Endgame (Last Chance Series) (30 page)

Again Harrison consulted his notes. "Of the nine victims, McGee and Macomb were out-and-out living on their trust funds. Frederick Aston used his when needed. He was an actual practicing attorney—" he shot a snide look at Payton "—when he wasn't running for office. Bingham Smith used his family's money to start his business, as did Alan Stewart. Candace Patterson worked for her father, and Dashal and Barnes each ran their family's companies. Jeremy was the only one that made his own money. Although his parents would definitely qualify as upwardly mobile."

"Are they living?" Madison asked, an idea forming in the back of her mind.

"The parents?" Harrison frowned down at his sheet, then abandoned it for a second one off the printer. "Looks like Jeremy's have been dead for quite a while. Ten or fifteen years. Stewart's father passed away just recently, looks like about a month ago. Bingham Smith's mother appears to have passed away when he was a child. And Dashal lost his mother to cancer five years ago. Other than that, the rest are living." He looked up from the report. "Why?"

"I'm not sure, really. Just a hunch. And with Jeremy Bosner in the mix it really doesn't fit
. But what if this isn't about the victims at all? What if it's something to do with their fathers?"

"Seems a
little farfetched," Payton said. "Unless the fathers are all involved in the accord, as well."

"None of them in a major way," Harrison said. "In fact, most of them not at all."

Madison sighed, unable come up with anything substantial to back up her idea, but unable to completely dismiss it, either, now that it had popped into her head. "I'll grant you the connection through the accord makes a lot more sense. It just seems coincidental that they all come from old money, and with the exception of one, seem to have used it one way or the other to make their way in the world."

"At this point, I'd say anything is worth checking out."

She was certain Gabriel had meant that as support, but it was somewhat lacking in the enthusiasm department.

"I'll look into it," Harrison volunteered. "There's no harm in checking."

"Good. And in the meantime, Madison and I have a meeting with Anderson McGee's parents. Not that I'm expecting anything earth-shattering."

"You never know," Payton piped up with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "The case has to break sooner or later. Might as well be now."

*****

THE PENTHOUSE APARTMENT rivaled her father's in opulence, the view only
slightly less coveted than Philip Merrick's. Martha and Thomas McGee had obviously produced offspring early in life, their relatively unlined faces testament to the fact.

Madison sat on the sofa, teacup in hand, wondering what, if anything, these two septuagenarians could possibly know that would help. Gabriel sat in a wing-back, dwarfing the chair, his teacup balanced on the arm. He looked as if he'd like to run, and she swallowed a smile, not wanting to show pleasure at his discomfort. Still it was perversely enjoyable to see him out of his element for a change.

"I'm not sure there's anything we can do to help." Martha McGee echoed Madison's thoughts, her face a mixture of anxiety and doubt. "We really didn't have much contact with our son."

"But you provided him with a place to live, and money to support him." Gabriel observed, leaning over to put the teacup on the coffee table.

"Yes," Anderson's father agreed. "We've always taken care of him." His smile was strained, his red eyes reflecting his grief. "You probably know by now that Anderson wasn't exactly right in the head."

"He was clinically depressed," Mrs. McGee elaborated.

Her husband reached over to take her hand, the gesture obviously familiar and comfortable. "It was more than depression. He was diagnosed five years ago as a paranoid schizophrenic. But I suspect the condition has existed undiagnosed for years."

"He took medication," his mother offered in an effort to negate what she obviously perceived as an embarrassment.

"He was medicated, but it really didn't do much but keep him sedated."

"But I thought he was working with the accord?" Gab
e asked. "It was my understanding that he wrote or at least edited all correspondence between the delegation and the accord."

Mrs. McGee smiled. "He was an expert at dealing with the Chinese."

"He had his moments," his father qualified. "But you have to understand that there were days when he couldn't have even told you his own name."

"So he wasn't helping?" Madison asked, exchanging a glance with Gabriel, his confusion mirroring her own.

