The Survivors (35 page)

“Then it must have been hard to fire her,” I said.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I've had three wives. I've been through the rough patches that come with raising four kids. But what happened with your mother was one of the real low points in my life. She was somebody I counted on. I never imagined we'd lose her the way we did.”

“You didn't lose her. You got rid of her.”

My voice was starting to get a sharp edge, so I actually was glad when Scottie spoke up. “Lois McGuin said Denise took some plans she wasn't supposed to. What happened with that?”

A rap came at the door and Markaris went to get it.

“You want the details?” Bowles waited for me to nod. “That day, I was in my office, and I got a call from one of the security staff. He was at your house and said he'd found the plans—blue cover, they were only to be used on premises. Your mother wouldn't say why she had them. I told them to bring her in so I could talk to her. I remember laughing at the phone after I hung up because I was sure there'd be some silly explanation.”

Markaris came back and sat down. “The link will be ready in ten minutes. You'll need to finish getting ready.”

Bowles held up his hand to show he understood. “Half an hour later she was in my office. When I asked her what she was doing with the files, she said she couldn't tell me. ‘Trust me, Ned. It'll work out better that way.' I didn't know what that meant, so I pressed her, and she kept giving me the same line. ‘It's better for everybody if you forget about it for now.' I got . . .” He gave a sigh. “I got angry. I yelled at her some, enough to make her cry. I told her she was damned close to getting fired.”

He looked at me for the first time in a while. “Like I said, she was stubborn. And I could have trusted her, just let it drop even though the whole thing seemed crazy to me. But one of the security men had stayed behind to search the rest of your house. He found a stack of photographs. Your mother had taken detailed pictures of every page of those blue-flagged plans. I could only read that one way. She was going to return the plans to the file room, so no one would be the wiser. Then she'd have the photos to use.”

“Use—you mean sell,” I said.

“That's all I could figure, and she wouldn't explain it. I told her to get out. Security took her to her desk, and she got her things and went home.”

“If she was going to sell the plans, did you ever find out who the buyer was?” I said.

Markaris answered. He was restless now, trying to hurry things along. “We hired an investigator. He spent weeks on it but didn't turn anything up.”

I looked back at Bowles. “Was that the last time you saw her—that day at your office?”

He said, “A few weeks after that, a Saturday, she caught up with me in the office parking lot. She said we had to talk, away from there. I'd had enough, to tell you the truth. I told her to leave and not come back. One of the security guards took her away.”

He hung his head and played with his wedding band. “The last time I saw her was early September. She came to my house. It was early in the morning, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. She . . . she begged me to let her come back to work. She said she would never do anything to hurt the company or me. She didn't mention the files, though. No explanation.”

“What did you do?” I said.

“I'd already called the police as soon as I saw her outside. I called them again and told them to hurry.”

He looked at me, searching my face. “I still feel terrible about it. That last time I saw her, if I'd just let her talk herself out. If I'd helped her get a new job. If I'd done any of a hundred things. You were too young to remember, but I had your family over for dinner once. I liked your dad. We had a great talk. I shot baskets with your brothers.” Bowles stared into the fireplace, and his voice drifted down to almost nothing. “I wish there was some way . . .”

Markaris glanced at his watch. “Ned, we need to wrap this up.”

Scottie had been twitching in his chair, and he started to say something. I warned him off with a quick look.

Bowles sat up, laughing dryly. “There never seems to be time to do things right. Twenty-five years ago, I was too busy to deal with what happened. I pushed it out of the way. What I should have done is kept an eye on you, given you some help. I owed your mother that much.”

“I've had help where I needed it,” I said. “I've done OK.”

“So Howie tells me. Your practice is doing well. I'll bet you could help a few of those folks out there.” He pointed his thumb toward the outdoors. “Money and power—sometimes they're more burden than benefit.”

Markaris stood, and so did the rest of us. Bowles shook my hand and turned to shake Scottie's.

“There's something I was wondering,” Scottie said. “What were the plans she took?”

“Digital—” Bowles half caught himself and smiled. “A high resolution digital camera.”

Scottie seemed surprised. “Back then, that would have been real cutting edge.”

Bowles shrugged awkwardly. Modesty didn't fit him well.

Carl, the guard, opened the door. “The link is up. They're waiting on the other end.”

“Just one more question,” Scottie said.

I beamed him a stare.
Damn it, don't push
.

“Do you know who came to the house the night we were shot?”

Bowles frowned. “I don't understand.”

“Ned, you need to get ready now,” Markaris broke in. He motioned us toward the door.

“The night we were all shot,” Scottie said. “Somebody came to the Oakes's house. Do you know who it was?”

Bowles caught on now. His eyes flared, unsure of himself. Then he righted the ship, and he pumped Scottie's hand once. “No. I don't know anything about that.”

He turned to me. “It was good to finally meet you, Cal. Why don't you two stay for the party? Enjoy yourselves.”

“That's a nice offer,” I said. “Maybe we can talk some more.”

“I'd like that.”

