A black car came rolling up the street, and Cade stepped out to meet it. One of the rear windows buzzed down. Cade and the passenger exchanged a few sentences, and the car continued on its way.
Cade looked around again and reversed course, walking up the street in my direction. I slipped back along the wall of the house. If he glanced to his right as he crossed the mouth of the driveway, I’d be in plain sight.
There was a detached garage at the back of the drive where I could hide. I started to run, and a spotlight flashed on, catching me right in its cone. Damn. Security light, activated by a motion sensor. Cade’s footsteps were nearly at the driveway.
I turned and ducked along the back of the house, hoping whoever was inside watching television wouldn’t see me.
The far end of the yard was bounded by a tall, wrought iron fence. I was looking for a way over it when I heard a whimper. Through the hedge on the other side of the fence, I saw Scottie. He was cowering down, holding his half-open backpack up to protect his face. Jamie Weston stood twenty feet away with a gun leveled on him.
I trusted Weston to do the smart thing, but not Scottie. I sprinted around the fence to the next-door driveway, forgetting Cade and the security lights. By the time I reached the backyard, Weston had moved closer to Scottie. “Get on your knees,” she said.
She heard me and spun around. Scottie tried to snatch his gun out of the backpack. It snagged on the trigger guard.
“Scottie, don’t!” I kept running.
It took Weston a moment more to recognize me, and she wheeled back on Scottie.
“Come on. Take it easy,” I said, stopping between them.
Scottie still was trying to get the gun out, and he cursed. Weston saw it then.
“Put it down,” she said evenly.
I checked, hoping the safety was on, but I could see the red dot.
“Scottie, listen to her.”
He yanked so hard the zipper tore, but that only tangled the gun up more.
Weston kept her eyes fixed on him and motioned to me. “Get back.”
I wished I was half as calm as she sounded. “I’m not going to let you shoot him.”
She moved sideways a half step, and I shifted in front of her. “He didn’t come here to hurt anybody. Jamie, please.”
Hearing her first name, her eyes flicked to me.
“What’s he doing with a gun?” she said.
“He’s been shot before,” I said. “It makes him feel safer. Come on, you’ve got him scared half to death.”
Scottie wasn’t struggling anymore, but he didn’t have to. He could bring the whole thing up—bag and gun—and shoot anyway. He seemed to realize that at the same moment I did, and he slipped his hand around the grip.
“You need to put that down and come with me,” she said.
Scottie’s hands were shaking badly. If he got his finger on the trigger, he might shoot any one of us.
“Please,” I said to her. “We’ve all got to back off, find another time to settle this. Look at him. You know I’m right.”
She twitched her head, easing some of her own tension.
“Weston?” Cade’s voice, right in front of the house.
“Jamie,” I said, “we can work it out. Just not like this, not now.”
Her eyes came to mine, and I managed to smile. “Trust me—OK?”
“Weston, where are you?” Cade yelled.
Her eyes stayed with me. I put my hands on her arms and gently pushed down. She fought the pressure—“Please?”—and gave in.
“Cade, I’m here,” she called, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was doing. “No luck. He must be gone.” She holstered her gun as she jogged toward the street.
Scottie was still trembling, but he gave a sudden wild smile. “Hey, thanks.” Now that he wasn’t struggling, the gun had come free, and he tossed it like a toy.
“Be quiet or I’ll take that damned thing and deck you with it.”
I led Scottie to the far end of the yard and up the driveway. Cade and Weston were in the street, standing only inches from each other. “—none of your business, Jamie,” Cade said.
“I just made it my business. You’re going to tell me why he was here.”
Cade gave a mean laugh. “Or you’ll do what?”
“The way I read it, Russo agrees with me. You don’t want to cross him.”
“Russo? This is way past him,” Cade said.
She jabbed her finger in his chest. “See how you feel about that in six months, when Russo’s full-time in the US Attorney job, and he runs you off to Anchorage.”
“You need to keep up with the news, Weston.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The White House pulled Russo’s nomination for US Attorney this afternoon. He’s not going to be running anybody off anywhere.” He gave another cold laugh. “Looks like this boat’s sailed without you.”
He turned and walked down the street, while Weston stood there, clearly stunned. Then she jogged after him. “Cade, wait. Why did . . .” I strained forward but couldn’t catch the rest of it.
A few moments later, a car engine fired up and lights flashed on.
“We need to get back where they won’t see us,” I said to Scottie. He was sitting against the house, staring into space. I hauled him behind some trash cans.
The car passed, and I let go of him. “Ow,” he said, rubbing his arm. “That hurt.”
“Sorry. Come on, we’ve got to get back to my car.”
“Not until we find Felix’s phone,” he said.
He had a point. I didn’t want to leave anything behind that would tie Felix to our troubles. “You stay here. I’ll get it.”
After five minutes of looking, I took out my phone and dialed Felix’s number. I heard the ring one house down and on the other side of the street. I grabbed it and ran back to Scottie. I didn’t want to spend another minute on that street.
He was still slumped behind the trash cans. “OK, I’ve got it.” He didn’t move. I could smell the scotch on him, heavy and sweet. “Scottie.”
