Last Fairytale, The (23 page)

They’d been waiting on the rooftop helicopter pad for forty-five minutes when the sound of a chopper came into range. A two-seater model approached from the southeast and hovered overhead, then began its slow descent.

The helipad provided an unimpeded view over San Francisco. By late afternoon, the sun had come roaring out from behind the clouds, lighting up the town like Emerald City. It was magnificent. Hard to imagine anything bad could happen down there. At the same time, it was impossible to avoid the reason they were here, killing time.

Going forward, Gen would forever associate Taylor Vonnegon with heights, and views, and somehow always being above the rest of them. She stayed in the shadow cast by the shed housing a single set of access stairs. There was only one way down, aside from the aerial route. Three, if you wanted to count a triple gainer off the roof.

Garcia and Mack hung back with their hands in their pockets and waited for the blades to stop. Vonnegon’s face appeared in the passenger window, his features obscured by his Wayfarers and an oversized headset.

He nodded at them, pulled the mouthpiece away, and shed the earmuffs. Gen was impressed once again by his total lack of surprise.

Nerves of steel, indeed.

The pilot geared the engine down and waited for his passenger to disembark. Once he was clear of the whirring rotors, the helicopter cranked up and rose off the deck.

Pilot and passenger each raised a hand. With a flash of sunlit metal the bird was gone, floating away like a dragonfly along a trajectory that retraced its approach.

The sound faded.

Vonnegon turned to the trio. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”

Gen pushed off the wall and shaded her eyes against the glare, wanting to see the look on his face when she told him. “Bree is missing again.”

A single, fleeting spark of fear marred his features and was gone. Was that concern for himself, or for Bree?

“I’m sorry to hear that.” A tiny line of sweat crept down his temple. “But as you can see, she’s not with me.”

Garcia rattled the loose change in his pocket, and the sound reminded Gen of clanking chains. “Any idea where she might be?” he asked.

Taylor pursed his lips and played his eyes out over the city. “I hope not.” He swiped at the moisture on his forehead and moved toward the door. “We can talk downstairs.”

They followed him down the steps and into a private elevator. Vonnegon stared at nothing as they descended to the floor housing his suite. No one spoke. The silence was a rope of tension connecting them all like an invisible wire.

He waved them into his inner office and took a seat. Mack and Garcia followed his lead, facing him and the million-dollar view behind the massive desk.

That view again. Gen moved to the bank of windows. Bree was out there somewhere.

Garcia shifted in his chair, almost as if he’d heard Gen’s thoughts and they struck a nerve. “Did you know about your mother’s involvement with Andrew Ducane and Catherine Robeson?”

Vonnegon toyed with the phone cord. “I am not familiar with the name Catherine Robeson. But Patience Vonnegon is my secretary, and in that capacity she interacts with the Elergene staff on a regular basis.”

Gen swore she heard concern in Vonnegon’s voice. She just couldn’t tell whether it was surprise at what he’d heard or worry over his own position.

“Catherine Robeson was Andrew Ducane’s girlfriend,” Mack replied. “She says Ducane hired your mother to teach them to pick certain wild mushrooms.”

Vonnegon’s smile was tight. “I mentioned that Andrew and I weren’t close. I’m not shocked to learn he had a hobby I wasn’t aware of. ”

“Does the word Rapunzel mean anything?”

Gen glanced over her shoulder in time to see Vonnegon’s jaw flex. “A fairytale,” he replied.

“I’ll ask you again,” Garcia said. “Do you know where Bree is?”

Vonnegon shook his head.

“Where is your mother today?”

Vonnegon turned his palms up, indicating he had no idea, than rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers.

“She is your secretary. Don’t you stay in close contact for business purposes?”

“I seem to have misplaced my phone,” he replied. “It happens. I couldn’t find it this morning, my secretary was away from the office, and the pilot had a busy schedule today and asked me not to be tardy. So I left without it.”

“Don’t you think it’s a coincidence that both Bree and your mother are missing?” Mack asked.

Garcia leaned forward. “Does that worry you?”