"He thought he was. And the world thought he was. It suited Cullen's purposes, and it helped Anderson to feel needed." Mrs. McGee's smile indicated the high opinion she had of Cullen Pulaski.

Mr. McGee, on the other hand, didn't seem to share her enthusiasm. "He was using the boy. It's as simple as that
. Pushing him when there was no need."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Gabriel said, his dark brows knitting together.

"Cullen needed an expert, but he didn't want someone with the possibility of ulterior motives. Anderson fit the bill."

"But if he was incapacitated—" Madison began, only to have Mr. McGee wave her off.

"He was lucid enough to play the part when necessary. But the effort cost him a great deal."

"It gave him dignity." Mrs. McGee pulled her hand away, squaring her shoulders.

"Dignity." Mr. McGee's laugh was harsh. "How can someone that sick ever have dignity? Cullen Pulaski took advantage of him. It's as simple as that."

"But he did help with the negotiations," Gabriel urged.

"Sometimes, when his head was clear." Mr. McGee shrugged. "But I think Cullen did the bulk of the work himself."

"And didn't claim responsibility? That doesn't sound like Cullen."

"I can't tell you more than that," Mr. McGee said. "I've never been high on Cullen's need-to-know list. All I can say is that my son was in no condition to offer anyone advice about anything."

"He was just trying to help Anderson, Thomas, you know that." Mrs. McGee's eyes were pleading now.

"He was using Andy. I've no idea what kind of game he was playing, but you can bet it had a bottom line. Cullen doesn't do anything unless there's something in it for him. And now thanks to his meddling, my son is dead. As far as I'm concerned, Cullen Pulaski is as responsible for my son's death as the man who killed him."

"I THINK I MAY HAVE FOUND something interesting." Harrison greeted Gabe and Madison as they walked through the door to the operations room, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

After the strange conversation with the McGees, Gabe welcomed anything that could remotely be considered a step forward. Following Madison, he crossed to the conference table where Payton and Harrison had spread out what looked to be half the paper in the free world. Despite an overall chaotic effect, stacks, piles and fans of the stuff indicated there was at least some degree of order.

"We've pulled all the information we could come up with on the nine victims. And then grouped it according to category. Duplicating as necessary." Harrison swung out an arm indicating the paper-laden table.

"It looks like
a junk pile." Madison laughed. "I'm surprised you can find anything at all."

Harrison laughed, too, the easy camaraderie between the two of them sending shards of jealousy piercing through Gabe. He frowned at himself, surprised at the depth of his feelings. They'd both made it absolutely plain that there was nothing going on between the two of them, and even if they hadn't denied it, last night should have made it abundan
tly clear. Apparently though, his psyche hadn't gotten the memo.

"Actually there's a lot. Most of it we already touche
d on. Schools, background, that sort of thing." He moved over to the far side of the table. "This is where we've started grouping data based on the victims' fathers. And interestingly enough, these fellows have a lot more in common than their children."

"What do you mean?" Gabe asked, coming around to stand by Harrison.

"Almost all of them served on the board of directors of a company called Vrycom," Payton said.

"Never heard of it." Gabe pulled out a chair and sat down, frowning up at his friend.

"I have," Madison said. "They were an acquisitions firm, right? In the '80s?"

"Yeah." Harrison shot her a look of surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Because they approached my dad about serving on the board. He turned them down. No idea why, but I remember because a couple of years later they ran into SEC problems."

"Exactly." Payton looked impressed. "There were allegations of collusion. Vrycom existed only on paper. And its sole purpose for existence was for leveraged buyouts. A down-and-dirty way to deal with the competition, if the allegations were true."

"Were formal charges ever brought?" Gabe tried to fit this new information alongside the evidence of nine murders.

"No." Harrison shook his head. "The company disbanded before anything official could happen, and the SEC dropped it. I guess they thought pulling the plug on the organization was enough."

"Any civil actions?" Madison asked, chewing on her lower lip, a sure sign that she'd gone into overdrive thinking.

"We're working on that now." Payton waved at anothe
r pile of papers. "So far we've only come up with one. A company called Bluemax. The suit was apparently dropped before it went to trial."

