The Face of Deception (11 page)

“It doesn't matter.” She closed her eyes again. “Tell me, Logan, doesn't all this subservience and courtesy stick in your throat?”

“A little. But I can live with it. I learned a long time ago that if you're not the most important chip in a computer, you grease the wheels and don't get in the way.”

“I believe that's the worst mix of metaphors I've heard.”

“How would you know? Your mind's probably too blurry for you to think straight.”

“I don't have to think. From now on it's pure instinct. I just have to be able to see.”

“I can feed you, but I can't help you there.”

“At this point, no one can help me.”

The door closed behind him.

“No one,” she murmured. “It's just between you and me, isn't it, Jimmy?”

CHEVY CHASE
WEDNESDAY EVENING
11:45
P.M.

“He's nearly finished, Timwick,” Fiske said. “He said the job was easier than he thought. Maybe another twelve hours.”

“Have you seen the skull?”

“I can't make anything of it. It doesn't even have a nose or eyes yet. I think you're wasting your time.”

“I'll be the judge of that. Call me when he's done and I'll come right down.”

Fiske replaced the receiver. Twelve more hours and he'd know if Doprel or Logan and Duncan were the targets. He almost hoped it was Doprel. Logan and Duncan were more of a challenge, but Doprel was beginning to annoy him beyond belief.

BARRETT HOUSE
THURSDAY
6:45
A.M.

Smooth the clay.

Delicacy.

Sensitivity.

Let the tips of your fingers move of their own volition.

Don't think.

Help me, Jimmy.

The clay was cool, but her fingertips felt warm, almost hot, as they molded and smoothed.

Generic ears. She had no idea whether they'd stuck out or had longer lobes.

A longer, thinner nose.

Mouth?

Generic again. She knew the width but not the shape. She made the lips closed, without expression.

Eyes.

So important. So difficult. No measurements and very few scientific indicators. Okay, don't be in a rush. Study the shape and angle of the orbits. The size of eyeballs were all pretty much the same and grew only a little from infancy to adulthood. Should she make Jimmy's eyes protruding, deep-set, or somewhere in between? The angle of the orbits and the bony ridge above would help her decide.

But not yet. Eyes were always a clincher. Most forensic sculptors worked from top to bottom and the eyes went in close to the beginning. She had never been able to do that. She'd found that she had an even greater tendency to hurry if the eyes were looking at her.

Bring me home.

More smoothing along the cheekbone. Not too deep.

Don't look at the face as a whole. Take each section and feature separately.

Smooth.

Fill in.

Slow down. You can't let go yet. Don't let your mind totally guide your hands. Don't visualize. Build. Measurements are still critical. Check them again.

Nose width, 32 mm. Okay.

Nose projection, 19 mm. Okay.

Lip height, 14 mm. No, it should be 12. Bring the top lip down, it's usually thinner than the bottom lip.

Build up more around the mouth, there's a major muscle under there.

More shaping to the nostrils.

A little creasing on each side of the nose. How deep?

What's the difference? Nobody ever identified anyone by a skin crease.

Deepen the area around the lower lip.

Why? It didn't matter. Do it.

Smooth.

Mold.

Fill in.

Sun lines around the eye cavities. Lines around the mouth.

She was working feverishly now. Her hands flew over Jimmy's face.

Almost finished.

Who are you, Jimmy? Help me. We're almost done. We'll take a photo and circulate it and someone will take you home.

Smooth.

Mold.

Stop. Don't gild the lily.

She stepped back and drew a deep breath. She'd done all she could do.

Except the eyes.

What color? Logan would probably prefer she use blue. Kennedy's blue eyes were as famous as his smile. Screw Logan. This couldn't be Kennedy and why should she indulge Logan. She took another step back and allowed herself to look at the full face for the first time. She would use the brown she usually—

“Oh, my God.”

She stood frozen, staring at the face she'd created. She felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach.

No.

It was a lie.

She moved slowly, heavily, over to the table, where the small eye case lay open. The eyeballs glittered up at her—blue, brown, gray, hazel, green.

She took the case and carried it to the pedestal.