Gen felt her impatience rise. How could they be so calm? She wanted to grab his tie and choke him until his composed veneer cracked. Instead, she moved to the wall of photographs and forced herself to look at them, one by one. Like counting sheep.

Vonnegon flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex, then reached for the land line handset and dialed a number.

“Joanna, this is Taylor Vonnegon. Will you please tell Michael I need him in my office? Yes, immediately. Thank you.” He returned the phone to its cradle and pushed back in his chair.

“My attorney is on his way. I think it’s best that I don’t answer any more questions until he arrives.”

Garcia stood and walked toward the window, probably to give Vonnegon some space. Either that, or he was afraid he’d slug him if he stayed too close.

“You’ve worked with the feds for a long time, right?” Mack asked.

“For decades. The family business has provided this country with, let’s say, solutions to difficult problems, for a long, long time.”

“You come up with answers that may not always be socially acceptable,” Mack said. “I think that’s what you mean.”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this.” Vonnegon laced his fingers together, then rested his elbows on the arms of his chair once again. “And I’m not allowed to reveal the nature of my company’s work on behalf of the United States government.”

“What about Andrew Ducane? Was he bound by that agreement?”

“On paper he was. In reality, Andrew was not bound by anything but his own ego. He was immature, self-absorbed, and duplicitous.”

“Is that why you killed him?”

“I did not kill him.”

The detective fell silent. When the quiet stretched out, Gen focused on the photographs again. A phone rang in the outer office. Machinery began to whir; she recognized the sound. Who sent faxes anymore?

She was mulling the rapid change of technology when a picture caught her attention. “Look, here’s Patience Vonnegon in front of the Tiburon house.”

She and Vonnegon turned to face one another.

“My father loved the place,” he said. “My mother loves the fact he doesn’t get to enjoy it anymore.”

Garcia came over to take a look. “I thought you said no one used that house but your brother.”

“Half-brother,” Vonnegon replied. “Russell is my half-brother.”

Mack’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “And that means he gets half of everything, doesn’t it. Half of everything you’ve worked for here. Half of everything you spent years waiting to acquire.”

“That’s the way my father set it up, Detective. I have nothing to say about Russell Yates, and I didn’t kill Ducane.”

“No, I don’t think you did. Poison is a woman’s preference.”

Gen watched Vonnegon draw in a deep breath, then lace his fingers so tightly together his knuckles went white.

“And he’s dead, isn’t he?” Garcia’s voice was calm and sure. “Yates is dead.”

Vonnegon rolled his chair around and stared out over the city. “I believe he must be.”

Bree came to with a rush, and this time there was no temporary amnesia. The minute she opened her eyes, she knew perfectly well she was in deep trouble.

The last thing she remembered was something striking the back of her head. Hard. She fingered a lump just behind her ear and winced. The lady packed a wallop.

She was lying on a cold floor, and her head was throbbing like a drum. The air was heavy with the smell of dirt. Not a single pinpoint of light pierced the gloom. The darkness was the color of her mother’s hair, but nowhere near as soothing.

She rolled to her side and sat up with care, grateful at least that her hands and feet were free. But that could be a bad sign; this time her captors might know there wasn’t a chance in hell of her getting away.

Bree stretched out her arms and wrapped her fingers around a steel pipe, then tried to pull herself up. Whatever the strut was attached to moved beneath her grasp.

It was on wheels.

She shifted to hands and knees, stood, and reached again. Her fingers plunged into damp earth. She pulled them out and ran a hand along the surface, skimming the rounded caps of a hundred mushrooms.

Another grow room.

Using the rail of the raised bed as a guide, she felt blindly along the edge, then crossed an aisle and tapped her way past three similar carts until her outstretched fingers struck a concrete wall.

Not a single light switch marred the surface.

She continued until she found a corner, then turned with the angle of the building. A fan came on overhead, flooding the room with fresh air. Bree reached up, wondering if she could touch the ceiling, but the action rocked her head with pain.

She stumbled.

Another cart stopped her fall.

She grabbed for the planked edge but overshot and sank into the mulch to her elbows, crushing mushrooms as she flailed. The mat of fibrous roots below the surface was like a woven blanket, nearly strong enough to grasp.

