Tell Me Lies: A completely addictive and unputdownable crime thriller (Detective Max Carter Book 1)

by Ed James

  Chapter Fourteen

  Now

  Holliday

  The Seattle Children’s Hospital. The place where hope dies.

  The burner cell started throbbing in Holliday’s pocket. He looked around and, for once, nobody was watching him. He dumped the cell in the trash and started pacing around the hospital waiting room, decorated like a spaceship, all white glass and chrome. Designer tables and leather chairs.

  He could hear other struggling families in adjacent rooms, lost in their own bubbles of grief. Bright daylight coursed through the tall windows, a double rainbow intersecting the view across Laurelhurst and over Lake Washington. Some days that’d seem like an omen. He collapsed into a leather couch, eyes shut.

  Then his iPhone throbbed in his jacket pocket.

  That’s how the feds traced us. He told me to ditch it, but I had to be the hero.

  When the feds pitched up, they made the cop flinch. Made him shoot at that madman. Hit Brandon. If I hadn’t lured the feds there, this would’ve been different.

  “Chris?”

  Holliday looked up at the voice. Megan. “They—”

  “I know.” She was standing in the doorway, hand on hip, face unreadable. She fixed a glare at a male FBI agent in a cheap suit. Looked like half his ear was missing. “I need a word with my husband.” She held the agent’s gaze until he nodded and walked off. Then she came over and perched on the sofa next to him. “What happened?”

  Holliday hesitated, trying to decide what the truth would do to her. Would she be on my side? Would she hate me for trying to save Brandon’s life? Would she tell the FBI?

  “Mr. Holliday?” The doctor appeared, wearing green scrubs. Spiky dark hair a few shades too dark to not be dyed. A long, long face, accentuated by a soul patch tucked under his bottom lip. “I’m Dr. Alex Benedict, one of the ER surgeons here.” He sat on the Chesterfield opposite and smiled at Megan. “I assume you’re—”

  “Megan Holliday.” She held out a hand, like Holliday had seen so many times before. Coquettish, like she could make any man eat out of that hand. “When can I see my son?”

  “Well.” Benedict dragged his top teeth over his soul patch, the beard hair rasping. “Brandon’s being prepped for surgery now and, based on my initial triage, he’ll be at least six hours, maybe more.”

  Megan closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “Are you going to save him?”

  “I’m not the sort of doctor to promise recovery.” Benedict repeated the teeth scratching. “My initial assessment is the bullet passed through his chest, which is potentially good news. Given he’s still alive that means it’s missed all vital organs. We’ve stabilized him, but…” He rubbed his stubble. “The bad news is there’s a lot of internal bleeding. Probably the—” He stopped himself. “Look. I won’t promise that I will save your son, but I will promise to try everything in my power. Okay?”

  “I’m hearing that a lot.” Megan folded her arms and let out a deep sigh. “So I can’t see him?”

  “Like I said, he’s being prepped for surgery.” Benedict checked the clock above their heads. “And I need to get going. Ask at the nurse’s reception for hourly updates, okay?” He hurried off across the foyer.

  “Reception.” Megan watched him go, then her head slumped forward. “Like this is a hotel.”

  “They charge enough.”

  She swung around to glare at him. “We’re going to spend every last penny saving his life. Okay?”

  “That’s not in any doubt.”

  Megan leaned over and let him hold her. “I just want to see our son.”

  “I know, but…” Holliday blinked back the image of his son lying in the car seat, blood trickling out of his chest. Could still hear the scream. Could still feel the weight of his body as he carried him over to the car hood. Then trying to… failing to… He gasped. “Trust me, you don’t want to see him. It’s—”

  “No.” Megan lurched to her feet, her mouth twisted into that rictus of rage and hatred he’d seen too many times, her perfect features distorted. How someone so beautiful can turn so ugly so quickly… “This is my grief, not yours.”

