got a notification: Mark Devereaux reported a break-in at EAF, and a security guard admitted Cassie was in the building. Devereaux said she stole files and custom tags. He searched her office and provided the police with proof of multiple fraudulent transactions. He is pressing charges.”
“We need to get to her first. What was she driving?” Ian hung his head.
Javier said, “Two detectives and FBI are pulling the film. We know Cassie would never do what Devereaux is accusing her of, but combined with her faked death, a warrant was issued for her arrest.”
“Detective, I’d like to see the warrant when you get it.” Brock stood and opened the office door.
Kieran circled his finger in the air to catch his brother’s attention. “Excuse me.” Ian stepped from the room.
Kieran grasped Ian by the shoulders. “Don’t say another word. Caleb and Christian are going with Troy and Rich to pick up Devereaux. Just stay cool.”
Andy Blake joined them in the hall. “We heard from Fairfax PD. Noah’s car was found in Reston. No sign of Cassie. Javi and I are gonna take a look as guests. You and Noah can ride along if…”
“I know the deal. Touch nothing. Keep my mouth shut,” Ian promised. Kieran sent Tate, Julian, and Lincoln to follow the detectives in case they needed to get Ian out of there.
Cassie’s eyes were growing heavy. She needed to sleep. Outside again, she found the Jeep was gone. The neighborhood revealed the seedy underbelly of DC—drugs and prostitution. Stay safe. She shut out the discomfort to pay attention to her surroundings, remembering passing a motel about six blocks away.
Keeping to the shadows, she made it, out of breath and soaked with sweat, her leg throbbing and swollen. The threadbare room was clean and air-conditioned. After locking the door, she shoved a chair under the knob. The cold air combined with her wet clothing made her shiver.
Her stomach woke up again. The few fries she managed to eat fled her system. She broke her last pill in half, and after stripping off her sweaty clothes, she crawled into bed.
The Metro detectives entered a well-kept Reston neighborhood where Fairfax police officers had the area secured. Ian walked the perimeter of the car, praying for a clue. On his second circle, he spotted a piece of ignition wire. “She’s in another vehicle. Find out who is missing a car.” He was about to call Kieran when Tate pulled up in a Navigator.
“Get in.” Tate handed Ian his weapon. “We have a lead on a building—it’s a shitty neighborhood. The gun is for your protection. If you start acting crazy, Noah and I will take you out.”
Thirty minutes later, Ian cringed at the sight of the most dangerous area in DC. The thought of Cassie being there made him ill. Martin and Mike paced, waiting for their arrival, while Julian and Lincoln had found evidence of a break-in. After a fast search of the first floor, the seven men headed upstairs.
What they found on the second floor tore the seasoned operators apart. Evidence of theft. Evidence of women raped and murdered. Evidence of women sold into slavery.
Noah called out from the end of the hall. “You need to see this.” The Van Gogh was left out in the open.
“Show me you were here, sweetheart.” Ian looked at the computer, where an icon for a live feed blinked on the desktop. He rewound the recording and pressed play. Cassie crawled to the window and vomited; her hair glued to her face by sweat. “She was here.” He touched her image on the screen.
He played the movie Cassie left in the reader, dated a year earlier. When Robby Bynum deposited a girl on the bed, and Sebastian stripped off her clothing, Ian covered his mouth with his hand. A stroke of a key froze the frame. Martin stood stiff as a board behind him as Bradford Whitman, Alexander Marshall, and Robert Bynum Sr. came into view.
Ian turned away. “Tate, stay with the building. Get Zach and Bruce here to help. I’ll notify Metro. Noah, call your dad and give him a heads up. Martin, I need their locations now.”
Cassie awoke at six and rushed to the bathroom, her head spinning. She dug in her pocket for the meds. She broke the last bit of pill in half and let the quarter dissolve in her mouth. After dressing, she grabbed the map, ledgers, and recordings.
In the gas station across the street, she bought a cold Coke, a bag of pretzels, and a package of Unisom, then returned to the motel to make some calls. The first one went to Whitman, Tyler, and Bates. “Hi, this is Susie. I’m looking for Bradford Whitman.” Cassie used her best phone-sex operator voice.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Whitman is not in. I can put you through to voicemail.”
