Under Cover of Darkness (14 page)

"Didn't surprise me."

She paused. "Is that because you had something to do with it?"

"You mean, all that abuse talk?"

"You know what I mean."

"Not me, sweetheart."

"You were pretty fixated on the alleged abuse when we interviewed Mr. Wheatley. Are you saying you've let it go?"

"I never let anything go till I have my killer."

"Does that mean Gus Wheatley is a suspect in your eyes?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Look, I don't need to tell you that if Gus Wheatley is a suspect, that changes everything about the way we have to deal with him. So I'd like to know: Are you or are you not exploring a possible connection between the abuse and Beth's disappearance?"

"Depends on what you mean by exploring."

"I don't have time to play word games with you."

"No games. No suspects. Let's say it's just a theory at this point."

She closed her eyes, frustrated. "I think you're getting sidetracked."

"I think you're overstepping your role. I don't need the FBI to play Sherlock Holmes. So far all we asked for was
a p
sychological profile of the killer from one of your experts."

"And I can tell you that when Victoria Santos completes her profile, those abuse allegations aren't likely to fit anywhere in the FBI's thinking."

"Maybe they should."

"Dick, listen--"

"No, you listen. Are you going to tell me that an FBI profile has never been wrong?"

Andie was silent.

"I didn't think so," he said. "I thank you for your call. If I need anything more from you, I'll be in touch."

The tine clicked before she could respond. She slammed down the receiver and fell back in her chair. Idiot.

Gus was encouraged when he left the staff meeting. The show of support was heartening. At least he wasn't totally alone.

Before he made it through the lobby, however, he was called to an emergency meeting of the executive committee. He assumed they wanted to ask how much time he would take off and what the firm could do to help. It was a nice gesture, prompted no doubt by the outpouring of support from the staff. His high-ranking partners were never to be outdone, even if it meant having to extend an act of kindness.

He headed to the north conference room to meet the committee. It was an interesting choice of venue, the only conference room with a round table. No one could sit at the head, Gus's usual position.

"Hope I haven't kept you all waiting," said Gus as he entered.

In unison they mumbled something to the effect of "no problem." Martha was seated on the far side of the table, her back to the window. Beside her was the chairman of the litigation department, and next to him was the chairman of the corporate department. Buster Ullman was standing at the window, taking in the view. He was the firm's administrative partner, the whip cracker and keeper of the purse. He tracked each lawyer's "productivity," making sure they billed the requisite hours, sent out their invoices on time, and collected the hours they billed. A phone call from Ullman was like an audit letter from the IRS.

Upon Gus's arrival, the entire five-member executive committee was present.

"Have a seat:' said Ullman. The tone was serious. Gus pulled up one of the empty chairs opposite Martha.

Ullman remained standing. "I assume you know why we called this meeting."

"You want to help find my wife?"

He coughed. "Well, we do hope the police are making progress on that. But the immediate focus of this committee has to be those things that are within our power and control."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we have to deal with the potential public and client relations problems caused by that newscast last night."

Anger churned inside--though he wasn't totally shocked. "My wife is missing, and you want to talk public relations?"

"Please don't put it that way."

"What way?"

Ullman stepped closer. "This is a personal tragedy for you. We're all very sorry. But somebody has to make sure this personal tragedy doesn't turn into a firm crisis."

Gus glanced at the others at the table, fixing last on Martha. "Is that the way you all feel? My personal life is a liability to the law firm?"

They were silent. Ullman said, "This can't come as a total surprise to you, Gus. We went through this same discussion five years ago. An allegation of spouse abuse agains
t t
he managing partner of this law firm can have serious ramifications. Clients could fire us. Female recruits could fall off. Bad press follows. And so forth."

"None of those things happened the last time."

"No. But until last night no one knew that Beth had actually filed a formal complaint."

Gus felt like lashing out, but he thought before he spoke, measuring his words. "After all this time, don't you find it peculiar that Action News somehow got wind of that complaint?"

"Peculiar? I don't follow you."

"When this whole thing started five years ago, I was upfront about it. None of it was true, but for some reason Beth had accused me of abuse. I brought it to the attention of this committee just in case it became public."

"You said she had told a girlfriend that you had hit her. You didn't tell us she had filed a formal complaint."

"She withdrew the complaint the day after she filed it. Because it simply wasn't true. We put it behind us, never really talked about it again. Very few people knew it had ever been filed. In fact, I could probably name those people on one hand. Maybe even one finger." He was looking right at Martha.

She glared in return. "You're out of line, Gus."

"Am I?"

Ullman intervened. "Well, let's not make this personal. All we're saying is that we are truly sorry about your personal situation. But this law firm can't stop operating because of it."

"It hasn't stopped. I've been away for three days." "And you will undoubtedly be away longer."

"I'm sure I will."

"Good. I'd hoped you would be reasonable about this." "Reasonable about what?"

"About the appointment of an interim managing partner. Someone to take over in your absence."

Gus smelled a political coup, with his own blood on the rug. He knew that under the partnership agreement it would take four votes to replace him. He needed his own vote and one other. He glanced at Martha. She looked away. After that "soul mate" fiasco yesterday morning it was clear he didn't have her vote.

Ullman said, "I nominate Martha Goldstein to serve as interim managing partner."

Gus did a double-take. Boy, did he not have her vote. "Second," said another.

"All in favor?" said Ullman.

It was unanimous. Gus stewed in silence.

