Beyond Suspicion (28 page)

•

Before Dr. Marsh’s death hit the late-evening news, Jack was at Theo’s townhouse. He’d driven Theo home from his late-night gigs often enough to know that a key was behind the barbecue in the backyard. Technically speaking, he was still trespassing, but a true friend didn’t stand on the sidelines at a time like this.

The police arrived at Dr. Marsh’s house within minutes of the 911 call. They’d asked plenty of questions about Theo’s whereabouts. Jack didn’t have any answers, and he quickly realized that it was up to him to go out and get them.

Jack turned the key in the lock, then pushed the door open. He took a step inside, and switched on a light. Almost immediately his heart thumped, as the big cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall began its hourly ritual. In a minute, Jack could breathe again, and he watched the wooden characters continue their little dance around the musical clock. They weren’t the typical cuckoo-clock figures. Instead of the little man with the hammer who comes out and strikes the bell, this one had an axe-wielding woodsman who lopped off a chicken’s head. Theo had ordered it from some offbeat mail-order catalog and given it to Jack after his successful last-minute request for a stay of execution. Jack gave it back when Theo was finally released from prison. Death row did weird things to your sense of humor.

But I still like having you around, buddy.

Jack continued down the hall and headed for the bedroom. In Jack’s mind, it wasn’t even within the realm of possibility that Theo might have killed the doctor. Jack hadn’t exactly spelled it out this way to the police, but even if you believed that Theo was capable of murder, he was way too savvy to pull the trigger and then leave his car parked on the victim’s front lawn.

Still, there were two most likely possibilities. Either Theo was on the run or something awful had happened to him. After mulling it over, Jack settled on a surefire way to rule out one of them.

The bedroom door was open, and Jack went inside. A small lamp on the dresser supplied all the light he needed. This wasn’t the kind of search that required him to slice open seat cushions, upend the mattress, or even check under the bed. Jack went straight to the closet and slid open the door.

Instantly, he saw what he was looking for. It was in plain view, exactly where Theo kept it. He popped open the black case to reveal a high-polished, brass instrument glistening in the light.

Jack took the saxophone in his hands and held it the way Theo would have. He could almost hear Theo playing, felt himself connecting with his friend. Jack had no idea where Theo was, but this much he knew: Theo had lived without his music for too long in prison, and he would never do it again. Not by choice.

His heart sank as he considered Theo’s fate-as the least scary of possibilities evaporated in Jack’s mind.

No way he ran
.

Carefully, almost lovingly, he placed the sax back on the closet shelf, then headed for the door.

•

The Luna Lodge was the kind of seedy motel that could be rented by the week, the day, or the hour. Katrina didn’t want to stay a minute longer than necessary, but she wasn’t feeling optimistic. She’d sprung for the weekly rate.

She’d chosen a ground-floor room in the back where guests could come and go from their cars with virtually no risk of being spotted. Privacy was what the Luna Lodge was all about, with an extra set of clean sheets coming in at a close second. She could hear the bed squeaking in the room above her. For a solid thirty-five minutes, it sounded like the bedposts pounding on her ceiling. The guy upstairs was Superman, but that wasn’t what was keeping her awake. She’d spent hours seated in a lumpy armchair that faced the door, wondering how deep was the mess she’d gotten herself into.

The chain lock was on, the lights were off, the window shades were shut. The room smelled of mold, mildew, and a host of other living organisms that she didn’t even try to identify. The sun had set hours earlier, but a laser of moonlight streamed through a small tear at the top of the curtain. Until just then, she hadn’t noticed that the big amoeba-shaped stain on the carpet was actually the color of dried blood.

Her eyes were closing, and her mind wandered. Being so close to all this sin evoked a flurry of memories. She suddenly felt cold, though the chill was from within her. It was like a winter night in Prague, the night she’d parted with her pride. She was just nineteen, a mere teenager, locked in a bathroom she shared with seven other roommates in a drafty apartment.

•

A brutal February wind poured through cracks around the small rectangular window. She was sitting on the edge of the sink, a battered metal basin so cold that it burned against the backs of her bare thighs. It was meticulous work, but she did it quickly. Then she pulled up her panties, buttoned her slacks, and put the scissors back in the cabinet.