Bowles was drifting toward the bedroom, and Markaris had moved to the door. He opened it and said a few words to Carl. Then he all but shoved Scottie and me into the hallway.

Carl led us down the stairs and out through the service kitchen. We passed the main portico and could see the patio where the guests were. Behind the fountains, the cypress trees with their planters had been rolled out of the way, revealing a thirty-foot-tall movie screen. Technicians were making adjustments to the lighting and wiring.

Scottie stepped forward, and Carl blocked him with his arm. “No,” was all he said.

“Mr. Bowles said we could go to the party.”

“No room at the tables,” Carl said. “All seats are preassigned.” He shrugged pleasantly. “Mr. Bowles likes to be polite, but planning isn't his thing.”

At that moment people turned and looked up at the second-floor balcony. Ned Bowles appeared and gave a full-arm wave. “Is this thing on?” He tapped his chest, and hidden speakers around the patio gave a muffled
thud thud
. “Welcome everybody. I hope you've brought your appetites.” A titter ran through the crowd. “We've got prime rib from Japan and pit-roasted pork.” He paused for emphasis. “And we've got a surprise for you.”

Bowles pointed across the patio. “Ladies and gentlemen, your friend and mine.”

The movie screen flickered and popped to life, a beaming close-up of the President.

“Ned, you ol' hound,” the President's Wyoming drawl boomed through the speakers. “And everybody else—how y'all doin'?”

The crowd broke into sustained applause. Carl clapped along with them.

“Hey, sweetie,” the President said, “come on in here.” The first lady appeared next to him, giving her trademark Kewpie-doll wave. “I hear it's a beautiful evening out there in the country.” He tugged his bow tie. “And I've got to wear this monkey suit to keep our Kiwi friends happy.”

Everyone laughed.

“Seriously, I wanted to thank all of you for the help you've given us—and will
continue
to give us.” More laughter. “I hope to see every one of you at the inauguration party next January.”

He raised a glass that looked like champagne. The first lady had one too. All the guests on the patio scrambled to find theirs. “Ned?” said the President.

“Yes sir,” Bowles replied. He lifted his own flute. “To the inauguration!”

Everyone drank, and the picture on the screen dissolved, pixel by pixel.

Bowles let the crowd begin to murmur then tapped his microphone again. “OK, you know what comes next. Checkbooks out!” There were light chuckles and a few groans. “Come on,” he said. “You didn't expect to get away with five thousand a plate, did you?”

Carl turned to us. “Unless you're going to make a contribution—” He motioned down the long driveway.

“No ride this time?” I said.

Carl continued to smile. “Apparently not.”

THIRTY-SIX

T
he two guards had retreated to the polo field where they kept an eye on us as we walked by. My car was the only one in the turnaround. As we walked up, Scottie said, “Are you going to yell at me?”

“Why?”

“Maybe I shouldn't have asked those questions, especially about somebody being at the house that night. I didn't want to let them off . . . you know.”

“Without throwing that in their faces?”

“I guess that's it.” He gave me a hangdog glance.

“I'm not going to yell at you. I would've asked the same things, just not then, not that way.”

“It's OK then?”

“Sure. I doubt we'll talk to Bowles again, but I don't think that was the end of it.”

A rumbling sound came from behind us, and we turned. “See what I mean?”

Howard Markaris lurched out of the driveway on the golf cart and barreled down the road. He skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust.

“I'm glad I caught you two.” He climbed out. “I'm sorry about the party. Ned means well, but he's not—”

“A planning guy,” I said. “We heard.”

“Glad you understand. I wanted to thank you for coming. Honestly, I didn't feel it was a good idea, dredging all that stuff up about your mother. But Ned's OK with it. He wanted to get some things off his chest, and you were the best one to talk to. You too, Scott. Can I call you Scott?”

Scottie shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Markaris looked at me. “There was a favor I wanted to ask. Well, it's Ned really. That man I said hello to on the way in tonight—Til Seagal. His daughter is seventeen, a student at Sidwell in DC. She's had problems for a while now, depression, some drug issues. We were hoping you could take her on as a patient.”

“My schedule is kind of tight right now,” I said.

“It would mean a lot to Til. Ned, too. He's Elyse's godfather.”

“I'll see what I can do,” I said.

Markaris smiled. “Great. I'll have her father call you next week. And don't be afraid to charge the full load. Til can afford it.”

He got back in the golf cart. “This has my personal cell number and e-mail.” He handed us each a business card. “If there's anything we can do for you, please call.” He gave an abrupt laugh. “You get old like Ned and me and you realize there's not much more to life than doing right by your friends.”

He fired up the cart and looked at the sky. “It's gorgeous out here isn't it? And I've got things to take care of. You boys enjoy your evening.” He tapped two fingers to his brow in a salute and roared past the driveway and on down the road.

Scottie scowled at the business card. “What was that all about?”

“Don't you feel all warm and fuzzy?”

“Not really.”

“Then you're a good man, Scottie Glass.”

After we were in the car and underway, Scottie said, “Did you see the hole in his sock?”