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

by Ed James

  “This isn’t my fault!”

  “You’re an animal! A lowdown stinking animal!”

  “What are you—”

  “Brandon died, Chris.” Tears streaked mascara down her face. She’d given up struggling. “He died an hour ago.”

  Holliday slumped back in his seat, toppling it back. He didn’t go over. I should’ve murdered Wickstrom when I had the chance.

  “This is on you, Chris!” Megan pulled off her wedding and engagement rings and threw them at him. “Our son died because of you, Chris. All the games you’ve played, all the stunts you’ve pulled over the years. You! Nobody else! You!”

  Spit hit his face.

  “Come on.” Nguyen grabbed Megan by the shoulder and took her away.

  Holliday crumpled forward, leaning against the desk.

  My daughter is missing.

  My son dead.

  I’m going to have to quit my seat.

  What else is left for me?

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Carter

  Two huge police officers were stationed outside Wickstrom’s room, both built like football stadiums.

  Carter let them inspect his shield. “How’s he been?”

  The older of the two just shrugged. “What’s that word, Marv?”

  “Catatonic?”

  “Right. Catatonic.”

  “That a medical opinion?”

  “Nah, dude’s just sat there.” He laughed. “Like when Marv’s staring at his phone on duty, know what I mean?”

  Marv looked like he wanted to kill his buddy. “The doc’s cleared him for interview. Minor concussion, but nothing’s broken.”

  “Thanks.” Carter entered the room and took in the view across the lake. For a man who’d abducted two kids, murdered two men, and blackmailed a senator, Wickstrom had a prime view overlooking Lake Washington and the university’s Husky Stadium, the sports field still glowing under the bright floodlights hours after the game. “Pay a lot of money for that vista if this was a hotel.”

  Wickstrom focused on his hands, like they were to blame for his predicament. “I’m not looking at it.”

  “Mason, this is your last chance to tell us where Avery is.”

  “You didn’t find her?”

  “No. I found Senator Holliday.” Carter took the seat next to the bed, sat there with his legs crossed. “And, because of your little hunt, what you found, what you learned, it’s ruined his career.”

  “What?”

  “He’s just resigned his seat.” Carter showed him the news story on his cell: SEN. HOLLIDAY QUITS: “I’M GOING TO FIND MY DAUGHTER.”

  Carter pocketed the cell. “Not that he’ll get much of a chance. We’ve charged him with corruption and a whole host of other lesser charges. He’s going to spend a good chunk of time in prison.”

  “Not enough, though.” Wickstrom snarled. “Guys like that don’t suffer from the justice system like the rest of us. He’ll be under house arrest or something. Minimum-security at worst. Then when he gets out, a few photo ops outside a church, handing out soup to the homeless, and he’ll be running for governor. People love a redemption story.” He focused on Carter for the first time since he entered the room. “Frank Vance showed me the video footage from the mission. Jacob died in his arms. I didn’t know his heart was defective. I couldn’t know. But the stress, that’s what killed him—soldiers grabbing his friend. Holliday, Vance, Youngblood. One of them, maybe all of them, they made it look like my son died warming up. Took the GrayBox operation completely out of the picture. Faked the documentation to make it look like Faraj went missing after school. But I saw them take him. That video. You have to get it.”

  “We’re doing what we can. Our security penetration only goes so far. GrayBox laptops use some pretty advanced tech.”

  “We got our answers, though. I had a hole in my gut because of what those assholes did to us. They killed my son. Might as well have shot him themselves. I don’t regret a thing.”

  “Mason, Brandon died.”

  “Shit.” Wickstrom ran a hand down his face. Rubbed at his forehead. Now that he saw the cost of his answers, maybe he did regret something after all. “I never meant for that to happen. The kid’s mother, she doesn’t deserve this. And that poor cop, the one who—”

  “Calhoun. He’s not doing too well. Hard to take shooting a child.”

