The Face of Deception (2 page)

“My God, what a kind, caring human being you are,” Ken Novak murmured. “I think the woman might have cause to appear a little distracted. That was the night the murderer of her little girl was executed.”

“Then she should have been dancing with joy and offering to pull the switch. I would have been. Instead, she pleaded with the governor for a stay.”

“Fraser was convicted for the killing of Teddy Simes. He was almost caught in the act and wasn't able to dispose of the boy's body. But he confessed to murdering eleven other children including Bonnie Duncan. He gave details that left no doubt he was guilty, but he wouldn't tell where he'd disposed of the bodies.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know. He was a crazy son of a bitch. A last act of malice? The bastard even refused to appeal the death sentence. It drove Eve Duncan frantic. She didn't want him executed until he told them where her daughter was. She was afraid she'd never find her.”

“And has she?”

“No.” Novak picked up the remote and froze a frame. “That's Joe Quinn. Rich parents, attended Harvard. Everyone expected him to go into law, but he joined the FBI instead. He worked the Bonnie Duncan case with the Atlanta P.D., but he's now a detective with them. He and Eve Duncan have become friends.”

Quinn appeared to be about twenty-six at the time. Square face, broad mouth, and intelligent, wide-set brown eyes. “Only friends?”

He nodded. “If she's gone to bed with him, we haven't found out about it. She was a witness at his wedding three years ago. She's had one or two relationships in the past eight years, but nothing serious. She's a workaholic and that doesn't lend itself to enriching personal relationships.” He looked pointedly at Logan. “Now, does it?”

Ignoring the comment, Logan glanced down at the report on the desk. “The mother's an addict?”

“Not any longer. She got off the stuff years ago.”

“What about Eve Duncan?”

“She was never on dope. Which was a wonder. Practically everyone else in her neighborhood was sniffing or shooting, including Mama. Her mother was illegitimate and had Eve when she was fifteen. They lived on welfare in one of the worst areas of the city. Eve had Bonnie when she was sixteen.”

“Who was the father?”

“She didn't list him on the birth certificate. Evidently he didn't claim the child.” He pressed the button to start the tape again. “There's a picture coming up on the screen of the kid. CNN really wrung the story for all it was worth.”

Bonnie Duncan. The little girl was dressed in a Bugs Bunny T-shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. Her red hair was wildly curly and there was a smattering of freckles on her nose. She was smiling at the camera and her face was alight with joy and mischief.

Logan felt sick. What kind of world was this in which a monster could kill a kid like that?

Novak's gaze was fixed on his face. “Cute, huh?”

“Fast-forward.”

Novak pressed the button and the scene was back outside the prison.

“How old was Duncan when the kid was killed?”

“Twenty-three. The little girl was seven. Fraser was executed two years later.”

“And the woman went bonkers and became obsessed with bones.”

“Hell no,” Novak said curtly. “Why are you being so rough on her?”

Logan turned to look at him. “Why are you being so defensive?”

“Because she's not— She's got guts, dammit.”

“You admire her?”

“From her head right down to her toes,” Novak said. “She could have given up the kid for adoption or gotten an abortion. She kept her instead. She could have gone on welfare like her mother and repeated the pattern. She kept the baby in a United Fund nursery during the day while she worked and did correspondence courses at night. She was almost finished with college when Bonnie disappeared.” He looked at Eve Duncan on the screen. “That should have killed her or sent her spiraling back where she came from, but it didn't. She returned to school and made something of her life. She has a degree in fine arts from Georgia State and is certified as a computer age progression specialist at the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children in Arlington, Virginia. She also received advanced certification for clay facial reconstruction after training with two of the nation's foremost reconstruction artists.”

“Tough lady,” Logan murmured.

“And smart. She does forensic sculpting and age progression as well as computer and video super-imposition. Not many people in her profession are experts in all those areas. You saw the clip from
60 Minutes
on how she rebuilt the face of that kid who was found in the Florida swamps.”

He nodded. “It was incredible.” His gaze returned to the video. Eve Duncan's tall, thin body was clothed in jeans and a raincoat and appeared terribly fragile. Her shoulder-length red-brown hair was soaking wet and framed a pale, oval face that held agony and desperation. The brown eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses reflected the same desolation and pain. He looked away from the screen. “Can we find anyone else as good?”

