Iris Johansen 1998 - The Face of Deception

by The Face of Deception(lit)

  Now?

  Yes. You may not have equipped it properly. I may have to supplement it.

  Then by all means come with me. Its one of the added rooms in the back. I havent seen it myself. I had Margaret get you everything she thought youd need.

  The efficient Margaret again.

  Not only efficient. Exceptional.

  She followed Logan across a huge living room with a fireplace large enough to walk into, plank floors covered by woven hemp carpets, and oversized leather furniture. It looked like a lodge, she decided.

  He led her down a short hall and then opened a door. Here you are.

  Coldness. Sterility. Gleaming stainless steel and glass.

  Oops. Logan grimaced. This must be Mar-garets idea of scientific heaven. Ill try to warm it up for you.

  It doesnt matter. I wont be here that long. She strode over to the pedestal. It was sturdy and ad-justable. The three video cameras on tripods next to it were top-notch, as were the computer, mixer, and VCR. She moved over to the workbench. The mea-suring instruments were high-grade, but she pre-ferred the ones she had brought with her. She took the wooden box from the shelf above the bench, and sixteen sets of eyes stared up at her. All variations of hazel, gray, green, blue, brown. Blue and brown would have been sufficient, she said. Brown is the most prevalent eye color.

  I told her to get you everything you could pos-sibly need.

  Well, she did that. She turned to look at him. When can I start to work?

  In a day or two. Im waiting for word.

  And Im supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs?

  Would you like me to dig you up one of the Bar-retts to practice on?

  No, I want to finish the job and go home.

  You gave me two weeks. He turned away. Come on, youre tired. Ill show you to your room.

  She was tired. She felt as if a thousand years had passed since she had walked to her lab that morning. She had a sudden pang of homesickness. What was she doing here? She didnt belong in this strange house with a man she didnt trust.

  The Adam Fund. It didnt matter whether she be-longed here or not. She had a job and a purpose. She came toward him. I meant what I said. I wont do anything criminal.

  I know you meant it.

  Which didnt mean he accepted it. She flicked off the overhead light and moved past him into the hall. Are you going to tell me why you brought me here and why I should do what you want me to do?

  He smiled. Why, its your patriotic duty.

  Bull. Her gaze narrowed on his face. Politics?

  Why do you assume that?

  Youre known for your activities in public view and behind the scenes.

  I suppose I should be relieved that you no longer think Im a mass murderer.

  I didnt say that. Im exploring all options. Politics?

  Possibly.

  A sudden thought occurred to her. My God, are you trying to smear someone?

  I dont believe in smear campaigns. Lets say things arent always what they seem, and I believe in bringing the truth to light.

  If its to your advantage.

  He nodded mockingly. Of course.

  I dont want to be part of it.

  Youre not part of ithellip; unless Im right. If Im wrong, you go home and we forget you were ever here. He was preceding her up the stairs. What could be more fair?

  Maybe his reason didnt involve politics. Maybe it was entirely personal. Well see.

  Yes, we will. He opened her door and stood aside. Goodnight,Eve.

  Good night. She went inside and closed the door. The room was country comfortable with a canopy bed with a rust and cream quilt, simple pine furniture. The only thing in it that interested her was the telephone on the end table. She sat down on the bed and dialed Joe Quinns number.

  Hello, he answered sleepily.

  Joe, Eve.

  His voice lost all trace of drowsiness. Is every-thing okay?

  Fine. Im sorry to wake you, but I just wanted to tell you where I am and give you my phone number here. She rattled off the number printed on the ex-tension. Got it?

  Got it. Where the hell are you?

  Barrett House. Logans place in Virginia.

  And this couldnt wait until morning?

  Probably. But I wanted you to know. I feelhellip; disconnected.

  You sound uneasy as the devil. You took the job?

  Why else would I be here?

  And whats scaring you?

  Im not scared.

  The hell youre not. You havent called me in the middle of the night since Bonnie

  Im not afraid. I just wanted you to know. She had a thought. Logan has a driver, Gil Price. He used to be in the Air Force Military Police.

  You want me to check him out?

  Ihellip; think so.

  No problem.

  And youll watch out for my mother while Im gone?

  Sure, you know I will. Ill ask Diane to go over and have coffee with her tomorrow afternoon.

  Thanks, Joe. Go back to sleep.

  Yeah, sure. He paused. I dont like this. Be careful, Eve.

  Theres nothing to be careful about. Bye.

  She hung up the phone and stood. Shed take a shower, wash her hair, and then get to bed. She really shouldnt have woken up Joe, but hearing a familiar voice made her feel better. Everything about this place was low-key and unthreatening, including lik-able Gil Price, but she was still on edge. She couldnt tell how much was authentic and how much had been layered on to disarm her, and she didnt like being so isolated.