She pulled her arms through, feeling for the edge of the bed. Her fingers struck something solid. Curious, she drew her hands toward it to explore.

She screamed and thrashed wildly away, then struck the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of her.

She crumpled to the floor.

There was a body in the mushroom bed.

* * *

She’d been dozing, and when she opened her eyes there was no way to tell how many hours had passed since she’d first awakened in the dark. But the sound of moving hinges was unmistakable.

A door opened and the room was flooded with light. The flash was almost painful; Bree covered her face to block it out. Before she could react, handcuffs were slapped on her wrists and she was dragged across the floor.

She fought and cried out and tried to cling to the leg of a cart, but it was pulled across the floor with her.

“Shut up.”

Bree squeezed one eye open.

Taylor Vonnegon’s secretary stood before her, holding an ugly revolver. “Do exactly as I say.” She flicked the gun toward the ceiling and back.

“Get up.”

Bree stood.

“You’ve drawn my son’s attention,” she said. “And that will not do.”

“Son?” Bree shook her head slowly, trying to understand. “Are you talking about Taylor? Did he make you bring me here?”

“This is for his own good,” the woman said. “I’ve always known what’s best.”

“You killed Andrew Ducane.”

She scowled. “He thought Taylor was here at the house one weekend and stopped by to say hello. We had the basement door open. He saw us inside but left without a word, then later confronted me and threatened to expose the operation if I didn’t help him.”

A smile spread slowly across her face.

“He was tired that day at the office. I was serving drinks, and he asked for a Pepsi. Since he was dragging his heels and hadn’t done himself in like I’d planned, I decided it was time to help him along.”

“The glass on the floor.”

“Andrew was a simple-minded, arrogant child. He didn’t know who he was manipulating. I went along with his demands because it suited me.”

The smile turned her face into a cunning mask.

“My name is Patience for a reason.”

Within half an hour Gen, Mack, and Garcia were back on Elergene’s roof, this time waiting on a police helicopter.

“Are you sure about this?” Garcia asked. “We don’t have time to spin our wheels.”

“Positive,” Gen replied. “Patience uses the Tiburon house, not Yates. And I bet Vonnegon knows that.”

The minute his high-powered attorney arrived, he had demanded Vonnegon be granted protection from prosecution in exchange for revealing what he knew. When they left, the lawyer was still screaming for immunity and calling on every federal and political tie Elergene had.

And before he stopped talking, Vonnegon had assured them that the nature of his government contract was something he would never share. Knowing they’d shield their own interests, his lawyer lobbied for the feds to roll in and take over the case.

It worked.

But even though they’d been elbowed out, they had to find Bree. Vonnegon insisted he did not know where she was.

“So once Ducane was familiar with the company’s grow op, he came up with the idea of producing a concentrated drug.” Garcia talked while he paced along the roof’s retaining wall. “And somehow he got Patience to teach him and Catherine how to find the mushrooms.”

He stopped. “Where’s that damn pilot?”

Mack took up the thread. “Patience must have known the kid was going to put the company at risk, so she went along.”

Gen finished the thought. “And she made a little mistake when she ID’d something in the woods. The kids ended up growing poison, and Andrew distilled the product and dosed himself. Or did he? What about the glass Bree saw in the office that night?”

“What about the guys who threw Bree out of the boat?” Garcia ticked off the list on his fingers. “What about the Mill Valley garage clean-up? Where is Yates? We don’t have a lot of answers.”

“We may never get them now,” Mack said.

“We can assume,” Gen added, “that Yates figured out Patience and Ducane were cooking up something that wasn’t legit. He burgled Ducane’s lab to find out what it was, because the investigator he hired wouldn’t agree to do it.”

“Maybe Vonnegon was tired of cleaning up after his mother,” Garcia added. “He just might have found a way to use her.”

Gen shook her head. “Would he give her the okay to murder someone?”

“He might not have had to,” Garcia replied. “He could have known she’d go there and just left her alone to implode.”

