The Fitzgerald Ruse (14 page)

“Sorry, something’s come up,” I whispered. “Would you mind waiting five minutes before leaving? I want it to look like I’m coming back.”

Donaldson arched his eyebrows. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“That’s because I don’t know the answer.” I stood, shifting my weight to make sure my stump was snugly fitted in my prosthesis. “But I expect that’s about to change.”

I caught the departing waiter. “Excuse me. Where’s the restroom?” I asked the question loud enough for adjoining tables to hear.

He pointed through the terrace doors to the Great Hall. “Turn right at the registration desk and it’s in the Sammons Wing on your right.”

As I crossed between the giant fireplaces, I saw Nakayla sitting in a chair and thumbing through a magazine with her eyes subtly scanning the room. She froze when I motioned her to stay seated. Calvin’s tall silhouette stood just inside the entrance from the parking lot. He waited beside the valet station where he could watch the doors to either side. The expression on his face was obscured by shadows, but his location told me our quarry was still inside.

I glanced back at Nakayla. She closed the magazine and stood. As she walked by, she whispered, “Behind information.”

The information desk was less than twenty feet away, near the elevator we’d taken to Fitzgerald’s room. A young couple had a map spread out in front of the attendant. I doubted our adversaries had a male/female team tailing me. Beyond them, a fair-haired man stood at a brochure rack. He looked up and for a split-second our eyes locked. Then he dropped his gaze back to the pamphlets and eased to his left, moving behind a column. He sported a neatly trimmed beard, and something about him seemed familiar. I couldn’t swear to it, but clean-shaven he might have been Evan Lucas, one of the ex-Blackwater men whom our Ali Baba investigation had targeted.

I waited a few seconds for him to emerge. During that time, I took in the surroundings. A woman who looked like the grandmother was photographing an older man and child in front of the fireplace. Two businessmen exited from the elevator and walked toward me, momentarily obscuring my view of the column. I looked over my shoulder. Calvin took a step closer, his right hand reaching behind his back. He wasn’t looking at the column but to the far end of the fireplace beside the entrance to the Vanderbilt Wing. Another blond man in a windbreaker was reading the quotations that had been written on the various stones. Even though the Great Hall was warm, he’d zipped his jacket to his neck.

“That’s him,” Calvin said. “He’s been following you since the library.”

“Stay with the exits,” I said to Calvin. “I’ll try to lead him where it’s not so crowded.”

Nakayla stepped beside me. “If he makes a break, there are too many exits to cover.”

“He’s armed. I want you out of the line of fire.”

Nakayla’s eyes blazed. “I’ll be where I need to be to bring him in.”

“Then call the cops and cover the parking lot in case he gets to his vehicle.” I looked at the suspect. He’d turned from the fireplace and was watching us. With a single motion, he pivoted and walked into the Vanderbilt Wing. “Damn. We’ve spooked him.” I hurried in pursuit, cursing myself for wearing the wrong leg.

What must have been a busload of senior tourists flowed along the Vanderbilt Wing’s hallway toward me. Canes, walkers, and wheelchairs set a moving obstacle course impeding my progress. But above the gray heads, I could see Blondie also dodging his way. He looked back, saw me, and doubled his speed. Then I lost sight of him.

A glass door leading to the Vanderbilt Atrium blocked the end of the hall. I didn’t see it open, which meant Blondie had turned left into an area of shops. Another split and I faced the choice of entering a restaurant or taking a second hall into the atrium. I gambled that the restaurant wouldn’t have as many exits, which meant Blondie would avoid it.

I heard a commotion and saw a bellman’s cart topple. People dispersed, revealing Blondie entangled with potted plants that must have en route to another location. I sprinted forward as fast as my leg allowed.

Blondie scrambled to his feet just out of my grasp. I pursued him into the atrium, a spacious room several stories high with a maze of open staircases surrounding a central elevator. The architect had peppered the stairs with landings where patrons could enjoy the internal view.

Seeing me, Blondie unzipped his jacket. I followed as fast as I could, snatching my pistol from its holster and flipping off the safety. I was no more than a few yards behind him, but I knew he’d beat me in a foot race. He veered right onto a landing that displayed an antique pool table. He turned down another short flight to a second landing. It dead-ended on the left at a staff entrance.

