Because I'm Watching (36 page)

“As the last possible resort,” she repeated, “and only for someone who has physically threatened me and proved to be real.”

Her fierceness gave him comfort. “Have you got a sweater or a jacket you can use to cover this?” He gestured at the holster and gun.

“I'll figure something out.”

He pulled the key off his ring and pressed it into her hand. “I have to go or I'll miss the plane. Can you get over there by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me you'll go. I won't worry quite so much.”

“I promise.”

He started to stand.

But she caught his arm. “Jacob, if what you say is true … that means when Easton demanded to see my publishing financials, Andrew hired someone to kill him. Is that what you believe?”

“It's not important what I believe. What do you believe?”

She looked at him, her blue eyes hot. “I believe I am getting angry.”

 

Wait. What? You can't be serious. What happened to the money?

 

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Jacob presented himself at the gate of Andrew Hewitson's upscale condominium development and considered the call box. Pressing the button for Andrew's place, he waited while it rang five times. The answering machine picked up, and a warm, pleasing man's voice said,
This is Andrew Hewitson. I'm not available right now, please leave a message.

That got Jacob nowhere, but another car drove up, and in the rearview mirror, he saw the driver lift a remote control. The gate opened and Jacob followed that car in. The GPS sent him through the winding streets to an all-brick patio home; he parked in front and surveyed the property. The house was large, prosperous, but the yard looked ragged, while all around it, the lawns and flower beds were pristine. He got out, stood at the picket fence, hands in his pockets, and looked around. Nice neighborhood. Nice place. Really nice place. Andrew must do really well as an investment consultant. Or, if Jacob's suspicions were correct, Andrew was nothing without his sister.

But A. M. Hewitson novels were selling briskly. Andrew should be rolling in money. What reason did he have for the disintegration of the yard?

Jacob walked up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell.

No answer.

He leaned on the doorbell.

No answer.

A window from the house next door creaked open, an elderly gentleman leaned out, and in the loud tones of the deaf, he said, “They're not home.”

They?

Jacob matched him in volume. “My name is Jacob Denisov, and—”

“Are you a bill collector?”

“No, sir.”

“Who are you, then?”

Jacob gave the story he'd planned before he arrived. “I'm Maddie Hewitson's husband.”

The elderly gentleman lit up. “Maddie's married? At last!”

“Yes, sir.” Jacob observed the old man's posture and took a chance. “I'm retired U.S. Army, back from a tour of South Korea. I met Maddie in Virtue Falls, where she lives, and convinced her to marry me.”

“She's an odd one, our Maddie. You sure you can handle her?”

“I'm a little odd myself, sir—spent time as a North Korean POW, didn't come out so well.”

The old man studied Jacob. “I didn't know North Korea still took POWs. Wait there.” He pulled his head in and shut the window, then came out the front door and down the ramp for the handicapped, using his walker. “I spent some time in Korea myself, back in '52. Didn't love it.” He offered his hand. “Cyrus Caron, first lieutenant.”

Jacob shook. “Good to meet you, sir. I came to meet Andrew, talk to him about Maddie. Do you know where he went?”

“Nope. I was up real early one morning—I can't sleep sometimes, need a hip replacement, but they don't dare put me under for fear I won't wake up—and I saw them. They loaded their bags into a cab and headed off, I figured for the airport. Haven't seen them since.”

“They?”

“Andrew and his girlfriend.”

“He told Maddie he didn't have a girlfriend.”

“That female's been visiting him for a couple of years. I think she's some kind of businesswoman. She wears black suits and carries a briefcase. Shows up a couple of times a month for a little poontang, then she's off again. Nice-looking. Tall. Built.”

“Damn. I was hoping to take care of this now.” Jacob glanced at the blank windows, wondering if he could break in without setting off an alarm.

“After he locked himself out once, Andy gave me a key. Let me get it.” At his own stately pace, Mr. Caron returned to his house and went inside.

Jacob blessed his luck.

