The Survivors (21 page)

I kept a small refrigerator next to the sofa, and I pulled out two bottles of water. I handed one to her and clicked the tops together in a toast. “We tried getting a fresh start and that didn't take. Let's try something easier. Just a plain old truce, OK?”

She stared at me.

I said, “I told Scott that Russo was going to tell the FBI to leave him alone. That wasn't enough. Scott was going to keep digging. I figured McGuin was safe. If I could get her to talk to him, it might be all he needed. I was trying to keep my promise to you.”

Her expression softened. I held my bottle up again, and she cracked the top on hers and took a sip. “Fair enough,” she said. “Now explain to me how this Lois McGuin is connected to Glass and Braeder.”

I filled her in as briefly as I could.

“OK,” she said. “I see why Glass wanted to talk to her. But this has really opened up a bushel of trouble. I've got a meeting at nine thirty with an executive vice president from Braeder, a man named Markaris.”

Inside, I gave a curse. She might get the whole story about me in that conversation. But I'd already played my cards. I'd just have to live with that risk as long as I was going to try to protect Scottie.

She said, “That meeting was set up courtesy of my boss, and I hope to hell he doesn't join us. Can I promise that no one from Braeder will hear from Scott Glass again?”

I hesitated. I didn't want to commit to more than I could deliver.

“Cal, Braeder isn't the kind of thing you want to screw around with. For people in the government, Braeder
owns
the water it walks on, and the scribes who write about it. Nobody is going to get away with putting a wrench in their machinery—no matter how innocent it is.”

“I hear what you're saying.”

“Don't just hear it, do it.”

We stood up. “One more thing,” I said. “The break-ins here and at my apartment. If the people at Braeder are worried about something, could they have—”

She waved her hand to cut me off and leaned close. I could smell her soap, lavender and spice. Homey and complex, just like her. “Officially, no comment. Unofficially . . . no comment again. Does that tell you what you need to know?”

“I think so, yes.”

“We're still on for the meeting tomorrow with Glass, right?”

“Noon. Right here,” I said.

“Good.”

Her eyes lingered on me for a few moments before she breezed out.

TWENTY

A
fter Weston left, Tori came into my office. She'd been listening to our conversation. “Are you going to do what she says?”

“You mean not call the police?” I said. “She's got a good point about that. We wouldn't get much help from them.”

“Or maybe she just wants to keep them out of it, and keep you under control.”

“What good would that do her?”

“I don't know, Cal, but you can see it in her. She makes up the rules as she goes along. She's pure alley cat.”

I smiled—another of Tori's animal analogies. “Weston's smart. Let's play it her way for now.”

Tori looked away as her face colored. Could that be jealousy? No, I wasn't going to start down that path. “Did you find any files missing?”

“I'm not finished, but so far everything's there.”

“Was anything else moved?”

“Just the G and R patient files.”

“I'm sorry this happened. I know how much you like everything kept in order.”

“What if they did take copies of some of the files? Denton Rivlin could go to jail for some of the things he told you. And you've never even let me
look
at Judge Gabriel's file.”

“Let's hope that's not going to be a problem, OK?”

I walked her back to her desk. There was an awkward moment, when I might have given somebody else a hug, but with Tori that seemed like asking for trouble. I got practical instead. “Call a locksmith. I want every lock in the place changed before we go home tonight.”

That cheered her up. “Just what I like, a man who takes control.”

I gave her a skeptical look and muttered, “I'll bet you don't.”

Charlene and Cass Russo arrived at fifteen minutes after eight, bickering about whose fault it was they were late. Tori showed them in. Cass took a seat on the sofa and propped her feet on the coffee table. Tori looked threateningly at her, motioning with the back of her hand. Cass put her feet on the floor.

Charlene had cleaned up considerably since the last time I saw her. She was wearing a silk suit with matching shoes and purse. Her hair was pulled back in a businesslike ponytail. Her eyes were clear, so she hadn't been drinking last night. Cass had reverted to baggy jeans and T-shirt. The shirt had two pictures of Che Guevara, morphing from man to monkey. Maybe it's true what they say, that irony is the real currency for today's teenagers.

Charlene wouldn't sit until she shook my hand. Looking around, she said, “Where?”

I pointed at the other end of the sofa. Tori softly closed the door.

“I'm kind of unsure why you're here,” I said. “Since the three of us met while I was visiting Eric, this isn't like most of my new patient sessions. That's why I didn't have you fill out the office forms before we started.”

Charlene said, “Cassie wanted to come back—”

Her daughter cut her off. “She needs to talk to somebody. Like
really
.”

“OK, new patients it is. Let's call it family therapy for now.”

Neither of them liked that. They had exactly the same way of scowling, eyes beady and mouth puckered.

“Why don't we start with this. Tell me how you think I can help you.”

They stared at me, still scowling. The silence began to drag on.

“Let's try something else. Both of you tell me something that's bothering you.”

They glanced at each other, a small improvement.

“Charlene, you first.”