The fruits of her efforts were in a small plastic bag. She hid it in her pocket so her roommates wouldn’t see. Three of them were sharing a couple pieces of bread and a bland broth for dinner as she made her way past them. They didn’t ask where she was going, but it wasn’t out of indifference. She sensed that they knew, but they’d chosen not to embarrass her. Without a word, she stepped out of the cluttered apartment, then headed down the hall and out the back door of the building.

A black sedan was parked at the curb. The motor was running, as white wisps of exhaust curled upward in the cold air. A sea of footprints in frozen slush covered the sidewalk. The ice crunched beneath her feet as she headed for the car, opened the back door, and climbed inside. She closed the door and handed the bag to the man in the driver’s seat. It was the same man she’d met in the alley the night her friend Beatriz had been killed at the factory.

“Here you go,” she said.

He held the bag up to the dome light, eyeing it with a disgusting fascination. It was a peculiar fetish among certain Czech men, one that kept many a young Cuban woman in Castro’s work program from starving. There was decent money to be had from a bagful of pubic clippings.

“Too short,” he said.

“It’s only twenty-days’ growth. What do you expect?”

“I can’t use this.”

“Then give me more time between collections. At least six weeks.”

“I can’t wait that long.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?”

He opened the bag, smelled it, and smiled. “I think it’s time we expanded our line of merchandise.”

“No way.”

“Not a good answer.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’d better care.”

“I don’t. This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” he said, chuckling. Then he turned serious. “It’s like I always say, honey. Everything happens for a reason. No decision is meaningless. We all determine our own fate.”

“If that’s what you say, then you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah. I’ll be sure to make a note of that. Meanwhile, you think about the choices you want to make. Think about your fate.”

A low, throaty groan startled her. It was a man’s voice, definitely not the hooker next door. She focused just in time to see Theo’s eyes blink open.

“How’s your head?” she asked.

He was lying on his back, his body stretched across the mattress like a drying deer skin. Each wrist and ankle was handcuffed to a respective corner of the bed frame. He tried to say something, but with the gag it was unintelligible.

Katrina rose and inspected the big purple knot above his left eyebrow. It was squeezing his eye half shut, and he withdrew at her slightest touch.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” she said. “Next time you try to escape, I’ll have to shoot you.”

His jaw tightened on the gag, but he uttered not a sound.

She returned to her chair and laid her pistol across her lap. “I suppose you’re wondering how long I think I can keep you tied up like this.”

Short, angry breaths through his nostrils were his only reply.

“The answer is: Long enough for me to figure out what to do. See, if I don’t kill you, they’re going to kill me. And then they’ll come and find you and do the job that I was supposed to do. So it’s really in everyone’s best interest for you to behave yourself and let me figure this out.”

His breathing slowed. He seemed less antagonized.

“Now, I’m sure you’d love to lose that gag in your mouth. And after lying here unconscious for so long, you must be dying to use the bathroom. So nod once if you think you can behave yourself.”

He blinked, then nodded.

“Good.” She went to him and stopped at the edge of the mattress. Then she aimed the gun directly at his head and said, “You try anything, I’ll blow your brains out.”

She took the key from her pocket and unlocked the left handcuff. She handed him the ice bucket. “Roll over and pee into this.”

Still gagged, he shot her a look that said,
You gotta be kidding.

“Do it, or hold it.”

Begrudgingly, he rolled on one side, unzipped, and did his business. From the sound of things, Katrina was beginning to think she might need a second bucket. Finally it was over. He rolled onto his back, and Katrina locked the handcuff to his wrist.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

He nodded.

“If you scream…” She pressed the gun to his forehead, as if to finish the sentence.

She reached behind his neck, loosened the knot, and pulled the gag free. She offered him a cup of water, which he drank eagerly. When he finished, he stretched his mouth open to shake off the effects of the gag, then winced. The mere use of any facial muscles was a painful reminder of the bruise above his eye.