Still moving slowly, Mr. Caron exited his home, came down the walk, out the gate, down the sidewalk, into the gate at Andrew's house.… He started talking before he reached Jacob. “So … Korea, huh?”

“Yes. Korea.”

“Suckhole of a frozen wasteland. I couldn't wait to see the back of it.”

“Me, too, sir.”

“You wouldn't happen to be that young man who helped those smart kids escape that North Korean hellhole, would you?”

“That would be me.”

Mr. Caron looked at him sharply. “It's a hard thing coming back to real life. Spent a couple of years on the streets after I got stateside. Then my wife got fed up and came and got me.” He glanced toward the house. “She's a firecracker, that one is. She'll be after me to tell her all about Maddie's man.”

“Tell her I'll keep Maddie safe.”

“That'll be what she wants to hear.” Mr. Caron fitted the key in the lock. “Let's go in and see if Andrew left a note for his housekeeper. Not that I've seen her around lately. Andrew has gotten very sloppy about his home maintenance. He's in trouble with the neighborhood association.”

“Do you know why he's getting sloppy?”

“He's been holed up in the house a lot, and when I do see him and ask what he's been up to, he says working. On his computer—I see the light from his office all night sometimes.” Mr. Caron stepped inside and disarmed the alarm. “Here you are … My God, he really has let the place go.”

Jacob followed Mr. Caron into the dim house. The smell struck him first—musty, moldy, a house neglected. The home had originally been beautifully decorated and probably well kept, but now the floors were filthy, strewn with papers covered with calculations. Dust sat thick on the furniture, and if Mr. Caron hadn't seen Andrew leave, Jacob would have worried he was going to find Andrew upstairs on the bed dead of a heart attack or an overdose.

Mr. Caron watched Jacob wander into the living room. “I wonder what his problem is. Got money. Got a beautiful girlfriend. Got a sister he doesn't appreciate. Something must have gone sour.”

Jacob picked up a glass that might once have held milk, looked inside, looked up at Mr. Caron, and nodded. “Definitely sour.” He picked up a piece of paper and studied the calculations that covered it. They made no sense, but Jacob wasn't an investment adviser.

Mr. Caron wandered down the hall, pieces of paper crinkling as the wheels of his walker ran over them. “Here's his office,” he announced. “Used to be a nice place.”

Jacob walked into the room. A minimalist desk sat against the wall, an open file cabinet had spewed its guts on the floor, and more of those scribbled papers hung on the walls, pierced by colored stickpins.

“People say Maddie is crazy. Maybe they have the wrong sibling.” Going to the answering machine, Mr. Caron pushed the blinking button.

You have four new calls.

Beep.

Andrew, this is your editor. Where are you? You're supposed to be starting your book tour with an interview on
Denver Today
and they called in a panic. Don't do this, Andrew. You know how important this kind of local exposure is for book sales. Andrew? Pick up!

Beep.

Mr. Hewitson, this is the station manager at KDPG, Jean Majure at
Denver Today
. I made a place on the show for you today. Could you please let me know when you're going to arrive?

Beep.

Mr. Hewitson, this is Latest Greatest Murder Bookstore. We've got your books and a line of devoted fans waiting to have them autographed. Can you tell us when you're going to show up?

Beep.

Andrew, this is your editor. You're a feckless beast but I'm starting to get worried. You didn't show up for
Denver Today
and you didn't show up for your book signing. If you don't answer the phone soon, I'm sending the police over to check on you.

Beep.

Jacob looked at Mr. Caron. “Did she?”

Mr. Caron shook his head. “Never saw them.”

Jacob went to the computer and turned it on. He opened Andrew's writing program. He had no files labeled with the current book; the program wasn't updated to the current version. Jacob could barely contain his sarcasm. “Doesn't look like he was getting much done on his book.”

Mr. Caron pulled out the seat on his walker, sat down, and squinted at the screen. “My wife never did believe that story about him writing the books. She said he was too pretty and smooth to write scary stuff.”

“Who did she think was writing it?”

“Why are you asking? You know who is doing it. Our little Maddie.”

