Got the Look (34 page)

Was she truthful? Or was she the type to make things up?

Teresa was very truthful.

What about anger? asked Andie. Would you say she was the type to keep things bottled up inside? Or did she express herself?

She got angry, sure, but I wouldn't say she had a temper or that she was a complainer. In fact, the only times I remember her getting really angry were when people were mean to her friends or to me. That's the kind of person she was.

Andie nodded, accepting the response. She turned her chair to face the computer. I would never force this on anyone, but are you prepared to see the latest video of your sister?

I've seen it already, said Cassandra.

You have?

Jack Swyteck e-mailed the file to me. I watched it this morning. Her expression tightened, and her voice weakened. I don't need to see it again.

No, of course you don't. I wouldn't have suggested it had I known. Andie swiveled her chair away from the computer, then leaned into her desk, a little closer to Cassandra. I did want to talk to you about a specific aspect of the video, however. This is something that was raised by one of our criminal psychiatrists.

Sure. Anything to help.

It appears that we're dealing with a rapist who has managed to convince himself that the rape was your sister's fault. He may be delusional, or something else may be going on.

What do you mean by something else'?

I want you to think back to that night you and your sister went to the bar in Atlanta, Club Vertigo. Was there anything - anything at all - to suggest that there might have been a past history between your sister and Gerard Montalvo?

You mean did they know each other?

Know each other, date each other.

No way. I had to tell her who Gerard Montalvo was. She couldn't have cared less about the invitation to his party. I was the one who insisted that she go up to his suite and check it out.

You're sure of that?

Yes, of course I'm sure, Cassandra said, her voice taking on a defensive edge. What on earth is wrong with you people? My sister was raped. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand that?

I do understand. Trust me, I wouldn't even be asking these questions if your sister hadn't failed a polygraph examination.

She was raped. I know it.

How do you know it?

Because because I'm her sister. She told me what happened.

She told you three days after the fact. Why did she wait?

It took her three days because she needed three days. It might have taken another woman three weeks or three years to finally be able to talk about it. All that matters is that she finally spoke out. And I know she wouldn't have lied to me.

Don't take this the wrong way, but how do you know that she wouldn't have lied to you?

Cassandra scoffed, as if the question were ridiculous. She had no reason to lie to me. I told you. We're sisters.

Okay, said Andie. For the moment, I'll take that answer at face value: Your sister wouldn't lie to you. You're sure of that.

That's right.

Here's my trouble, said Andie. Let's go back to the first time you and I talked. You said you were certain that your sister was dead. And the reason you gave is that your sister would not have been able to cut you out of her life, even if she had fled to some far corner of the earth for her own safety. Somehow, someway, she would have made contact with you.

Yes. I believe that's true.

So, for seven years, you truly believed that your sister was dead.

Correct.

Not only did you think she was dead, but you thought Gerard Montalvo had killed her.

That's right.

You thought he had killed your sister and run off, escaped. In other words, that he'd gotten away with murder.

That's exactly right.

Then let me ask you this: Why didn't you ever ask the district attorney to bring murder charges against Gerard Montalvo?

I I don't know. Maybe I did ask.

No. I talked to the DA about this. You never asked.

Okay, then maybe I didn't. But don't they have to catch him before they can charge him?

Not at all. Every day of the week, people are indicted in absentia.

Well, I suppose if I had known that, I would have asked them to do it.

So that's your answer? You were convinced that Gerard Montalvo had brutally raped and then murdered your sister. But in the seven long years that followed your sister's disappearance, you never once asked the DA to indict him for murder because you thought the police had to catch him first?

I think that's right, she said quietly.

Are you sure that's your answer?

Cassandra fell silent, as if uncomfortable with Andie's apparent skepticism. Maybe there was a part of me that never gave up hope that she would turn up alive. Maybe that's why I never pushed for murder charges to be brought against Gerard in absentia.

So you were sure she was dead, but you weren't sure she was dead.

You don't have to make it sound ridiculous. My answer is my answer.

Andie studied her expression, allowing the pall of momentary silence to do its powerful work. All right, she said finally. Then that's your answer.

Is there something wrong with it? asked Cassandra.

No. Nothing wrong with it at all. It's a perfectly fine answer.

For a liar, thought Andie.

Chapter
51

Around one o'clock Jack arrived at a dusty construction site, a one-acre tract of land on Hammock Lake. It was covered with beautiful old oaks that the owner of a very modest home had planted in another era, back when cracker still meant an old Florida redneck moving cows across the prairie at the crack of a whip, not a dopehead smoking crack in the alley. A bulldozer was in the process of reducing an old ranch-style house to rubble, making room for another new mega-home from Salazar Properties. Jack parked on the street, then caught up with Ernesto Salazar at the end of the old asphalt driveway. He was reviewing final drawings with his architect. Salazar excused himself, and he and Jack walked toward the lake, away from the architect and noisy bulldozer.

I received another video of Mia, said Jack.

They were standing at the water's edge, looking not at each other but out across the lake. The croaking bullfrogs in the weeds were actually louder than the bulldozer behind them. I know, said Salazar. Agent Henning told me.

Did she show it to you?

I didn't want to watch. Didn't see the point.

