It was only when he had taken a closer look at the timing of the withdrawals that he had realized just what he had uncovered. The shock had hit him with the force of a backcountry avalanche.
The payments had started less than a month after the Pruett case had been dropped by the detective in charge. That could not be a coincidence. His father had been paying blackmail for years to keep him from being identified as a suspect.
But the real fright had set in when it dawned on him that he had no idea of the identity of the extortionist. It could have been almost anyone in town—another student or a member of his old fraternity, maybe—someone who had seen something that night. It could have been a janitor or a professor who was able to place him at the scene. Maybe there were photos.
He had been very careful that night, but Pruett had been his first. He hadn’t yet gotten the strategy down perfectly. There had been problems. The stupid woman had fought him. She’d scratched his arms. He’d had to wear long sleeves for days afterward. He’d worn a condom, but in his rush to escape the scene afterward, he’d lost it. What if there was a surveillance camera that he hadn’t noticed somewhere on the path or in the parking lot where he had left the car? He’d heard that Pruett had insisted on an examination at the hospital. A rape kit had been prepared.
So many things hadn’t gone right that first time. The memory of his close call still gave him chills. But when no one had so much as even questioned him, he’d assumed he’d dodged all the bullets. It was only when he’d settled his father’s financial affairs after the funeral and understood what the cash withdrawals meant that he’d realized he hadn’t been so lucky after all.
Once he was no longer in the grip of the initial panic, he had calmed down and started to think more clearly. That was when it had occurred to him that all he had to do was wait. The blackmailer had grown accustomed to the regular cash payments. He or she would want to keep the money coming in.
And sure enough, the first demand had arrived less than a month after his father’s funeral. There had been nothing high-tech about it. No mysterious text. No anonymous e-mail. No phone call. He had found a note on the front seat of his car.
The instructions had been simple and straightforward. He had followed them precisely and left the briefcase filled with cash in the designated place on a hiking trail. And then he’d used a pair of binoculars to keep watch from a distance.
He’d had no luck the first time. It was late summer and there had been a steady stream of tourists, hikers and vacationers trekking up and down the trail. He hadn’t spotted the person who had retrieved the briefcase.
A month later, however, he’d gotten another demand. It was early fall in the mountains. The day-trippers were gone. He had been instructed to leave the money under a bridge.
Once again he had watched from a distance and that time he had gotten lucky. An SUV—the license plates obscured with mud—had pulled into the lay-by at one end of the bridge. Egan Briggs had climbed out of the front seat to retrieve the cash.
For a time he had been content to let Briggs continue to think that he was safe. There was no reason to believe that a confirmed blackmailer would want to cut off the flow of money. Besides, taking out Briggs wouldn’t be easy. The man was not only an ex-cop, he was, by all accounts, a skilled hunter. He was also said to be dangerously paranoid, maybe flat-out crazy.
Trey had told himself that he needed a foolproof strategy and he’d been working on it when Louise Flint had seen fit to further complicate his already very complicated life.
Now, in the midst of dealing with the members of the investment club and trying to find Jocelyn Pruett, he had received a new demand from Briggs. It had come in well ahead of schedule; and, with it, a promise to make a final trade.
He studied the big SUV parked near cabin number 6. The tinted glass made it difficult to see into the interior, but as far as he could tell there was no one in the driver’s seat. Something about the shadows in the rear cargo area suggested a pile of boxes and suitcases.
It would take a lot to make Egan Briggs run, he thought.
A curtain twitched in the window of cabin number 6.
“I’m here, Briggs. I’ve got the money. Where is the evidence box?”
The rear door of the cabin opened. Egan Briggs emerged. He had a gun in his hand.
“Figured you knew it was me your old man had been paying off,” Briggs said.
“You were the only one in a position to make the Pruett case go away,” Trey said. “I just hadn’t realized until recently that the old bastard had been making blackmail payments to you.”
“Came as a shock, huh? It wasn’t you he was protecting, you know.”
“I’m well aware of that. It was the Greenslade name and the reputation of the company that he worried about. It was pretty much all he cared about.”
“Yep. If the truth about what you’d done all those years ago had come out, it would have destroyed some kind of acquisition deal that was in the works at the time. Might have taken down the whole company. It sure as hell would have pissed off your grandmother. And everyone knows she controls Loring-Greenslade.”
“That’s what she keeps telling me.”
“You kept at it, didn’t you? Pruett was just the first. I reminded your pa of that from time to time.”
“So you know that, too?”
“I used to be a damn good cop.”
“A damn dirty cop. Where’s the evidence box?”
Briggs jerked his head toward the doorway of the cabin. “In there.”
“I’m sure you can understand that I want to see it before I turn over the cash.”
“You’ll see it when I’m gone. Put the briefcase in the front seat of my vehicle.”
“Here’s the thing, Briggs, I’d like to keep the truck between us.”
Briggs snorted. “You think I’m gonna kill you?”