Mack nodded. “If Mommy gets rid of Ducane, his hands aren’t dirty. He doesn’t have to lift a finger, and he doesn’t have to pay the price.”

“If Vonnegon could be that calculating, I’ve been a fool.” Gen’s voice held a tinge of disgust. “And he could come out of this as clean as a whistle.”

Mack put a hand on her shoulder. “People still surprise you.”

“Yeah, they do,” Gen replied. “And right now I’m thinking how normal my family is and how much I take them for granted. I need to call my folks when this is over.”

“Let’s find Bree so she can call her family, too.” Garcia’s voice was grim.

* * *

The chopper angled in and landed. Garcia barely gave them time to buckle up before he circled his hand and the pilot lifted off, pounding out over the bay toward Tiburon.

The smell of the sea was sharp and strong. The sun was still out, creating a false sense of calm, as if the world was right-side up. Below, the swells looked placid and benign, almost welcoming. It was the kind of day to picnic on a cliff overlooking the ocean, not look for bodies floating in it.

Gen’s eyes swept the water as they passed, wondering if this was the path Bree had taken on her midnight swim. God help her if she was in the water again.

They set down on the lawn inside the perimeter fence. Gen ducked beneath the spinning rotors and ran to the front with Mack on her heels. He covered her hand when she began to batter the heavy door with her fist.

When he whispered, “Take it easy,” she recognized the futility and stopped.

Garcia came up behind them with his phone to his ear. They heard the shrill ring of a hard line echo inside. Ten rings later, he ended the call and pulled a big brass house key from his pocket, then slotted it into the expensive Baldwin lock. They pulled their weapons and held them at the ready.

The door creaked inward. A clock ticked like a time bomb somewhere in the depths. Garcia pushed through, followed by Mack. “Mrs. Vonnegon? It’s the police. We need to talk.”

A look passed between Garcia and Mack, the kind of silent communication that develops between people who work well together. Mack pressed Gen’s shoulder against the living room wall and held his palm in front of her face in the universal command to stay put. She shook her head. His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going for it.

She stayed.

The men split up and padded through the house. Once they were out of sight, Gen wheeled around and went back into the sunshine, then past the house and along the west wall. The side door into the garage was unlocked. A Lexus SUV was parked inside, but not much else.

A stamped concrete path snaked along the foundation, and she followed it. At the bottom, a basement walkout faced with a massive metal-clad door was fitted with a trio of locks. Even in this ritzy neighborhood, that much security seemed a little over the top.

She rattled the knob. Nothing. She put her ear to the door and called out, “Bree?” She rattled again, and this time yelled in the loudest voice she could muster, “Bree!”

The faintest whisper on the wind made her turn and run toward the cliff. The sound she’d heard wasn’t coming from inside.

The path led to a platform that canted over the ocean, encased with wrought-iron fencing. Gen ran onto the deck and leaned over the rail. The waves boiled white far below and crashed against the rocks.

A stairway was pinned to the cliff, invisible from above. At the bottom was an open cabin cruiser, hidden in a natural bowl. At the front of the boat a woman was hunched over the console. Bree was in it, too, but she was looking up at the deck.

When she saw Gen, Bree screamed and brandished her cuffed hands above her head, as if she was reaching out to her. The woman started the engine, turned long enough to backhand Bree, then swung the boat out into the bay.

A shout came from behind. Mack and Garcia slammed through the basement door. Gen screamed Mack’s name, and they raced toward the cliff.

“Bree and Patience.” Gen stabbed a finger at the water below. “Bree’s hands are tied.”

Garcia’s jaw turned to steel as he peered over the side. “Let her go, Mrs. Vonnegon. It’s over,” he yelled. His voice was raw.

Patience raised her gun and fired.

They ducked and retreated, and Garcia turned, bent at the waist, and raced back to the house. “I’ll tell the pilot to follow.”

Mack pulled Gen farther back. “Stay away from the edge, she’s got nothing to lose. We found a body in there.” He hooked his thumb toward the house. “It looks like Yates, decomposing in the mulch.”

But the high whine of the motor drew them both back to the rail. Bree and Patience sped away, headed out into open water.