Deceived (27 page)

“Has it occurred to you that you and Taylor have divergent interests?”

Brandon wanted to punch him. “Yes, asshole. But what we’re really trying to figure out is whether this could be related to Lisa’s murder and, when it comes to that, I don’t think either of us cares very much about what happened in the past.”

Sebastian frowned, as though he didn’t believe Brandon. “I’ll indulge you, for a while,” Sebastian drew a deep breath, “so in 1944, your grandfather was convicted. According to Rorsch, your father obtained this letter, written by the first Andrew Hutchenson, in 1979, and the letter proves your grandfather’s innocence. Your father tried to make the letter public, but nothing ever happened. Right after your father obtained the letter, your home burned in a fire, and, until now, you believed that all of your father’s documents, including the letter, burned in the house. According to Rorsch, Taylor’s father is somehow implicated in the cover up that took place in the late ’70’s, early ’80’s?”

Brandon nodded. “Yes, and Lisa had the Hutchenson letter. We know that, because Rorsch saw it. I’ve been through Lisa’s house. The letter isn’t there. Nothing she may have written about the letter is there.”

“And the letter hasn’t been made public before?”

Brandon nodded. “That’s right. Lisa talked to the members of the HBW Board, George Bartholomew included. Her notes tell me that. I know that Rorsch advised her not to confront the HBW board members with the letter. I don’t know whether she took his advice.”

“Would anyone with HBW kill Lisa to keep the letter quiet?”

“Concealing a crime is one thing,” Brandon shook his head, “murder is something else entirely. I just don’t know.”

“Victor always said that there was a man watching your house when it burned,” Sebastian said, “didn’t he?”

In the days after the fire, Victor’s paranoia and anger took flight. Sebastian and Brandon had been inseparable friends then, and Sebastian had witnessed Victor’s rages. “The fire was caused by a gas leak at the hot water heater,” Brandon said, “no matter what Victor claimed.”

Sebastian nodded. “That’s what the officials told us then, but we’re no longer kids. Think, would you? Men start gas leaks, Brandon. It happens every day. What if your father confronted the HBW board members with the letter? The first Andrew Hutchenson was dead and it’s safe to assume that the board members weren’t so happy about revealing the truth. Burning your father’s letter would be a good way to make it go away.”

“You’re sounding like Victor.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Brandon’s heart started pounding.

Sebastian continued. “What do you think Victor would have done with this information? Today. Now. If he had known that Lisa had the letter?”

No
, Brandon thought, yet he couldn’t deny it.
Fuck no
. The niggling workings of his instinct had manifested itself in a nightmare about Victor while he lay on Velvet’s table. When Taylor told him of Collette’s death, his instinct had also prompted certainty that the timing of her death wasn’t a coincidence, and the thought that a sociopath could have killed her and masked it to look like suicide. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel as certainty hit him.

“Victor’s not dead,” Brandon said. There was no relief as he voiced the words. “Is he?”

Sebastian’s cheeks were flushed and his blue eyes were deadly serious. “That’s why I came here. I don’t fucking know whether he is alive. It’s driving me nuts and it’s driving Ragno nuts. She never gets things wrong. Never. We’re finding more and more discrepancies in his financial data. My hunch is that Victor planned his disappearance, and now, with everything weird-as-shit that you’re talking about,” Sebastian drew a deep breath, “what really keeps bugging me is that the few clues that I have as to where Victor might be are pointing here, or near here.”

“Damn it to hell,” Brandon said. “What clues?”

“Right before the explosion at the Ali Bin Laden compound, Victor, or someone using an alias that he used before, wired a sizable amount of cash to a New Orleans’s law firm that specializes in real estate transactions. I’ve tried to get information from the firm, but that’s a non-starter. Attorney client privilege,” he said, “and they’re invoking it, big time.”

“Who is it?”

“Stone, Lipske, and Lewis.”

“Well, that sucks. In addition to real estate transactions, they do insurance defense. I’ve won big against them, and I’ve had to play hard ball to do it. They won’t be doing any favors for me. Besides that, they have notoriously high ethical standards and they won’t bend on the attorney-client privilege.”

