Touch & Go

by Lisa Gardner

  “Tried. Can’t get used to the narrow bunk. Or maybe it’s the tight walls.”

  “You’re not cut out for hard time?”

  “Nope. I just build ’em. Me, I’m all about wide-open spaces.”

  He was. Cold, rainy, snowy, miserable, it never mattered to Justin. He was always happiest outdoors.

  “Has Ashlyn been sleeping?” I asked.

  “Like a baby,” he said, then, a second later, the irony of the comment hit him, and he grimaced, stepping back.

  I looked away. If it was hard for a mother to realize that her teenage daughter was sexually active, it had to be excruciating for a father. Especially for Justin, who’d placed her in an ivory tower from her first moment of birth. Daddy’s little princess. His perfect girl.

  I wondered which was worse, his horror or his hurt.

  “Did you know?” he asked now, voice hushed. “I mean, even suspect?”

  I shook my head.

  “She hasn’t mentioned a boy’s name? Been spending more time out, buying new clothes… I don’t know, doing what teenage girls do when being stupid about a boy?”

  “What are you going to do, Justin? Load a shotgun?”

  “Maybe!”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “But—”

  “Did you?” I kept my voice even. “You’re her father. Did you suspect anything?”

  He scowled, shifted uncomfortably. “Of course not. But I’m the dad. Fathers… We don’t get these things. We can’t look at our daughters that way.”

  “What’s the name of her best friend?”

  “Linda.”

  “Lindsay.”

  “Lindsay! I was close.”

  “Are you?” I shrugged. “Ashlyn’s fifteen years old. According to her, she’s spent the past six months spying on us, given that we’ve spent the past six months no longer speaking to her. She’s lonely, she’s vulnerable and we…we checked out on her. And by we, I mean we, Justin. You’re her parent, too.”

  He didn’t like that assessment, his displeasure showing in the tightening of his jaw. But he didn’t immediately refute the argument. Instead, being Justin, he went on the offensive.

  “When did you start popping pills?”

  I kept my gaze as level as his own. “When did you first cheat on me?”

  “It’s not the same. You’re the primary caretaker and you know it. Meaning you’ve spent the past six months impaired on the job.”

  “Versus spending your lunch breaks on booty calls? Do you really want to have a competition about which of us sinned worse?”

  “You confronted me, Libby. You demanded an explanation—”

  “I caught you once. Clearly there’ve been others—”

  “I feel I have the right to know. Do you have a dealer? Are you inviting criminals into our home? Maybe one of them took an interest in Ashlyn. Maybe, one of them knows Mick or Z or Radar.”

  My mouth hung open. I could feel my temper rise. My first instinct was to scream no, how ridiculous of him. I got my drugs the honorable way—by lying to any medical professional who carried a prescription pad. Instead, I heard myself say, “AIDS, herpes, syphilis, gonorrhea. Did you invite them into our home? Blackmail, drama, extortion. Maybe, one of your lovers knows Mick or Z or Radar.”

  “Libby—”

  “Justin! It’s not right. You betrayed my trust. And not once. But multiple times. And somehow, that’s okay? You said you were sorry, so now I’m supposed to just move on? I don’t know how. I loved you, Justin. You weren’t only my husband, you were my whole family. Except, my father couldn’t wear a helmet and my mother couldn’t stop smoking and you, you can’t keep it in your pants. They failed, then you failed and I don’t know how to rebuild this time. So, yes, I started taking pills. Because while you might be sorry, I still…hurt.”

  Justin’s battered face, set in stone: “So it’s my fault? You’re an addict, and it’s my fault.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Do you think it’s your fault I slept with that girl?”

  I couldn’t take it. My gaze slid down. I wanted out. Out of this conversation, out of this damn cell. Out of this life, really, which explained the gratuitous use of painkillers.

  “Do you think it’s your fault I cheated?” Justin continued relentlessly. “That if you just looked different or behaved different, or maybe were more adventurous in bed, I never would’ve strayed?”

  I covered my ears with my hands. “Please stop.”