Novak shook his head. “You asked for the best. She's the best. But you may have trouble getting her. She's pretty busy and she prefers to work on lost-children cases. I don't suppose this has anything to do with a child?”

Logan didn't answer. “Money is usually pretty persuasive.”

“But it may not mean that much to her. She could be making a lot more money if she took a university appointment instead of working freelance. She lives in a rented house in Morningside, an area close to downtown Atlanta, and she has a lab in a renovated garage in the back.”

“Maybe a university hasn't made her an offer she couldn't refuse.”

“Maybe. They're not in your league.” He raised his brows. “I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you need her to do?”

“No.” Novak had a reputation for integrity and was probably trustworthy, but there was no way Logan could risk confiding in him. “You're sure she's the only one?”

“She's the best. I told you that she— What's bothering you?”

“Nothing.” It wasn't the truth. The whole damn prospect of having to choose Eve Duncan bothered him. She was a victim already. She didn't need to be put at risk again.

Why was he hesitating? No matter who got hurt, he had to go through with it. The decision was already made. Hell, the woman herself had made it for him when she'd become tops in her field. He had to have the best.

Even if it killed her.

Ken Novak tossed his briefcase on the passenger seat of his convertible and started the car. He waited until he was past the long driveway and out the front gates before he picked up the car phone and placed the call to the private number at the Treasury Department.

While he waited to be put through to Timwick, his gaze wandered to the Pacific. Someday he was going to have a house like Logan's out on the Seventeen Mile Drive. His house in Carmel was sleek and modern but nothing like the mansions here. The people who owned them were the elite, the kings of business and finance, the movers and shakers. That future wasn't out of Novak's grasp. Logan had started out with a tiny company and built it into a giant. All it had taken was hard work and the ruthlessness to forge ahead no matter what the odds. Now he had it all. Novak had worked for Logan for the past three years, and he admired him tremendously. Sometimes he even liked him. Logan could turn on the charm when he—

“Novak?” Timwick was on the line.

“I've just come from Logan's house. I think he's settled on Eve Duncan.”

“Think? Don't you know?”

“I asked if he wanted me to contact her. He said he'd do it himself. Unless he changes his mind, she's a lock-in.”

“But he won't tell you why he needs her?”

“No way.”

“Not even if it's a personal matter?”

Novak's interest was piqued. “It has to be personal, doesn't it?”

“We don't know. According to your reports, the things he wanted investigated are a mixed bag. Some of them may have been red herrings to throw you off.”

“Possibly. But you thought enough of them to pay me a princely sum to find out more.”

“And you'll be paid even more generously if you give us something we can use against him. He's raised too much money for the Republican Party in the last six months and the election is only five months away.”

“At least you have a Democratic president. Ben Chadbourne's popularity numbers are up again this month. You think Logan wants to make sure the Republicans take Congress again? They may do it anyway.”

“And they may not. We could take it all next time. We need Logan stopped in his tracks.”

“Sic the IRS on him. That's always a good way to discredit.”

“He's clean.”

Novak had suspected he would be. Logan was too smart to fall in that trap. “Then I guess you have to rely on me, don't you?”

“Not necessarily. We do have other sources.”

“But none as close to him as I am.”

“I said you'd be well paid.”

“I've been thinking about the money. I think I'd rather trade in favors. I've been considering running for lieutenant governor.”

“You know we're backing Danford.”

“But he's not being as helpful to you as I am.”

There was a silence. “Bring me the information I need and I'll consider it.”

“I'll work on it.” Novak hung up the phone. Nudging Timwick had been easier than he'd thought. He must really be worried about the upcoming presidential election. Democrat or Republican, all those political insiders were the same. Once they got a taste of power, they became addicted, and the smart man used that addiction to move himself up the ladder to a place on the Seventeen Mile Drive.

He followed a curve in the road, and Logan's Spanish palace on the hill was once again in view. Logan wasn't an insider; he was that rare commodity, a true patriot. He was a Republican, but Novak had even heard him praise the Democratic president on that negotiation with Jordan three years earlier.

But patriots were often unpredictable and could be dangerous.