“Damn, girl. Where’d you learn to kick like that?”

“Where’d you get those tattoos?”

He looked confused, then seemed to understand. “You served time?”

“I think of it that way.”

“What for?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just curious.”

The creaking noise resumed overhead, the steady squeak of the bed in the room above them. Katrina glanced at the ceiling, then shot Theo a look that required no elaboration.

“You were a hooker?” he said.

“No. I refused to be one.”

“They put you in jail because you
wouldn’t
ho’? I don’t get it.” The squeaking stopped. Theo lay still for a moment, still staring at the ceiling. “To be honest, I don’t get any of this. You’re a government informant. If someone is making you do something you don’t want to do, just go to the police.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Just explain to them that things have gotten out of hand. Someone wants you to hit me or they’re gonna hit you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I go to the police and tell them the fix I’m in, they’ll pull me from the assignment.”

“Exactly. Problem solved.”

“You just don’t understand.” Her gaze drifted across the room, then settled on the brownish-red spot of dried blood on the carpet. “There’s an old Russian proverb,” she said vaguely. “’Revenge is the sweetest form of passion.’”

“What does that have to do with calling the police?”

“If they pull me off the job now, I stifle my own passion.”

He looked straight at her, seeming to understand that somewhere behind those troubled brown eyes was an old score to settle.

“I’m good at revenge. Maybe I could help.”

“This is something I have to do myself.”

He nodded, then gave a little tug that rattled the chains of his handcuffs. “Funny.”

“What?”

“When I was fifteen, I used to have this fantasy about being kidnapped by a Latina babe.”

“Not exactly living up to the dream, is it?”

“Nope.”

“Hate to break this to you, pal. Life never does.” She stuffed the gag back in his mouth and cinched up the knot behind his head.

•

Jack went from Theo’s to Sparky’s. It was getting late, but the crowd had found its collective second wind. Loud country music was cranking on the sound system, and a group of Garth Brooks wannabes were twirling their women across the dance floor.

Theo’s gone one night, and the place is already swarming with rednecks.

Like most dives, Sparky’s was the kind of place where liquor flowed freely but everything else came at a price. All day long, theories about Theo’s disappearance had been bouncing off the walls. For twenty bucks the barmaid steered Jack in the most promising direction.

“Buy you a drink?” said Jack as he sidled up to the bar.

A skinny guy with weathered skin looked up from his glass and said, “You queer?”

“No, sorry. But I have a couple friends who are, if you’re interested.”

He popped up from his barstool. “Watch your mouth, jackass.”

“Easy, friend. Just a little joke.”

“I don’t think you’re so funny.”

Jack took a moment. Usually he tried to befriend people before bullying them into divulging information, but this guy was too much of a jerk to waste time schmoozing.

“You’re a truck driver, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s your rig parked out back?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I hear you sell drugs out of it.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not a cop.”

“I don’t sell nothin’ to nobody. Just drive my truck, that’s all.”

“Well, I hear differently. So let me spell this out for you. Theo Knight left this joint around two o’clock this morning. Nobody’s seen him since. His partner tells me the cops have been here asking questions. I hear you’re the only one around here who seems to have any idea what might have happened to him.”

“I didn’t tell the cops nothin’.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. That’s because you were out cutting a deal in your truck when you saw what you saw.”

He smiled nervously. “You heard that, huh?”

“From a good source. So, you want to tell me what caught your eye? Or should I call my old boss at the U.S. attorney’s office and tell him to get a search warrant for your rig?”

The trucker swirled the ice cubes around in his glass, sipped the last few drops of bourbon. “Tough guy, are you?”

“Just a man with a mission.”

He checked the door, as if it were some big secret, then glanced back and said, “Your friend Theo left with some chick.”

“Who?”

“A brunette. Black clothes, nice body. Could have been Latina. She was hanging around his car out back in the parking lot, then she got in. He came out about twenty minutes later, and they drove off together. That’s all I saw.”

“Did they seem friendly together, were they arguing, or what?”