“Property transfer records aren’t online here,” Sebastian added, “and the records office is closed for the Fourth of July holiday.”

“NOPD might be able to get us to the records office, but still,” Brandon shook his head, “it could require a court order to get the city to open the office outside of regular hours. On the weekend before the Fourth, I don’t see a court order happening for a records search. It won’t be officially open until Tuesday.”

“I can get in unofficially,” Sebastian said. “It will require a bit of planning. Problem is, this records search could take a while.”

“Let me check if Marvin knows anyone who worked in the Orleans Parish Office of Mortgages and Conveyances.”

“Marvin?”

“One of my local guys. With his local knowledge, in this arena, he’s worth at least five Black Raven agents.”

Sebastian ignored the comment, and continued, “Also, in the week after the explosion at the compound, an alias that Victor used for international travel in the past gave us a hit for travel from Frankfurt to Atlanta,” Sebastian paused, “and the same name rented a car in Atlanta.”

Brandon swallowed. “What kind of car?”

“A black Mercedes S550. Four doors.”

“Son of a bitch.” Brandon explained that a Mercedes look-alike had scared Taylor on Melody Street. Taylor had said that the man in the car had broad shoulders. Anton had seen a big black car. He had said the man was white. “Hell, I saw that car, watching us.”

Sebastian continued, “Victor could be here. I wanted to tell you in person, even before I knew what you told me about Collette Westerfeld, and I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I never should have told you that Victor was dead. Obviously, I didn’t have enough information to make such a call.”

“An apology isn’t necessary,” Brandon said, “but I appreciate the visit.”

“I also need to see my godson.”

“Careful. Not that you’d recognize the emotion, but you might actually fall in love.”

Sebastian smiled. “I’ll let you know if that happens.” His eyes turned serious. “I really think Victor is here.”

Brandon’s mind spun with thoughts about what Victor would do if he had the information that Rorsch had told Brandon and Taylor. “If Victor thought that anyone with HBW had knowingly concealed the truth, he’d make them pay,” Brandon said. “He’d hurt them. If he needed money, he’d do it financially. No matter what, if somehow he was here and focused on HBW, he’d find a way to make them suffer. Like my father suffered. But why now? After all these years?”

“Finding the Hutchenson letter could have been the catalyst,” Sebastian said. “Plus, he’s sick.”

Brandon said, “He’s always been sick.”

“I’m not talking mentally,” Sebastian said. “That’s a given. He has some kind of cancer. We’re still working on cracking the diagnosis codes for the Zurich Health Institute, but he’s been in and out of there for the last four years. I now believe that he visited there after the date of the fire at the Bin Laden compound. The alias that he used then has an appointment in two weeks for what might be a bone marrow transplant. It looks like a year ago, he had a liver transplant, if we have that code right. He’s spent millions on health care. Victor needs money and he needs to disappear,” Sebastian paused, “because the slime-ball company that he previously worked for has a bounty on his head.”

“Are you here to claim it?”

Sebastian shook his head. “Raven’s don’t go hunting to collect bounties, Brandon, and neither do our agents. We protect. There’s a big difference, and you know that.”

Brandon thought about the last meeting of Ravens, the men with ownership interest in Black Raven. Brandon had been there, serving as legal counsel. “The lines are getting blurred, though.”

“True.”

“There’s no telling what Victor would do, once he unleashed his energy here.” Brandon’s stomach twisted as he remembered the glossy photograph on the cover of the magazine of the three best friends. He explained to Sebastian what Taylor had told him about Collette’s death. “The coroner is calling it an accidental overdose.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Timing is off.”

“I know.” Brandon glanced in his rearview mirror. “Mom’s here,” he said, watching Rose step out of her car with a box that was the size of a packet of printer paper, “and you’ve got a godson to meet.” Sebastian and Brandon agreed not to tell Rose their doubts about Victor’s death, or their suspicions that Victor might be in New Orleans. Being quiet in front of Rose about Victor’s activities, whether or not they were certain of the activities, was something to which Brandon and Sebastian had long been accustomed.