Timwick wanted him brought down and, if he worked it right, Novak could parlay that need to the governor's mansion. He had little doubt that whatever task Logan wanted Eve Duncan to do, it was personal. He had been too secretive and on edge. Secrets regarding skeletal remains were usually a pretty fair sign of guilt. Murder? Maybe. He had led a pretty rough life during the early days when he was trying to build his empire. It appeared that sometime in Logan's checkered past, he had stubbed his toe big-time.

He hadn't lied about his admiration for Eve Duncan. He'd always liked tough, take-charge women. He hoped he wouldn't have to bring her down with Logan. Hell, maybe by bringing Logan down, he might be doing the woman a favor. Logan was planning on aiming that characteristic ruthless intensity on her, and she could be trampled.

He chuckled as he realized how he'd rationalized betrayal into gallantry. Damn, he was a good lawyer.

But lawyers served the royalty that lived along this drive, they weren't royalty themselves. He had to move up from the station of adviser to the throne.

It would be nice to be king.

TWO

“You look beautiful,” Eve said. “Where are you going tonight?”

“I'm meeting Ron at Anthony's. He likes the food there.” Sandra leaned forward and checked her mascara in the hall mirror, then straightened the shoulders of her dress. “Damn these shoulder pads. They keep shifting around.”

“Take them out.”

“We all don't have broad shoulders like you. I need them.”

“Do you like the food there?”

“No, it's a little too fancy for me. I'd rather go to the Cheesecake Factory.”

“Then tell him.”

“Next time. Maybe I should like it. Maybe it's a learning type thing.” She grinned at Eve in the mirror. “You're big on learning new things.”

“I like Anthony's, but I still like to pig out at McDonald's when I'm in the mood.” She handed Sandra her jacket. “And I'd fight anyone who tried to tell me I shouldn't do it.”

“Ron doesn't tell me—” She shrugged. “I like him. He comes from a nice family in Charlotte. I don't know if he'd understand about the way we lived before— I just don't know.”

“I want to meet him.”

“Next time. You'd give him that cool once-over and I'd feel like a high school kid bringing home my first date.”

Eve chuckled and gave her a hug. “You're crazy. I just want to make sure he's good enough for you.”

“See?” Sandra headed for the door. “Definitely first-date syndrome. I'm late. I'll see you later.”

Eve went to the window and watched her mother back out of the driveway. She hadn't seen her mother this excited and happy in years.

Not since Bonnie was alive.

Well, there was no use staring wistfully out the window. She was glad her mother had a new romance, but she wouldn't trade places with her. She wouldn't know what to do with a man in her life. She wasn't good at one-night stands, and anything else required a commitment she couldn't afford.

She went out the back door and down the kitchen steps. The honeysuckle was in bloom and the heady scent surrounded her as she walked down the path to the lab. The aroma always seemed stronger at twilight and early morning. Bonnie used to love the honeysuckle and was always picking it off the fence, where the bees constantly buzzed. Eve had been at her wit's end trying to stop her before she got stung.

She smiled at the recollection. It had taken her a long time to be able to separate the good memories from the bad. At first she had tried to save herself from pain by closing out all thoughts of Bonnie. Then she had come to understand that that would be forgetting Bonnie and all the joy she had brought into her and Sandra's lives. Bonnie deserved more than—

“Ms. Duncan.”

She stiffened, then whirled around.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm John Logan. I wonder if I could speak to you?”

John Logan. If he hadn't introduced himself she would have recognized him from the photo. How could she miss that California tan? she thought sardonically. And in that gray Armani suit and Gucci loafers, he looked as out of place in her small backyard as a peacock. “You didn't frighten me. You startled me.”

“I rang the doorbell.” He smiled as he walked toward her. There was not an ounce of fat on his body, and he exuded confidence and charm. She had never liked charming men; charm could hide too much. “I guess you didn't hear me.”

“No.” She had the sudden desire to shake his confidence. “Do you always trespass, Mr. Logan?”

The sarcasm didn't faze him. “Only when I really want to see someone. Could we go somewhere and talk?” His gaze went to the door of her lab. “That's where you work, isn't it? I'd like to see it.”

“How did you know it's where I work?”

“Not from your friends at the Atlanta P.D. I understand they were very protective of your privacy.” He strolled forward and stood beside the door. He smiled. “Please?”

He was obviously accustomed to instant acquiescence, and annoyance surged through her again. “No.”