“I didn’t see them together. His Jetta has dark tinted windows, so I couldn’t see inside. Like I say, I saw her get in, then a little later he gets in. I don’t know if she was smoking a joint in there or what. She waited for him, then they left. That’s it.”

“Anything else you remember?”

“Yeah. The bumper sticker. It said,
i brake for porn stars.
It just kind of stuck in my brain.”

Definitely Theo’s car, thought Jack. “That’s all I need to know. Thanks.”

Jack climbed off the barstool and headed out the door to the parking lot, leaving the loud music and stale odors behind him. The moon was almost full, bright enough to cast his shadow across the parking lot. He leaned against his car, thinking, but he didn’t have to think long. Brunette, good-looking, nice body. It was just as he’d suspected, and the trucker’s story was all the ammunition he needed.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, then stopped, not sure whom to call first. If he notified the cops, Katrina would probably hire herself a lawyer and never talk. He gave it another moment’s thought, then went with his gut and dialed the cell-phone number Katrina had given him outside the mobile blood unit.

“What did you do to Theo Knight?” he said when she answered.

There was silence. Jack said, “Don’t hang up, Katrina. I’m onto you. Theo’s missing, and you left Sparky’s with him last night.”

“Says who?”

“I have a witness who saw you waiting in the car.”

She didn’t answer. Jack said, “I’m giving you one chance to tell me what happened to Theo. If you don’t, I’m going to the police.”

She paused, a long, tense silence that bespoke her angst.

Jack said, “What’s it going to be?”

“Don’t go to the police.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because if you do, there’s a good chance Theo could end up dead.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that for a fact?”

“Yes.”

“Let me be clear about this. Are you saying you kidnapped him?”

“No. I mean, not really. It’s not like I’m asking for a ransom or anything. It’s more like he’s in hiding, for his own safety.”

“Say what?”

“All I can tell you is that I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe. But if you butt in, there’s a good chance he’ll end up dead. And it won’t be my fault.”

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t explain now. Just give me twenty-four hours to sort some things out.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“You just have to trust me on this. I’m a confidential informant, I’m not a criminal, remember?”

“I’m not trusting you anymore. I’m going to the police.”

“Fine. Go. But after keeping your friend alive on death row for all those years, it seems pretty stupid of you to sign his death warrant now. And that’s exactly what you’d be doing if you run to the cops.”

Jack gripped the phone, thinking. “I don’t like this. After that meeting at the blood unit, I thought we had a working relationship. But I haven’t heard a thing from you about that Georgia case, or anything else, for that matter.”

There was silence, but finally she answered. “You were right about Georgia.”

His heart sank a bit. “They’re killing viatical settlors?”

“I checked the computers. That woman in Georgia was one of our clients.”

“So if they got Jessie, too, that means Viatical Solutions, Inc., murdered two clients in less than a month.”

“It’s not for sure. And it’s not just Viatical Solutions, Inc., either. We created dozens of viatical corporations, most of them just shells that we activate whenever we need one. When I first started this job, I thought all these companies were just a lot of needless paperwork, but now it makes sense. Every client does business with a different company. The one in Georgia was called Financial Health, Inc.”

“Smart,” said Jack. “It would look pretty suspicious if any single company showed too good a rate of return.”

“I am so close to blowing the lid off this.”

“You have to come forward.”

“I need more time.”

“You can’t have it. What if they go out and murder another client next week?”

“I’m not talking a week. Twenty-four hours is all I need. Then Theo will be back safe, and this whole operation will be blown wide open. I promise.”

He weighed it in his mind, but he and Theo both needed someone on the inside. Busting her chops over a few hours would only push her out of their camp. “All right. I’ll give you twenty-four hours. But I want proof that Theo’s alive, before noon.”

“Like what?”

The image of Theo’s saxophone suddenly flashed in his brain, giving Jack the perfect proof-of-life question. “Ask him for the title of his favorite Donald Byrd album.”

“Okay. You’ll have it by noon.”

“One last thing.”

“What?”

“Theo Knight is my friend. If you’re playing me for a fool and something happens to him, I’m coming after you. You understand me?”

“More than you know,” she said.

Jack switched off the phone and buried it in his pocket.