“Isn’t that the plan? I give you the money and you get rid of me?”
“No need to do that. I’m the one who’s going to disappear. Been planning to do it for a while now. After I found out that the Sawyer woman and that damned PI from Seattle were poking around in the Pruett case, I figured it was time to get into the wind.”
“Still, I’d rather not take any chances,” Trey said. He raised his right hand, showing Briggs the pistol he had brought with him. “Just so you know you’re not the only one with a weapon. I didn’t much like my old man, but I gotta tell you, I learned a couple of things from him. One of those things was how to run Loring-Greenslade. The other was how to shoot.”
Briggs spit on the ground. “So we got us a standoff. No reason we can’t do a little more business. Tell you what. I’ll bring out the box and put it right here on the step. Then you toss the briefcase to me. I’ll get into the van and leave. That suit you?”
“All right. You go first. I want to see that box.”
Briggs backed into the cabin, never lowering the gun. A moment later he reappeared with a cardboard file box bearing the faded logo of the Loring Police Department. A series of numbers and the word Evidence had been scrawled by hand on the front.
Trey’s heart pounded. He would soon be able to breathe freely again.
“Here’s your box,” Briggs said. “Wait until you see what’s inside it. Had you dead to rights, you fool. You made a couple of serious mistakes that night. I knew what I had straight off. Called your pa the next day. He didn’t hesitate for a second. Offered me half a year’s salary right then and there. And that was only the beginning.”
“Shut up and put down the box.”
Briggs crouched to set the box on the front step. He kept the gun leveled. “Put the case on the hood of your truck,” he said.
“You’re making me nervous, Briggs.”
“Put the goddamned case on the hood.”
Trey set the briefcase on the front e
nd of the pickup and gave it a shove. It slid a short distance across the hood.
Briggs moved out of the doorway of the cabin. He edged toward the pickup, keeping the gun aimed at Trey.
When he reached the truck, he seized the handle of the briefcase and backed swiftly to the SUV. He made his way around the front to the driver’s side.
The bulk of the SUV now formed a barricade. Briggs opened the driver’s-side door and put the briefcase on the front seat. Trey waited while he opened it and verified that the cash was inside.
“Satisfied?” Trey asked.
“Yep, looks good. Been nice doin’ business with the Greenslade family.”
Briggs got into the van, cranked up the engine and put it in gear. He drove off down the old logging road, mud and gravel spitting from under the wheels.
Trey counted to three and decided the van was far enough away. He took the remote out of the pocket of his jacket and pressed the button.
The small device hidden under the cash in the briefcase exploded. The big vehicle swerved violently; it slammed into a tree and bounced back onto the dirt road. The vehicle burst into flames.
Given the rain-drenched landscape and the fact that the van was in the center of the muddy road, there wasn’t much danger of a forest fire that would attract attention, Trey thought.
Dazed with the intoxicating adrenaline rush of what he had just done, he walked slowly toward the burning SUV.
The explosion had ripped off the driver’s-side door. Egan Briggs had been thrown from the vehicle. He was a bloodied mess, but he was still alive—barely.
His eyelids flickered. He squinted up at Trey.
“Told your dad there wasn’t much point giving you a second chance,” Egan whispered. His voice was almost gone. “You’re broken. But he said he didn’t have a choice.”
Briggs closed his eyes. He was dying.
Trey shot him in the head, just to make certain. Then he tossed several plastic packets of drugs into and around the SUV. When the police finally got around to investigating, they would conclude crazy Egan Briggs had been dealing and had been taken out by his competitors.
One of the useful things about having grown up in a family that had made its fortune in pharmaceuticals was that you had access to a lot of interesting chemicals and meds, Trey thought. He’d been twelve years old when he created his first exotic street drugs and sold them to some out-of-town kids whose families were vacationing in the mountains outside of Loring.
Satisfied with the scene, he hurried back to cabin 6. With the blackmailer out of the way he could return to the hunt for Pruett. For years he had told himself that she would never be a problem. He had liked knowing she was out there. He was sure she thought about him every single day. But he hadn’t realized that she was actively searching for him until recently. That news had come as a shock. She had gotten too close. The time had come to get rid of her.
But the evidence box was the more immediate threat. Once the contents had been destroyed, he could relax and take his time with Pruett.
He reached the step and bent down to examine the evidence box. The contents chained him to the past. He would not be free until everything inside had been destroyed.
He tore off the tape and raised the lid of the box.
For a few seconds he did not comprehend what he was looking at. Then it hit him. There was nothing inside the evidence box except some yellowed paperbacks and a handful of old magazines.
Egan Briggs had cheated him.
CHAPTER 34
It was afternoon by the time they got back to Seattle. Max drove straight to his house to pack a bag.
His phone rang just as he shut down the car engine. He glanced at the screen. Loring Police Department.
“Cutler,” he said.
“Detective Walsh. Thought you might be interested in knowing that a road repair crew just found the body of Egan Briggs.”
“Briggs is dead?”