“Oh my. No, I need to find him. It’s about his son.”
“Mr. Whitman is not coming in today, but he has a standing lunch date with Mrs. Whitman at the Army Navy Club for twelve-thirty this afternoon.”
Cassie repeated a similar ruse at Claudia Marshall’s store. This time, she was a big buyer who needed special services. For the senator, she impersonated a Secret Service agent confirming his calendar. The three couples were all going to be in one place. Once she took care of them, she would go after Mark Devereaux.
The estate house was tense, and Ian’s temper was growing shorter. There had been no sightings of Cassie. The police reported a break-in at an electronics store in Fairfax that was odd because the thief left money on the counter. He was sure it was her.
Christian walked into the office. “The piece of garbage is downstairs. He’s still playing the worried family friend. My dad and yours just went to talk to him. I thought you’d want to watch.”
Luke and Declan started Mark Devereaux’s interrogation in a soft tone, with Declan asking, “You’ve known Cassie all her life. Why would she commit this fraud?”
Within an hour, with the help of the technical analysis reports on his finances, they had their confession. The only other person he gave up was Bynum Jr.
Ian returned upstairs, pacing like a caged lion. “Cassie has my wallet with about seven hundred dollars in it. Get a copy of Bynum’s calendar. Until she can get to them, she’ll go cheap and pay cash.”
The surveillance teams reported the three couples were out of their homes, making multiple stops. He was sure she was going after the six of them or Garett.
Kieran poured over bank statements, utility bills, and title searches while Brett searched motels and hotels. Then Kieran yelled, “I’ve got a beach house in Virginia Beach. Belongs to Cheyenne’s parents. I’ll send Mia and half of Bravo team. We might find Garett.”
“Send them.” Ian paced.
Martin handed Ian the missing tablet and the book Cassie was reading. “Found the tablet behind the toilet in the bathroom. I underestimated her. She switched SIM cards from the med tablet and signed on for thirty-seven seconds. That’s why no one picked it up. Open the book. I’m sorry.”
Ian unfolded two pieces of paper. The first was the sketch of the room in the Whitman’s house. Every face around her was now identifiable. It confirmed whom she was going after. The second was a sketch of him holding Cassie in his arms in the silhouette of a heart.
Four hours later, Mia arrived at the Virginia Beach summerhouse. The white clapboard building had stunning views, while smells of sea and sand heightened their senses. Once everyone was in position, she knocked on the front door. After no response, she found the door unlocked. The smell hit her first. Garett Whitman was hanging off the upstairs railing overlooking a blue and white living room.
“Damn. Look for a note.” Mia walked into the sunny yellow kitchen before calling Kieran’s phone, which Ian answered. “Sir, we found Garett Whitman. He’s dead. Looks like a suicide.”
Mi
a heard a crash in the background, and Kieran picked up the call. “Mia, go.”
“Whitman’s dead. Looks like a suicide. Here for at least a couple of days. We’re checking for a note.”
“Leave no evidence. Once you’re clear, make an anonymous call to the PD.
“Roger.” Mia ended the call.
The can of Coke and the Unisom became her lifeline. A few sips stayed down. The drug stemmed some of her nausea, but it made her sleepy.
Cassie climbed into a cab and gave the driver a hundred dollars. “You will get a hundred more if you do what I ask.” The driver nodded. Her first stop was the post office, where Cassie placed the map and ledger in an overnight envelope addressed to Paul Yates. She mailed the red ledger and the recordings to Andy Blake.
Her next stop was the cemetery. Cassie surveyed the area, making the driver circle twice.
“Damn it,” Cassie said under her breath, ducking down after spotting Ian’s security team. Sorry, boys. “Head to Nordstrom Rack on L Street please.”
Brett checked ATMs, traffic cameras, and guest registrations from every motel and hotel in concentric circles from the warehouse. Police found the stripped Jeep a few blocks away with Cassie’s fingerprints on the inside of the driver’s window. Police issued an additional warrant for auto theft. They knew Cassie couldn’t go far.
Brett scanned a list, and an odd name jumped out at him. “Boss, I think I have something. I found a guest named Frida Kahlo. Wasn’t she an artist?”