The door opened, and Sam and Nate stepped inside. "I'm sorry," he said. "This isn't what I thought would happen."
"I know," Marisa said.
Sam and Nate flanked them, Nate sliding Marisa's hand into his. They must look ridiculous, four people and a baby lined up as if they were facing a firing squad.
Nate had left the door slightly ajar. Still, Kopp knocked.
"Come in," Marisa said.
He stepped inside. Kopp had aged in the eight years since she'd seen him last, but he still looked good. Tall, strong jaw, blue eyes, and light brown hair. The guy was still handsome.
He closed the door behind him, turned, and smiled. "Marisa, are you okay?"
She nodded. Her voice wouldn't work.
"Nate, step away, please."
Nate squeezed her hand, and she remembered what Sam had messaged to her earlier, that Kopp was suspicious of Nate.
"Nate's helping me."
"Humor me," he said. "Let's step outside and talk. Just you and me."
"If you're going to arrest me, just do it."
Kopp blew out a breath. "Fine. Everybody else step outside, and Marisa and I will stay in here. I want to talk to her privately."
Nate shifted forward, and the group formed a circle. "We've come this far," Nate said. "I think we have to trust him." He looked at Marisa. "What do you think?"
She swallowed and walked past Nate to join Kopp.
"Outside?" he clarified.
She nodded and led the way.
The screen door slammed behind them. She stopped by the blue truck. "Okay," she said. "Now what?"
"Tell me what happened in Mexico."
Her voice shook as she told him the story, beginning when she first got the email from Nate and ending at that moment.
When she was finished, Kopp nodded and stared into space. "Don't you think it's suspicious that Leslie and Nate showed up, and right after that, Ana and Leslie were kidnapped?"
"Nate doesn't believe I have the money."
"He says he believes you, but—"
"Not once has he suggested I confess and turn the money over. Not once."
"Okay." He processed. "Have you considered going to the FBI? They're very good at this kind of thing."
She shook her head, terror filling her. "He said not to. He said he'd kill them. I can't take that chance."
"You're not keeping quiet so you don't get arrested, right? Because I can help with that. I can't guarantee anything, but—"
"I don't care what happens to me." Her voice rose, and she could feel the panic rising like a flood. "I just want them back. Don't you get that?"
"I do," he said. "It's okay. I'm not going to do anything without your permission."
She swallowed and wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to hold herself together.
Birds chirped and squirrels ran across the dry leaves that littered the ground beneath the trees. Marisa turned and took a few steps between the cabins to look at the lake. Her fingers itched to sketch it. To paint it, even. Painting, drawing, sketching. Those had been her escape for years. Others turned to alcohol or drugs or food, but not Marisa. Those things held no pull for her. But to paint, to recreate something beautiful on a stretched canvas or a crisp white drawing pad.
She hadn't had a good set of paints in years. Hadn't wanted to spend the money, when she needed all her savings and more to pay for the adoption.
Ana.
Tears filled her eyes. They were wasting time. If Kopp wasn't willing to help her, what would she do?
She just wanted her daughter back.
He stepped beside her. "Sure is pretty here."
As if that mattered. As if anything mattered, without Ana.
"Are you going to arrest me?"
MARISA STEPPED INSIDE and found Sam and Nate standing in roughly the same spot as they'd stood when she'd stepped out.
Rae came from Nate's bedroom. "Johnny was late for his nap," she said. "I just laid him down. What happened?"
Marisa wiped the tears still flowing. "He's going to help us. He just had to get something out of his car."
"Thank God," Sam said.
Nate swallowed hard. "Let's sit."
A minute later, Kopp joined them at the table carrying a thick manila envelope. Brady was right behind him. Apparently they'd made introductions outside.
Kopp stopped behind the chair next to Sam and reached across to Rae. "Garrison Kopp."
She shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Agent Kopp. Reagan Thomas."
Kopp pulled out the chair and sat. "I'm not an agent anymore. Call me Garrison."