  “That’s on me, then.” Wickstrom let out a sigh. “I accept the blame. I own it.”

  “We know you’re working with Layla al-Yasin. We know she has Avery.” Carter left a pause. “Where has she taken her, Mason?”

  Wickstrom just lay back on his bed, his thumbs dancing.

  “I’ve seen so many cases. Few like this, though. In those, where the abductors are trying to get something, they have a plan for afterwards. New IDs, new passports. Some likely destinations, places without extradition treaties back here.”

  Wickstrom let out a world-weary sigh. “We hadn’t thought too much about it. We talked about going to Alaska, but that’s about it.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “That was her job. Looking after the kids, monitoring the news, organizing the getaway. I’ve been tailing Megan and her kids for two months, day and night. That was my job.” Another sigh. “She could be on a flight right now. Could be in the building next door. I don’t know.”

  “With Avery?”

  Wickstrom shut his eyes. “She wasn’t supposed to take her.”

  “Do you know her new identity?”

  “No. Like I said, that was Layla’s job. She bought the fake passports off the dark web. I don’t even know how to get on, let alone buy stuff with bitcoin or whatever. They were in her house, taped to the inside of a drawer. Mine was John Mason, close enough that if someone saw me in the street it wouldn’t seem weird.” Wickstrom looked at Carter again, his eyes damp. “She didn’t tell me the name on her passport. Said it was Mexican. A Muslim woman finds it tough enough in Seattle. We’d talked about going to Alaska, Montana, or Wyoming. It’s all white-bread country. They don’t like Muslims there. They don’t much like Mexicans, either, but at least there were some, you know?”

  “Were you sleeping with her?”

  “Always comes down to that shit with you, doesn’t it?” Wickstrom shook his head. “I haven’t slept with anyone since my boy died. Not even my wife.” He sighed. “Not that she wanted to.”

  “And what do you want, Mason? Do you want to see Grace?”

  Wickstrom raised a shoulder, as close to a “Yes” as Carter was going to get.

  “Tell us where Layla has taken Avery, and you can see her. Otherwise, you can wait until you’re in jail.”

  “I genuinely have no idea.” Wickstrom sat forward on the bed and winced, his hand going to the bandages on his head. “Please, let me see my wife.”

  “That view across the lake—that’s probably the last thing you’ll see of the outside world, save for the prison transport. You’ve got your answers, sure, but that’s the cost.”

  “The part I hadn’t planned, the one thing I didn’t consider, was what this would do to Grace. They were her answers as much as mine or Layla’s. I planned to write to her when we got away. Tell her the truth, let her know what went down that day to our boy. Reassure her that the men who did it were all suffering. Then let her get on with her life, without me. Shutting off my feelings for so long means I shut myself off from her. She was going through the same torment as me. She tried to deal with it. Maybe if I hadn’t been so obsessed, maybe I could’ve helped and stopped her trying to take her own life. I can still remember the call. Standing in a waiting room at a hospital just like this. So lucky I still had health insurance. But so numb. I couldn’t help my wife, hadn’t helped her.”

  “And it didn’t shock you out of your search, did it? Just made you more obsessed. Made you want to hurt them more.”

  “Those bastards have paid for taking my son, but they took my wife too. And me. I died that day.
So did Grace. We just didn’t know.” Mason ran a hand over the bandage on his head. “Try walking a mile in my shoes.”

  Carter sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, squinting in the darkness. “Mason, tell me about Layla.”

  He made eye contact again, like he was letting Carter know he was for real, that this was the truth. “I’ve got my answers. I’ve got justice over who killed my son.”

  “Tell me about her, Mason. Help me find Avery, Mason.”

  He flinched, like he hated the way Carter kept using his name. But he kept his mouth shut.

  “Mason, you need to talk to me. You’re up against some very serious charges here. You don’t want to add another child’s death to that, do you?”

  He reached over to hit him, but Carter saw it way too early and grabbed his hands. Mason tried to fight him off, but he was weak like a day-old kitten. The painkillers sapped all his remaining strength.

