Beyond Suspicion (29 page)

•

At 5:30 A.M. the runners were gathering at Cartagena traffic circle. This was a regular Saturday morning ritual in Coral Gables, the predawn gathering of bodies clad in Nike shorts and spandex, ready to head out on a ten- or fifteen-mile run before the rest of the world rose for breakfast. Himself an occasional runner, Jack admired them in a way, but mostly he regarded them as the South Florida version of those crazy Scandinavians who cut holes in the Arctic ice and jumped in for a refreshing dip in mid-January.

Rosa wasn’t answering her cell phone, but Jack found her exactly where he’d expected, her leg propped up on the fence as she stretched out her hamstrings.

“What are you doing here, Swyteck?”

“I have to talk to you.”

“I have to run. Literally.”

Her friends seemed annoyed by the intrusion, each of them checking their ultraprecise wristwatches/heart-monitors/speedometers.

Jack whispered in her ear, “Theo’s been kidnapped.”

She shot him a look, as if to say,
Are you shittin’ me?

“I’m totally serious,” he said.

Rosa told her friends to go on without her, then followed Jack to an isolated spot beneath a banyan tree where they could talk in private. In minutes he brought her completely up to speed, ending with his conversation with Katrina.

“Why didn’t you call me last night?”

“I wasn’t sure I should call anyone, since I agreed not to call the police.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because I haven’t been able to sleep. Things are happening so fast, I need another brain to process it all. I don’t want to be wrong.”

“You were right about one thing. Theo didn’t run.”

“I knew Theo was no murderer.”

“Well, back up a second. Just because he didn’t run doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Jessie Merrill.”

He considered her words, appreciating the distinction. “You still think he might have killed her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Katrina told me on the phone that her company probably killed a woman in Georgia to cash in on a viatical settlement. Seems to me they did the same thing with Jessie.”

“Except that Jessie was healthy.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Someone with AIDS is expected to die. So it doesn’t raise red flags if the viatical company hastens the process. Especially if you go to the trouble of doing ten different clients under ten different company names, which is apparently the way they did it. But Jessie Merrill was a totally different situation. She wasn’t sick, wasn’t expected to die. Killing her immediately raised red flags. The thugs that Katrina worked for had to be smart enough to have known that.”

“We’re talking about the Russian
Mafiya
, not Russian scientists. You get these guys pissed enough, all intelligence goes out the window.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s not just a maybe. It’s certainly more likely that they did it than Theo.”

“Yes, if you look at it strictly from that perspective. But there’s other evidence to consider.”

“Like what?”

“For example, what does this new information about the viatical companies do to your theory about the angle of the cut?”

“I don’t think it affects it one way or another.”

“You said it was probably a left-handed person who slit Jessie’s wrist.”

“So what? I’m sure the Russian
Mafiya
has plenty of left-handed hit men.”

“I’m sure they do. But answer me this: Is Theo right-handed or left-handed?”

“Right-handed. Ha! In your face.”

“In your dreams.”

“What does that mean?”

“This theory you have about the angle of the cut. Don’t you find it odd that the medical examiner’s report doesn’t even make mention of it?”

“No. The angle is subtle, I’ll admit. And a left-handed killer doesn’t fit the prosecutor’s theory of the case, so, of course, the report doesn’t mention it.”

“That’s a little cynical,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

“Theo sat on death row for a murder he didn’t commit. We have a right to be cynical.”

“We?
We
have a right? You’re not his lawyer anymore, Jack.”

“No. I’m his friend.”

“Which is why I’m so worried. Just a take step back, play devil’s advocate the way any good lawyer would.”

“How do you mean?”

“You say the medical examiner doesn’t see the same angle on the cut because a left-handed killer doesn’t suit the prosecutor’s theory of the case. Well, maybe-just maybe-you do see the angle because a
right
-handed killer doesn’t fit
your
theory of the case.”

“But you saw it, too. I showed you the autopsy photo, and you said you saw the angle.”

“Damn it, Jack.
You’re
right-handed. Don’t you think I wanted to see something that says the killer was left-handed?”

“Are you still wondering if I killed Jessie?”

“No. Not at all. But believe me, the way the evidence is falling out, I’ll grab at anything that makes it easier for me to prove you didn’t.”

“When I showed you the photo of Jessie’s wrist, did you see the angle or not?”