"Maybe it had something to do with the SEC investigation?" Gabe leaned forward picking up a prospectus on Bluemax.

"I don't think so," Payton said. "The suit predated the SEC's interest by about two years."

Gabriel flipped through the prospectus, noting that Bluemax was a start-up. "So who else served on the board?"

"Now there's the interesting twist," Harrison said. "Eight of nine of the vics' fathers served on the board of Vrycom."

"I'm guessing the exception was Jeremy Bosner." Madison's frown was speculative, as she considered the new evidence.

"You'd be guessing right," Payton said. "There's no indication that his company was involved at all. Although he certainly ran in the same circles. But that's not the most interesting part." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper, and a shiver ran up Gabe's spine, the prospectus from Bluemax sliding out of his fingers. "There was one other board member. In fact, he served as chairman."

Realization dawned as the puzzle pieces rearranged themselves in a new pattern. "Cullen Pulaski," Gabe muttered.

"You're an apt pupil," Harrison said, obviously pleased. "It's an interesting fit, too, because Cullen is younger than the others by something like ten years. Basically the generation between the victims and their fathers."

"That one I can actually explain," Madison said with a wan smile. "Cullen was a wunderkind. A whiz at mathematics, he was a natural for the computer, and quickly morphed that into taking advantage of the technologica
l revolution. Bill Gates with an industrial slant. He made his first million before he was thirty."

"So he was far more of a player than his age would suggest," Gabe said.

Madison nodded. "Put it this way, the big boys of the day would have fallen all over themselves for a piece of his action."

"Even if it involved collusion," Harrison concluded. "Unfortunately, that's as far as we've been able to take it. We were just beginning to read the SEC documents when you all walked in. So far there's not any kind of link between Vrycom and the Chinese or the consortium, other than a few repeat players."

"Namely Cullen." Madison's forehead was furrowed with worry.

"You've got to admit his name keeps coming up at very inopportune times," Gabe said, his gaze meeting hers.

She chewed her lower lip. "You're talking about the McGees."

"Among other things."

"What about the McGees?" Harrison asked, straddling a chair at the end of the table.

Madison blew out a long breath and ran her hand through her hair, the gesture reflecting just how tired she ready was. "According to Anderson McGee's father, any involvement he had in the accord was a ruse."

"Anderson was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, and from what we could tell, most likely not capable of providing the degree of support he is supposed to have been giving the negotiations."

"But he's an expert in Chinese custom, right?" Harrison asked, frowning.

"Was," Gabe said, still watching Madison. "He evidently came home from China a sick man. That's when he moved out to Connecticut. And according to his father, even on his best days there was no chance he was operating at the level necessary to provide support to the negotiations."

"So it was a scam."

"We don't know that." Madison's voice was quiet, but firm. "What we do know is that whatever arrangements were made, Anderson wasn't doing the work he was credited with."

"So who was doing it?" Payton put down the paper he'd been reading, curiosity at war with speculation.

"Cullen." The name hung in the air, taking on a life of its own, and Gabe suddenly felt as tired as Madison looked.

"So we've got a lot of odd incidences without seeming connection or motive," Harrison said. "First we have a paper company with SEC problems that took over vulnerable companies in the '80s. And Cullen was chairman of the board. Which would have been just about the time his empire was taking off. Then we have the consortium. Again with Cullen as a major player. And ultimately
the chairman of its board."

"And the accord—" Payton took up the story "—apparen
tly with Cullen as one of the two or three who masterminded the original idea."

"But from the get-go there are problems. And people start dying," Gabe added, his mind moving over the facts, trying to put them into some kind of coherent order. "But no one knows it
. Or at least recognizes it as murder."

"Except Cullen." This time it was Madison who hammered the nail home. "He knew something was wrong."

"But apparently not before he had the opportunity to tamper with evidence and persuade survivors against autopsy. And enlist a mentally unstable man to handle crucial portions of said negotiations." This from Payton, who had moved to stand by the window, twirling a pen between his fingers. "Eventually however, he begins to see signs of something amiss and calls you in."