Straight across and more than ten feet away lay a separate landing below the glass door we had bypassed. That was the way to the ground floor. To reach it, Blondie would have to hurdle the railing, sail through the air, and safely clear the second railing. Not an impossible task for Jack Bauer or James Bond, but his challenge was more than Olympic athleticism. Nakayla crouched on the opposite stairway, her twenty-five-caliber pistol rock-steady and trained on Blondie’s chest. Calvin eased down the stairs behind her, his gun pointed at the ceiling.

“Stop!” Nakayla shouted. “Hands in the air.”

For a second, Blondie hesitated. Then he dropped and rolled. He came up on one knee, a coal-black pistol in his hand. He swung the barrel toward me.

I squeezed off three rounds. The Kimber jumped and the loud reports reverberated through the atrium like sonic booms. The silver-tipped .45s knocked Blondie backwards. I saw a muzzle flash from his pistol but heard no sound. My ears were already deafened.

He bounced off a rock wall and fell face down on the green carpet. Red splotches began soaking through the ripped fabric of the back of his windbreaker.

I don’t know how long I stood there, my finger on the trigger and my eyes searching for any movement. The ringing in my head faded and I could hear Nakayla calling me. I risked a glance and saw her and Calvin with their weapons still drawn. Hewitt Donaldson stood on the stairs above them, his ashen face dwarfed by his wide eyes.

“Are you all right?” Nakayla asked.

“Yes. I think he fired once but the shot went wild. Keep him covered.” I turned around, worried that the stray bullet might have injured someone in the atrium. People had come to the edge of the balconies all the way to the top floor. Most turned away when they realized they were looking down on a dead body. I approached the man with caution and kicked his pistol beyond his reach. Then I knelt and checked his neck for a pulse.

“Hewitt,” Nakayla said. “Get Grove Park security and tell them to keep everybody clear.”

“Is he history?” Calvin asked.

I nodded. History. But what history did this son of a bitch take with him? What history had he known that could keep us alive?

Chapter Fifteen

“That’s the man I saw at the restaurant.” Nathan Armitage made the positive ID as he knelt over the upturned face of the dead gunman.

“And you two say he’s Evan Lucas?” Detective Newland asked Calvin and me.

Calvin nodded. “I was covering Chief’s back and noticed this guy eyeing him. I sent Chief a note on the terrace, and when he saw us together he took off. I never got that close to Lucas in Iraq, but that’s the ugly face I saw on surveillance photos.”

The dead man wasn’t so much ugly as plain. Straight straw hair, a broad nose that looked like it had been broken at least once, and skin both freckled and pockmarked. He hadn’t carried any identification or room key. A set of Hyundai car keys on a Hertz chain and three hundred dollars in cash were the only items on his body.

“What about you?” Newland prompted.

“I agree with Calvin. I’m 90 percent sure he’s Lucas.”

Newland turned to the EMTs. “Then bag him and get him out of here. We’ll lift his prints and run a check against those Nathan got this afternoon.” He stepped away from the body and went up to the landing with the antique pool table. Calvin, Nakayla, Donaldson, Nathan, and I followed.

“Was Sam’s the only weapon discharged?” Newland asked.

“Lucas fired at least once,” Nakayla said. “He rolled where the corner of the rock wall blocked our line of sight, but I heard four shots.”

Calvin walked over to the pool table. “I saw wood fly off.” He bent over the corner. “There’s a slug beside the pocket. If he wanted to play eight-ball, he should have called it.”

I wondered if the man who fixed the bullet hole in Fitzgerald’s ceiling was still alive.

Newland frowned. “I’ll have the crime lab dig it out. We found only three brass. All from Sam’s Kimber.”

“His gun might have ejected the casing over the edge and it’s below somewhere,” I said. “He was whipping it around pretty fast.”

“Thank God he wasn’t fast enough,” Nathan said.

“Do you need the Kimber?” I asked Newland.

“I’m satisfied he pulled a gun and fired. We don’t know who else is out there gunning for you. Keep it, but drop by tomorrow and check with Efird. You and Nakayla can give your statements. I’ll bring him up to speed, and he can have you fire a round for a ballistics match—just for the record.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Newland looked at Calvin. “You come with them. I want Efird to get your statement and a little more background on what’s happened on your case since Sam was wounded.”

