The Gray Zone (30 page)

“It’s true,” said Jake.

Kelly continued, “He knows I was with Porter the night he was murdered. He knows I’d been performing a Marilyn Monroe number at a club. He knows about the blonde wig.”

Suzanne’s eyes turned wary, but she was curious. “Why would that have anything to do with me?” She paused a moment and said under her breath, “You little slut.”

Kelly glanced at Jake and proceeded carefully. “I think Gillis had something to do with Porter’s death. I think it was because he knew Porter and I were in lo—because Porter and I were seeing each other.”

Suzanne glared, but Kelly pressed on.

“Gillis is capable of destroying whomever he pleases. I think he
is trying to set me up and is using every available avenue. If he’s calling you about the case, I’m sure it has something to do with me.”

“For a gutter whore, you have an awfully inflated view of yourself,” said Suzanne. “I find it hard to believe that Todd Gillis would look twice at you, much less marry you.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Suzanne,” bellowed Jake. “Listen to her. She’s trying to help.”

Suzanne recoiled. “Help? Help
me
?”

Jake held up his hands. “Calm down, Suzanne. Hear us out.”

Kelly decided to put it in terms Suzanne could understand: “Todd Gillis is meeting tonight with Theodore Henckle.”

Suzanne’s mouth actually fell open. “But Gillis has contributed to
my
campaign.”

Jake snorted. “Come on, Suzanne, you’ve been at this longer than that. You think you’re the only candidate getting his money?”

The transformation in Suzanne’s face was remarkable. The previous moment she had been fiery, angry, and openly scornful; a split second later, her look became calculating, cold, and sly.

“
Gillis
is trying to take me out of the running?”

Jake nodded. “He knows about Porter and Kelly. So that secret will be out. And he’s threatening to pin the murder on Kelly. Once he makes the first link, you’re on shaky ground. When he makes the second, you’re toast. I can read the tabloid headlines now:
A Wife in Name Only. The Ice Widow. The Loveless Marriage of Porter and Suzanne Garrett.
”

Suzanne silently digested the scenario Jake had described. “How does he make the second link?”

When Jake hesitated, Kelly spoke up right away. “He’s got a knife with what he says are my fingerprints and Porter’s blood on it.” She spoke forcefully and clinically, watching for Suzanne’s reaction.
Suzanne’s mouth opened slightly, but Kelly saw her push her mind away from the questions, the sad and gory details of Porter’s death and his affair. Kelly admired Suzanne at that moment. Like a true politician, Suzanne turned around 180 degrees when shown evidence of what would suit her interests in the campaign.

“How do we get this asshole?” she said flatly.

Jake smiled. “Atta girl. Gillis is meeting in Vegas tonight with his Executive Committee. We don’t know for sure what they’re up to, but we think we’ll find something there.”

“Take my plane,” said Suzanne. “It’s at Santa Monica. I’ll call ahead. And keep me posted.”

Jake nodded. Kelly reached for her bag and the computer.

“Take my car, too. One of my security guards can drive you. I think I’ll stay here tonight—at least until he comes back.”

On their way out the door, Kelly turned. “I never meant to hurt you,” she said. “And thank you for this tonight.”

Seated on the white couch with the vast, dark windows behind her, Suzanne looked small. But when she spoke, it was like a queen dismissing a subject. “Not one more word from you,” she snapped. “Just clean up this mess you’ve made.”

Kelly glared at her for a beat, then strode through the door. Jake shut it behind them.

THE LINE ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF LAS VEGAS demarcating civilization and wilderness is very clear. Either you’re standing in a developed area or you’re standing in the desert. Throughout Nevada, as in other parts of the country where populations are moving in droves, civilization’s edges creep ever outward, and the bulk of the encroachment is made up of housing developments.

The address Kelly had memorized from the file at the Gillis Foundation offices was that of a house within a new development in the first stage of completion. The gated entrance still fluttered with flags, inviting prospective buyers to tour the model homes. It was an upscale housing “community” made up of McMansions—nearly identical, behemoth houses of no fewer than five thousand square feet, straining at the edges of their property lines. Although each property cost upwards of $2 million, the whole place had the feeling of a tent city—impermanent, lonely, and easily abandoned.