“I saw it, but only after you insisted that it was there. I’d feel a whole lot more sure of this theory if the medical examiner had seen it first.”

Jack searched for a rebuttal, but nothing came. “Okay,” he said calmly. “Okay.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe you shouldn’t be so sure about this left-handed, right-handed stuff.”

“You’re saying more than that. You’re saying, don’t be so sure that Theo isn’t the killer.”

“Okay. Maybe I am.”

“Don’t worry. Right now, the only thing I’m sure of is that I came here hoping that you’d help me sort things out.”

“And?”

He walked toward the fence, watched the line of runners streaming down the footpath along the canal. “And now I’m just more confused.”

•

After a long night with Theo, Katrina went home for supplies. It was early Saturday morning, and she was working on little sleep. She went to the refrigerator and poured herself a little pick-me-up, a mixture of orange and carrot juice. Then she crossed the kitchen and switched to the early-morning local news broadcast. She caught the tail end of the morning’s lead story, the indictment of Theo Knight for Jessie’s murder. It was the same lead as last night, with slightly more emphasis on the shooting death of Dr. Marsh and the fact that his body was found in his car by Jack Swyteck, right beside an abandoned Volkswagen that belonged to Theo Knight.

Katrina kept one eye on the television screen as the news anchor closed with a comment that Katrina could have scripted: “Neither Theo Knight nor his attorney were available for comment.”

She switched off the set. Just what she’d needed, another kick-in-the-head reminder that she had to do something about Theo. Twenty-four hours was all the time she’d bought from Swyteck. She hoped it was enough.

“Good morning, Katrina.”

She whirled, so startled that she dropped her juice glass. It shattered at her feet. A man was on the patio outside her kitchen, just on the other side of the sliding screen door. She was about to scream when he said, “It’s me, Yuri.”

She took a good look. She’d heard plenty about Yuri, but during her eight-month undercover stint, she’d met him only once, briefly, when he’d come to do business with Vladimir.

“You scared me to death.”

“Am I not welcome?”

She opened the screen door and said, “To be honest, a knock would have been nice.”

He stepped inside. Then he knocked-three times, each one separated by a needlessly long pause. It might have been his idea of a joke, but he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who smiled much.

He pulled the screen door shut, and the sliding glass door, too. Then he locked it. “You have no reason to be afraid of me. You know that, don’t you?”

He gave her a look that made her nervous, but she tried not to show it. “Of course.”

His expression didn’t change. It was the same cold, assessing look.

Katrina grabbed a paper towel and cleaned up the broken glass and juice on the floor, then tossed the mess in the trash can. Yuri was still watching her every move.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Coffee, juice?”

No response. He pulled a chair away from the kitchen table, turned it around, and straddled it with his arms resting atop the back of it. “Where you been all night?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Just out.” She folded her arms and leaned against the refrigerator, as if to say it was none of his business.

Again, he was working her over with that penetrating stare, making her feel as if it were her turn to talk even though he’d said nothing.

“You sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“Tell me something, Katrina. How’s the dirty-blood business?”

She shrugged, rolling with his sudden change of subject. “Fine.”

“You know, we invented the blood bank.”

“We?”

“Russians. Most people don’t know it, but blood banks never existed until the Soviets started taking blood out of cadavers in the 1930s. This was something I didn’t believe until a doctor showed me an old film about it. Soviet doctors figured out that there was a point, after someone died, before rigor mortis, and before the bacteria spread throughout the body, where you could actually take the blood from the dead body and use it.”

She said nothing, not sure exactly what point he was trying to make.

“Can you imagine that, Katrina? Taking blood from cadavers?”

With that, she realized where this was headed. It was as if he somehow knew that she’d snooped through Vladimir’s computer and discovered the truth about that woman in Georgia who’d turned up dead-short about three liters of AIDS-infected blood.

“Have you ever heard of such a thing?” he asked more pointedly.

“No.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a warm smile. “Vladimir always trusted you, you know that?”

“We worked well together.”

“I always thought it was because he wanted to get you into bed.”

“So did I, until I saw a picture of his daughter. We look a lot alike.”

“Lucky you. I, on the other hand, don’t care who you look like. And I am far less trusting.”

“He told me.”