Calvin gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it, man.”

“Where are you going to be?” I asked.

Newland grimaced. “Close to a bathroom.” He shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable with further explanation. “I’ve got a colonoscopy scheduled. I’ve postponed it five times and my wife made me swear nothing short of a nuclear attack on Asheville would interfere.”

Nathan shook his head in sympathy. “Been there, done that. But it’s not tomorrow, is it?”

“No. Early Friday morning. Tomorrow’s prep day.”

Calvin laughed. “Riding the porcelain bus. Man, I’d rather be in another shootout than swallow Phospho-soda.”

Newland didn’t appreciate the ribbing. “You’re kinda young to know what you’re talking about. Wait till you’ve been through it.”

Calvin’s jaw tightened, and I knew he resented the putdown, slight as it was.

“Well, you’ve got my condolences,” Donaldson said. “And that’s coming from someone I know you consider one of the biggest asses in Asheville.”

We all laughed, not so much at Donaldson’s remark but to relieve the tension of what we’d just been through. The zip of the body bag punctuated the moment, and I knew the case was far from closed.

“How’d you get here so fast?” Newland asked Nathan.

“I still had someone on Sam and Nakayla. He called me when he spotted Lucas. Things went down so fast he wasn’t able to help.”

“Where is he?” Newland asked.

“I told him to lay low in case there’s a second tail. He’s still in the Great Hall.”

“Blond hair and beard?” I thought Nathan’s operative had to be the man Nakayla and I mistook for Lucas.

“No. Black hair and clean-shaven. He’s very good. Half the shoplifters convicted in Asheville were nailed by Stu.”

I glanced at Nakayla and could tell she was as upset as I was that we’d pegged the wrong suspect.

“I’d like to talk to him,” Newland said. “We’ve got Ethel Barkley’s killer on the loose, and I’d like to know if he saw anyone who might match the Hispanic description we got from Golden Oaks.”

“Now?” Nathan asked.

“Sure. Might as well cram in as much as I can before I catch the porcelain bus.” He winked at Calvin.

Calvin accepted the cue that Newland had gotten over his joke. “What can we do?”

“You and Sam put your heads together and come up with some way we can flush these guys out. How many do you think we’re dealing with? What’s the connection between your case and the missing lockbox? You know the drill. Bring me something we can work with. Together.” He emphasized the last word and there was no doubt he was running the show, even if it might be from the john.

As we broke up, I heard Newland yell to his nephews to check the dead man’s car keys against the vehicles in the parking lot and wire his description to the rental agencies.

It was nearly seven and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. “Where are you parked?” I asked Calvin.

“At the edge of the main lot.”

“You want to grab a bite?”

“Is there someplace we can talk in private?”

I looked to Nakayla for a suggestion, but she stared straight ahead, her teeth clenched. My superior detective skills told me she was mad as hell. “Why don’t Nakayla and I get some takeout? We can meet at the apartment, say eight?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He clapped me on the back. “You did good, Chief. Ed and Charlie would be proud.” He turned to Nakayla. “Nice working with you, pretty lady.”

“The name’s Nakayla.” The words came out as brittle as ice.

“Well, nice working with you, Nakayla. You’ve got guts. You can cover my back anytime.”

She shot him a glance as cold as her words. “I believe I was the one in front.” She hurried her pace, pulling away from both of us. “See you at eight,” she called over her shoulder.

“Spirited,” Calvin said. “I like that in a woman.”

“I like it in a partner.” I hurried down the hill after her, figuring the chill of the September night would be a heat wave compared to the temperature inside my CR-V.

As soon as I was within range, I used my keyless remote to unlock the Honda. Nakayla got in the passenger’s seat without waiting for me.

I slid behind the steering wheel. “What’s the problem?”

Nakayla took a deep breath, held it a few seconds, and then spoke in a voice so tight a crowbar couldn’t loosen her words. “The first problem is that you even have to ask the question.”

“What? Are you mad because I was giving you orders? The Grove Park turned into a combat zone.”

“I can take orders. What I can’t take is you pushing me into the background. ‘Stay out of the line of fire, Nakayla. Watch the parking lot, Nakayla.’”

“The parking lot needed watching.”