  “Meg, I’m just—”

  “Stop being a control freak!” Her shout rattled around the room. “You always have to try and make me into someone I’m not. Let me be angry. My kids have been kidnapped and someone shot my son!”

  Holliday couldn’t look at her. He slumped back in the chair and ran a hand down his face.

  “What’s going on in there?” She pinched his chin and tilted his face up so he couldn’t do anything but look at her. “I woke up and someone had taken my babies. I tried calling you.” Her lip quivered. “But you didn’t answer.”

  The iPhone vibrated in Holliday’s pocket again. He looked up at Megan, standing over him, still holding his chin. Decision time—own up or try to play this guy at his own game.

  “Why didn’t you answer the phone?”

  Holliday glanced away, focusing on the still life on the wall by the door. A half-eaten pear next to a bowl of oranges. His cell stopped vibrating. “I didn’t have my car and I’d sent the security away so—”

  “I need you to snap out of whatever is going on inside your head. You’re always the same, always pushing yourself to the limit, running on empty all the time, so when something happens there’s nothing left in the tank. Someone kidnapped our children. Brandon is dying in the ER. And they’ve still got Avery.”

  “I know that, Meg. They’re my kids too.”

  “What’s going on?” She clenched her jaw. “Are you lying to me?”

  “I swear I’m not. My car’s at home because I got Secret Service to escort me in because of the protest. But I didn’t need them. Said I’d get a cab home. Then I spoke to you and… I had to hail a cab. It all took time.”

  “Chris.” Megan took a long look at him, a frown twitching on her forehead. “Why were you there?”

  “What?”

  “The FBI agent said you were at this parking lot when… when Brandon got shot.”

  Holliday stared hard at her, right into her eyes. Kept his breathing level. “Meg, listen to me. Our son was shot. And I swear I don’t know why.” He got to his feet and smoothed down his pants. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  “I’ll be back soon, okay?” Holliday pecked Megan on the forehead and walked off.

  Holliday entered the bathroom and listened hard. Just the dripping faucets and a toilet tank filling in one of the stalls. He kicked the first door and it opened. Empty. Same with the second and third. He entered the last stall and locked the door behind him, sitting and listening to the white noise of the water filling.

  He held the iPhone in his hands. A missed call from a Seattle cell number, different from the one he’d called, different from the one that’d called him.

  I can still go to the feds and tell them what happened. Show them this call record.

  The phone rang again and Holliday hit answer without thinking.

  “Hello, Senator. I told you to ditch your phone.”

  Holliday leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the door. “Listen to me. My son is dying because of you.”

  “You know I didn’t shoot him, Senator. Don’t you? You were there, you watched the whole thing. You know the cop shot him. He panicked when the feds arrived. And you know the feds were there because they traced your cell. This is all on you. Listen to me. I’m in charge here. Okay? If I say something, you do it. Otherwise…”

  Holliday didn’t have anything to say. Just clutched the phone tight.

  “You know I mean business now. And you know I’ve still got Avery.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You’ve got a choice to make. But it’s not a coin toss. The odds aren’t equal. Choose wrong and the feds will never find me or your daughter’s body.”

  Holliday’s mouth went dry. Son of a bitch can’t mean it. “You won’t kill her.”


  “Don’t test me. You’ve seen what happens when I’m not in control of the situation.” He paused, a few seconds. Holliday focused on the sound of the dripping faucets. “If you help me, I’ll let your daughter go. But the factor that might tip the balance in that favor is that you were there when Brandon was shot. How do you explain that to the feds?”

  Megan was already asking me. The FBI agent was going to ask. And I don’t know how to explain it.

  “So, Senator. You’ve seen what happens when I don’t control the situation. Anything could happen the next time. And the next time it’ll be to Avery.”

  He’s right. There’s no way I can toss the coin and hope.

  “Time’s up, Senator. What’s it going to be? Trust the feds or work with me? Only one way your daughter lives.”

  Helping this asshole… But what if I go along with it, get him to the point where I can snare him and rescue Avery?