His smile faded a little. “I may have a proposition for you.”

“I know. Why else would you be here? But I'm too busy to take on any more work. You should have phoned first.”

“I wanted to see you in person.” He glanced at the lab. “We should go in there and talk.”

“Why?”

“It will tell me a few things about you that I need to know.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I'm not applying for a position with one of your companies, Mr. Logan. I don't have to go through a personnel check. I think it's time you left.”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“No, I have work to do. Good-bye, Mr. Logan.”

“John.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Logan.”

He shook his head. “I'm staying.”

She stiffened. “The hell you are.”

He leaned against the wall. “Go on, get to work. I'll stay out here until you're ready to see me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'll probably be working until after midnight.”

“Then I'll see you after midnight.” His manner no longer held even a hint of his previous charm. He was icy cool, tough, and totally determined.

She opened the door. “Go away.”

“After you talk to me. It would be much easier for you to just let me have my way.”

“I don't like things easy.” She closed the door and flicked on the light. She didn't like things easy and she didn't like being coerced by men who thought they owned the world. Okay, she was overreacting. She didn't usually let anyone disturb her composure, and he hadn't done anything but invade her space.

What the hell, her space was very important to her. Let the bastard stay out there all night.

She threw open the door at eleven thirty-five.

“Come in,” she said curtly. “I don't want you out there when my mother comes home. You might scare her. Ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I appreciate your consideration.”

No sarcasm or irony in his tone, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. “It's necessity. I was hoping you'd give up before this.”

“I don't give up if I need something. But I'm surprised you didn't call your friends at the police department and have them throw me out.”

“You're a powerful man. You probably have contacts. I didn't want to put them on the spot.”

“I never blame the messenger.” His gaze traveled around the lab. “You have a lot of room here. It looks smaller from outside.”

“It used to be a carriage house before it was a garage. This part of town is pretty old.”

“It's not what I expected.” He took in the rust and beige striped couch, the green plants on the windowsill, and then the framed photos of her mother and Bonnie on the bookshelf across the room. “It looks . . . warm.”

“I hate cold, sterile labs. There's no reason why I can't have comfort as well as efficiency.” She sat down at her desk. “Talk.”

“What's that?” He moved toward the corner. “Two video cameras?”

“It's necessary for superimposition.”

“What is— Interesting.” His attention had been drawn to Mandy's skull. “This looks like something from a voodoo movie with all those little spears stuck in it.”

“I'm charting it to indicate the different thicknesses of skin.”

“Do you have to do that before you—”

“Talk.”

He came back and sat down beside the desk. “I'd like to hire you to identify a skull for me.”

She shook her head. “I'm good, but the only sure ways of identification are dental records and DNA.”

“Both of those require subjects to match. I can't go that route until I'm almost certain.”

“Why not?”

“It would cause difficulties.”

“Is this a child?”

“It's a man.”

“And you have no idea who he is?”

“I have an idea.”

“But you're not going to tell me?”

He shook his head.

“Are there any photos of him?”

“Yes, but I won't show them to you. I want you to start fresh and not construct the face you think is there.”

“Where were the bones found?”

“Maryland . . . I think.”

“You don't know?”

“Not yet.” He smiled. “They haven't actually been located yet.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I need you on the spot. I want you with me. I'll have to move fast when the skeleton is located.”

“And I'm supposed to disrupt my work and go to Maryland on the chance that you'll locate this skeleton?”

“Yes,” he said calmly.

“Bull.”

“Five hundred thousand dollars for two weeks' work.”

“What?”

“As you've pointed out, your time is valuable. I understand you rent this house. You could buy it and still have a lot left over. All you have to do is give me two weeks.”

“How do you know I rent this house?”

“There are other people who aren't as loyal as your friends at the police department.” He studied her face. “You don't like having dossiers gathered on you.”

“You're damn right I don't.”

“I don't blame you. I wouldn't either.”

“But you still did it.”

He repeated the word she had used with him. “Necessity. I had to know who I was dealing with.”

“Then you've wasted your efforts. Because you're not dealing with me.”

“The money doesn't appeal to you?”

“Do you think I'm nuts? Of course it appeals to me. I grew up poor as dirt. But my life doesn't revolve around money. I pick and choose my jobs these days, and I don't want yours.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn't interest me.”