"Okay," Rae said.
Garrison looked around the table. "That goes for the rest of you, okay?"
They all nodded, and Brady sat beside his wife.
"What you got there, Garrison?" Nate asked.
"Information." He reached in his front pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He held it out to Nate. "You can have this back."
Nate took it. "Thanks." He nodded to the fat envelope. "Thought you didn't bring anything."
"I had to be sure Marisa was okay." He unclasped the folder and slid out a half-inch stack of papers. "These aren't official FBI files. Not allowed to take those. But I had a few unresolved cases when I retired. I typed up my own notes to help me remember, in case anything ever happened on them."
"Lucky for us," Marisa said.
"That's a lot of papers," Rae said. "You must have remembered a lot."
"This is also stuff I've collected in my spare time."
"Like?" Nate prompted.
He picked up the first section, bound with a paperclip. "I told you I had new information, and I do. Nothing earth-shattering. I'm not sure how much you remember, but only a couple of guys at the firm were aware of the fraud. Charles Gray, Vincent Depalo"—he nodded to Marisa—"and two other middle-management guys."
"And Jeremy Kinnison," Nate said. "But he cashed out before they got caught. He might have had access—"
"Wasn't Kinnison," Garrison said. "He was in the Bahamas when the money was stolen, and our computer geniuses proved the transfer was made from a desktop in the G&K offices."
"Whose computer?" Nate asked.
"Charles's, and we know he didn't do it. His whereabouts is accounted for that night." He flipped through his papers, then looked up. "Whose place is this? Could I have a glass of water?"
Sam stood. "Anyone else?"
Nobody spoke. She stepped around the bar into the kitchen. "Keep talking. I can hear you."
Garrison continued. "I've kept my eyes on the other two guys ever since. Burns managed to plead to a misdemeanor. He got another job right away and seems to be doing fine. I have no reason to believe he stole the money.
"Anderson was deeper in it. He skirted prison but pled to a felony. He couldn't get another job in banking. He bounced from lousy job to lousy job and finally ended up working at an auto body shop. He got a divorce. I assume his wife dumped him when he lost his job."
"You keep that close tabs on people?" Rae asked.
"I kept my eyes open. But also, I did some digging last night. I have no reason to believe Anderson stole the money. But he might have a good motive for kidnapping. A little payback for what it cost him."
Rae wrote the name on her notepad while Nate nodded. Maybe they were getting closer. A tiny surge of hope rose in Marisa's heart. Calling Garrison Kopp had been a good idea.
Sam slid the glass in front of him and took her seat.
He smiled. "Thank you."
"Sure."
Garrison turned to Marisa. "Have you thought of anything else over the years? Anybody else who might've had access?"
Marisa wanted to protect Leslie, but her sister needed their help now—and Ana, too. She'd want Marisa to do whatever she had to do to get her back home and safe. "My sister overheard Vinnie when he confessed to me. At least I think she did, but I don't know how much. Maybe she told Charles."
Garrison nodded and stared beyond her. After
a minute, he said, "Huh."
"What?" Marisa said.
He said nothing.
Marisa looked at Nate, who shrugged.
"Okay," Garrison finally said, "your sister's the missing puzzle piece. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wasn't sure. I'm still not."
"How close are you and your sister?"
She sat straighter. "We were very close."
"But you suspect her." Not a question.
Marisa recounted the conversation she'd had the day before around this very table while Garrison nodded silently.
"Sounds like she's a good bet," he finally said. "Who else might she have told?"
"Like, you mean besides Charles?"
"Friends, boyfriend?"
"Leslie didn't have close friends. Just me. And no boyfriend. She's engaged now. I don't know the guy's name, but it doesn't matter. He wasn't in the picture back then."
Garrison looked past Marisa to Nate. He shrugged.
Rae wrote something on her notepad.
"What?" Marisa said.
Garrison turned back to Marisa. "I wish we could question her. I wish she'd come forward at the time. Any idea why she didn't?"