She was exhausted; her mind could be playing tricks on her. The eyes would make a difference. Brown. Put in brown eyes.

Her hand was shaking as she took out the first brown eyeball and inserted it in the left cavity. Then she took the second eyeball and fitted it to the right.

“You've put in the wrong eyes,” Logan said from the corner. “You know it, Eve.”

She stared straight into the brown eyes before her, her back rigid. “I don't know it.”

“Put in the right eyes.”

“It's a mistake. I made a mistake somewhere along the way.”

“You don't allow yourself to make mistakes. Put in the eyes that you know belong with the face.”

She took out the brown eyes and put them back in the case. She stood staring blindly down at the eyes in the case.

“You know which ones to use, Eve.”

“All
right
.” She reached down, picked up the eyeballs, and jammed them in the sockets.

“Now step back and look at him.”

She moved back from the pedestal. Incredible. God in heaven, it couldn't be true.

But there couldn't be any doubt.

“You bastard.” Her voice was shaking as she stared into the gray eyes.
She
was shaking. She felt as if the entire globe was trembling on its axis. “It's Ben Chadbourne. It's the President.”

CHEVY CHASE

“Well?” Doprel asked sourly. “Is it your terrorist?”

Timwick gazed at the skull. “You're sure this is a correct representation?”

“I'm sure. May I go home now?”

“Yes, thank you for your hard work. I'll have you driven back to New York immediately. Naturally, you'll keep this quiet. We wouldn't want a security leak.”

“I've no desire to talk about this job. It hasn't been a highlight of my career. I'll go pack.” Doprel strode out of the room.

“Shall I take him back?” Fiske asked from where he stood behind Timwick.

“No.” Timwick turned away from the bust. “The skull's a ringer. Doprel's not important anymore. I'll send him home with someone else. I have other work for you and we'll have to move fast.” He moved toward the phone. “Leave me alone. I have some phone calls to make.”

He waited until Fiske was out the door before he punched in the secure line at the White House. “It's not him. Same age. Same general facial structure. But it's not him.”

BARRETT HOUSE

“You lied to me,” Eve whispered. She whirled on Logan. “You
lied
.”

“Yes. It's the last lie I'll tell you, Eve.”

“You expect me to believe that? Every way I turn I find out you've lied to me again. You never thought it was Kennedy. My God, you even put all those books and reports about him in your desk just to make me believe what you wanted me to believe. It was all some kind of wild red herring.”

“There wasn't anything wild about it. I worked very hard to make that lie plausible. I had to have a cover to hide the fact that I was having Donnelli's claim investigated. That's why I laid the false trail to Kennedy. So they couldn't be sure if I suspected something or I was just a crackpot. I had also begun a discreet search for a forensic sculptor, the one person who could reveal if there's any truth to Donnelli's story.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you were the key player I needed.”

Her gaze went back to Jimmy's skull. No, not Jimmy anymore. Ben Chadbourne, President of the United States. She shook her head. “It's all crazy. When you told me what had happened at Donnelli's funeral home, I assumed it had taken place decades ago. That's what you meant me to think.”

“Yes. It was only two years ago.”

“Lies.”

“You had to be entirely uninfluenced, with no preconceived ideas. That was the only way to guarantee that you would reconstruct the face that belonged on that skull.” His gaze followed hers to Chadbourne's face. “It was something of a miracle watching you work, bringing him to life. I was almost sure it was him, but every touch seemed to—”

“How did he die? Murder?”

“Probably. It would make sense.”

“And that man in the White House is one of his doubles?”

He nodded.

She shook her head. “It's too bizarre. It couldn't be pulled off with Chadbourne any more than with Kennedy. The office is too public.”

“But they did it.”

“Timwick?”

“He's the front man.”

“Fronting for who?”

“Chadbourne's wife. She has to be the one pulling the strings. She's the only one who has the power to protect any double and coach him.”

Lisa Chadbourne. Eve remembered her at the press conference; she had stood on the sidelines, her gaze fixed lovingly on her husband. “And she's supposed to be a murderer?”

“Maybe. We can't be sure until we find out what happened to Ben Chadbourne.”