“Well . . . Cassie isn't as honest as we'd like sometimes. She eavesdrops on her father and listens in on my phone conversations. And sometimes—” She reached across the sofa, trying to soften what she had to say. “She steals from us.”

Cass stiffened at her touch. “What bothers me? She's a nutjob and a lush.”

Charlene jerked her hand back. “Young lady, you mind your manners.”

Let the fireworks begin, I thought.

The best I can say about the next thirty minutes is that they didn't punch each other. They didn't spare the cutting comments, though, skipping right past the rapiers to sabers and broadswords. I never tell a patient what they've said is inappropriate; instead I call it unhelpful. I said “unhelpful” a lot in that half hour.

Finally, the lights dimmed. Cass had been through years of therapy, so she knew what that meant. “I need to speak to you alone before we quit.”

I sometimes end family sessions with a quick individual wrap-up to make sure no one is left hanging. “I can give you each five minutes. Charlene why don't you step out first.”

I could sense even before the door shut that Cass was itching to tell me something. “A man came to see my dad last night, real late. Griffin was there too. They talked about you, but I couldn't get close enough to hear most of what they said.” She pulled out her phone. “Here, I took a picture.”

“I told you not to listen in on your father's conversations about me.”

“It's just a picture.”

“Please put the phone away.”

She sighed and slipped it back in her pocket.

“Cass, let's talk about you and your dad. In all the things you said today, you never mentioned him. Neither did your mother. But I had the feeling he was always there in the background. Do you get along with him OK?”

“He doesn't even know I'm alive most of the time.”

“And the rest of the time? Do you do things to get his attention? Give him presents, things like that?”

“Or listen in on him when he doesn't want me to?” She laughed darkly. “I know what you're doing, trying to say everything is my fault but wrap it up in nice sweet candy so I won't feel bad.”

“No, that's not what I'm doing. But I want you to think about why you eavesdrop on him. It's got to be important to you or you wouldn't want to talk to me about it. Maybe you think it's interesting. Do you want to be a lawyer someday?”

“I'd rather be dead.”

That was a curve ball I'd caught before. I gave her a smile. “We'll talk next time about what you'd rather do than be a lawyer. OK?” I waited for her to nod and told her, “Can you send your mom in?”

Mrs. Russo closed the door firmly and sat in the chair next to me. “Thank you for seeing us. That was difficult, the way Cassie was behaving.”

“Family therapy can be hard at the beginning. We might try a few individual sessions—”

“There's something else we need to discuss. My husband wouldn't explain why you came to the house the other day, but Griffin did.” She looked primly at her hands in her lap. “I want you to know I'm not going to stand by and let you hurt Eric.”

I had wondered if there was a special motive for this visit. I stared at her long enough to let her know I was giving extra thought to what she'd said. “I'm not out to hurt your husband or anyone. I only asked some questions about work he did for a client, years ago.”

“Braeder Design—I know all about that. Let me fill you in on a little background.”

I glanced at the clock by the couch.

“I know you're busy, but it's important. I know all about Braeder because I was Eric's assistant back then. That's how we met.” She leaned closer. “I was Griffin but with great hair and even better legs.” Her laugh was sure and deep. It gave me a glimpse of the woman she'd once been, confident and sexy in a catch-me-if-you-can way.

She leaned back from me again, and her face became serious. “I wish Eric had never had anything to do with Ned Bowles or his company. Those people were nothing but trouble.”

I didn't hide my surprise. “What kind of trouble do you mean?”

“Trouble with the State Bar Association, with the banks, with the newspapers—you name it. They weren't bad people. It was just the nature of their business and the times. Greed is good, right?”

“I've seen
Wall Street
. The sequel, too. What are you getting at?”

“Eric is naive. That's one of his best traits. People trust him because of it. That means I have to watch out for him. So does Griffin, and a few others who are close to us.” She set her shoulders, giving herself a shot of courage. “I don't want you talking to Eric anymore. I don't want you smearing him with Braeder.”

“I have a patient I'm trying to help out, just the same as I thought I was helping you and Cass. If things come up about your husband and Ned Bowles and Braeder, there's nothing I can do about it.”

“Griffin told me you wouldn't understand. I don't see how things from that long ago can help anyone. That's your business, though. For my part, Doctor, I don't have much I can threaten you with. But don't misjudge me. Eric wants this new job as US Attorney. He's earned it. I'll do whatever I can to protect him.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I guess we do understand each other.”

She smiled for the first time in a while. “I do have a . . . let's say it's a suggestion, something that came up when I was talking to Griffin.” She took a piece of paper from her jacket pocket. “If you really are interested in getting the story on Braeder, try looking here.”

She handed the paper over. There was a name—
Defense Contracting Institute
—and a phone number and address in Georgetown. “Talk to Peter Sorensen, the managing director. He knows just about everything there is to know about Braeder.”

“How do you know him?” I said.

“Pete worked at Braeder, way back when. He sued Eric—and Braeder and Ned Bowles.” Once again, she saw the surprise in my eyes. “Old battles, Doctor. We've all moved on. But Pete is no friend. He'll give you the truth.”