“Of course he did. Vladimir had a habit of sharing things he didn’t need to share. That’s why he had to leave.”

“He’s gone?”

“He had some vacation time coming. But that’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that you and I have to get past this trust issue.”

“I thought the Theo Knight hit was supposed to resolve all that.”

“It was.”

“So, what’s left to resolve? You found his car, didn’t you?”

“Right where you said it would be. As a matter of fact, I drove it over to Dr. Marsh’s house last night.”

“What for?”

“Theo had good reason to kill him. Thought I’d do my part to make sure the cops keep racing right down that rabbit hole.”

“I saw the news. Dr. Marsh is dead.”

“You bet he is. Deader than Theo Knight.”

Katrina felt chills. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I know for certain that Dr. Marsh is dead.”

“So is Theo Knight.”

“Is he?”

“You think I’d lie about something like this?” she said with a nervous chuckle.

“Probably not. But humor me. Tell me exactly how Theo Knight went down.”

“Not much to tell.”

“I’m a detail guy. Let’s hear ’em.”

“I hid in the back seat, waited for him to come out from the bar when his shift ended. Put a gun to his head and told him to drive out west to the warehouse district. Found us a suitable canal. Told him to get out and walk to the edge of the water. And that was it.”

“You’re leaving out the best part. I want to know exactly how you did it.”

“Shot him in the head.”

“Silencer?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Which side of the head?”

“Back. One shot.”

“How close?”

“Less than an inch.”

“The end of the barrel touching his skull or not?”

“Uhm, could have been touching. Real close.”

He rose and walked across the room, straight toward her. Katrina didn’t move, but she felt her body tense up, bracing for something.

He stopped at her side, formed his hand into the shape of a gun, and pressed his finger to the back of her head. “Like this?”

“More or less.”

“At that range, the bullet must have exited through his face.”

“It did. Right through the forehead.”

He stepped away and nodded, but she could tell he didn’t believe her. In fact, she felt baited.

“That’s strange,” he said. “All the hits I’ve ever done with a.22-caliber, never once has there been an exit wound.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s the beauty of a.22. That’s why it’s the preferred weapon of professionals. Doesn’t have enough force to pass through the skull twice. It’s not like a.38 or a 9-millimeter, in the left side, out the right. A.22 goes in one side and bounces off the inside of the skull, ricochets around until it turns the brain to scrambled eggs.”

She fell silent.

“Are you absolutely sure that your little.22-caliber slug came out his forehead, Katrina?”

“Of course I’m sure. Maybe it never happened that way for you, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Except the first one doesn’t count if there are no witnesses.”

“You expected me to off him in public?”

“No. But if I’m ever going to trust you, I expect you to do it in front of me.”

“Too late. Theo’s dead.”

“Then we find another.”

“Another?”

“Yeah.” His dark eyes brightened, as if this was what he lived for. “There’s always another.”

•

Jack returned home at dawn. He tiptoed past the bed, squinting as the first rays of morning sunlight cut across the room. Cindy stirred on the other side of the mattress.

“Where you been?” she asked, yawning.

“All over, checking things out.”

“I was worried about you. I tried calling you.”

He dug his cell phone from his pocket. The battery was dead. “Sorry. I’ve been unreachable and didn’t even know it.”

“Did you find out anything about Theo?”

“I think so. Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He watched her head sink back into the pillow, then lowered himself gently onto the edge of the mattress. The doorbell rang, giving them both a start.

“Now what?” he said, groaning.

“Probably a reporter. Ignore it, please.”

“I’d better check it out.” He took the long route through the kitchen, where he dropped his cell phone in the battery charger on the counter. The doorbell rang once more as he reached the foyer and peered through the peep hole. The sight of Katrina on his front porch kicked up his pulse a notch.

“Just a minute,” he said, then quickly returned to the bedroom. Cindy was out of bed and pulling on her blue jeans. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Katrina. That government informant Theo and I were dealing with.”

“What does she want?”

“I’m not sure,” he said as he walked to the dresser. He opened the top drawer, removed the trigger lock from his revolver, and slipped the gun into his pant’s waist. He pulled on a long, baggy sweatshirt to hide the bulge.

“Jack, what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, she works for the government as a CI. I’m sure it’s fine. But with Theo missing and Dr. Marsh dead, we can’t be too careful.”

