Maybe Nolda really had killed Pete. Wanda was a grieving widow. She had nothing to do with the Kabul Bank. The Afghan court had found twenty-two bank officials guilty of embezzlement and fraud. End of story.
Wanda took a quick gulp of whiskey. “In Afghanistan I told you how I feel about you, Alex. Going way back to when we first met and before I married Pete. You were the one I really wanted. I still want you. Really, I think we’d make a great team. We’d be more than a team, you and I.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’d be unstoppable. Whatever we wanted . . . would be ours.”
“What would we want?”
“What everyone wants . . . a beautiful life. Is that so bad?”
“What would we live on? What about my business?”
“Sell it. Give it away. Money wouldn’t be a problem, believe me.” When I flashed a skeptical frown, she smiled. “I’m positive about that.”
Wanda’s expression turned serious. She lowered her voice.
“The entire time over there . . .”
“In Afghanistan?”
“Yes.” She took a sip of scotch. “I kept saying how I felt about you, and I meant it. God, how I meant it! When I saw you again that evening in the Green Village, I went weak in the knees. You must have noticed. Anyway, I realized that you and I together . . . we’d have everything.” She jiggled her glass. “Is it too late now? I don’t know. Tell me why you’re here.”
Again I thought of how easy it would be to forget my suspicion that Wanda had murdered Doug Greer and just let myself be swept along by circumstances, circumstances much bigger and more powerful than I was. As I felt the whiskey burning my throat and the alcohol relaxing me, I wondered if I shouldn’t just relax and let Wanda take control.
We’d end up in her bedroom. Would that be so bad?
CHAPTER 37
MONDAY, MARCH 11, 2013
“I’VE FORGIVEN YOU, Wanda.”
“For giving you a Mickey Finn? Look at it this way, Alex. That shows how badly I wanted you. How many women would do that?” She made a point of reaching down and undoing all but the last shirt button. Her shirt hung loosely, invitingly. “How badly I still want you.”
“Why did you say you never should have gone to Afghanistan?”
“Stop asking annoying questions.” She sighed. “You know why I shouldn’t have gone. It was different from what I imagined it would be. No matter how many news stories you read or news reports, you’re just not prepared for the way it is over there.” She raised her glass. “I felt I was going to be blown up any minute.”
After a sip of scotch, she continued to gaze at the glass. “And now Doug.” She sighed audibly, her mood shifting, then grimaced. “I’m not really that great company. Not at the moment anyway. Too much on my mind.” She hesitated, then asked, “Why did you drive up here in the middle of the night? You didn’t answer that question. It’s not like you to do something like that.”
“Why not?”
“You’re more . . . careful. Doug might have done it, not you.”
“How well did you know Doug, Wanda?”
“Not that well, we’ve been at meetings together. That sort of thing . . .” She shrugged.
Recalling Corley’s account of seeing Wanda and Doug together, I said, “I mean personally.” When she frowned, I wondered if I’d pushed the envelope too far.
“Personally? We nodded when we saw each other. Why? That’s a strange question, Alex.” Her expression seemed to harden in the flickering firelight. “And why did you ask about when it was I arrived up here?”
“Don’t overreact, Wanda. It’s a simple question.”
“It’s not important.” She sipped more scotch, emptying her glass.
“It’s important.”
“Oh, sure. Real important. I think you’re trying to trip me up, that’s what I think.” Her glass was empty and she stood to refill it. When she gestured to me, I shook my head. “You know, Alex, I think it’s strange . . .”
“What’s strange?”
“It’s strange that you suddenly want to see me. You weren’t too anxious to see me last week. I was throwing myself at you and—”
“When did you say you came up here? Thursday?”
“Yes, Thursday. After work.” Wanda looked thoughtful, then said, “All of a sudden, I’m getting a completely different take on why you’re here. It’s not because you want to be with me. You have another reason. I sense it.”
Wanda had laid the rifle on the floor alongside her chair. I recognized it as a BAR 30-06, a semiautomatic. A common hunting rifle. Suddenly, she reached down to pick it up, but that was the move I’d anticipated and was going to prevent.
On my feet, I crossed the room, grabbed her by the hair, but she was quicker than I’d anticipated. As I jerked her back, she’d already grabbed the rifle and swung the barrel against my temple, causing me to loosen my grip. It was enough for her to pull free. She gave me a shove with the rifle butt. Clicking off the safety, she now stood ten feet in front of me, the weapon pointed at my stomach.
“Turn around!” she shouted. “Turn around! Put your hands up.”
When she motioned with the gun, I did as I was told. She moved forward, kicked my left leg. “Don’t try anything.” She jammed the barrel into my back, hard. “My finger’s on the trigger. Okay?”
She patted me down. “Empty your pockets. Turn them inside out.” When everything was lying on the floor, she told me to raise my hands. “Turn around slowly and sit down in the chair. Okay, good.” Still holding the rifle, she sat back down in her own chair. “I have some questions.”
She aimed the hunting rifle directly at me. “Not so bright, Alex. Asking if I knew Doug wasn’t so bright. Right away I knew. Something else that wasn’t so bright was coming up here in the middle of the night.”
“You planned it, didn’t you? You and Greer.” When she only grinned, I said, “Pete’s murder. You and Doug.”
“Green-on-blue, Alex! Green-on-blue! The magic words, you could say. Everybody was uptight about these awful murders, how an Askar would suddenly turn around and shoot his American buddy. Pete was getting too close. Doug was getting nervous. We had to do it.”
I said, “People know I’m here.”
Wanda grinned. “I doubt that. I doubt you would tell anyone about this harebrained idea of driving up here in the middle of the night.”
“You can’t kill me without being—”
“Without being charged with murder? But I can. I will shoot you and say I am so sorry. I will say I saw you outside and thought you were an intruder. I’ll call the local sheriff. I’ll be bawling.”
I remained silent.
“But one thing does puzzle me. How in hell did you figure that I murdered Doug?” When I hesitated before answering, she waved the rifle. “I know how to use this baby in case you’re thinking of trying to get out of the mess you’ve created for yourself.”
“To me it was obvious Greer didn’t kill himself. He was fixing dinner when someone showed up. I figured whoever put him in the car would probably knock him out first. I remembered how you—”
“How I slipped you knockout drops?” Finally, she said, “You made the connection. Very good, Alex. It was ketamine I gave you. And Doug. I should have given you a bigger wallop.”
“I just took a sip of the drink.”
“You can buy it on the street. It’s strong stuff. I know. A guy once used it to put me under. He had fun. I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. He’s been minus a pair of balls ever since.”
I realized I was seeing a side of Wanda I’d never known existed. I wondered how well Pete had known his wife. Maybe too well. I again recalled Page’s remark about Pete preferring to stay in Afghanistan to going back.
“You’re right. I put Doug under. I parked my car in the country club parking lot. I walked over. I was wearing rain gear and carrying an umbrella in such a way no one can ID me. Th
e rain gear is long gone. I had to kill Doug. He was getting cold feet.”
“He left a paper trail, but it was good enough to fool the auditors.”
“It would have been good enough to fool everyone. Forever. Hamed was the problem.” Wanda paused. “The deciding factor was his file. You said you brought it back from Dubai. Doug knew what was in it. He told me on Friday he wanted to make a deal, talk with the auditors. I couldn’t trust him to talk with you. Doug had to go.”
“You can’t get—”
“The funny thing, Alex, is, I really like you. If I could have gotten you to go along, you’d have been the perfect partner for me. I made every effort. I really do like you.” She contorted her lips. “You’re the one who spoiled it.”
“Doug figured how to make himself rich. But with him gone, you won’t have any access to his accounts. If you were in it fifty-fifty, you don’t have anything now.” I made a circle with my fingers. “Nada.”
“Give a gal credit for having some brains, okay? I moved mine out as currency, love. Dollars and euros. By private jet, by border crossings, by car. My uncle, the bank president, told me to do it this way. Sure, I had to pay people. Eight hundred grand it cost me. I even used that airline. The pilots took it out in the food trays. They charged an arm and a leg. But even at that, I paid less than 1 percent . . .” She gestured for me to stand.
Less than 1 percent meant Wanda’s share of the bank money was one hundred million dollars.
“Move! Move! Or I shoot you here.”
So I moved. With Wanda behind me and now holding the rifle, I opened the door. The rifle was a semiautomatic, and the magazine held four rounds. I knew what she planned to do: She wanted me outside so she could shoot me in the back and say she thought I was an intruder. She’d let me run a couple of yards. That would make the scene more realistic. Too close would raise suspicions in an alert medical examiner. She was also right when she said this was a mess I created myself. I supposed I was as good as dead, but I wanted to stall, put it off—buy myself a few more minutes of living.
“Don’t worry, lover. Don’t try anything, and you’ll die quick.” Her voice sounded strange, unfeeling. “It’s the least I can do for the man I once loved. That’s the way I figure.”
As I moved across the wide deck, I had a thought—and it wasn’t a very good one. I’d slam the porch door. Then I’d run.
But she must have realized what I wanted to do. “I’m right behind you, lover. No funny stuff.”
I opened the porch door, stepped through it. But she moved up close behind. Slamming the door on her rifle wouldn’t work. Then we were outside. The area between her house and the pond was mildly overgrown. Her car was parked at the far end of the clearing, too far away to offer any help.
And because she’d moved closer, I figured I might have a chance to try something desperate. My last chance!
If I missed, I’d be dead. I reached back with my left hand and grabbed the rifle. I was lucky. I grabbed, got my hand around the barrel—and yanked.
When she pulled the trigger, the round went wide.
And then I was running. Toward a thick oak thirty yards to my left. I heard the action of the rifle, pushing the next cartridge into the chamber. I figured she was sighting it, ready to squeeze off a round. When I thought she was about to fire, I dove, hit the ground, rolled over. Bang! Her second shot. Again I heard her cock the bolt. She had another round in the chamber, the third.
She’d come forward, moved in closer.
Struggling to my feet, I saw the tree. I needed to reach it. Then I needed to get my weapon out of the holster.
Back on my feet, I began to run, not straight, dodging from left to right, hoping to give her a tougher target.
As she fired, I heard something buzz by my left ear.
If I could reach the tree, I had a chance, a small one. The M9 was in my ankle holster.
But she still had another round.
As I dove for the tree, there was a loud report. A round exploded against the tree, narrowly missing me. I hadn’t heard the rifle action.
Was someone else out there?
Wanda had moved forward and was now crouched only fifteen feet behind me, so close I could hear her breathing. At this range she couldn’t miss. With the barrel pointed straight at me, she cocked the rifle. It was her fourth round.
As she crouched, ready to fire, I clicked off the safety on the M9. No sense wasting time. With the weapon in both hands, I dropped to the ground alongside the tree, rolled out in front of the tree—and squeezed the trigger.
As I fired, I heard a report, and again a round smashed against the tree, missing me by inches.
Wanda sagged. I heard a stifled groan, a gargling sound. Her rifle fell harmlessly to the ground. She never fired the last round.
I got to my feet. I moved forward cautiously. I approached Wanda’s inert form; I didn’t want to look . . .
But I looked anyway.
Lying there was Wanda. All I remember is I felt sick. I don’t know how long I stood there.
Then I saw a person moving silently toward me, coming through the high grass across the clearing. Whoever it was had a rifle in his hand. Or her hand.
As I struggled to clear my head, I realized the person was Corley.
“I assume you’re okay,” she said coolly.
As we stood staring down at Wanda’s lifeless body, I remembered two rounds embedding themselves in the tree.
Those rounds hadn’t been fired by Wanda.
CHAPTER 38
TUESDAY, MARCH 12, 2013
“HOW DID YOU let her get the drop on you?”
Corley and I were back in the house, standing in the middle of the living room. In her hand, she was still holding her weapon, an M4 carbine, with a sawed-down barrel. I was aware of the smell of cordite.
The honest answer to the question would have been that Wanda had everything figured out and was way ahead of me. Instead, I said, “She was quicker than I thought she was.”
“Coming up here in the middle of the night alone was stupid.”
“I know.”
She laid the M4 against the wall and began to take a look around.
Pushing thoughts of Wanda out of my mind, I said, “How did you know I was up here?”
“There are sensors on your apartment door. When you decided to leave at midnight, I was curious. I followed you.”
“I didn’t notice anyone.”
“Once you got out on the highway, I knew you were headed up here, so I stayed back. I saw your parked car on the way in.”
Corley’s weapon was standing against the wall. I walked across the room, picked it up.
I said, “This weapon’s been fired.” I removed the magazine. “Twice.”
“I fired it. I didn’t think you had a chance. I missed her both times.”
I remembered the two rounds exploding against the tree, one only inches from my left cheek.
I was going to say, “At that range? You missed?” but then thought better of it. I nodded, put the weapon back down.
“Give it to me from the beginning,” she said. “What happened up here?”
“Wanda heard my car engine. She probably saw my flashlight from her bedroom window, grabbed Pete’s hunting rifle. She was surprised to see the intruder was me.”
“Go on.”
“We talked. I didn’t realize it at first, but she seemed to sense why I was here. She kept the rifle next to her chair. She figured that she could shoot me and make it seem like an accident.”
“I gathered that. Your car is parked out there. She’d only have to say you were an intruder and shot you by mistake.” Corley paused. “Do we call the police like good law-abiding citizens or do we remove all traces of us having been here?”
I said, “Don’t ask dumb questions.”
“Forensic people these days are good.”
“That means we’ll have to do a thorough job of cleaning up.” After we’d removed our boots, I padded
into the kitchen, where I found a bunch of rags. I said, “Take these and wipe anything you or I may have touched.”
In a hall closet, I found a vacuum cleaner and began going over the living room rug. As I vacuumed, she washed the glasses. I found the glass I used, stuck it in my pocket. After she’d dried them, I took them and using the rags placed them back on the shelf with the other glassware. I found a brush and brushed off the bearskin on the hearth.
When the living room looked completely undisturbed, Corley went upstairs, then came back down. “Wanda’s bed was slept in.”
I said, “That’s fine. It’ll appear she got up in the middle of the night when she heard an intruder.”
I removed the M9 from my ankle holster, handed it to Corley. “We don’t want to forget this. You know what to do with it.”
On the way out I closed the front door but didn’t lock it.
Standing on the deck, I said, “Wanda walked out behind me. Footprints will be hers.”
Carrying my boots, I walked carefully through the high grass toward the oak tree, which probably had saved my life. I wondered how many years it had been quietly standing there. In the dirt surrounding the tree I made sure I hadn’t left any clearly marked footprints.
As I walked back, I took one quick last glance at Wanda’s body. Even in death, she was beautiful. Corley stood silently, observing me. As we made our way back, she went behind. As we went, we scraped the ground and made sure we weren’t leaving footprints. She said her car was parked a hundred feet beyond mine.
Before we reached my car, I saw it. Twenty-five feet above the ground and situated on the branch of a large elm tree was what looked like a two-channel security camera. One lens was pointed toward the front of the house, the other toward the road. It took me the better part of ten minutes to scramble up, unfasten the camera and the DVR, and then climb down.
I tossed the camera in the car trunk. Corley checked her watch. “I think there are a few things I would like to know.”
More than a few things. This op was over. For me, it had been over when I stopped taking orders from Corley. It was definitely time to wrap it up.
I said, “I’ll stop by your place.” By first light, we had our vehicles on the highway, Corley in her car and me in mine. We were back in Addison Heights by six a.m. After a quick shower, I went down to Corley’s apartment.
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