Total Control (51 page)

It was seven-fifteen in the morning and Lee Sawyer had just closed his eyes when the phone rang. He flopped a big hand over and picked it up.

"Yeah?"

"Lee?"

Sawyer's groggy brain snapped into high gear and he sat up.

"Sidney?"

"I don't have much time."

"Where are you?"

"Just listen!" She was once again standing at a pay phone in Penn Station.

He switched the phone to his other ear as he threw the bedcovers off. "Okay, I'm listening."

"A man just tried to kill me."

"Who? Where?" Sawyer sputtered as he grabbed a pair of pants off the bed and started to shove them on.

"I don't know who he is."

"Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

Sidney looked around at the crowded train station. A number of New York's finest were in attendance. Problem was, they were the enemy now too. "Yes."

Sawyer let out a deep breath. "Okay, what's going on?"

"Jason sent an e-mail to our house after the plane crash. There was a password in that e-mail."

"What?" Sawyer started to sputter again. "Jesus Christ, an e-mail, you said?" Sawyer's face was now blood-red. He stamped around the room, throwing on a shirt, socks and shoes while holding the cordless phone.

"I don't have time to tell you how I eventually received the e-mail, only that I now have it."

With a massive effort at self-control, Sawyer managed to calm down. "Well, what the hell did it say?"

From the pocket of her coat, Sidney pulled out the single sheet of paper containing the e-mail. "Do you have something to write with?"

"Hold on."

Sawyer ran into the kitchen and snatched a piece of paper and pen from a drawer. "Go ahead. But make sure you give it to me exactly as it appears."

Sidney did so, including the absence of spaces between certain words and the decimal points segregating portions of the password exactly as they appeared on the printed page she was holding.

Sawyer stared down at what he had written. He went back through it again with her for accuracy.

"Do you have any idea what this message means, Sidney?"

"I haven't had much time to focus on it. I know that Jason said it was all wrong, and I believe him. It is all wrong."

"But what about this disk? Do you know what's on it?" He quickly read the message again. "Did you get it in the mail?"

Sidney hesitated and then said, "I haven't yet."

"Is the password for the disk? Is it an encrypted file?"

"I didn't know you were such a computer expert."

'Tm just full of surprises."

"Yes, I believe it is."

"When do you expect to get it?"

"I'm not sure. Look, I have to go."

"Wait a minute. The guy who tried to kill you. What'd he look like?"

She gave him a description. The thought of the maniacal blue eyes made her shudder. Sawyer wrote it down. "I'll run it through the system and see what comes up." He jolted upright. "Wait a minute, I've got you under surveillance. What the hell happened to my guys? Aren't you at your house?"

Sidney swallowed hard. "I'm not exactly under surveillance right now. At least not by your people. And no, I'm not at my house."

"Then would you mind telling me where you are?"

"I've got to go."

"The hell you do. Some creep just tried to punch your clock, my guys are nowhere on the scene. I want to know what's going on," he raged.

"Lee?"

He calmed down slightly. "What?" he said gruffly.

"Whatever happens, whatever you encounter, ! want you to know that I haven't done anything wrong. Nothing." She choked back some tears and added softly, "Please believe that."

"What are you talking about? What the hews that supposed to mean?"

"Good-bye."

"No! Wait!" The phone clicked in his ear and he angrily slammed it down. He looked at the message and then put it down on the table next to the phone. He bent over. His knees felt wobbly, his stomach more upset than normal. He went into the bathroom and gulped down some liquid Maalox. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he returned to the kitchen, picked up the piece of paper he had written the e-mail down on and sat down at the small table. He silently mouthed the words as he read them. Watch your typing. The first portion of the message seemed to suggest that Archer had sent the message to the wrong person. Sawyer read the recipient's name and then the sender's. Sidney said Jason had sent the e-mail ro their house. ArchieJW2. That had to be Jason Archer's e-mail name, his last name and initials. Then ArchieKW2 was the person the message had initially gone to. Jason Archer had hit the K instead of the J, that seemed clear enough. ArchieKW2 had sent the message back to the sender with a message about the mistake, but in doing so had actually delivered it to the intended destination: Sidney Archer.