Jacob was impressed. “No one else has figured it out.”

“The Hewitsons, the parents, were our neighbors. We lived here when Maddie was born. We saw those kids grow up. We know her, and we know Andrew. He's got a good heart, but the man's as weak as ditchwater.”

Jacob opened the browser. The home page came up—to a gambling Web site. He checked the history: more gambling sites.

Mr. Caron was reading over Jacob's shoulder and right away he knew what he was seeing. “I had friends like this in the service. Got paid, went to the poker tables, were broke before midnight. The card sharks raked it in.”

“I knew those guys, too.” Tucked among the online loan sites, Jacob found a United Airlines reservations page. Following a hunch, he opened the mail program and looked for a confirmation e-mail. He found it: two tickets to Las Vegas, one for Andrew Hewitson and one for Barbara Ulrich, leaving two days ago at 6:20
A.M.

Mr. Caron said, “Looks like Miss Ulrich wanted to get in on the action, too.”

A bad feeling stirred in Jacob's gut. “First-class return tickets for Wednesday.”

Mr. Caron pointed a shaky finger at the screen. “Five nights at the Bellagio for a monster-size suite. Andrew must have had some luck.”

Jacob popped up another few e-mails. “It looks like he's run through a lot of money already. Careless of him to leave his bank account unencrypted. Anybody in the house could snoop and find out that he … wow! He blew over one hundred grand in the past month.”

Mr. Caron put his hand on his chest and started wheezing. “My God, boy. Don't tell me that stuff. At my age, I could be dead of shock in a blink of an eye.”

Jacob shot him a glance. “I'd guess it's going to take more than that to kill you.”

The aged veteran stopped faking it. “Probably.” He pointed a shaky finger at the screen. “Although if you open that e-mail, that may finish me off.”

Jacob opened the e-mail from the White Shoulders Wedding Chapel with the subject line
Reservations Confirmed.

There it was: a date and time, twenty-four hours ago, for a wedding to be performed for Andrew Hewitson and Barbara Ulrich. “It
does
look as if Miss Ulrich wanted to get in on the action.”

“Looks like. But why would any woman want a husband with an out-of-control gambling habit and a mound of debt?”

“For the book royalties.” Jacob pulled out his newly charged cell phone. “Looks like I'm traveling to Vegas.”

 

It's not hard to kill a human being. I've done it before.

 

No, I don't mean I intend to kill her. Don't read things into my words. You don't understand me.

 

You have never appreciated my efforts on your behalf.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

As soon as Jacob disembarked in Las Vegas, the noise and lights of slot machines assaulted him. They jangled and shouted as he walked down the concourse, gripping his duffel bag. As soon as he got outside, it was 4:00
P.M.
and dry heat and bright desert sunshine blasted him. He fumbled for Moore's sunglasses, slid them on his nose, and got in the cab line.

This was a return to modern life with a vengeance.

He called the Bellagio and asked for Andrew Hewitson's room. He was informed they had no guest registered under that name.

Of course not. That would make this too easy.

He called Maddie and asked if she'd heard from her brother.

She hadn't, and she hadn't been able to get ahold of him. Jacob told her nothing except that he thought Andrew had gone to Vegas on business. She already sounded worried and scared and there wasn't much he could do to reassure her except to tell her he was on the case and hoped to find out exactly what was going on.

Hell,
he
was worried and scared. Maddie was alone, someone had it in for her, her miserable piece-of-shit gambling manipulative brother had acquired a wife, and the two of them had disappeared. Perhaps they had gone on a honeymoon. Perhaps they had returned to Colorado Springs while Jacob flew to Las Vegas. Perhaps they had fled the country. If he could find Andrew, he would put a stop to this systematic exploitation and harassment of Maddie … but he was starting to think that when Andrew had hired someone to kill Maddie's fiancé, he had tapped into bigger problems than he could handle.

In the cab, he gave the name of the wedding chapel and said, “Hurry.”

The cabbie whipped into traffic. He glanced at Jacob, grinned, and asked, “Meeting her there?”