“No. The suspect needed to be apprehended. I’m your partner, not your secretary or your research assistant. Either we’re in this together or I’m out.”

“Look, you’re a terrific partner. That’s what I told Calvin. But your experience in insurance fraud isn’t preparation for confronting armed assailants. You were lucky tonight.”

“Lucky?” Her sarcastic tone could have drenched Sunset Mountain.

I cringed at my word choice, but I was too far down the road to turn back. “We’re partners. We’ve got to be honest with each other.”

I took her silence for a yes. “You pegged the wrong man. If Calvin hadn’t been there, we would have missed Lucas.”

“The guy was watching me.”

“A lot of guys watch you. Believe me, I notice.”

“And I saw him walk close enough to the terrace to check on you and Donaldson.”

“There’s also a spectacular view.”

“All right. I pegged the wrong man. But I knew the layout of the Grove Park and figured you’d chase him to that landing. If I’d been out in the parking lot, Lucas would have made it into the employee offices. No telling who could have been hurt.”

I flashed on the image of Nakayla on the stairs, her gun level and her face set in fearless determination. No question her bravery had stopped him. But the man had been good. In a split-second, he’d seen the opportunity to roll out of her line of fire and take me out. I guess he hadn’t counted on my being armed.

Nakayla’s voice grew angrier. “But I can tell I’m not part of your boys’ club. Newland wants you and Calvin to put your heads together. Forget me. And then Ed and Charlie, whoever they are, are going to be proud of your kill, like you’d bagged some twelve-point buck.”

“Ed and Charlie aren’t ever going to be proud of anything.” I turned the key in the ignition and raced the engine for a second. Then as I put the gear in reverse, I said, “They were our two buddies killed when my leg was blown off. The man I shot was one of those responsible.” I backed the car out of the parking space and started down the mountain. “Call it a boys’ club if you want, but Calvin and I feel an obligation to see justice done.”

She turned in her seat and looked at me for the first time since we left the inn. “Seeing justice done is one thing, seeking revenge is something else. I’m one who knows the difference.”

She spoke the truth. Her sister had been brutally murdered and Nakayla’s appeal for my help had been grounded in her desire for justice. I had to remember that revenge worked more on the innocent than the guilty. If that became my motivation, then I’d be in danger of shutting out Nakayla and anyone else who cared for me.

“Okay. I apologize. You’re right, and you made a hell of a partner tonight. I promise I won’t close you out. That’d be crazy because you’re smarter than Calvin and me put together. I guess I’m not over my fear.”

“Fear? Fear of Lucas?”

“Fear that they’d taken you. Maybe killed you. After Ethel Barkley was murdered, we didn’t know who’d be next.” I risked taking my right hand off the wheel and held it out between us. “I felt so helpless.”

She pressed my palm between both of hers. “Apology accepted. And, for the record, I’m sorry I picked the wrong man in the Great Hall.”

We headed into a series of curves and I reluctantly pulled my hand free to grip the wheel. “To be honest, I thought you were right about the guy. I guess it proves there’s a blurry line between being suspicious and being paranoid.”

“I understand where you and Calvin are coming from. You do have an obligation.”

“Ed and Charlie were good men. They died serving their country. We all have an obligation to them.”

Nakayla put her hand on my right leg, the leg that was still all me. “And justice should come from all of us. I’m not sure Calvin sees things the same way you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“He strikes me as a hotdog.”

“That’s just Calvin. And I think he’s got survivor’s guilt. I’ve seen it in a lot of guys.”

“Maybe,” Nakayla said. “But I don’t want his survivor’s guilt to get you killed.”

We rode in silence for a few miles. I mulled over everything she had said, especially the difference between justice and revenge. Calvin’s obsession with the Blackwater swill could bite me. We were expected to cooperate with the Asheville police. But, as sure as I sat behind the wheel, I knew Calvin wouldn’t hesitate to pursue his own leads, regardless of what Detective Newland or I said.

Nakayla broke into my thoughts. “Since we’re being honest, I have to confess part of me is glad you shot that guy.”

“Really? Self-defense isn’t justice.”

“And it’s not revenge. But in that split-second after I yelled for him to stop, I saw something that still chills me.”

“What?”

“He smiled at me. If that wasn’t the face of a cold-blooded killer, then I never hope to see one.”