"And Madison," Gabe added.

"But why?" Madison asked. "I don't see how any of this fits together. We have no connection between Vrycom and the Chinese negotiations. In fact, it was no longer in existence when the first idea for an accord was discussed. There could be any number of reasons to explain any of the things we've mentioned here. All of them perfectly innocent. Cullen is a major player across the board. There are probably hundreds of ways he connects with all of the people involved. Six degrees of separation and all that."

"And you don't believe a word of that."

She blew out another breath, her sigh audible. "No. I guess I don't. But I'll be damned if I understand how it all fits together."

Gabe shrugged. "There's only one way to find out for certain."

"I know." She tipped back her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. "We've got to talk to Cullen."

*****

MADISON DIDN'T WANT TO believe anything she was hearing. Didn't want to think about Cullen involved in anything as nefarious as murder. But there were questions here that couldn't be answered easily, and the only way she knew to deal with the matter was to tackle it head-on.

They'd spent the past half hour putting facts together, preparing for what they hoped was a cogent attack. One Cullen would have to answer truthfully. All that remained was to face the man.

Her godfather.

Some part of her refused to accept that there was any possibility of wrongdoing on Cullen's part
, but she also knew that at his level of business it was kill or be killed, and that often meant tough tactics. But surely not murder?

The truth was, there was no motive. It made no sense for Cullen to try and ruin the accord. And the SEC violation at Vrycom was just part and parcel of doing business. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing, and it was a ruthless world out there. Hadn't Nigel just proved that very fact?

"Maybe you should let me handle this." Gabriel's voice was warm and concerned, and Madison suppressed the irritation that flashed through her.

"I'll be fine. If there's a connection somewhere in all of this, we need to find it
, and Cullen appears to be the link."

"But you're not willing to go as far as admitting he might be the problem." His eyebrow lifted in question, the gesture, as always, adding a hint of the devil to his expression. Madison might love him, but she sure as hell didn't know him. And
the two facts ought to be mutually exclusive.

But of course they weren't.

And a part of her did know him.

Just li
ke she knew Cullen, the little voice in her head whispered. It was almost as if the world had turned topsy-turvy, someone she trusted suddenly suspect, and someone she'd never thought to trust, her lover.

But then, she overanalyzed everything. It was a part of the job that she took home with her all too often. Surely there was a point where faith had to come into play
? She trusted her instincts every day when it came to profiling. So why not now?

Why couldn't she trust her instincts where Cullen was concerned? Or Gabriel?

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and looked up to meet the icy intensity of his gaze. She wanted to trust him, to believe they had a future, but suddenly it was all too much. More than she could handle, her fear taking hold and digging into the dark recesses of her mind.

He leaned down to kiss her, his
lips warm as they moved against hers, taking possession. Possession. Her heart hammered, and she felt faint. Part of her wanted to pull him closer, to throw propriety to the wind, but she couldn't. Not when the other part of her kept singing the word
possession
.

She didn't want to belong to anyone.

Ever.

She'd been there and done that. Playing the role of
little woman wasn't what she was cut out for. Better to be alone.

With a
little cry she pushed him away, ignoring the flash of hurt in his eyes, and Payton and Harrison's astonishment. She simply wasn't ready. What had felt right in the dark of the night felt wrong here in the light of day.

She swa
llowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "You ready?" She pasted on her most winning smile, her emotions still reeling, her thoughts tangled together in a mess of present and past and impossible future.

"Sure." The word was cli
pped, and he might as well have stabbed her, considering the pain. But even as she had the thought, she knew she'd brought it on herself. It was her fears that were threatening the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Her fears alone.

"Madison?" Payton's voice was hesitant, more timid than she'd have thought possible with him.

She turned to face him, knowing her face was red and that her feelings were transparent across her face. But all she saw reflected in his green eyes was concern. "I just got a call from your father."

Great. All she needed now was another male in her life trying to tell her what to do. "What did he want?"