“Because it doesn't concern a child?”

“Partly.”

“There are other victims besides children.”

“But none as helpless.” She paused. “Is your man a victim?”

“Possibly.”

“Murder?”

He was silent a moment. “Probably.”

“And you're sitting there asking me to go with you to a murder site? What's to stop me from calling the police and telling them that John Logan is involved in a murder?”

He smiled faintly. “Because I'd deny it. I'd tell them I was thinking of having you examine the bones of that Nazi war criminal who was found buried in Bolivia.” He let a couple of moments pass. “And then I'd pull every string I have to make your friends at the Atlanta P.D. look foolish or even criminal.”

“You said you wouldn't blame the messenger.”

“But that was before I realized how much it would bother you. Evidently the loyalty goes two ways. One uses whatever weapon one's given.”

Yes, he would do that, she realized. Even while they'd been talking he'd been watching her, weighing her every question and answer.

“But I've no desire to do that,” he said. “I'm trying to be as honest as I can with you. I could have lied.”

“Omission can also be a lie, and you're telling me practically nothing.” She stared directly into his eyes. “I don't trust you, Mr. Logan. Do you think this is the first time someone like you has come and asked me to verify a skeleton? Last year a Mr. Damaro paid me a call. He offered me a lot of money to come to Florida and sculpt a face on a skull he just happened to have in his possession. He said a friend had sent it to him from New Guinea. It was supposed to be an anthropological find. I called the Atlanta P.D. and it turned out that Mr. Damaro was really Juan Camez, a drug runner from Miami. His brother had disappeared two years ago and it was suspected he'd been killed by a rival organization. The skull was sent to Camez as a warning.”

“Touching. I suppose drug runners have family feelings too.”

“I don't think that's funny. Tell that to the kids they hook on heroin.”

“I'm not arguing. But I assure you that I've no connection with organized crime.” He grimaced. “Well, I've used a bookie now and then.”

“Is that supposed to disarm me?”

“Disarming you would obviously take a total global agreement.” He stood up. “My ten minutes are up and I wouldn't want to impose. I'll let you think about the offer and call you later.”

“I've already thought about it. The answer is no.”

“We've only just opened negotiations. If you won't think about it, I will. There has to be something I can offer you that will make the job worth your while.” He stood looking at her with narrowed eyes. “Something about me is rubbing you the wrong way. What is it?”

“Nothing. Other than the fact that you have a dead body you don't want anyone to know about.”

“Anyone but you. I very much want
you
to know about it.” He shook his head. “No, there's something else. Tell me what it is so I can clear it up.”

“Good night, Mr. Logan.”

“Well, if you can't call me John, at least drop the Mr. You don't want anyone to think you're properly respectful.”

“Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, Eve.” He stopped at the pedestal and looked at the skull. “You know, he's beginning to grow on me.”

“She's a girl.”

His smile faded. “Sorry. It wasn't funny. I guess we all have our own way of dealing with what we become after death.”

“Yes, we do. But sometimes we have to face it before we should. Mandy wasn't over twelve years old.”

“Mandy? You know who she was?”

She hadn't meant to let that slip. What the hell, it didn't matter. “No, but I usually give them names. Aren't you glad now that I turned you down? You wouldn't want an eccentric like me working on your skull.”

“Oh, yes, I appreciate eccentrics. Half the men in my think tanks in San Jose are a little off center.” He moved toward the door. “By the way, that computer you're using is three years old. We have a newer version that's twice as fast. I'll send you one.”

“No, thank you. This one works fine.”

“Never refuse a bribe if you don't have to sign on the dotted line for return favors.” He opened the door. “And never leave your doors unlocked, as you did tonight. There's no telling who could have been waiting in here for you.”

“I lock the lab up at night, but it would be inconvenient to keep it locked all the time. Everything in here has been insured, and I know how to protect myself.”

He smiled. “I bet you do. I'll call you.”

“I told you that I'm—”

She was talking to air; he'd already closed the door behind him.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Not that she had the slightest doubt she would hear from him again. She had never met a man more determined to get his own way. Even when his approach had been velvet soft, the steel had shown through. Well, she had dealt with powerhouse types before. All she had to do was stick to her guns and John Logan would eventually get discouraged and leave her alone.