  But now she had a link to the outside world.

  Joe would be her safety net while she was walking this tightrope.

  Eve? Diane Quinn rolled over in bed and propped her head on her hand. Is everything all right?

  Joe nodded. I think so. I dont know. She took a job that may not be Forget it. Probably nothing to worry about.

  But Joe would worry, Diane thought. He always worried about Eve.

  He lay back down and pulled up the covers. Go by and visit her mother tomorrow, will you?

  Sure. She turned out the light and cuddled closer. Whatever you say. Now go back to sleep.

  I will.

  He wouldnt go back to sleep. Hed lie there in the darkness thinking and worrying about Eve. Smother the resentment. She had a good marriage. Joe had in-herited enough money from his parents to give them a comfortable lifestyle even without his salary. He was thoughtful, generous, and great in bed. Shed known when she married him that he and Eve were a package deal. It hadnt taken her long to realize the bond between Joe and Eve was too strong to break. They were so close, sometimes they finished each others sentences.

  But that bond wasnt sexual. Not yet. Maybe never. That part of him was still hers.

  So smother the envy and resentment. Be Eves friend, be Joes wife.

  Because she was bitterly aware she couldnt be one without being the other.

  She called Joe Quinn thirty minutes ago. Gil set a sheet of paper on the desk in front of Logan. Heres a transcript Mark made of the conversation.

  Logan smiled faintly as he glanced through the text. I dont believe she trusts us, Gil.

  Smart lady. Gil threw himself into the easy chair across the room and draped a leg over the arm. Now, Im not surprised she doesnt trust you. Youre pretty transparent, but it takes someone ultrapercep-tive to suspect me.

  Its not your acting ability, its those damn freckles. He frowned. Ive been trying to contact Scott Maren in Jordan. Any calls?

  No calls. Then he snapped his fingers. Except from your lawyer, Novak.

  He can wait.

  Do you want Mark to foul up the connection if she tries to call again?

  He shook his head. Shed only use her digital. She still might if she knows the phone in her room is bugged.

  Whatever you say. He paused. When do we go for it?

  Soon.

  He lifted a brow. You wouldnt be holding out on me, would you?

  I have to make sure everythings right.
Timwicks been too close on my tail.

  You can trust me, John.

  I said Im waiting.

  All right, you closemouthed bastard. Gil stood up and strolled toward the door. But I dont like going in blind.

  You wont.

  Ill take that as a promise. Get some sleep.

  I will.

  When the door closed behind Gil, Logan glanced down at the transcript again and then tossed it to one side. Joe Quinn. He couldnt afford to underestimate the detective. Eve had inspired intense loyalty in Quinn. Loyalty and friendship and what else? he wondered. Quinn was married, but that didnt matter.

  Hell, it wasnt any of his business if it didnt in-terfere with what he needed Eve to do. Besides, he had enough to worry about.

  Scott Maren was wandering around Jordan and might be taken down at any minute.

  Timwick might have seen through Logan and drawn conclusions. Those conclusions would frighten him enough to give the order to secure his position.

  Logan couldnt wait to get hold of Maren.

  He pulled out his personal phone book and flipped it open to the back page. There were only three names and telephone numbers on the page.

  Dora Bentz.

  James Cadro.

  Scott Maren.

  Bentzs and Cadros telephones might be bugged, but he should still call and verify they were all right. Then hed send someone to pick them up.

  He reached for the telephone and dialed the first phone number.

  Dora Bentz.

  The phone was ringing.

  Fiske finished tying the womans legs to the bedposts and pushed her nightgown up above her waist.

  She was in her fifties, but she had damn nice legs. Too bad about that pouchy belly. She should have worked out, he thought. Situps would have taken care of that pouch. He did two hundred situps a day and his own belly was iron hard.

  He got a broom out of the kitchen closet and came back to the bed.

  The phone was still ringing. Persistent.

  He shoved the broom up the woman. The killing had to look like a sex crime, but he wouldnt risk ejacu-lating inside her. Semen was evidence. Many serial killers had trouble ejaculating anyway, and the broom was a nice touch. It spelled out woman hatred and home desecration.

  Anything else?

  Six deep, savage wounds on her breasts, duct tape over her mouth, the open windowhellip;

  No, it was a clean job.

  Hed have liked to stay awhile and admire his handiwork, but the phone hadnt stopped ringing.

  Whoever was on the other end might get worried and call the police.

  One more check. He walked to the head of the bed and gazed down at her.