  Calm rushed up from Holliday’s feet, right up to his brain.

  “What’s it going to be?”

  Someone stepped into the bathroom, the faintest sound, barely a click. But the door mechanism squeaked. Definitely someone out there.

  Holliday killed the call without giving an answer.

  “Senator?” A knock on the stall door. “It’s Special Agent Carter. It’s time we spoke.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Carter

  Carter walked along the hospital corridor, felt like he was strolling through a high-end country club or a five-star hotel. He stopped outside the family room and listened. Silent inside. He opened the door and peered in.

  Megan Holliday sat on one of a pair of duck-egg-blue sofas, head in her hands. He knew the feeling, angry and powerless in the face of severe grief.

  No sign of her husband.

  Carter cleared his throat and made her look up.

  She sat back and ran a hand across her face, tears smudging her makeup. “They won’t let me see my son.”

  Carter took the Chesterfield opposite. “I understand how hard this is for you, but you need to trust the professionals.”

  “I have no faith in experts.”

  “It’s pretty common these days.”

  “Why are you talking to me instead of finding this animal? Do you think I’m involved?”

  Carter leaned forward on the sofa. “We still don’t know why your children were taken, Megan. How does your husband seem to you?”

  “You mean about why was he at that parking lot?” She waited for his nod. “I asked him, but he went to the bathroom.”

  “Is he being evasive?”

  “My husband’s always evasive. Doesn’t mean he’s lying. But…” She sighed, shaking her head.

  Holliday’s son was in the ER, fighting for his life. And he was there when Brandon was shot. Why?

  The Henry M. Jackson Federal Building to their home up near Harrison Ridge was, what, fifteen minutes, maybe twenty with traffic. Okay, so his car was at home, but he would’ve hailed a cab or an Uber.

  Instead, Holliday ended up in a parking lot in Bellevue, across the lake from his home.

  Definitely something going on here.

  Carter got up with a nod. “I’ll be back in a few, okay?”

  Carter stopped outside the bathroom. Play it cool, let him slip up. He eased the door open and stepped inside, keeping it quiet, listening hard. Two of the four faucets dripped into the sinks. Heavy breathing in stall four. Someone muttering, whether to themselves or a hushed phone call, he couldn’t tell. He padded over and caught the shine of Holliday’s shoes under the stall door. “Senator?” He thumped the door. “It’s Special Agent Carter. It’s time we spoke.”

  “Just a second.” The toilet flushed and the door opened. Too quickly, like he hadn’t been doing anything in there other than hiding. Holliday stood in the doorway, eyeing up Carter. Then he sloped off to the sink and washed his hands, slowly and methodically like he was the one scrubbing up for his son’s operation. “Have you found her?”

  “Not yet, sir. But I heard you talking in there.”

  Holliday started drying his hands with one of the clean towels piled up behind the sinks. Not paper here, just finest Egyptian cotton. “I talk to myself when I get stressed.”

  Carter leaned against the bathroom door. “That so?”

  “You don’t think my son getting shot might be stressful?”

  “I get it, Senator, believe me I do. And you have my deepest condolences. Trouble is, I’ve been wondering something. Why—”

  “I haven’t got the time for this.” Holliday’s hands were in his pants pockets. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my son—”

  “I’ve noticed. Your son was shot. I was there just after it happened. Stopped you attacking a police officer. Well, you got a good few blows in, but he’s not going to press charges.”

  “I should think so.”

  “What’s digging away at me is that you were there too.” Carter held his gaze. “Been running through this in my head, and I can’t figure it out.” He got out his service smartphone and went into the maps app. “See, you were here.” He pointed near Elliot Bay and all the famous Seattle landmarks. “Downtown.” He traced a route northeast along East Madison, then he cut up. “This is your home here. Very nice neighborhood, near the lake, but close enough to downtown.” He kept his eyes on Holliday, looking for any reaction. Nothing. He spread his fingers on the screen and zoomed out, then tapped on a location across the lake. “Trouble is, your son was shot over here. West Bellevue.”