Some of the houses were occupied, but some were dark. Others already had
FOR SALE
signs in the still-unlandscaped front yards. Jake pulled into the driveway of one of these.

“He’ll probably have a thug posted outside. Let’s not get any closer,” Jake whispered to Kelly, mulling over the brainstorming they’d done on the plane, marveling at her uncanny ability to spin, on the spot, multiple anticipated counteractions to any number of Gillis’s schemes.

“It should just be around that bend up ahead,” Kelly said, pointing at the map they had printed out at Suzanne’s beach house. The site of the Executive Committee meeting was at the very edge of the development, next to where the second stage was slated to begin. According to the map, it appeared that ground had not yet been broken on the next stage, so Gillis’s house would be sitting with a neighboring home on one side and the empty expanse of the desert on the other.

The sliver of a moon revealed an infinite scattering of stars. Kelly and Jake moved quickly, pulling black caps over their hair and zipping up black jackets.

“You ready?” breathed Jake.

Kelly nodded. She felt a sense of foreboding, but there was also the feeling that she was reaching the end of this chapter. She would soon be free—or she would be going back to Gillis to avoid being framed for murder. But either way, nothing would be the same after tonight.

They circled around at a distance and approached the house from the rear, where it backed onto a man-made lake. Standing between the lake and the back fence, they could see bulldozers parked on the empty land at the desert edge of the house, waiting to clear the way for more mansions.

The house itself looked like every other one in the development. Built in a Mediterranean style, of white plaster and exposed beams, it
had an external balcony running the length of the second story. The windows were arched with paned glass, red tile covered the roof, and decorative ironwork framed the staircase that led from the balcony down into the backyard. Sacrificed to the immensity of the house, that yard was a small sliver of dirt upon which sat a wooden shade structure and some iron furniture. Terra-cotta and glazed pots stood artfully but empty around the corners of the yard, awaiting succulents and bougainvillea and climbing trumpet vines. A flagstone pathway led from the house to a stone deck along the back fence, where a gas barbecue stood.

Under the balcony ran one long picture window, which formed the back wall of the first floor. Uncovered, and with the lights on inside, the window offered Jake and Kelly a clear view of the interior: a large kitchen that held stainless-steel appliances set off by Mexican tilework. A cooking island in the center was strewn with open bottles of alcohol, bags of tortilla chips, and tubs of salsa and dips. Off the kitchen was a great room that contained a wall-sized flat-screen TV, sectional sofas, and a coffee table holding a couple of open laptops and piles of papers.

Kelly and Jake listened for a moment, controlling their breathing so they wouldn’t miss the slightest noise. The far-off roar of an occasional truck along the nearby freeway was all they could hear outside. From inside came the sound of music with a fast, heavy beat. The thud reverberated just enough to be more felt than heard.

Perfect
, thought Jake,
for drowning out secret conversations.

Kelly glanced at Jake and nodded. He reached over the fence, undid the latch, and held the gate while Kelly slipped through. Once inside, they stilled and crouched low against the fence. The music seemed to be coming from upstairs. In contrast to the blazing light of the ground floor, the upstairs was completely dark—with the exception of one lighted, arched window at the corner of the house.

Jake gently touched Kelly’s elbow and they crept toward the house, staying close to the edge of the fence along the desert’s edge. In their dark clothing and with the blazing lights inside, they would be hard to see if anyone should look out into the backyard. Nevertheless, they were careful to stay out of the curtain of light thrown through the picture windows.

As they neared the house, they peered into the kitchen. Styrofoam take-out containers littered the island along with the liquor bottles and chip bags. A sack of ice had slipped halfway off the counter and was dripping onto the tile floor. Their gaze traveled to the great room. Men’s suit jackets lay haphazardly over the backs of the sofa; a pair of black loafers had been kicked behind the couch.

Suddenly one of the suit jackets moved. Kelly and Jake shrank into the shadows at the desert edge of the yard, near a sliding door off the kitchen. The jacket shook itself out, lumbered to a standing position, and revealed its owner. Brigante.