He bolted to his feet. There was a bright, terrified look in his eyes that slowly flared out.
“Guess I fell asleep,” he said.
“Give me that.” I took the backpack and made sure the gun was inside.
“Sorry—are you mad at me?”
“Let’s just get out of here.” I started to walk away.
He shuffled a few paces behind. “You think I’m kinda messed up, don’t you?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
THIRTY-ONE
I got Scottie’s bicycle and put it in the car. For the next half hour I drove around—across Key Bridge into Rosslyn, a big loop past the Pentagon and back over the Potomac on the 14th Street Bridge. I was making sure no one was following us and giving myself time to decompress. Scottie knew enough to keep quiet, but he was fidgeting like mad. I finally had to tell him to sit still and quit playing with the car window. We were crossing the Mall then, and I turned and parked by the Hirshhorn Museum.
“We need some rules here,” I said. “First—” I pointed at the backpack. “—that gun has to go.”
“The hell it does,” he snapped.
I reached for it, and he yanked it away.
“Do you have the safety on?”
He slipped his hand in, and I heard a click.
“Put it in the backseat. Go on. Do it.”
He muttered something but did as I told him.
We both stared outside for a while. Though the museums were closed for the night, there were quite a few people around, tourists from the looks of them. The Labor Day–weekend crowd.
“Why did you go to Russo’s house?” I said.
“It’s what I was going to do all along—make him talk to me.”
“And Cade and Weston just happened to show up?”
“They came with him. They were in different cars, but they got there at the same time.”
I
took out my phone. Scottie watched while I signed into my e-mail account and found the photo Cass Russo had sent me.
“Was this man there?” I said.
“Yes, he showed up about ten minutes after the others. Who is he?”
“Howard Markaris. I thought I recognized that black limo of his. He works for Ned Bowles at Braeder.”
“I knew they were all in—”
I sighed, and that made him stop. “We won’t know anything until I talk to Jamie Weston. She was angry that Markaris was there. She doesn’t like his type, not when they get in the way of her job.”
“You think we can trust her?” he said.
“She just let you walk away after you tried to pull a gun on her.”
“That’s right, she did.” He laughed, and there was something so off-balance about it that I put my hand on his shoulder.
“I said there have to be some rules. No more drinking. If you take even one drink, I’ll throw you out, and that’s the end of it.”
“Sure, no problem. But you’ll still help me?”
“Yes—as long as you keep yourself under control.”
He smiled broadly. “Absolutely!”
I knew better than to believe that kind of easy promise. But I wasn’t being totally straight with Scottie either. Markaris showing up at Russo’s house had tipped the scales for me. Somehow—in our blundering around in the dark, as Weston put it—we’d lifted the cover on something. No matter what the consequences, I wanted answers as much as Scottie did.
I didn’t think going to my apartment was a good idea, so I decided to give Felix one more try. The lights were out when we got there, but I could see the flicker of the TV set through a window. Scottie got to the door first and knocked.
“Well, look what the cat dragged back,” Felix said when he saw us. His hair was tousled, and his eyes were puffy.
“Did we wake you?” I said.
“The Cubs blew a three run lead in the eighth. It’s Bartman all over again. Why stay awake?”
Scottie had asked me for Felix’s phone, and he held it out, cupped in both hands like a prayer offering. “I’m sorry I took this, and sorry I ran away.”
“You damn well better be,” Felix said.
Scottie stepped past him, inside. “Coop! How you doin’ boy?” They skittered away to the sunroom.
“Where did you find him?” Felix said.
“Long story.”
“I’m listening.”
“Felix it’s late. Maybe tomorrow—”
“I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
We sat at the table in the kitchen. Scottie was still in the sunroom with Coop. Felix had an amazing nose for bull, so I wasn’t going to get away with lying to him. I told him about all the research Scottie had done, all the people we’d talked to. He tried hard to keep his opinions to himself, but a couple of times he shook his head and said, “Damned fools.” I was pretty sure he meant Scottie and me.
I was nearing the end when he got up and went across the hall. He tiptoed back to the kitchen. “Sound asleep, both of them. You know, Coop’s picky about people. He loves that guy like a brother.”
“He’s kind of like a big puppy.”
Felix squinted at me, as if he was going to have to think about that.
“What do you think Markaris was doing at Russo’s house?” he said.
“Weston was furious about it. My guess is Markaris was there to do more than just be kept informed. He’s probably calling the shots, at least some of them.”
“Russo is really out as US Attorney?”
“That’s what Cade said. Weston couldn’t believe it.”
“That means somebody thinks Russo is a liability.”
I said, “Or maybe he’s expendable. He’s got no connection with Braeder anymore. If somebody’s going to catch the blame for something, he might be the perfect fall guy. The White House got tipped off, and they’re washing their hands of him.”
“Sounds reasonable. Then again, with as little as you know, just about anything sounds reasonable. I know you’ve heard me say it before, but this whole thing could turn into a disaster for you. You should back away. Hell, run away.”