  “Cut the Columbo act.”

  “I told you to come home, Senator. Instead, you went across the lake. Why?”

  “The taxi driver didn’t hear my instructions properly. I was too grief-stricken to notice.”

  “That so?”

  “The driver was Cuban, I think. Some Latino immigrant. Don’t get a lot in this state, thankfully.”

  Carter bristled at the casual racism. “I could believe that story, but the trouble is you happened to be at the exact spot where your son was shot.”

  “Listen, you little worm.” Holliday towered over Carter, trying to use his bulk to intimidate. “My son is in the ER!” He jabbed a finger at the door. “They’re operating on him right now, and you’re—”

  “Why were you in a parking lot in West Bellevue, Senator?”

  “I—” Holliday stepped back, his rage dissipating slightly. “I was—”

  “You were meeting the kidnapper, weren’t you?”

  Holliday leaned back against the sinks and shut his eyes. Didn’t have any defense. Just played the same card as back at the parking lot. More crocodile tears.

  “What did the kidnapper want from you, Senator?”

  Holliday muttered, “You don’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Holliday just shook his head. A guilty man, defeated. Owning up to his actions and their tragic cost.

  “Senator, when your wife woke up, she tried calling you. You didn’t answer. Why?”

  “I was in a congressional hearing. You can’t have cell phones going off in there.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You were meeting the kidnapper.”

  Holliday just clenched his fists.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t slap cuffs on you right now?”

  Holliday surged forward, stopping just short of Carter. “I know the director of the FBI!”

  Carter laughed in his face. “By all means, try and cover your complicity by putting my head on the block, Senator. It’s not going to find your daughter, is it?”

  Holliday stepped back into a combat stance, his old military training kicking in.

  Carter laughed at him. “Senator, quit the macho bullshit. What did the kidnapper want from you in exchange for your children?”

  Holliday was rocking back on his heels, like he was a snake coiled up and ready to strike.

  “You need to talk to me. Tell the truth. Are you being blackmailed?”

  Holliday lashed out, his
giant fist pounding toward Carter’s head. He stepped aside, caught the blow, and used Holliday’s momentum to push him over, the larger man cracking on the bathroom floor.

  Holliday lay there, breathing slow, shaking his head. “My daughter’s… My daughter’s…” His nostrils flared. “How can you understand?”

  “I’ve got a daughter.” Carter kept him on the ground. “Her name is Kirsty. She’s the same age as Avery. I’d do anything for her.”

  “Right. But nothing’s ever happened to her, has it?”

  “Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean you get away with opening up to blackmail.”

  “I’ll have your badge.”

  Carter applied more pressure. “Let me tell you a story. Instead of this job, I could’ve done anything else. I could’ve moved elsewhere and become SAC of some other field office. Boulder, Memphis, Austin. I’ve had offers. Could’ve worked in Quantico. But I didn’t. I chose this, chose finding missing children in Seattle. My objective is finding every single child that goes missing in this city or this state. I need to find them and reunite them with their families. And every time I don’t do that, it kills me. What you’re going through with Brandon? The next time I sleep, all I’ll think about is how I could’ve stopped it happening.”

  “But you’re just doing a job. This is my child. Her—”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Senator. You’re the one who could’ve stopped it. You could’ve told me you were being blackmailed, could’ve stopped your son getting shot.”

  Holliday tried to lash out with his elbow, but Carter had him.

  His cell rang. He got it out with his free hand—Special Agent in Charge Karen Nguyen. Never good news.

  “Are you going to answer that?”

  “Depends on whether you’re going to behave yourself.”

  “Let me up.”

  Carter released his grip and stepped away, eyes locked with Holliday as he stood up and dusted himself off. “Ma’am, I’m—”

  “Need you to come to the family room now, Max.” And she was gone.

  Carter sighed as he put his phone away. “One last chance, Senator—what did he want from you in exchange for Brandon?”