  “I love you, Libby. I never loved her.”

  “But you gave yourself to her. You took a piece of yourself away from me, and gave it to her instead.”

  “Do you want to know why?”

  “No.” Yes.

  “Because she looked at me the way you used to. I went down to make a damn plane reservation and she… The way she looked at me… I felt important. I felt the way I used to feel when we first met and all I had to do was show up on your doorstep and you would…you would light up. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt…like you saw me that way.”

  “So it is my fault you cheated.”

  “No more than it’s my fault that you abuse painkillers.”

  “I don’t even understand this anymore!”

  Justin shrugged. He no longer appeared implacable, just tired. “Of course not. We’re married, Libby. We’ve spent eighteen years with our lives all tangled together. To say I don’t affect you, or your actions don’t affect me… How can that make any sense? A marriage is greater than the sum of its parts. At a certain point, that’s what we forgot; we stopped doing the math, tending the whole. We became selfish. A pretty girl smiled and I behaved selfishly. And you were hurt, in need of a quick pick-me-up, so you behaved selfishly, too. We forgot each other. Which is what selfish people tend to do.”

  “You’ll cheat again,” I whispered. “It’s what cheaters do.”

  “And you’ll find a new source of painkillers,” he said, just as quietly. “That’s what drug addicts do.”

  I hung my head, feeling the shame that was six months overdue. I had been right before; it was easier to hate my husband. To avoid the obvious, such as that eighteen years did take its toll and both of us had stopped making the time for our marriage. Until one day…

  “Why did you keep her texts on your phone?” I asked suddenly. “You must’ve known I might see them.”

  My husband’s turn to look away.

  “You wanted to get caught,” I murmured, understanding finally dawning. “You wanted me to find out what you’d been doing.”

  “Haven’t there been moments in the past few months when you swore to yourself you’d stop? Not take another pill? Clean up your act, live the straight and narrow?”

  Slowly, I nodded.

  Justin raised his head, met my eyes. “Me, too. I hated being a liar, Libby. I hated knowing I was hurting you. I don’t know… I can’t explain all of it. Maybe we all turn into our parents in the end. Or maybe, I’m just weak. But I’d meet a girl…and one thing would lead to another… And immediately afterward, I’d feel terrible. A liar, a cheat, a failure. I reached a point… I didn’t want to feel that way again. So, yes, I think some part of me wanted you to catch me. I hoped it would force me to get myself under control. I would take responsibility, you would finally forgive me and then I wouldn’t have to feel so lousy anymore.”

  Justin, still gazing at me. “Do you know what my mother did when my father died?”

  I shook my head.

  “She took a fifth of vodka and poured it on his grave. She hated him, Libby. Absolutely, positively hated him. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want to be the kind of guy who’s not even missed by his own wife. I never wanted to be that man.”

  Justin sighed heavily. He placed his hands on my shoulders and gazed at me so seriously. So somberly. Had I ever seen him look like this? Eighteen years of memories, and yet…

  “I
love you, Libby. I was stupid. I screwed up. And I failed. But I love you. Whatever happens next, I want you to know that.”

  My first ping of alarm. “Don’t talk like that—”

  “Shhh. I need you to tell me you’re going to quit the pills. You must be already detoxing, yes?”

  “Yes—”

  “Then promise me when you get home, you’ll continue. You’ll take care of yourself. You’ll be there for Ashlyn. You’re right. Our daughter needs us.”

  My second ping of alarm. He sounded like a man who’d already made a decision. A man who was now simply preparing himself for the consequences. “Us, Justin,” I countered sharply. “As in, we’re all going home tomorrow. No doing anything rash. We need you, Justin. We need you.”

  My husband, still eyeing me intently. “Are you going to quit?”

  Myself, still thinking of oranges, the taste of my pain. “Yes.”

  He pulled me into his arms. “Good girl,” he whispered against the top of my hair. “Don’t worry about the rest. No matter what, tomorrow, you and Ashlyn will be safe. I promise you, Libby. I swear it on my life.”