“What motive could she possibly have?”

“I don't know. Ambition, possibly. She's smart and savvy and knows how to manipulate a situation. She worked her way through law school and became a partner in a prestigious law firm. After she married Chadbourne she pushed him until he made it to the White House. Once there, she did everything right.” He smiled sardonically. “She's the perfect first lady.”

“I don't believe it could be her.”

“I didn't think you would. I had a few problems believing it myself. I'd met her a few times and I liked her. That combination of charm and intelligence can be very disarming.”

Eve shook her head.

“I'm throwing too much at you. I wish I could let you have longer to absorb it all, but I can't. We're almost out of time.” He stood up. “All right, don't believe it's Lisa Chadbourne. Believe someone else is behind it. But you'll grant that she has to be in on any conspiracy for it to work?”

“That's . . . reasonable.” She glanced back at the skull. “But what if this isn't Chadbourne? What if this is the double?”

“It's Chadbourne.”

“Because you want it to be?”

“Because it is. It's the only thing that makes sense.” He paused. “Because it was James Timwick who delivered that body to Donnelli.”

“How can you be sure? Donnelli's father could have lied.”

“I'm sure he could have. He appears to have been pretty much of a scumball. But he wasn't a dumb scumball. He dealt with some pretty lethal characters and he had to protect himself. He'd equipped his crematorium with an audiotaping setup. He got Timwick on audiotape.” He smiled crookedly. “It was part of his legacy to his son and the bait that hooked me. Because of that tape, I had Gil check into the story.”

“If you had a tape that incriminating, you wouldn't need any more proof. You could take it to the authorities or the media and let them—”

He was shaking his head. “It wasn't incriminating enough. No detail. No ‘Hey, I'm James Timwick and I'm burning up the President of the United States.' It was just general conversation while they were in the crematorium. Timwick ordered one of his men to help him with the body. Once, he asked Donnelli for a chair so he could sit down. Evidently the poor man had a taxing evening and he was tired. Comments like that.”

“Then how do you know it was Timwick?”

“I'd met him before. He's director of the Secret Service and attended a good many of Chadbourne's functions and he—”

“Secret Service. You said he was high up in the Treasury Department.” Her lips tightened. “Oh, yes, the Secret Service is part of the Treasury Department. Just another little evasion.”

“Sorry.” He continued. “Timwick had a very distinguished career and was a key player in getting Chadbourne elected. His voice is very distinctive. He's from Massachusetts and the accent is pretty unmistakable. I had a hunch it was him, and when Donnelli Junior sent me the cassette, I ran some of the videotapes I made of Chadbourne on the campaign trail and did a comparison. It wasn't difficult. Timwick isn't a man who likes to stay in the background. I think he was disappointed Chadbourne didn't give him a cabinet post.”

“I can't believe they let Donnelli live to blackmail them. Why didn't they just force him to give up the tape and the skull?”

“He told them he put a copy of the tape and an explanation in the hands of a lawyer, who would send it immediately to the media if he disappeared or died of unnatural causes.”

“Then he died of a heart attack, and his son did disappear.”

“But they weren't responsible, so they had to assume Donnelli Junior had made a better deal. I imagine the hunt for him was pretty intense. I was careful, but there might have been something that led them to believe Donnelli might have made contact with me.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. It could be they were looking for anything or anyone suspicious and I set off the alarm bell.”

“It's incredible. Why would they do away with Chadbourne?”

“I have no idea. I can only guess.” He shrugged. “Lisa Chadbourne's a unique woman. Some people say that she would have made a better president than her husband. But the consensus is that the country isn't ready to accept a woman president yet, so she has to work behind the scenes. It must have grated on her to always stay in the background. And Ben Chadbourne was a strong man himself. Maybe she wanted more control over him. More control of the country.”

“That's a lot of maybes.”

“They're all I have to give you. All I can tell you is that I believe it happened. Will you do me a favor? Go to the library and pop in the videotapes in the top desk drawer. There are three of them with recent Chadbourne speeches and press conferences. I've edited them for comparison. I'd appreciate it if you'd try to watch with an open mind.”