The reference to the Seattle warehouse made sense. Jason had evidently run into some serious trouble with whomever he was meeting.

The exchange had somehow gone bad. All wrong? Obviously, Sidney had pounced on it as proof of her husband's innocence.

Sawyer wasn't so sure about that. All backwards? That seemed to be an awkward phrase. Next, Sawyer stared at the password. Jesus, Jason was truly a brain if he could pull that long a password off the top of his head. Sawyer could make no sense out of it. He squinted and parked his face closer to the paper. Jason obviously had not had the opportunity to finish the message.

Sawyer stretched his kinked neck from side to side and leaned back in his chair. The disk. They had to get the disk. Or, more accurately, Sidney Archer would have to get it. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing phone. Certain it was Sidney calling back, he snatched it up.

"Yeah?"

"Lee, it's Frank."

"Christ, Frank, can't you ever call during normal business hours?"

"It's bad, Lee. Real bad. Law firm of Tyler, Stone. The under ground garage."

"What is it?"

"Triple homicide. You better get down here."

Sawyer put the phone down. Sidney's last words to him had just taken on real meaning. Sonofabitch.f The street leading into the underground parking garage was a sea of red and blue lights as police and emergency vehicles parked everywhere.

Sawyer and Jackson flashed their badges at the security line.

A concerned-looking Frank Hardy met them just inside the entrance and led them to the lowest level of the garage, four stories underground, where' the temperature in the garage was well below freezing.

"Looks like the murders took place very early this morning, so the trail's reasonably fresh. The bodies are in good shape, too, except for some extra holes in them," Hardy said.

"How did you find out about it, Frank?"

"The firm's managing partner, Henry Wharton, was notified by the police in Florida, where he's on firm business. He called Nathan Gamble; Gamble, in turn, immediately informed me."

"So I take it whoever got bumped was affiliated with the law firm?" Sawyer asked.

"You can see for yourself, Lee. Everybody's still here. But let's say Triton has a particular interest in these murders. That's why Warton called Gamble so fast. We also just found our that the security guard at Tyler, Stone's office in New York was murdered early this morning."

Sawyer stared at him. "New York?"

Hardy nodded.

"Anything else on it?"

"Not yet. But there were reports of a woman running out of the building about an hour before the body was discovered."

Sawyer digested this new development as the men walked through the throng of police and forensics personnel to the driver's side of the sleek limo. Both doors were open. Sawyer observed the print technicians completing their dusting of the limo's exterior. A crime scene photographer was snapping away, while another technician was filming the area with a video camera. The medical examiner, a middle-aged man wearing a white dress shirt with shirtsleeves rolled up, tie tucked inside the shirt, and sporting plastic gloves and a surgical mask, was consulting with two men wearing dark blue trench coats. Then the two men walked over to join Hardy and the FBI agents.

Hardy introduced Sawyer and Jackson to Royce and Holman, a pair of D.C. homicide detectives. "I've briefed them on the bureau's interest in the case, Lee."

"Who found the bodies?" Jackson asked Royce.

"Accountant who worked in the building. Arrived a little before six. His parking space is down here. He thought it was odd to see a limo here at this hour, particularly since it was blocking a bunch of other parking spaces. The glass on the vehicle is all tinted, as you can see. He tapped on the door, got no response. So he opened the passenger door. Bad decision. I think he's still upstairs puking. At least he managed to call it in."

The men moved over to the limo. Hardy motioned for the FBI agents to have a look. After peering inside the front and back, Sawyer looked up at Hardy. "Guy on the floor looks familiar."

"He should be: Paul Brophy."

Sawyer looked over at Jackson.

"Gentleman in the backseat with the third eye is Philip Goldman," Hardy stated.

"RTG's counsel," Jackson said.

Hardy nodded. "Victim in the front seat is James Parker, an employee of the local RTG subsidiary; the limo is registered to RTG, by the way."

"Hence, Triton's interest in the case," Sawyer said.

"You got it," Hardy said.

