The Plot (33 page)

Max took his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open, thankful that they hadn't taken his badge when he was suspended. It glinted in the glow from the street lamp, and the short fellow, Slade, reached to take it, studying the photo identification.

"Maximilian Henshaw. Investigator,” he read aloud. “Aren't you the one they suspended a couple of days ago?” He leaned closer to get a better look at Max. “Yeah. You're the one. I saw your picture in the paper."

"Yeah, that was me. But that's all been cleared up,” he lied. “You'll probably read all about it on the bottom of the last page of tomorrow's
Post
."

Slade took one last look at Max's I.D., then handed the wallet back to him. “Yeah, well, I'll be sure to look for it,” he said. “But, this still isn't your collar. This is a Federal warrant, Detective, and we're Federal Agents. Now let go of the woman and step aside."

Max hesitated. He'd promised to protect her. Forever. From the corner of his eye, he saw the female agent still crouched behind the hood of the car.

Suddenly, Cassie's hand slid into his back pocket, and Max felt something heavy drop into it. He looked at her, but she just took his hand from her arm and stepped away.

"Looks like they've got all the cards, Detective. But don't feel too bad. No matter what people say I did, I know I didn't, and it'll be egg on
their
faces instead of yours.” She smirked, but it didn't look genuine-to
him.
Then, turning toward the woman agent who emerged from behind the car, Cassie held her arms straight out from her sides. “I suppose you're the one who's supposed to frisk me,” she said, her voice flat.

The agents closed ranks around her, edging Max out of the way.

Cassie looked through the car window at Max standing alone on the sidewalk, his mouth drawn into a tight line, left hand in his pocket where she'd slipped the bracelet. Had it only been last night that they were standing “on top of the world” together? She remembered the feel of his arms around her, so strong, so gentle, so
safe
.

The woman agent-Thompkins, she'd said her name was-sat beside her in the back seat, the two men in front. The taller man drove. As they turned the corner, Max disappeared from view, and Cassie sat back in the seat, squinching into the corner as far away from Thompkins as she could.

"D'ya believe that guy?” asked the driver, steering the car toward the highway. “Tryin’ to beat us out on this one?"

Thompkins chortled.

Slade snickered. “Yeah. What a jerk."

Cassie wanted to tell them that
jerk
just might hold their future in his hands. She contented herself instead with watching the lights of the passing cars.

"You're lucky, little girlie,” Thompkins said. Her breath smelled of stale garlic and Listerine. “Instead of being in their crummy jail, you're gonna be living like a queen.” She paused, chortling again. “And so will I, because I'm in charge of ‘protecting’ you."

Cassie turned away from the window to look at the woman beside her. She looked ghostlike in the glare of the passing headlights. “What do you mean?"

"The daughter of Madison Hart gets
special
treatment.” She patted Cassie's cheek none too softly as she answered.

"If not to jail, then where are we going?” Cassie asked, noticing that they had turned toward Arlington.

"Why, to the palace of course,” Thompkins replied, smirking, and the two men in front laughed.

Wrapped in thought, Max took his time driving home, acutely aware of the heavy charm bracelet in his pocket. He hadn't called Sheila. He needed to talk to Ed. He had to protect Cassie. She'd looked so tiny and helpless as they took her away.
Damn.
He'd see if Bernie would represent her-at least at the arraignment.

When he turned onto the Beltway, he remembered the last time he'd talked with Bernie. “Spiders are only successful until their webs become littered with their prey and their own offal.”
Madison Hart. Dead. Philip's friend, Rei Takazawa. Dead twice over. The bank president in Tallahassee, who'd helped Cassie, was dead, too, just like Philip and Jonathon. May Lee deported, and now Cassie in custody.
That's an awful lot of offal, Max thought, a vague idea tickling the edge of his mind.
Maybe I've become so personally involved, I've overlooked something important about the case itself.