Rose handed Brandon the box, then hugged Sebastian. “Sebastian,” Rose said, “Brandon has told me about your findings. You know that I trust your judgment. But I believe that you’re mistaken. I’d feel it if my son was dead,” she shook her head, “and I don’t feel it.”

“I hope that you’re right,” Sebastian said, hugging her, while giving Brandon a hard glance. Brandon guided them into the kitchen area, where Laura was sitting in a barrel chair, holding Michael. Jett thumped her tail against Brandon’s leg while he patted her on the head, then she did a jogging lap around Rose.

“My son,” Brandon said, as Sebastian reached for the cooing, kicking bundle.

“My God.”

“I know,” Brandon said, “amazing, huh?”

Brandon nodded to Laura to let Sebastian feed Michael. As Anna arrived, Laura gave them all a quick run down on the day. Rose watched Sebastian hold Michael, and the worried look in her green eyes eased a bit. Laura left, and Anna, seeing that Michael had enough hands to tend him, took Jett for a walk.

“Mom,” Brandon said, eyeing the box that his mother had brought with her, “I won’t be angry with you, no matter what you tell me.”

Sebastian stood, with Michael in his arms, as though he was going to give them space by leaving the kitchen area, but Brandon shook his head. “No. Stay,” Brandon said. He watched as the nipple slipped out of Michael’s mouth and formula dribbled on his chin. “Concentrate on what you’re doing before you give him a bath in the stuff.”

To Rose, he said, “Lisa’s death is an open question, and I’ve got to try to resolve what happened,” he paused, “for Michael. Phillip Rorsch today suggested that dad’s documents weren’t destroyed in the fire. He also suggested that Lisa may have gotten information from you. I need to know if that’s true.”

“I can’t bear thinking about Lisa,” Rose drew a deep breath, “that something I may have told her could have been a factor in her death.”

Brandon thought that his heart was going to explode in his chest.

Hell. Holy fucking hell.

“Mom. What did you tell Lisa?”

***

At six thirty he stopped at a Brooks Brothers outlet and purchased the type of lightweight beach clothes that a normal, well-to-do male would wear on the Fourth of July weekend at the beach. He wore the clothes out of the store. He sat in the parking lot and, using his iPad, scoured the website for the Water’s Edge community and their on-site map. Secure communities shouldn’t post maps online, he thought, especially not maps with street addresses, with layouts of parcels of land, with legends that showed every detail of the community, even dotted lines that showed that the beaches there were public, as were all beaches in Florida. The house that was on the most secluded point of the Water’s Edge property, on what he bet had been the most expensive parcel, was the Hutchenson house. He could avoid driving into the community entirely, and avoid the minor hassle of the guard gate, by parking his car in the adjacent state park and walking on the beach. He parked in an area with plenty of cars. The state park had a beach front, a wooded area with hiking trails, a campground where tents were allowed, fishing lakes, and a large pad where RV’s were stationed.

At seven he walked along the beach, his sandals in his hand. He enjoyed the feel of the powder-fine, pure-white sand as he approached Water’s Edge. Large sand dunes, some as high as two-story buildings, were covered with wispy sea oats that fluttered in the Gulf breeze. Aside from the broad expanse of pristine beach, the sand dunes were the hallmark of the development. The public park crowd was behind him and there were fewer people on the beach that fronted the gated development. Tall dunes separated the beach from the houses, and separated the houses from each other. The Water’s Edge developers had built raised walkways throughout the community. The raised paths linked the houses and meandered around small interior lakes and dunes. The secluded walkways provided many, many opportunities for mayhem.

He didn’t have to go to the house to find her. Andi was sitting on a beach towel, wearing gym shorts and a bikini top. She had her arms around her shins, with her legs drawn to her body. Her long brown hair was loose and blew with the wind. With her chin on her knees, she stared at the crashing waves, seemingly oblivious to anyone. While she gazed at the water, he went to the Hutchenson beach house. He entered through a side door with a lock that was easy to pick. He figured out which room was hers. He disengaged alarm contacts that would allow him to reenter the house when he came back to do his business with Andi Hutchenson, then he’d return to New Orleans, where Taylor waited.