Sawyer leaned back in the limo and studied the wound on Goldman's forehead before scanning Brophy's body. Over his shoulder, Hardy continued, his tone calm and methodical. He and Sawyer had worked innumerable homicides together. At least here all body parts were intact. They had viewed many where that was not the case. "All three died from gunshot wounds. Appears to be heavy-caliber, fired from close proximity. Parker's wound is a contact one. Brophy's looked to be a near-contact, the little I was able to see of it. Goldman probably bought it from about three feet, maybe more, considering the burn pattern on the forehead."

Sawyer nodded in agreement. "So the shooter may have been in the front seat. Took out the driver first, Brophy next, and then Goldman last," he ventured.

Hardy didn't look convinced. "Maybe, although the killer could have been sitting next to Brophy, facing Goldman. Popped Parker through the partition opening, shot Brophy and then Goldman, or vice versa. We'll have to wait for the autopsy to get the exact trajectory of the shots. That may give us a better idea of the order." He paused and then added, "Along with some other residue." The interior of the limo was indeed a grisly sight.

"Got an approximate time of death yet?" Jackson asked.

Royce checked his notes. "Rigor hasn't peaked yet--far from it, actually. Lividity isn't fixed either. They're all in similar stages of postmortem, so it looks like they all bought it at roughly the same time. Coupled with the body temp, ME just gave me a preliminary of four to six hours."

Sawyer checked his watch. "Eight-thirty now. So anywhere between two and four this morning."

Royce nodded.

Jackson shivered as a cold draft swept down on them when the elevator doors opened to emit additional police. Sawyer grimaced as he watched clouds of breath floating everywhere. Hardy smiled. "I know what you're thinking, Lee. Nobody screwed with the air-conditioning like with your last corpse, but as cold as it is down here--"

"I'm not sure how accurate that time of death is going to be,"

Sawyer finished for him. "And I feel pretty certain that every minute we're off is gonna be real significant."

"Actually, we've got an exact time of entry for the limo into the garage, Agent Sawyer," Royce volunteered. "Access is limited to those having valid key cars. The garage's security system records who enters by the individual card used to access the premises. Goldman's card was entered at one-forty-five this morning."

"So he wouldn't have been here long before it all went down," Jackson ventured. "At least it gives us a benchmark."

Sawyer didn't answer. He rubbed his jaw as his eyes continued to dart around the crime scene. "Weapon?"

Detective Holman pulled out an object enclosed in a large sealed plastic bag. "One of the uniforms found this in a nearby sewer drain.

Luckily it had gotten hung up on some debris lodged in there or we might never have found it." He handed the baggie to Sawyer.

"Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter. Hydra-Shok rounds. Serial numbers intact. Shouldn't be much trouble tracing it. Three rounds short of a full clip. And we've preliminarily accounted for a total of three wounds in the victims." All of the men could easily see the traces of blood on the pistol, which was natural enough if it had been used to perpetrate a contact wound. "Sure looks to be the murder weapon," Holman continued. "Shooter picked up the ejected shell casings, but the slugs appear to still be in all the victims, so we'll get a definitive match from ballistics depending on projectile deformity."

Even before he was handed the pistol, Sawyer had already noted it. So had Jackson. They looked at each other with a sinking feeling: the cracked grip.

Hardy noticed the exchange. "You got something?"

Sawyer sighed. "Shit," was all he could think to say at the moment.

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, looked over at the limo and then back at the murder weapon. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure this gun belongs to Sidney Archer, Frank."

"What was that name again?" Both homicide detectives piped in almost simultaneously.

Sawyer filled the detectives in on Sidney's identity and connection to the law firm.

"Right, the paper ran a story on her and her husband. I knew the name was familiar. That explains a hell of a lot," Royce said.

"How's that?" Jackson asked.

Royce consulted his notebook. "The front entrance ro the building also tracks who enters and leaves after hours. One-twenty-one this morning, guess whose security card was entered?"

"Sidney Archer's," Sawyer said with a weary tone.

"Bingo. Damn, husband and wife. Nice couple. We'll get her, though. Bodies are fresh, not too much of a head start." Royce sounded confident. "We've already lifted a slew of partials from the limo. We'll run them against the dead men for elimination purposes and then focus on the remaining ones."