He maneuvered past a small traffic jam. That's what this trail is like, he thought. Everything so tangled, seemingly so unrelated, yet there
is
a common thread. The problem is in proving it. If I could prove that they're all related to Bates-and the conspiracy-it would support Madison Hart's book and help to vindicate Cassie.

As he exited the Beltway, his mind sorted through the evidence they'd gathered. “There is very little that men do which doesn't leave some kind of a mark behind,” his professor had told the class.
But what about when there's so many marks that it all becomes a jumble?
Max considered what he'd learned on the job these past ten years.
Something always stands out. It's the something that bothers you when you find it. The something that may not even fit
. He thought about the autopsy report stating that the Takazawa kid had been shot
after
he'd already drowned. That was the out of place piece. The one fact that had haunted him since he'd first learned of it.

He pulled into his apartment parking lot, climbed out, and, locking the car, strode toward the front door. Hopefully, Sheila would still be awake. If not, it wouldn't be the first time he'd roused her from her “beauty sleep."

Unlike many of his generation who were uncomfortable with computers, Hamilton Bates had mastered more than the fine art of e-mail. It had been just past six o'clock when Busby returned from the airport with the package from Halcyon, and Bates took it directly into his study, leaving instructions with his butler not to disturb him. According to the tiny digital clock at the bottom of the computer screen, he'd been at this for nearly four hours, but it seemed far less, despite the growing ache in his back and tiring eyes. Madison Hart's distinctive writing style held even an adversary's attention.

A soft knock on the door broke his concentration, and he turned to find the butler peering into the room. “Sorry, Mr. Bates. But there is a call for you. It's a Mr. David Kingman. He says it's quite important."

He almost told him to have David call back in the morning, but thought better of it and reached past the computer to pick up the phone. “Hello, Dave. I thought you were out of town."

"I am, but I talked with my assistant a little while ago and felt it was important to speak with you. Sorry for the late hour."

"I would think your assistant would have gone home hours ago."

"She did. That's where she called me from. It's about the Madison Hart book. I understand you suggested his daughter bring it to Halcyon and that you wanted us to meet her every demand?"

"Yes. That's correct.” Bates’ words were measured as he thought about the damning book he'd been reading.

"Well, I'm a little confused. Naturally, Madison Hart's final work is an almost certain bestseller, so Halcyon would be interested even without your endorsement. But, Jennifer says you told her to ship the disk script back to you, and frankly, I'm puzzled, to say the least."

He watched the screen saver meander across the darkened monitor as he listened. “There is no reason to be confused, David,” he answered after a short pause. “I didn't actually tell Miss Miles that I wanted the book
published
. What I did tell her was that she should sign an exclusive contract with Cassandra, get the disk script and all of the documentation she claims to have, and as soon as that was accomplished, to let me know."

It was David's turn to hesitate, and Bates could almost see the man's small eyes blinking rapidly in thought. “Now I'm really confused, Hamilton,” he responded at last.

He took a deep breath before explaining. “You see, David, it's kind of a personal matter. I am godfather to Cassandra Hart and have a great fondness for her-just as I had for her parents. After Madison lost his wife, he changed. The change, of course, was apparent only to those of us who knew him well. Anyway, to make a long story short, I had a vague idea of what he was writing about and, frankly, it sounded very, ah, fantastic. Cassandra is determined to have this book published, but I can't bear the thought of her good intentions ruining the reputation of a writer as gifted as her father
was
."

"So you wanted to see it first? Along with the documentation?"

"Certainly. It was, ah, is extremely important to me to ascertain whether the publication of this book will harm a young woman I care deeply about. After all, she has a whole career ahead of her. Until now, her father's name has
helped
her to succeed. The opposite could be true if this book is what I fear it may turn out to be."

"That makes sense,” the other man responded after a moment's pause. “Okay. Let me see what I can do about getting the documents for you. I understand you don't want Miss Hart to be aware of your involvement?"

"That's correct."

"Well, I'll be returning day after tomorrow. So, if I can't handle this situation for you by phone, I'll take care of it personally when I'm back in the States."