Kelly eyed him from the safety of her lookout. His black hair, plastered to his head, looked greasy. He reached a hand out to steady himself, then weaved dangerously across the tile floor, clutching at whatever he could—a side table, the kitchen island, a barstool—on his way to the sliding door.

He’s drunk off his ass,
thought Kelly, as she and Jake held their breath and pressed harder against the fence in the dark. Brigante threw open the sliding door and staggered out with an animalistic moan. He took about five steps outside, opened his fly, and let loose a horse-sized stream of piss, groaning as he did so.

Kelly shook her head. “These goons are so used to blatantly doing their dirty work, they would ejaculate right in the middle of Madison Square Garden.” But she saw their chance.

Flashing a look at Jake, she went first, dodging fleetly behind Brigante’s back, over the threshold, and through the kitchen and
great room, toward the front of the house. Jake followed, glancing around for other guards, but Brigante seemed to be the only one.

Kelly sped to the base of a staircase, wheeled around the side of it, and crouched down. In an instant Jake was next to her, catching his breath. They froze, taking in their surroundings. They were in the front entrance area, which had a soaring, two-story-high ceiling and an enormous iron-and-stained-glass chandelier hanging from above. The Spanish tile from the kitchen continued in the foyer, accented near the door by a thirteen-foot-by-twenty-foot rectangle of colorful tiles painted to look like a fine carpet. Overhead, an interior balcony encircled three sides of the upper story in a squared-off U-shape, and Jake and Kelly could see several closed doors upstairs. The music they’d heard outside was more pronounced now, a steady rock beat coming from behind one of these doors.

They heard a crash and more moaning. Brigante had come back inside.

Kelly looked around frantically for a place to hide. Would he come to the front of the house and discover them? Built under the staircase was a door—a closet, she hoped. Her body tensed, ready to spring through the door if necessary. Then she heard the squeaky rustling of Styrofoam and the clanking of a bottle. Brigante muttered something to himself and shuffled across the kitchen toward the great room. Kelly heard a pop and a loud electronic buzz, and the huge television blazed to life, blaring a commercial at full volume.

“Shit,” mumbled Brigante, “fucking …” There were more sounds of fumbling, and then the TV quieted down. A narrator was discussing tropical birds. Brigante did not change the channel.

Her heart still pounding, Kelly reached up to grip the banister. The iron was cold in her hand. She nodded to Jake and rose to her feet. Quick as a cat she ascended the staircase, with Jake following her up the stairs just as quietly. At the top, ears straining for the slightest
sound, Kelly looked around—then entered through the first open door she spied.

The room was dimly lit and smelled acrid, like burnt matches. It was a large bathroom, with a wide tile counter set with two sinks. Jake slipped a credit card–sized flashlight out of his pocket and shone the small beam of light across the counter. Yellowish powder dusted the surface near some chunks that looked like rock candy. Razor blades and bottle caps were scattered among Ziploc bags and uncapped syringes. A glass pipe lay in the sink. Jake felt his foot touch something and shone the light on the floor. A bag of drinking straws and a box of aluminum foil. He put his mouth on Kelly’s ear.

“Crystal meth,” he breathed.

She nodded and indicated for him to cut the light. They moved cautiously out of the bathroom and peered along the interior wall of the balcony. There were three more doors, all closed. Two of the rooms were dark; light seeped through the doorjamb of the third, in the middle. The music seemed to be coming from the darkened room farthest away, at the end of the corridor to their right. Brass plaques, like the nameplates found on office doors, were attached to the face of all three doors.

Odd,
Kelly thought. She held out her hand for the flashlight and crept toward the first door. She flicked on the light.
MR. F
, read the sign. She flicked the light off.

The next moment, she felt Jake grab her hand. Before she registered what was happening, he was pulling her past the door and into an alcove down the hall. The small space was lined with empty bookshelves and had a skinny, arched window and a wooden chair.

As Kelly heard a door open, someone came out of the room they had just been standing in front of. She couldn’t see who it was, but the person moved down the hall, into the bathroom, and closed the door.

Jake took Kelly’s hand again and they slipped out of the alcove,
moving swiftly toward the door of the lit room. It was easy to read the nameplate without the flashlight:
MR. G
.