Part 25 (1/2)
”Figure of speech. Don't worry, Archer Lowell's picture will be every place you want it to be.”
”Great. Things should start to heat up real soon.” Miranda nodded. ”Maybe, with luck, we'll be able to track him down and-”
”Not we.” John shook his head.
”What do you mean, 'not we'?” She frowned.
”I'm taking you off the case,” he told her.
”What?” she said, stricken.
”Too dangerous,” John said.
”John, if you're thinking about what Josh Landry said, about me possibly being the third victim, I appreciate that you're concerned-”
”Don't even try to talk me out of it. I want you as far from the action here as I can get you. This guy has turned out to be so much smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He got to Unger; he got to Landry. I can't take the chance that he'll find a way to get to you, too.” He set his jaw. ”I'm sorry, Miranda. You're off the case.”
She opened her mouth to protest, and he said, ”Besides, I need you someplace else right now.”
”Sure you do,” she said dryly. ”Counting incoming flights at Reagan International, no doubt.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he continued, ”I just heard from Genna.”
Her head shot up.
”Is she out of the compound?”
”Yes. She should be leaving Wyoming as we speak.” He paused for a moment, then added, ”With the Douglas girl. This is going to be really hard on everyone. Annie, her sister, and even harder on the child. For seven years, this girl has been told that her mother was dead. This isn't going to be a pretty reunion.”
”What do you want me to do?”
”Jules Douglas has gone to great pains over the past seven years to hide that girl. He's not going to give her up now without a fight.” John's voice was tight. ”I want you and Will on Mara and her daughter like white on rice. Aidan's already on the scene. Douglas will be coming after her, and I want him taken down and brought in. Preferably alive. But if not, well, do what you have to do.”
Will's phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket to check the caller ID.
”Excuse me,” he said to John, ”but I need to take this. . . .”
He held the phone to his ear, listening to the caller, then paced five or six steps off to the right, then back again. After he'd disconnected the call, he turned to Miranda and John.
”That was Evan Crosby,” he told them.
”He's figured out where Channing, Giordano, and Lowell hatched their plan?” Miranda asked.
”He found the deputy who put them all in the same room while the courthouse was on lockdown. He told Evan that the men were in there for hours, alone. Plenty of time to work out a plan like theirs.”
”Did he mention a fourth man?” Miranda looked hopeful.
”No. He was adamant there were just the three of them. Later that day, the charges against Channing were dismissed and he was released.”
”He was brought in on a warrant that turned out to be a different Curtis Channing, if I recall correctly?” John asked.
”Right. But Evan had other news for us as well.” Will paused. ”The bullet used to kill Unger had a match in drugfire.”
”To . . . ?” Miranda asked curiously.
”To the bullets that killed Vince Giordano's wife and sons.” Will nodded slowly. ”Think about that for a long minute.”
”I am.” Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. ”How the h.e.l.l could that be . . . ?”
”I think we need to ask Vince Giordano that question.” Will turned to John. ”That is, if you think there's time before Genna arrives with Mara's daughter.”
”There's time.” John nodded. ”I'm still not sure where the reunion is going to take place. I'm leaving that up to Annie. She may be the girl's aunt, but she also has a background in psychology. I'm sure she'll know what's best under the circ.u.mstances. You go ahead and talk to Giordano. And let me know what he has to say. I'm as curious as you are. . . .”
”So, Archie, you sure you don't want none of this?” Burt sat at the desk in the small motel room, the open pizza box in front of him.
”No. You eat it.” The thought of food made Archer want to hurl. Everything about this entire day, from the minute he'd opened his eyes till now, seeing the pizza in front of him, had made him want to hurl.
”Put the television back on,” Burt told him. ”The news oughta be coming on again soon.”
”I don't wanna see it again,” Archer all but moaned. ”I saw it twice already.”
”Put it on anyway.”
Archer found the remote and turned on the television. The tape taken from a helicopter that hovered over Landry's barn and fields was on again. The same tape the networks had been running over and over all afternoon.
”. . . though police are still not giving any information as to motive,” the anchor's voice spoke above the sound of the helicopter's blades.
A shot from a handheld camera on ground level showed numerous law enforcement agencies on the scene.
”Hey, look at that, Archie. You got 'em all running around like chickens with their heads cut off, d.a.m.ned if you don't.” Burt's laugh was raw and loud. ”This was one important dude you wasted, man. I had no idea he was such a big shot.”
”Yeah. He was famous.” Sicker still, Archer went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Burt took the slice of pizza he was chewing and moved to the end of the bed closest to the TV. He turned the sound up, clearly enjoying the play-by-play. The police think the killer waited in the barn, yada yada yada.
He moved back slightly on the bed and, in doing so, knocked Archer's jacket to the floor. He glanced down and saw the cell phone he'd loaned Lowell the week before slide out from the pocket. When he leaned over to pick it up, he noticed it was turned on. He held the phone in his hand for a long minute, thinking.
Then he hit the scroll b.u.t.ton, looking for the last number dialed.
Cahill, M. 410-555-1143.
Burt stared at the phone.
Cahill, M.
As in Cahill, Miranda. Special agent, FBI.
What the f.u.c.k . . . ?