“Somebody broke into my office and got into the files. I’ve got to find out who and why.”
A squeak came from the hallway, and we both turned. “How long have you been out there?” I called.
Scottie peeked around the corner. “Since Felix came to check on me. Thanks for the blanket, by the way.”
He shuffled in, heading straight for the coffee. He’d left his baseball cap in the sunroom, and his hair was standing on end in a Woody Woodpecker do. Felix chuckled when he saw it.
Coop came in, and, when Scottie sat down with us, the dog laid his head in his lap. We were quiet for a while, sipping coffee and enjoying the companionship.
It was Scottie who finally spoke. “I heard what you were saying about Markaris and Russo. You’re starting at the wrong end, with what’s going on now. None of that matters.”
“It matters to me, Scottie,” I said.
“More than finding out what happened to your mother?”
Felix said, “Cal’s got his practice to worry about, and all his patients. If he can get this thing back in the box, it’s better for everybody.”
Here it comes, I thought. Scottie’s going to blow up.
But he didn’t. He sipped his coffee and petted the dog. “You’re the one who’s been telling him to forget about his family. Am I right?”
“Not forget,” Felix said. “Just don’t dwell—”
“I get the picture,” Scottie said. “A nice box, just the way you put it.”
Felix didn’t like being interrupted. His jaw clenched, but he decided to let it go.
Scottie’s hands trembled as he held them over his coffee cup. When he glanced at me, his eyes wavered, as if he wanted to look straight at me but couldn’t.
“You’re never going to keep it under control,” he said. “That’s because you remember, the same as I do.” He tapped his forehead. “It’s all in there. You know it.”
“What are you getting at?” Felix said.
Scottie didn’t answer, so I did. “He remembers things from the night he was shot.”
“So?” Felix said. “You remember things, too.”
Scottie said, “This is different.”
I put my hand out, cutting him off. “I need to speak to Felix alone.”
“No, he’ll convince you—”
“Scottie, give us a few minutes, please.”
He was trying so hard to keep his composure—through the booze and lack of sleep and stress of not being in control of anything in his life anymore. I had no idea what he would do.
“OK,” he said softly. “Come on, Coop.” They walked out together.
Felix slouched back in his chair, staring at me. There were times when he was so serious he was comical, Santa Claus meets Armageddon. But aside from my aunt and uncle, he was the person I trusted most. I needed him to understand what I was going to do.
“Scottie remembers things,” I said. “The color shirt my brother was wearing that night. Things we all said. The way the shots came in the closet. Details that he shouldn’t be able to remember, but he does.”
Felix shrugged with his hands. He didn’t know where I was going with this.
“He had help—with his memory. He went to see Evelyn Rubin.”
He took a moment to process that. “Christ, Evelyn—You’re kidding. You know what she did, the way she manipulated her patients. You can’t believe that nonsense.”
“He knew about a cut I had on my finger. I’d forgotten all about it. He remembered the games we played that night, details about my mother and father. I’m sure there are things in my own mind, memories that have never come together. With some help—”
“You can’t seriously be considering this.” He took hold of my wrists. “A session with her? You have no idea what that could trigger, even if she’s stra
ight with you.”
“You’re right. But so is Scottie when he says we’re working at the wrong end of things. Back then, that’s where it starts. That’s where I’m going to get answers.”
I pulled free of his grip. “You said Coop treats Scottie like a brother. Maybe that’s not a bad idea for me. I need to try things his way, not leave him feeling so stranded on his own island.”
I heard another squeak in the hallway. “Scottie if you’re going to listen to us, you might as well come back in.”
He edged around the corner. Even though he was hesitating, he couldn’t hide his grin.
He said, “I phoned Evelyn a few days ago. She’s home in Baltimore this weekend. She said she could be over here in a couple of hours.”
Felix was staring at me, his face sagging in disbelief. “Damned fools,” he muttered. When he’d said that before, he was joking. Not this time.
THIRTY-TWO
I convinced Scottie to wait until morning to call Evelyn Rubin. I took one of the bedrooms upstairs, and he went back to the sunroom. He must not have been able to sleep because every time I woke I heard the television on or someone in the kitchen. Toward dawn, I heard Scottie and Felix arguing. I stayed out of it. There was going to be enough tension today, and I didn’t need to add to it.
Rubin arrived at noon, driving up in a twenty-year-old sky-blue Cadillac. The car was in mint condition and had a dozen bumper stickers from marathons she had run. She didn’t look like an athlete: four feet ten inches and bird-thin, gray hair in a pageboy, and round, black-rimmed glasses. She looked the house up and down carefully before she knocked on the door.
Scottie opened it and introduced us. Her handshake was brief, but her gaze lingered. “Scottie has told me a lot about you.”
“I’ll try to live up to it.”
Her eyes crinkled behind the glasses. “Not too hard, I hope.”
Rubin turned to Felix. She didn’t offer to shake his hand. “I believe I’ve heard of you, Dr. Martinez.” It was clear what she’d heard was not good. “Is Cal a patient of yours?”
“No, he’s a friend.”
The Survivors Page 21