"Excellent. Have a good trip. I'll look forward to hearing from you
soon
,” Bates replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

The message light on Max's telephone was blinking when he entered the apartment. He punched in his code and heard the Chief's secretary telling him the boss wanted to see him first thing in the morning. No explanation. Just
be there
. He hung up and called Sheila.

She answered almost before the phone rang. “Oh, hello,” she said, assuming an oddly professional tone at the sound of his voice.

"Something wrong, Sheil?"

"No, it's just that, well, this is kind of a bad time to talk. I'm not alone."

"Oh, sorry. You mean I've got a rival for your affection?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean-it's not that kind of a visitor.” She sounded tense.

"Well, then, maybe you can call me tomorrow. I just wanted to find out if you'd been able to establish that connection. And if you know what the Chief wants to see me about.” Max suddenly felt ill-at-ease.

"No to both. And as for tomorrow, I don't believe that will be possible. I'm sorry, but I've got to go.” She hung up in his ear.

Max frowned as he put the phone down.
Talk about out of character. I wonder who she's with that could make her so ... nervous
. “Well, looks like she's out of the picture. At least for now,” he muttered. Still, he needed answers and needed them soon. He glanced at the clock on the stove. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Ed would have been asleep for hours. He shrugged and picked up the phone. His old friend wouldn't be happy, but he'd cooperate.

Jennifer Miles sat halfway up in bed, her elbow resting on the pillow, and turned to her husband. She let the neckline of her nylon gown slip to expose part of her breast, but he didn't seem to notice. Since he'd lost his job at the brokerage, he noticed hardly anything. She was beginning to wonder if she cared.

"Tommy, I need to talk to you about something."

He turned toward her, his short dark hair matted against his head. “What's the matter?"

"Remember when I told you yesterday about being coerced into contracting for a book by Madison Hart?"

"Yeah."

She pushed her hair away from her eyes. “I got the disk script this morning, and when I called Hamilton Bates to let him know I had it, he got real pushy about getting the documents that go along with it. When I told him we didn't have them yet, he did a one-eighty and insisted that I send the disk script to
him,
implying that he didn't want the book published."

"So what?” Tommy sounded bored. “Maybe he changed his mind."

"No. I'm sure that's not it. I mean, it was like, well, like all he really wanted in the first place were the disk and the background documents. He got really nasty about it. And about
me
."

He sighed deeply and looked at the ceiling. “Jen, you probably got on your high horse again. You can be pretty offensive when you do that, you know. And you just can't talk like that to Bates. The guy is used to having people jump at the snap of his fingers."

It was her turn to sigh. He was missing the point. As usual. “I'm not upset about his attitude, Tommy. It's just that I don't like being used. That woman, the author's daughter,
trusted
me to see that her father's final book gets published."

He looked over at her, his brown eyes dull. “Well, I hope you cooperated with Bates. We can't afford for you to lose your job, ya know. I've got all those legal fees to pay, and this apartment isn't exactly cheap."

She turned away and sat up on the edge of the bed, irritated.
That's all he ever talks about these days. Bills, bills, bills. You'd think he'd be thrilled that, instead of prison, all he has is attorney fees.
“Well, I did send it back to him. But I made a copy of it first."

"Why, for pete's sake?” Now he sounded annoyed.

She turned and looked at him. “Because I wanted to know what had this dude so damn puckered up. If I'm going to be someone's pawn, at least I have the right to know why."

"Shit, Jen. Why can't you just leave well enough alone? You've got a good job, a great future..."

"I know, I know. But I'm not going to lose my job. I talked with Mr. Kingman this evening about it, and he seemed surprised that Mr. Bates wanted the disk script. He sounded real supportive, in fact. When he gets back, I'll show the book to him.” She paused, wondering if she should tell her husband the rest. If she did, he'd understand why she felt so troubled. “Maybe I shouldn't have copied it. Maybe I'd be better off not knowing what's in that book. But I did and I do, and now I feel it's my responsibility to follow through on getting it published."