Ullman said, "Try to be objective, Gus. Surely you can see the wisdom of putting a woman at the helm when the existing managing partner is getting bad press about wife-beating allegations."

He rose slowly and quietly. "This firm can have whoever it wants at the helm." He glared at each of his partners around the table, then finally at Martha. "And in this case, you deserve what you're getting."

He turned and left the room, slamming the door on the way out.

Chapter
Sixteen.

Andie allowed herself a mid-morning refill. She needed the caffeine, but it was definitely a trade-off. Coffee never used to bother her stomach, but the one-two punch of a serial killer investigation on the heels of her own death at the altar had apparently changed her constitution.

The phone rang as she settled into her desk chair. She started, spilling a full hot cup across the papers on her desk. She was just about to phone Gus, and she had the strangest feeling it was him beating her to the punch. Not too jittery this morning, are we?

The phone kept ringing. She frantically soaked up the hot coffee with a too small napkin and grabbed the phone with the other hand. "Henning," she answered.

"Is this Agent Henning of the FBI?"

It was a woman's voice. Andie lifted a coffee-soaked memo by the corner, pitching it in the trash like a dead animal. "Yes, it is."

"You don't know me, but I'd like to talk to you about the disappearance of Beth Wheatley."

She snapped to attention. "I'm listening."

"I don't know how important this will be to your investigation, but it's important for me to get a few things out in the open."

"What kind of things?"

The line crackled with her sigh. "Let's not do this on the phone. If I'm going to put my trust in someone, I prefer to do it in person."

"That's fine. We can use my office. Or I can meet you somewhere."

"How about Waterfront Park? Say around twelve-thirty?"

"Sure." She made a note in her coffee-soaked appointment calendar. "You know, I assumed from your tone that you were calling anonymously, so I didn't ask who you were. But since we're meeting face to face, you want to give me your name?"

"Only if you'll agree not to tell anyone we talked." "Why is that of concern to you?"

"You'll understand when we meet."

"All right. I'll do my best to accommodate you." "What does that mean?"

"It means that if all goes well, I won't reveal your name unless a court orders me to."

"I guess that's good enough."

"So what is your name?"

She paused. "I'll tell you when we meet. Wouldn't want you doing any homework on me beforehand. It doesn't do anyone any good to come into a meeting like this with preconceived notions."

This was a strange one. "Okay. How will I recognize you?"

"Just wait by the entrance to Pier 57. I know what you look like."

It was a little creepy, the way she had said that. "Okay. See you at half-past."

"See ya."

Andie disconnected with her finger, then quickly dialed Isaac Underwood. She got his voice mail. "Isaac, it's Henning. Got a source on the Wheatley case that wants to meet around lunchtime. Just the two of us. I need backup t
o w
atch us." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the Jane Doe autopsy photo atop the files on her credenza.

"Just in case," she added.

Gus went through a thousand flyers in a single morning. He tacked them up on walls and billboards at bus stops, gas stations, grocery stores--anywhere someone might see them. Momentum and a blank mind kept him going. When he finished, one thought crept up on him: What if she had just walked out on him? That didn't seem likely. Not after last night's newscast. It was only logical that she would have called and at least put Morgan's mind to rest that her mommy was safe, no need to worry. Which meant the converse was true: there was reason to worry.

It was precisely that kind of worry that had driven him to the gun shop. Gus was no stranger to firearms. One of his clients was an avid skeet shooter, and Gus had discovered he was a natural on their first of many weekend outings. He had owned a pistol for home protection some years ago, until Morgan proved to be an overly curious toddler. Now seemed like a good time to replace the old 9mm Smith & Wesson. Hopefully, Beth would be home before the waiting period for handgun purchases elapsed. If not--if she was the victim of foul play--Gus and his daughter weren't going to be next. At least not without a fight.

As to Morgan, he had other worries as well. In the late morning he called Carla to see if they had talked all about him on the way to school. Despite her denials, Gus suspected that if the well hadn't already been poisoned, it was now bubbling over with toxins.

His flyer-posting campaign had started downtown and worked north, so he stopped for lunch in north Seattle near the University of Washington. An eclectic mix of bookstores, newsstands, pubs, shops, and inexpensive eateries lined University Way Northeast, the "Ave" as it was calle
d l
ocally. Gus stopped at Shultzy's Sausage, THE BEST OF THE WURST, according to the sign outside.

He ate his steamed bratwurst in silence, unfazed by the noisy students and business people at nearby tables. He hardly noticed the vagrant at the counter finishing off the last few bites of a hotdog some overstuffed patron had left behind. His worries were getting the better of him, making him irrational. He was kidding himself about the gun. If Agent Henning was right--if Beth was the victim of a serial killer--Gus would be no match for a psychopath who killed for sheer enjoyment. He had no specific reason to think he would come after him or Morgan, but there was no assurance that he wouldn't. If he was serious about protection, it was time to act serious.

He pulled his directory from his briefcase and scrolled through his client list. Gus could have called a dozen corporate executives who knew everything there was to know about private security. He settled on Marcus Mueller, a bona fide corporate mogul who hadn't gone anywhere without a bodyguard since fellow Seattle gazillionaire Bill Gates got hit in the face with a cream pie in Belgium. According to his secretary, Marcus was lunching with his wife at the Seattle Yacht Club. Yachting season didn't start until the first Saturday in May, but the salmon steaks in the clubhouse were flavorful year round.