"I don't know anything more than I told you. I mean... If she did tell Charles, she'd inadvertently gotten my fiancé killed. I think she was scared I wouldn't forgive her."
"Maybe. When she came to Mexico to see you, she still didn't confess?"
"No"
"I see." Garrison looked back at Marisa. "It's too bad she didn't. Let's say you're right and your sister's the one who told Charles what she overheard. Maybe somebody else overheard that conversation? I could have asked her who else she saw in the office that day. If Charles got any phone calls while they talked. If he made a phone call as she was leaving. But I didn't get to question her, and now all those details are lost to us."
"If she did it, she didn't mean any harm," Marisa said.
Garrison looked at Nate. "When did she ask you to help find Marisa?"
He blinked, thought for a moment. "Gosh, was it just four days ago? Seems like forever."
"You didn't report that new information to the authorities?"
"We got on a plane a few hours later," Nate said.
"Otherwise you would have?" Garrison's smile said he knew better.
"It honestly didn't occur to me."
Garrison turned to Marisa. "I think you need to talk to Charles Gray next. I'd go with you, but I doubt he'll open up to me."
"Why him?" Sam asked.
"Based on the information we have, the only people who knew we were investigating G&K were Leslie—though how much she knew is unknown—and Charles. Since Leslie appears to be a victim at this point, and she's not available to interview, Charles is your next best bet."
Marisa could remember very well how it felt to be in Charles's crosshairs. Back then, she'd been too afraid to set foot out of her hotel room for fear he or his men would do to her what they'd done to Vinnie. She'd not seen her fiancé's body, but she'd heard enough. No clean execution for Vinnie. He was beaten to death. If Charles's men had taken Ana and Leslie, would they hurt them the same way? A picture filled her mind, her beautiful daughter, battered and beaten.
"Hey." Nate scooted closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "It's okay. I'll go. Charles is behind bars. He can't hurt you."
"I'm just..." She shook her head, afraid to even voice her fears for her daughter and sister.
"I'm not going to tell Charles where you are."
She turned to face him. "But what about you?"
Nate swallowed hard. "I'll be fine."
Chapter 11
SING SING CORRECTIONAL Facility squatted uncomfortably on the east bank of the Hudson River about an hour's drive north of New York City. Nate parked in the visitor lot, dread settling in his stomach as he looked up at the guard towers overhead and imagined the rifles perched there. He took his driver's license and his keys. He'd left his wallet with Marisa at the Dunkin' Donuts a few miles away, where she waited with Garrison. He wasn't sure why they'd both insisted on making the trip. Marisa he could understand. As she'd explained to him rather loudly that morning, it was her daughter and her sister in danger. But Garrison?
Nate stepped out of Brady's blue pickup and surveyed the view of the Hudson River. The sun reflected off it, making the gunmetal gray waters shimmer. He turned back to the prison. Amazing the difference a hundred-eighty degrees could make. All concrete and barbed wire.
After the rigmarole of getting checked in and searched, Nate left his ID, his keys, and his hope with the guard. When the door closing him off from the free world slammed behind him, he had the sudden urge to turn and bang on it, beg them to let him out. The terrible fear rose in his stomach until his entire body trembled. He rubbed his wrists, felt the skin where ropes had once held him, fought the urge to scream. Finally, the next door clicked open, and he walked into a metal and concrete hell.
He was led to the visiting area, an overlarge room where he chose a table near the door and sat with his back to the wall. There were a lot of tables, which he figured were crammed on the weekends, considering Sing Sing's two thousand prisoners. Just a few other prisoners and visitors were there today, far from where Nate sat. The room wasn't bad, all things considered. No discernible scent apart from cleaning solution and coffee. Vending machines stood along one wall, and trash cans were scattered throughout. Though Nate didn't go to get a closer look, it seemed there were toys and playthings in one corner for children who visited.
Who would bring a child there? And what would it be like to visit your father in a place like this? To visit his own dad, the town lawyer and solid citizen? He couldn't comprehend such madness. Even though his mother had died when he was a teen, he'd still been dealt a good hand where his family was concerned.