“Jack-”

“Just stay here until I say it’s okay to come out. And keep one hand on the telephone. If it sounds like anything is going wrong out there, you dial 911.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He returned to the foyer, took a deep breath.
She’s a government informant
, he reminded himself, though as a former prosecutor he knew better than to put much trust in that. At the moment, however, he didn’t see a better way to find his friend. With caution, he opened the door.

“Can I come in?” she said.

With a jerk of the head he signaled her inside and let her pass. Then he locked up behind her and led her into the living room.

She took a seat on the edge of the couch and asked, “Are we alone?”

“Yeah,” he lied. “Cindy’s at her mother’s house.”

“Good. Because it’s time we talked.”

“I’m all for that. But first, Theo. Do you have the answer to my question-the album title?”

“I do.” She handed him a small slip of paper.

Jack recognized the handwriting as Theo’s, and the answer was exactly what he was looking for:
Thank You for… F.U.M.L. (Fucking Up My Life).

He smiled to himself, then tucked the paper into his pocket. “All right. You just bought yourself a few more hours. But I want to know what’s going on.”

She took a seat on the leather ottoman, then popped back onto her feet. She seemed wired, and Jack sensed it was nerves, not coffee.

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“Why did you take my friend? I want the real reason.”

She looked away, then back, as if not sure how to answer even a simple question. “I’ve been undercover for almost eight months. You know that from our first meeting.”

“Our second meeting. At our first, you kickboxed me into the emergency room.”

“Good point. Because you understand that it’s impossible to play this role without being asked to do things I don’t want to do.”

“It’s every informant’s dilemma.”

“And I’ve been fine with it. Until last week. I was given an assignment. Basically, it boiled down to this: Kill Theo or be killed.”

Jack went cold. “So you kidnapped him.”

“I hid him away. For his own safety.”

“You’re an informant. Don’t you think it would have been smarter just to go to the police?”

“Theo had the same reaction,” she said, shaking her head. “But I can’t hand this off to the police now. I’ve invested too much.”

“Invested what?”

She was pacing again. “It’s no coincidence that I work at Viatical Solutions. I sought this company out, gathered up all the dirt I could, then went to the U.S. attorney and offered to work as an informant.”

“And they just went for it?”

“I played it pretty smart. They thought I was a mobster’s ex-girlfriend, pissed off and eager to blow the whistle.”

“But you weren’t.”

She shook her head. “I knew I was going to steep myself deep in this company to get the information I needed. The only way to avoid going to jail some day was to turn government informant.”

“So what’s your real agenda?”

She stopped pacing and looked right at Jack. “There’s a guy I’ve been looking for. He used to own a factory in Prague, which was basically a front for a criminal racket he ran. Drugs, prostitution. It took me a long time, but I finally tracked him to Miami. From everything I’ve found so far, I’m pretty sure he’s working for Viatical Solutions.”

“And you want to find him because…”

“Because of what he did to me and to a friend of mine named Beatriz. It’s personal.”

Jack wanted to ask, but she didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure what he looks like, exactly. The closest I ever got to him was looking at the back of his head from the back seat of his car.”

“Aren’t you worried that he might recognize you first?”

“I looked much different then. Short hair, thirty pounds thinner.”

Jack found it hard to imagine her thirty pounds thinner, but it gave some insight into how she must have lived. “How will you know you’ve got the right guy?”

“I just need a little more time to check things out. Then I’ll know.”

“Then what?”

“After all this time and effort, I don’t intend to shake his hand. But I got a bigger problem right now. As my Russian friends like to say, the house is burning, and the clock is ticking.”

“What does that mean?”

She stepped toward the window, peeled back the drapery panel just enough to see across the lawn. Then she faced Jack and said, “I’ve got a new boss at Viatical Solutions. And something tells me he’s looking for the hat trick.”

“Hat trick?”

“A little Russian hockey analogy. A hat trick is three goals.”

“I know. But I don’t understand the context.”

“First Jessie. Then Marsh. Now he wants the third son of a bitch who scammed him.”

“Are you saying…”

“He doesn’t believe Theo’s dead, so I’ve got one last chance to prove myself. Which means I have to think fast and figure out what I’m going to do with you.”

Jack took a half-step back. “
Do
with me?”

She looked him in the eye and said, “You’re my next assignment.”