  Chapter 35

  THEY BROUGHT ANITA BENNETT in for questioning at 10:15 P.M. They did it properly, two dark-clad FBI agents appearing on her doorstep and requesting her presence at the FBI field office. It was difficult to say no to FBI agents and finally, shaking and uncertain, Anita had acquiesced, kissing her husband lightly on the cheek, telling him it was nothing, she’d be home shortly.

  The investigative team was already waiting in the Boston field office. Special Agent Adams, Special Agent Hawkes, then Tessa and Wyatt. They were seated in the viewing room, another trick of the trade—forcing the suspect to confront a new set of interrogators, which would add to her confusion.

  The FBI had a dedicated fraud squad, a whole team of financial wizards who lived and breathed corporate embezzlement, money laundering, white-collar crime. It had been Special Agent Adams’s idea to let them take the lead—they could ask more specific questions concerning Denbe Construction’s P and L. Also, if they could keep Anita on the defensive, switching up focus while retelling parts of her story to a fresh set of investigators, they increased the odds of her tripping up, muddling a minor detail that might open major floodgates to what really happened to Justin and his family.

  One thing they all agreed on: Time was ticking.

  Ransom exchange was now a mere seventeen hours away. The life insurance company had agreed to play ball, but the overall mood remained skeptical. The terms of the exchange were too broad, with not enough safeguards for the Denbe family in place.

  And now, given this whole embezzlement angle… Wyatt had already expressed what most of them feared: The kidnapping was not a kidnapping case at all. Ransom was merely a smokescreen to cover the real motive: Anita Bennett had been stealing from Denbe Construction for the past two decades. Justin had finally caught wind of the scam, perhaps even confided in his wife, Libby. Meaning he and his family now had to disappear. Their untimely demise might invite undue attention from the police. Hence a kidnapping for ransom. How many times had Anita herself tried to say Justin’s disappearance might have nothing to do with the firm, that he was a target simply because he was wealthy?

  And of course, in kidnapping-for-ransom cases, exchanges didn’t always go as planned. Sometimes, wealthy victims even wound up dead. Say, Justin, Libby and Ashlyn Denbe. Tragically killed, 3:00 P.M. tomorrow, during a botched rescue attempt.

  The firm would soldier valiantly on, Anita Bennett now securely ensconced as CEO, where her first major decision would be to fire Ruth Chan. Then, the firm would be all hers, as well as her eleven-million-dollar secret.

  A lot of motive for murder. Certainly, entire families had been killed for less.

  Anita Bennett was escorted to the interview room. The two agents, Bill Bixby and Mark Levesco, produced paperwork. Anita agreed to be interviewed on camera. She’d been informed of her rights, understood anything she said could and would be used against her in a court of law. She could end the interview anytime and maintained the right to call an attorney. Anita signed the form. They were off and running.

  Bill was an older agent, Mark his younger counterpart in a pink-and-gray Brooks Brothers tie. Bill took the lead, striking a collegial tone. Sorry to interrupt Anita’s evening. Thanks so much for her cooperation. Surely she understood time was of the essence and they were all working diligently toward the safe return of Justin, Libby and Ashlyn Denbe.

  Anita nodded. She’d changed out of her church clothes from the morning for a somber pair of gray knit slacks and a blush-colored turtleneck. She looked older to Tessa, as if the day had already worn her down. She also appeared wary, her face clearly guarded as she accepted Bill’s statements but didn’t immediately gush information.

  The FBI had had only six hours to prepare for this moment, but they’d done their homework well. The second Tessa and Wyatt had called Nicole Adams with news from their interview with Ruth Chan, the CFO had been whisked off to the Boston field office, where she’d spent the next few hours ensconced with the financial agents, going over the books and explaining what she’d found. Additional agents had immediately pulled Anita Bennett’s records, compiling lists of bank assets, major purchases and, of course, trips to the Bahamas. They were still only at the tip of the iceberg, according to Special Agent Adams, but given the time pressure, they decided it was better to ambush the COO sooner versus later.