“The investigation is still ongoing, but it looks like Briggs was running. Unfortunately for him it appears he tried to do a drug deal before he pulled his disappearing act. Whoever he met got rid of him with a small explosive device. There was charred money and drugs at the scene. Briggs was shot once in the head, execution style. The killer wanted to be sure.”
“You think Briggs was dealing?”
“Might explain how he was able to take early retirement.”
Charlotte was listening intently.
“What about Roxanne Briggs?” she asked.
“Charlotte’s asking about Mrs. Briggs,” Max said.
“I went to see Roxanne Briggs personally to deliver the bad news,” Walsh said. “She didn’t seem particularly surprised. Not exactly grief-stricken, either. It was more like she had been expecting to hear that her husband was dead.”
“In other words, she probably knew that Briggs was going to meet someone and that things might end badly.”
“Yeah, but she denied it. She said Egan told her he was headed for Idaho or Wyoming.”
“Have you got anything else from the scene?”
“Not much,” Walsh said. “It started raining again about an hour after you left Loring. You know what water does to evidence.”
“Yeah.”
“One more thing. A road crew spotted your vehicle washed up on the side of the river. They hauled it out. Good luck dealing with the insurance company, by the way. But Ms. Sawyer’s handbag was still inside, all zipped up. Her phone probably didn’t survive, but her plastic is all intact—she won’t have to cancel her credit cards or get a new driver’s license. I’ve got her address. You can tell her I’ll overnight the bag and everything in it to her today. She should have it tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Max said.
“If you come across anything I ought to know, you’ll give me a call, right?”
“Right.”
Max ended the connection and looked at Charlotte. “You heard all that?”
“Yes. They found my bag and Briggs is dead.”
“At this point the cops think Briggs tried to pull off one last drug deal before disappearing. Things did not go well.”
“Well, it makes sense that he would want to vanish after failing to get rid of us. He had to know we’d go straight to the police and that he would be questioned. He probably needed cash to live on for a while, so I suppose the drug deal makes sense.”
“Maybe. But if we’re right about his past, he might have had something else to sell.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened in shocked comprehension. “The evidence box from Jocelyn’s case?”
“If Briggs was paid off to make it disappear, it doesn’t automatically follow that he destroyed the contents. Maybe he hung on to it because he knew it might be worth a lot of money to someone.”
“Jocelyn would have given anything to get her hands on that box.”
“Yes, but there’s someone else who would have wanted it just as badly.”
Charlotte’s expression sharpened. “The man who raped her.”
“Yes.”
“If Briggs tried to sell the evidence box to the person who attacked Jocelyn all those years ago, it means the bastard is still around. He isn’t on the other side of the country. He’s right here—in Washington.”
“Until we know more, we can’t draw any conclusions.” Max thought about that for a moment. “Although there is one thing that links the Briggs hit to Louise Flint’s death.”
“What’s that?”
“Drugs were found at both scenes.”
He opened the door and climbed out from behind the wheel. Charlotte emerged from the passenger side.
The front door of the house across the street popped open. Anson appeared. He walked toward them and inclined his head politely to Charlotte.
“Ma’am,” he said.
Max remembered his manners.
“This is Charlotte Sawyer,” he said. “Charlotte, Anson Salinas, my dad.”
“A pleasure, Ms. Sawyer,” Anson said.
Charlotte smiled, clearly charmed by the old-fashioned formality.
“Glad to meet you, sir,” she said. “Please call me Charlotte.”
Anson chuckled. “I’ll do that so long as you don’t call me sir.”
“It’s a deal,” Charlotte said.
Anson turned to Max. “They find your car?”
“Yeah. Probably totaled. I’ll take care of it later. I don’t have time to deal with it or the insurance company at the moment. This case is getting very hot.”
“I could drive to Loring and take a look at it for you. Figure out what to do with it.”
Max was heading for the porch steps. He paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. I’ll call Detective Walsh and tell him that you’ll pick up Charlotte’s handbag, too, if that’s okay. That way he won’t have to bother with overnighting it.”
“No problem,” Anson said.
Max took a closer look at him. Anson sounded downright enthusiastic. Because he’s got a job, Max realized. Every man needs a job.
“Thanks,” Charlotte said. “I would be very grateful to you, Anson.”
She was practically glowing, Max thought. And he could have sworn that Anson was blushing.
“Not like I’ve got anything else to do,” Anson said. “You two are both okay?”
“Yeah.” Max unlocked the front door. “They found the body of that retired detective who dumped us into the river. Looks like he tried to do a drug deal before leaving the area. Got killed for his trouble.”
Anson squinted a little. “Drugs, huh?”
“They keep showing up in this case.”
Max got the door open, deactivated the alarm system and then stood aside. He summoned up a mental image of the extensive list of remodeling projects that he had made and his gut tightened. Compared to Charlotte’s neat, cozy little apartment, his place was a train wreck.
When All the Girls Have Gone Page 17