  “You think what happened to you justified taking the law into your own hands, Mason?”

  “I don’t regret a thing.” Mason gulped, trying to stop the flood of tears. He lay there, shaking his head, looking like he was trying to stop himself from crying. Trying to crawl back into his cave again, where he didn’t feel anything, where he was numb.

  But it was hitting him. The pain of losing his son, of what happened to Grace, all of it. Everything.

  And kidnapping kids. Killing. Realizing he was a monster.

  Carter saw it all in those eyes.

  “Start with Layla’s husband.”

  “Kenny. Layla says he was a good guy. Worked in tech but hated his job, just wanted out, and something made him connect with his Muslim heritage. I don’t know what. She didn’t know either. Doubt he did. Got in with some bad dudes at the mosque.”

  “Terrorists?”

  “Not sure which faction, but they radicalized him. I know Islam is supposed to be a peaceful religion and all that, but any religion can be used by evil people to control the lost.” Mason blinked away tears. “Layla was worried about him, then one morning he just upped and left. She didn’t know where he went. Kicked up some shit with the guys at the mosque. They told her he flew over to Turkey and walked to Syria. The pilgrimage of the righteous, or some horseshit like that. Fighting the righteous fight, or whatever these nutjobs preach.”

  “Did she ever hear from him again?”

  “She didn’t.”

  “But her son did?”

  “She suspected so. Didn’t know how. Scoured his room for a cell phone or laptop, but nothing. And she was pissed. Kenny had left her son without a father. Then she didn’t even have a son. Your guys, the FBI, the agents investigating, thought his father had taken him.”

  “But she didn’t buy it?”

  “No.” Mason shook his head, grunting like he’d just made the pain ten times worse. He reached up to give himself another shot of morphine. “One morning, some army officer turned up. Told her that her husband died in an attack on an ISIS compound in Syria. Didn’t even have enough remains to bury.”

  “This was after Faraj went missing?”

  “Right. I mean, she thought maybe he did come back, maybe he picked up Faraj, maybe he took him back to Syria, but… It didn’t add up. So Layla tried to find out what really happened to her son. She spoke to the school principal, who confirmed the official story. Then she found me. Her son going missing the same day Jacob died…”

  Carter nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “Next time we met, Layla said she’d been on this website, found a story about Operation Opal Lance. Lasted a month, but it said a military exercise happened at Tang Elementary on October second. The day Faraj disappeared. The day Jacob died. Felt like too much of a coincidence.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We tried speaking to the soccer coach, but he was out of state. The principal said the dude was out sick, back home in the Midwest somewhere. Losing two kids was too much for him to bear. Layla tried to find him, but it was a dead end.”

  “Did you speak to anyone official?”

  “Layla spoke to Governor Duvall, but he brushed her off. She contacted Senator Holliday’s office, same deal. Congressman Delgado met her, to his credit, but we got nothing. So Layla got talking to this guy on some website called Bob Smith. She set up a group chat, and I talked to him as much as she did. Bob Smith knew a lot of stuff about it.”

  “You ever meet him?”

  “No.”

  “Did Layla?”

  “Can’t say for sure. You’ve got her laptop. You should be able to find out. He told us Holliday was the best person to use. We could take his kids, leverage them. Told us Holliday could access the information we needed.”

  “So Bob Smith put you onto Holliday in the first place?”

  “Right.”

  “So you decided to kidnap his children and get him to give you the answers?”

  “You’ve no idea how desperate we felt. I’d lost my son… Layla lost her husband as well… And it all just stank of corruption and greed and…”

  “You get any idea who Bob Smith was?”

  “Is he involved in this?”

  “Maybe.”

  “No, I don’t. Who is it?”

  “What happened to your son, to Layla’s son, it looks very much like Holliday was behind it or at least involved. He took a chunk of cash to arrange the mission to abduct Faraj. He seems to be complicit in covering up your son’s death.” Carter snorted. “What did Bob Smith tell you?”