  They weren’t as interested in a confession of corporate embezzlement as they were an admission of a physical address for the safe return of the Denbe family.

  And they still had a few tricks up their sleeves.

  Anita’s initial responses were pretty much as Tessa had anticipated. Collegial cop, Bill, wrapped up his spiel, and young guy, Mark, started to smack down financial reports. What did Anita know of this transaction? Was she aware of this vendor? Had she heard of this company? Where was she on June 12, 2009? What about this project, what about this new automobile, what about this transaction, had she really visited the Bahamas twice in 2012, on and on.

  Anita started with denial, transitioned to confusion, then appeared simply shell-shocked as Levesco rained down piece after piece of the embezzlement puzzle. Sixteen years of phony invoices from nonexistent vendors.

  “What? I would never.”

  Over eleven million dollars defrauded from Denbe Construction, then funneled through offshore bank accounts.

  “I don’t even know how to do something like that. I’m in operations, not finances. I don’t even know our billing systems anymore.”

  During which time, Anita purchased several cars and one house as cash transactions.

  “My husband and I are debt averse. If you look at my bonuses for each of those years, you’ll see we paid for those items with legitimate income.”

  Three kids paid through college.

  “I make a good living. Again, look at my tax returns. Six hundred thousand in salary covers three kids in college.”

  The scholarship for her youngest?

  She flushed. “I’ve already spoken to two detectives about that. Justin offered the scholarship to my youngest son. His decision, not mine.”

  Interesting, since Justin wasn’t around to comment.

  “Ask Ruth Chan! She issued the checks. Signed by Justin. She’ll vouch for the arrangement. It was hardly a secret. Everyone in the company knew.”

  And eight vacations in the Bahamas in the past six years?

  “We like the warm weather. Besides, it was nice of Justin to offer his time-share.”

  A small hiccup. The Denbes had a time-share in the Bahamas? News, but given all the ground they’d been racing to cover in just forty-eight hours, hardly surprising that they’d missed it.

  Last visit by Anita Bennett was for fourteen days.

  “My husband was still recuperating from open-heart surgery. The time away was good for him.”

  Paid off one hundred thousand
in hospital bills.

  “And if you’ll look at my savings account, you’ll see the hit!”

  Which was true. While it would’ve been nice to magically discover Anita had eleven million dollars sitting in the bank, her finances were currently depleted. Then again, according to Ruth Chan, the embezzlement money had been sitting in a bunch of fake corporate accounts in the Bahamas until just five days ago. A defrauder who’d been smart and disciplined enough to keep the illicit gains at arm’s length was hardly going to dump them into personal savings now. Most likely, the funds had been moved to a single new account under an alias, probably at another offshore bank. The FBI would work on tracking that next, but such things took time, not to mention a bit of luck.

  Poker or blackjack?

  “What?”

  Receipts. Ten years of receipts for the Mohegan Sun Resort and Casino?

  “I was entertaining clients! I don’t gamble. I work in construction. That’s risky enough!”

  Brand-new 2008 black-on-black Lexus. Cash.

  “My oldest son. His college graduation present.”

  New 2011 Cadillac Escalade.

  “For Dan. His other vehicle was seven years old!”

  Which brought them to a Florida condo in 2010, a Mazda Miata just four months ago. On and on Levesco went. Fake billings here. New purchases for Anita there. Tessa had thought the COO would grow more defensive. Clam up. But instead, Anita picked up her own tempo, until she was matching the younger FBI agent beat for beat. Which was impressive, really. Not just the amount of money that Denbe Construction had paid out to fake vendors each year, but how unapologetically Anita spent her own income. She made a good living, as she informed her interrogators again and again. Salary, bonuses, lawfully declared on her taxes year after year. And, yes, she spent her money on her family. Houses, cars, vacations. She worked hard, they lived well. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

  Around and around they went. Consistent denials of embezzlement, full admissions of major purchases. Finally, Tessa glanced over at Special Agent Adams and nodded once. Nicole had been expecting the signal. She picked up the phone and buzzed the room next door.