I'm not pushing it, said Jack. But I brought you a copy.

What for?

On the outside chance that you might see the trouble she's in and help her.

I've done my part, said Salazar.

You gave the kidnapper a twenty-dollar bill and some audiotapes of me and Mia. That hardly helped her cause.

Twenty dollars? I told you it was a half million.

The kidnapper said it was twenty.

Well the kidnapper is full of shit. He's just trying to con more money out of you.

Jack studied his expression, searching for the truth. Why should I believe you?

Salazar let out a mirthless chuckle. Why? Why should I give a damn what you think? Why should I -

Jack waited for him to finish, but Salazar went silent. It wasn't so much that he'd lost his train of thought. He seemed to have abandoned it. He drew a breath, and his voice lost its edge. You should believe me for one reason. You, of all people, should know that any man would want her back.

Are you saying that you still love her?

Hell, I never stopped. Don't misunderstand me. When it comes to being a husband, I was about as shitty as they get. Monogamy's not for me, but that doesn't mean I stopped loving her. I started cheating on her three months after we were married, and I've honestly lost count of all the mistresses since then. She tried to make me stop. Two years ago she said she wouldn't sleep with me again until I stopped sleeping around. Not once did she take a lover of her own. Until she met you. Which, of course, is the reason I hated your guts.

I didn't know she was married.

Of course you didn't. She would never have told you that. The risk was too great.

What risk? Sounds like she wanted out of the marriage anyway.

Salazar shook his head, not disagreeing with what Jack was saying, but as if to convey how little Jack understood. I had her boxed in, said Salazar.

How do you mean?

Like I told you before: I was her protector.

Protector from what?

That scar on her leg. I knew how she got it. She told me about the rape, why she'd changed her name. I even knew her old name, Teresa Bussori. She gave me too much knowledge, which turned out to be her Achilles' heel.

What do you mean?

Let me put it this way. Mia was in no position to tell you about me, or to tell me about you. Unless she was ready to tell the world that she was Teresa Bussori.

Are you saying that you threatened to blow her cover if she left you for someone else?

I'm not proud of it. But without a prenuptial agreement, it was the only leverage I had.

Jack wondered why Salazar had finally opened up like this, but he'd been on the listening end of conversations like this before, mostly with clients who'd finally unloaded secrets they'd held for far too long. Truth be told, precious few secrets went to the grave with anyone.

The bulldozer behind them revved its engine. It was struggling with the carport. Jack said, Why didn't you tell the FBI this two weeks ago?

My attorney told me to stop talking to them. He's convinced that I'm still a suspect in Mia's disappearance.

Fortunately, they seem to have figured out the Montalvo connection on their own.

It's not that I was trying to sandbag their investigation. Honestly, I didn't see how her kidnapping could have anything to do with the rape charges against Montalvo. If this is all about his revenge against Mia, then why the previous kidnappings?

The FBI doesn't have any problem with that.

They don't? said Salazar.

Nah. The other kidnappings could have been practice for the big one, the only one that mattered. Or maybe he wasn't able to find Mia, so he used the other women as psychological substitutes for his rage. Or maybe he just wanted to divert the focus of the police away from the Got the Look Rapist, make it look like Mia was just another random target.

You buy any of that?

It doesn't matter what I think, said Jack.

Yes it does. You're the man in the middle now. You're the one who needs to ask himself, Why now? Why after seven years does Montalvo finally focus on Mia?

Maybe it took him that long to find her.

Salazar shook his head. That's the kind of rationalization that Mia would expect from me, not you. The total avoidance of personal responsibility.

What are you talking about?

I have my own theory as to why Montalvo came back now, as opposed to some earlier time in our marriage. He paused for a moment, his voice taking on an accusatory edge. I think it's because she started cheating.

What does that have to do with anything?

Once Mia started sleeping with you, Montalvo could safely assume that her husband wouldn't go the extra mile to save her. In other words, he'd much rather deal with you than with me, Swyteck. And you know why?

Jack didn't answer.

He took a half step closer to Jack and said, Because even a kidnapper knows better than to take something of value from Ernesto Salazar. That's why.

It was a threat, to be sure, Salazar's way of conveying that the score had yet to be evened for sleeping with Mia. Jack had more important things on his mind than a smaller man's ego. But now more than ever, locked in this stare-down with Mia's estranged husband, Jack sensed that if Salazar had indeed delivered anywhere near the half million dollars he claimed to have paid, it was not out of love for his wife. It was all about maintaining control over her.

You're a rich man, Ernesto. But you're still a punk. Mia deserves better than that. Way better.

And you're just the man to find it for her, aren't you? Salazar said with heavy sarcasm.

Salazar was still talking as Jack turned and walked away, but Jack didn't hear it. Behind them was a deafening rumble, the sound of the roof collapsing on the bulldozed structure.

You're damn right I am, thought Jack.

Chapter
52

Mia was tending to her wound. She first applied pressure to stop the bleeding. He brought her a tube of liquid stitches, a substance that bonded with the skin like Krazy Glue to close an open wound. She applied it and pinched the gash closed for a minute. It held. She felt a sudden warmth on her face, and she realized that she was crying. That was normal, she supposed - if any part of a ritual that involved slicing your own flesh could be considered normal.