  She stared back at him, her eyes as wide open, her expression as terrified as when hed plunged the knife into her heart.

  He took out the envelope with the photographs and the typewritten list Timwick had given him at the airport. He liked lists; they kept the world in order.

  Three photographs. Three names. Three addresses.

  He crossed Dora Bentzs name off the list.

  The phone was still ringing as he left her apart-ment.

  No answer.

  It was three-thirty in the morning. There should have been an answer.

  Logan slowly replaced the receiver.

  It didnt have to mean anything. Dora Bentz had married children who lived in Buffalo, New York. She could be visiting them. She could be on vacation anywhere.

  Or she could be dead.

  Timwick could be moving quickly to tie up all the loose ends.

  Shit, Logan had thought he had time.

  Maybe he was jumping to conclusions.

  Hell, so what? Hed always trusted his instincts, and they were shouting at him now.

  But sending Gil to check on Dora Bentz would be a tip-off. Timwick would know what he only sus-pected now. Logan could try to save Dora Bentz or he could remain safe for a few more days.

  Shit

  He picked up the phone and dialed Gils number in the carriage house.

  Lights. Moving lights.

  Eve stopped drying her hair, slowly got up, and went to the window.

  The black limousine that had picked them up at the airport was gliding down the driveway toward the gates.

  Logan?

  Gil Price?

  It was almost four oclock in the morning. Where would anyone be going at this hour?

  She doubted if shed be told if she asked to-morrow morning.

  But shed damn well do it anyway.

  SIX

  Eve didnt fall asleep until five, and then her slumber was restless. She woke at nine but forced herself to stay in bed until almost ten, when a thun-derous knock sounded on the door.

  The door opened before she could answer, and a small, plump woman strode into the room. Hi, Im Margaret Wilson. Heres the gate control you wanted. She set the remote on the nightstand. Sorry if I woke you, but John says I screwed up on the lab. How the hell was I to know you wanted pretty? What do I need to get? Pillows? Rugs?

  Nothing. Eve sat up in bed and gazed curiously at Margaret Wilson. The woman was probably in her early forties. The gray gabardine pantsuit she wore slimmed her plump figure and complemented her dark, sleek hair and hazel eyes. I told him that I wasnt going to be here long enough for it to matter.

  It matters. John likes things right. So do I. Whats your favorite color?

  Green, I guess.

  I should have known. Redheads are pretty predictable.

  Im not a redhead.

  Well, almost. She looked around the room. This kind of thing okay?

  Eve nodded as she threw back the covers and got out of bed.

  Good, then Ill get on the phone and order some stuff. It should be Oh, my God, youre a giant.

  What?

  Margaret was glowering at her. How the hell tall are you?

  Five nine.

  A giant. Youll make me feel like a midget. I hate tall, skinny women. They do something to my psyche and I become over aggressive.

  Youre not that small.

  Youre patronizing me. She grimaced. And Im being defensive. Oh, well, Ill have to fight it. Ill just keep telling myself that Im much smarter than you. Get dressed and come on down to the kitchen. Well grab some cereal and then Ill take you for a walk around the grounds.

  Thats not necessary.

  Sure it is. John wants you kept happy and he says you dont have anything to do right away. If youre anything like me, youll go crazy. She headed for the door. But well take care of it. Fifteen minutes?

  Fine. She wondered what the response would have been if she had said otherwise. Margarets tac-tics made a steamroller look subtle.

  But it was hard not to like her. She hadnt smiled once, but she exuded a vibrant energy and cheerful-ness. She was blunt, bold, and like no one Eve had ever met. She was a breath of fresh air after the dark tension she sensed in Logan.

  The Barrett family graveyard. Margaret waved a hand at the small iron-fenced cemetery. Theres no grave later than 1922. Do you want to go in?

  Eve shook her head.

  Thank God. Cemeteries depress me, but I thought you might be interested.

  Why?

  I dont know. All those bones and stuff you work with.

  I dont hang around graveyards like some kind of ghoul, but they dont bother me. Particularly family cemeteries. No lost ones here, and it was ex-tremely well kept. All the graves were even covered with pallets of fresh carnations. Where did all the flowers come from? Are there Barretts still in the neighborhood?

  No, the direct line died out about twenty years ago. She pointed at a gravestone. Randolph Barrett. The family scattered over the years and Randolph Barrett was the last to be buried here back in 1922. The graveyard was in pretty sad shape when John bought the property. He gave orders for it to be cleaned up and fresh flowers brought in every week.

  Im surprised. I wouldnt think Logan would be that sentimental.

  Well, you never know what John is
going to do. But Im glad he brought in a landscaper for this job. Like I said, cemeteries depress me.