  “Told us how Holliday proposed the operation as a bill in the Senate. It was supposed to be a Pacific States version of Operation Jade Helm from back in 2015. That was held in Texas, California, and Nevada, maybe a couple other states. He said there’s too much risk of the Pacific Northwest being overrun. The whole area was completely unprepared for an invasion. Russia, China, North Korea, even from outer space.”

  “Did Bob Smith ever mention Operation Honey Bear?”

  “No?”

  “Did Layla?”

  “What is it?”

  “It was the operation that killed Layla’s husband, among many others. They kidnapped Faraj, and it seems that they got his father’s location.”

  “Those bastards.”

  “Mason, I need you to help me find Avery Holliday. Her mother doesn’t deserve this grief.”

  “Her father does.” Mason stared hard at Carter. “I’ve got my answers. Frank Vance killed Jacob, and he paid for what he did. Same with Harry Youngblood. I got closure, but Layla didn’t. Hasn’t. The truth about her son is still out there. Nobody knows what happened to Faraj. Nobody cares but her and me.” He ran a hand over his face. “And if what you’re telling me is true, that Holliday covered up what happened, that he ordered the strike on Kenny? Then that’s why I’m at peace with Layla having Holliday’s daughter. Nobody will find her. Nobody will find Avery Holliday. An eye for an eye.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Two weeks later

  Monday, December 16, 2019

  Holliday

  Holliday couldn’t stay sitting, instead walking around the small interrogation room. Hard floors, lime-green walls. No recording equipment, just a desk for lawyers to consult with their clients.

  Today it wasn’t a lawyer seeing Holliday.

  “Please, Megan.” Holliday shut his eyes, trying to stop the tears. “I’m trying to find Avery.”

  “In here?” Megan scowled at him. She’d dressed down, jeans and blouse, no makeup, hair in a loose ponytail. She looked exhausted, even worse than he felt. “You think you can do anything in here?”

  “I know who has her.”

  “And what did the FBI say to that, huh?”

  “They…”

  “Either you haven’t told them, or they didn’t believe you. I know which one my money’s on.”

  “Megan, I can get her back.”

  “So do it. Don’t just sit there saying you can do this or that. Do something. Bring her back to me.”


  “My lawyer, I got his PI to dig into R—” He coughed. “Into the people who have her. He found something.”

  “So go to the FBI.”

  “I’ve already told them about him. They didn’t believe me.”

  “What do you expect me to do? I’ve been all over this city putting posters up. Every second I spend driving out here to see you is a second I’m not actively looking for my daughter.”

  “Megan, I’m begging you. Just listen to me. We can use this to—”

  “Chris, have a look at yourself. Our son’s dead, our daughter’s been missing for over two weeks now. You’ve lost your seat in the Senate. We’re losing the house, our whole life. It’s over, Chris. I need to get my head straight and I need to find Avery. If I don’t, then I…” She let out a slow breath. “I’ll start again somewhere else.” She burst into tears, raw emotion overcoming the precise control she normally had. She pushed back and stormed over to the door, then thumped hard. “I’ve got to organize Brandon’s funeral, Chris. He’s going in the ground Tuesday. Our son, Chris. Brandon. My baby boy.”

  “I’ll kill myself.”

  She looked over, mouth hanging open and trembling. Then she snarled at him. “Do it, Chris. I don’t care anymore. I just need to get my daughter back, and you’re no use to me.”

  The door opened.

  “Megan, I will do it.”

  She took one last look at him, then walked through the door.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Carter

  Carter sat and waited. A wide row of interview tables, split by glass windows, handsets connecting the sides.

  To his right, a couple argued over the phone, but he could only hear her side of it when she raised her voice. Trouble with their kids at school. A cycle of violence repeating itself in the next generation. While he couldn’t hear the other side, he knew the words: