“So go ahead. Whatever I got coming, I’ll deal with.”
“I guess I had the mistaken impression you loved your work.”
“Maybe love’s, a little strong. But yeah, I like what I do.”
“Well, there’s the rub. Because a little problem like withholding evidence on a Top Ten guy, if that got out, now that would just about blow your career all to shit. There’s no coming back from that into police work. You’d be done.”
“Am I smelling a deal here?”
“When did you first learn your husband was the father of Jacob Panther? Like where was the big hand and the little hand?”
“Five minutes before you threw me in the back of your car last night.”
“That’s the truth?”
“Why don’t you ask Parker?”
“Against the advice of my inner voice, I’m going to respect your privacy. For one thing, I’d hate like hell to see how the papers would play it. The snarky headlines. Dragging the two of you through all that.”
“You’re a saint, Frank.” She watched the old woman pinch her nose and throw her body off the ten-foot rock. A bigger splash than any of the teenage cannonballs. “Now what’s the game?”
“Excuse me.” He reached across her and popped open the glove box and took out a small black felt pouch and shook free a rectangular gadget. Aerial on one end, buttons on the other.
“I’m not wearing a wire, Frank. Forget it.”
“Not a wire. This is cutting-edge James Bond stuff, straight from geekville. Your tax dollars working overtime.”
He held it up for her to inspect.
“I already got a cell phone.”
“Not this kind, you don’t. This is next generation walkie-talkie. Pull up the aerial, press this button for two, three seconds, it speed-dials your friendly federal agent. Just talk into the receiver like you’re ordering a pizza, and about twenty of my colleagues from here to Los Angeles and everywhere in between will be listening with bated breath. Sends your GPS location and everything.”
“What the hell is it?”
“Microwave beeper, I think. Hell, I can never remember that gobbledy-gook. Point is, you’re a button-push away. Thing’s got unlimited range. Works off cell towers, satellites, roams to fetch whatever’s out there. Press, bing, we know where you are, we mobilize. It could work anywhere on the planet, the Sahara, or smack in the middle of five hundred thousand acres of forest wilderness in western North Carolina. Which might come in handy, seeing how that’s where Panther is from and exactly where we suspect he’s been hiding this last year. Not many cell towers out in the middle of that national forest, but this gadget will still get through.”
“I’m not spying on my husband.”
“Not spy, hell no. He’d catch on to that. You try to wheedle something out of him, he’d snap shut like a giant clamshell, we’d never get another word.”
“What word are you looking for?”
“From what you told us last night, during that highly unhelpful interrogation, it appears that earlier in the evening, when you and I were speaking on the phone, your hubby and Mr. Most Wanted were having a dialogue on the patio, right? And you weren’t privy to that conversation, but your daughter apparently was.”
“She’s not reliable, Frank. Whatever she told you, ten grains of salt. The whole shaker.”
“At this point, I don’t think anybody in your fucking family is reliable. Reliable isn’t the issue. I’m grasping for whatever I can get, so the white-hot poker that was inserted in my rectum last night doesn’t get hammered any deeper. If you’ll pardon the metaphor.”
“Your passion for your work is touching.”
Frank drew the aerial out and dabbed it back down.
“I think your husband knows where Panther is. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s spent most of his professional life extricating dirtballs from their legal distress. So how I reason it is like this. He’s going to meet his dirtball son somewhere and they’re going to do the lawyer-client thing face-to-face and when they do there’s a good chance you’ll be in the vicinity. You can work that how you want. Push hard, push soft. Up to you. I trust your instincts.”
“I’m honored.”
“So you get a second chance, Monroe. I don’t have to write your script, you know this guy—what works, what doesn’t. You obviously landed him successfully in the first place, kept him happy all these years. Despite you coming from slightly different backgrounds.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Frank looked off at the swimming pool, choosing his words.
“Apparently you didn’t realize, Monroe, when court documents are expunged, they’re never wiped completely clean. That’s another thing in this equation. Way back at the dawn of time, you kind of fudged your employment application. Never arrested for a crime? Well, not convicted, maybe. But arrested—well, we both know that ain’t true.”
She took the device from his hand.
“This is how you guys work? Blackmail, threats, intimidation.”
“To name a few.”
“Fuck you, Frank.”
“Can I take that as a yes?”
She watched the heavy woman climbing the rock again. All that work for three seconds of free fall and the watery explosion at the end. In that instant of flight her weight must evaporate, the woman turning to air. Some bright blossoming of joy as she plunged.
“Is this thing for real, Frank, this gadget? You’re not conning me, are you?”
He gave her a full-on look, a disappointed smile. She held his eyes for several seconds, probing, but she saw not even a shadow of deceit. Waiting for the dodge of eyes, the deep swallow, or his hand rising to touch his face. All signs of perjury. But his frustrated smile held firm.
“You’re a shit. A real shit, Frank.”
“So you’re not going to run for president of my fan club. I regret that. But this is the deal. Brass ring is coming around, you got one shot, then I go dump what I know on Rodriguez’s desk and let nature take its course.”
She closed her eyes, hearing the happy cries from the pool.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll be your snitch.”
“Yeah? And why am I waiting for a punchline?”
“One condition.”
“Oh, boy. Here we go, the counselor’s wife cutting a deal.”
“I want the files on Panther. I want to know everything. What we’re dealing with. If I agree to do this, I’m not going in blind.”
“Oh, man. No way. No way in hell does that happen.”
“I’m serious, Frank. No files, no James Bond.”
“That’s a serious, class-A violation of procedure. You got no clearance. I’d be courting major disaster. Even a guy like me, a highly valued member of the law-enforcement society, if anybody sniffed that out, man, it’d be Frank Sheffield day at the gallows.”
“Every page. No edits. No blackouts. Everything you have.”
“What, so you can leak it to your old man? Get a jump start on Panther’s defense? Yeah, like I’m going to do that.”
“I’m talking self-protection. If I get into this and it leads to another encounter with the guy, I want to know which way he jumps when he’s shot at, whether he’s right- or left-handed. Everything you got.”
She held up the black device.
“You wouldn’t send one of your own guys undercover without a briefing, right? He’s got to know the names, the evidence, what to look for, what to discount. You know I’m right.”
“Problem is, you’re not one of our guys.”
“Well, then take me home—this date is over.”
“Not even a kiss at the door.”
“The files, Frank. I’ll take your gizmo home with me tonight, okay, but tomorrow my in-basket better be stuffed with Panther’s files or I’ll toss this sucker into the nearest canal.”
He started the car and put the shifter in drive and eased out of the lot.
“No can do,” he said. �
��That’s a line I can’t cross.”
“Have a couple of drinks,” said Charlotte. “Lube up your morals.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Speaking of morals.”
He circled the fountains on Granada and headed south.
“Just to get the ball rolling on this share-and-share-alike thing. Seems our Atlanta field office took down a man by the name of Charles Levi last night.”
“And this is relevant to what?”
“Mr. Levi apparently ran a Web site, kind of a switchboard that hooked up customers with suppliers.”
Charlotte was quiet. Frank had his own pace. Nothing she could say would change it.
“The dart Panther used to bring down this Martin Tribue, it was coated with something, I forget the name, comes from seashells, deadly, fast-acting. They’re using it in pharmaceutical labs, tinkering with it for some reason, cancer or something. Seems this Levi character was offering this god-awful shit for sale. Our Atlanta guys been monitoring his e-mail the last few months, snooping on his transactions. A lot of the shit he’s selling is perfectly legal. Poison for hunters, if you can believe that. There’s a whole blowgun culture out there. Militia types, the Nazi crowd. I mean, for chrissakes, this guy is doing a couple of thousand dollars a week in cobra venom alone.”
“Panther was on his mailing list.”
“Exactamundo.”
“And you’ve traced the e-mail?”
“Public library terminal in Bryson City, North Carolina.”
“Which is where you’ve been looking for Panther.”
“Maybe it doesn’t sound like a big deal to you, Monroe. But it’s always nice to have a little confirmation you’re turning over rocks in the right forest.”
“I want the files, Frank.”
“That’s a no. Can’t be done. Not even me, with my slipshod ways and my notorious don’t-give-a-shit view of life, it’s the big impossible.”
“Okay, then, call a number for me.”
She dug through her purse, found the card, then reached out to Frank’s visor and tore off a sheet from his memo pad. She scribbled the number on the sheet and handed it to him.
“What’s this, dial-a-fantasy?”
“A guy named Mears. He’s up your chain of command. One of those Washington types that calls the shots.”
“You don’t mean Charles Mears?”
“When you get him, tell him the situation you’re in. And tell him this. I’ll agree to join his gang of wackos, but I want the Panther files.”
“What gang of wackos?”
“Just call him, Frank. Just call the guy.”
Twelve
“You did what?”
“You should’ve heard this kid, Parker. He was practically inciting a riot, mocking parental authority, telling these impressionable kids they should work on developing multiple personalities. Expose themselves to the brutalities of the world. That’s where Gracey gets this stuff. I wanted to strangle the kid.”
They were in Parker’s study. He was at his oak rolltop, looking up at her from his old swivel chair. It was just after seven, Parker home early for a change, still in his work clothes, tan slacks and a French blue shirt, his red tie undone. Outside in the drive a white rental car was parked.
“Why didn’t you go to the principal, an administrator, someone in charge? Or you could’ve spoken directly to Underwood and confronted him.”
“I was too angry,” she said. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway. They’re not going to fire this guy because a parent doesn’t like his teaching style. And the guy’s not going to change on my say-so. He was bad, Parker. He’s a sick, twisted, immature little shit and even if he’s not the sole cause of how Gracey’s been behaving, he’s an accelerant. Gasoline on her personal bonfire.”
“You had no right, Charlotte.”
“I’m her mother. I have a perfect right.”
“What about consulting with her father? Or maybe sitting down with Gracey and me and the three of us talking it through? We don’t do things unilaterally. At least we never have.”
“I made a command decision.”
“This isn’t about Gracey, is it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not about Gracey and it’s not about her having a bad teacher. This is about last night. You’re angry about Lucy Panther, the story I told, and you’re angry at Gracey for helping Panther escape, and this is how you’re going to punish us both. Pulling your daughter out of a school she loves without even a word to me. Just a couple of weeks left in the academic year. It’s just spite, pure and simple.”
She was dizzy with rage. About to spit back at him, when she caught herself. Because she knew some portion of what he said was true. She’d been angry at Underwood, sure, and justifiably, but that anger was compounded by the swarm of emotions buzzing in her gut, most of it brought on by Parker’s confession last night. Just why a teenage fling should be so devastating, she wasn’t sure. All night and all day she’d pushed the thoughts away, though she’d been feeling something happening inside her, some trapdoor springing open, and Charlotte falling through a place she’d always believed was solid and true, plummeting through cold, airless space without any sign of bottom.
She sat down on the gold couch across the room.
“Where is she now?” Parker cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, composing himself.
“At Diana’s.”
“Why?”
“She was screaming. Hysterical. Diana stopped by in the middle of it.”
“So you shunted her off on Mother?”
“Yes, I did. Diana suggested it, but I agreed she could go over there and cool off. We can pick her up after dinner.”
Parker bowed his head and touched a hand to his temple. Prayerful, patient. But from her angle she could see the flash of anger at the edge of his mouth. Another expression for Dr. Fedderman’s list. A teeth-baring jaw-grinder. But as he raised his head and looked at her again, all that disappeared behind his patient face, his mouth finding a forgiving smile. Saint Parker.
Even though she hated to admit it, that stupid punk Underwood was right about one thing. Everyone was acting. Everyone was a bundle of conflicting feelings, and we were sorting through them constantly, editing, repressing, selecting the best face to show the world. Not necessarily the one that expressed our truest self. We were all simply getting by, coping with conditions. Most people were only passable performers who’d settled into a lifetime role, ignoring the constantly shifting needs and grievances and urges and fantasies that skated below the surface.
Parker was peering at her curiously. For all appearances he was a reasonable man who simply wanted to understand his wife, to come to some peaceful resolution. A harmless, unthreatening look.
“So it’s Gables High, then, just a regular, mainstream public school? And you believe she’ll be better off there? She’ll fit in, find friends, inspiring teachers, all the things that matter to a teenage girl?”
“I went to a regular public high school.”
“Yes, you did.”
But there was nothing affirmative in his tone.
He let his words hang there for her to absorb.
He was maddening to argue with. Two steps ahead, laying his logic traps, blithe and sly in his delivery, but dealing stunning blows when you least expected. Yes, Charlotte had gone to public high school. And yes, only a month before she was to graduate she’d been jailed as an accomplice in the murder of a woman in a convenience store. All that echoed through his simple yes. And yes, if it had not been for Parker Monroe’s legal expertise, where would Charlotte be today? Yes. Yes. Yes.
“We need to put this aside for the moment.”
“All right,” she said. “I’m for that.”
“You need to take a look at something.”
He held out a scrap of yellow paper. She rose and took it from him and sat back down. It was a Post-it note, the same size they kept by the phone in the kitchen. She looked but
could make no sense of it. She held it upside down, then the other way. Tried holding it up to the light and squinting through the paper but could make no sense of the hieroglyphics.
“It’s Cherokee,” he said. “It was on the mirror in the guest bath.”
“And of course you didn’t report it to anyone.”
He shook his head. No, he certainly hadn’t.
“What does it say?”
“I spent the day trying to figure that out.”
“And?”
“I can tell you what it says. But I can’t tell you exactly what it means.”
“One thing at a time. What does it say?”
He swallowed and looked away toward the darkened windows, then back at her.
“ ‘We have lifted up the red war club.’ ”
She repeated it. Then repeated it again.
“Tell me the truth, Parker. What did he say to you out on the patio?”
“You mean while you were calling your buddies at the FBI?”
“Parker, don’t do this. We’re both dealing with this the best we can. Let’s don’t make it any worse with cheap shots, okay?”
“Like changing Gracey’s school.”
“Okay, yes, you’re right, I was angry. I’m still angry.”
“Because I never told you about some summer romance a lifetime ago.”
“Because you fell in love with some girl and you’re still in love with her.”
“What! I never said anything like that.”
“You didn’t mean to, but you did. The way you told the story last night. How your voice was. It’s true, Parker. Whether you know it or not. It’s true.”
“Jesus Christ. You hear something in my voice and that incriminates me? I betrayed you before I even met you?”
“Can we move on?” she said. “ ‘We have lifted up the red war club.’ I think that’s the priority of the moment.”
“All right, but we’re going to get back to that, Charlotte. You can’t just take a potshot like that and then run off like it didn’t happen.”
“The red war club, Parker.”
Forests of the Night Page 10