Nate had visited a prison before—a minimum security federal institution that housed mostly white-collar criminals. That had been Nate's beat—financial markets, mortgage fraud, and SEC violations. This was so far out of his league, he felt like a little leaguer at Fenway Park.
Sing Sing had opened back in the early eighteen-hundreds, and though much of it had been updated and remodeled, there was still an air about the place, like it had known every kind of evil in its nearly two hundred years, and it wasn't impressed.
The door opened, and Charles Gray walked in. Nate had never met him, but he'd seen photographs of the man who'd once been a force on Wall Street, welcomed in the finest clubs. He'd been silver-haired and distinguished before. After nearly eight years in a maximum security prison, he was barely recognizable.
Charles scanned the room until his eyes rested on Nate, the only visitor without a prisoner. He shuffled toward him and stopped at the table. "You're the reporter, right?"
Nate stood and held out his hand. "Nate Boyle."
Charles shook his hand and sat, back straight, eyes piercing through his black-rimmed glasses. He exuded confidence, but the years in prison hadn't been good to him. Gray was no longer just his last name. The man's skin matched his hair as if one had seeped into the other. He looked far older than his sixty years, and for a moment Nate wondered if the prisoner needed a doctor.
"Bad ticker," Gray said, as if he'd read his mind. "And being surrounded by these people doesn't help."
"I can imagine. Are the doctors taking care of you?"
"They keep me alive. If I die in here, there's a mountain of paperwork."
"Good to know they care."
Charles nearly smiled, but it faded fast. "What can I do for you, Mr. Boyle?"
"Nate, please." Not that he wanted to make friends with this guy, but he did need his help, and he had nothing to offer in return. "I have a problem."
"Don't we all?"
"You remember Marisa Vega?"
Charles hunched slightly, as if a weight suddenly rested on his upper back. "Is she okay?"
Nate's question faltered on his lips. Was that genuine concern? "Last I heard, you wa
nted her dead."
"No." His head shook, seemed to shake his whole body, and Nate worried something was wrong. He was about to call the guard when Charles let out a strangled sob. "No. I never meant..."
Nate waited until the man regained control. After a moment, Charles continued.
"I never meant for any of it to happen. It was just... It seemed like such an easy way to make money. It didn't hurt anybody. At least, I didn't realize people were getting hurt. We were helping people get into houses."
"Which they couldn't afford."
"I know, I know. And when it all went sideways, most of those people lost everything. I didn't... Who knew the housing market was going to implode?"
"Some say you and people like you caused it."
"Maybe we did. We just wanted to make money."
Nate nodded but kept his mouth shut.
"I didn't pay William Buckley to kill Vinnie. I just wanted him to scare him, that's all. I never would have hurt that girl."
"Like every other guy in here, you're innocent?"
Charles's shoulders hunched even more. "I'm as guilty as any of these guys. It took me a couple years in here to realize that. At first, I was angry at the injustice of it all. But I got to thinking about Vinnie. He was a nice kid. Young and enthusiastic. And smart. You have no idea how smart that kid was. He hadn't had a lot of opportunities, not like I had. He was the third son of a single mother, went to college on a needs-based scholarship. But he made it worth something. Straight A's. I hired him right out of college.
"Vinnie saw me as a father-figure. Truth is, I wasn't a very good dad to my own kids, especially Richard. By the time he was a teen, I was... Well, I was busy with other stuff. And his mother was no better. And Richard... He wasn't like John and Andrew. They were like me, you know? Ivy League attitudes and brains. But Richard, I never knew how to connect with him. And he never seemed to like me very much. I love him. Love all my kids, though I never see them."
"They don't visit?"
He looked around. "Would you want to visit this place?" After a minute he said, "Doesn't matter. They have their own lives."
He looked down, seemed to slump a little more. "Doesn't matter."
Twisted Lies Page 13
