Fallen wt-5

by Karin Slaughter

  Will cleared his throat. “That’s okay. I like it sometimes.” He took a sip from the mug. He practically grimaced as he swallowed.

  Sara couldn’t take much more of this. The only way she could be more out of place would be if she pulled out an accordion and started singing polka tunes. “I should give y’all some privacy.”

  Amanda stopped her. “If you don’t mind, Dr. Linton, I’d like a fresh ear on this.”

  They were all looking at her. Impossibly, Sara felt even more naked than before. She looked at Will for help, but his blank expression was probably the same one he gave to the woman at the bank or the guy who picked up his recyclables.

  There was nothing to be done about it. She sat down beside Faith.

  Amanda took the other seat. “All right, let’s go over what we know so we’re all on the same page. Will, run it down for us.”

  He put down the coffee mug and started talking. He told Faith about everything that had happened since Evelyn had been taken, detailing the crime scene, their visit with Boyd Spivey at the D&C and his silent ex-colleagues at Valdosta State Prison. Faith’s lips parted in surprise when he told her about Roz Levy’s photographs of Evelyn’s gentleman friend. Still, she kept silent as he detailed Sara’s ordeal at the hospital and the shootout at Julia Ling’s warehouse. Sara felt that familiar tightness in her chest when he got to this last part. The cut on his ear. A bullet had whizzed by, less than an inch from his skull.

  Will said, “Ricardo Ortiz and Hironobu Kwon knew each other from school. They both went to Westminster. They were most likely working in Ling-Ling’s cabinet shop together. They got it into their heads to start their own business. They obviously pulled together a crew from the other guys working in the shop. Ricardo went to Sweden and picked up some heroin for them to sell. According to Roger Ling, the boys were all bragging about it. Benny Choo, strongarm for the Yellow Rebels, picked up Ricardo and basically beat the crap out of him. He was about to pull the plug, but Ricardo, or maybe Hironobu, told him where they could get some serious money.”

  Faith had been quietly taking all this in, but now she mumbled, “Mom.”

  “Right,” Will confirmed. “Chuck Finn and Hironobu Kwon were in the same rehab facility for at least a month. Chuck must’ve told Hironobu about the money. Ricardo was about to die, so Hironobu says, ‘I know where I can get almost a million in cash.’ Benny Choo takes him up on the offer.”

  Amanda picked up the story. “That’s what they were looking for at Evelyn’s. They thought she had money at the house. When she didn’t give it up, they took her.”

  Sara thought it was convenient that Amanda had skipped over the fact that Hector Ortiz, the cousin of one of the most powerful drug lords in Atlanta, was dead in Evelyn’s trunk. She should’ve kept her mouth shut, but this was her house, they had barged in without notice, and Sara was tired of being polite. “That doesn’t explain why Hector Ortiz was there.”

  Amanda raised one eyebrow. “No, it doesn’t, does it?”

  Sara didn’t work for this woman. She wasn’t going to walk on eggshells. “You’re not going to answer the question?”

  There was a crocodile smile on Amanda’s lips. “The more important issue here is that they did all of this because they want money. We can negotiate with people who want money.”

  Will said, “It’s not about money.”

  “We don’t have time for your woman’s intuition,” Amanda snapped.

  His voice sounded tired, but he didn’t back down. “They’re trying to get Faith trapped in that house for a reason. If we go in without knowing that reason, then it’s not going to end well. Not for any of us.” What he said sounded perfectly reasonable, but Sara could tell Amanda wasn’t buying it. Still, he kept trying. “Look, if it was just about money, they would’ve made a ransom demand the first day. They wouldn’t be doing this back-and-forth through Facebook. They wouldn’t risk meeting Faith face-to-face in the grocery store. It would be a simple transaction. Make the call. Pick up the money. Leave the hostage somewhere, and you’re home free.”

  Again, a reasonable assumption. Again, Amanda ignored it.

  She said, “There is no secret endgame here. They want cash. We’ll give them cash. We’ll shove it so far down their throats they’ll be shitting paper all the way to prison.”

  “He’s right.” Faith had been staring blankly ahead for most of this exchange, but with her hypoglycemia finally leveled out, she was back to thinking like a detective. “What about the bank account?”

  Amanda stood up to get more coffee. “The account doesn’t matter.”

  Will seemed ready to disagree, but for his own reasons, he kept silent.

  Amanda told Faith, “Your father was a gambler.”

  Faith shook her head. “That’s not true.”

  “He played poker every weekend.”

  “For quarters.” She kept shaking her head. “Dad was an insurance salesman. He hated risk.”

  “He wasn’t risking anything. He was very careful.” Amanda went back around the kitchen island and sat down by Faith. “How many times did he and Kenny go to Vegas when you were little?”

  Faith was still unconvinced. “That was for work conventions.”

  “Bill was methodical about it. He was methodical about everything. You know that. He knew how to bluff and he knew when to walk away. Kenny wasn’t as smart, but that’s a story for another time.” She looked at Will. “Bill didn’t pay taxes on the money. That’s why the bank account was a secret.”

  Sara could see her own confusion reflected in Will’s face. Past a certain amount, you couldn’t just walk out of a Vegas casino, or any legal casino in America, for that matter, without paying taxes.

  Faith didn’t pick up on this. “I can’t see Dad taking that kind of risk. He hated gambling. He was all over Kenny about it.”

  “Because Kenny was an idiot with his money,” Amanda countered. The bitter edge to her voice reminded Sara that the two had dated for many years. “For Bill, it was just fun, blowing off steam, and sometimes he won a lot of money, and sometimes he lost a little, but he always knew when to walk away. It wasn’t an addiction for him. It was sport.”

  Will finally spoke up. “Why didn’t Evelyn tell me that when I was investigating her?”

  Amanda smiled. “She didn’t tell you a hell of a lot about anything when you were investigating her.”

  “No,” he agreed. “But she could’ve easily gotten rid of the suspicion if—”

  “There was no suspicion,” Amanda interrupted. She directed her words toward Faith. “Your mother was the one who turned in the team. That’s why they called her Almeja. She was a snitch.”

  “What?” Faith’s confusion was almost palpable. She looked at Will as if he had the answers. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  Amanda said, “Because she wanted to protect you. The less you knew, the safer you were.”

  Will said, “Then why are you telling her now?”

  Amanda was obviously annoyed. “Because you won’t get off that stupid account, even though I’ve told you time and again that it doesn’t matter.”

  Will had put his coffee mug on the counter. He slowly turned the handle so that it was parallel to the backsplash.

  Faith asked what Sara was thinking. “How did she find out they were taking money?”

  Amanda shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” Will answered. He obviously wanted to hear the story so that he could find the holes.

  Amanda took a deep breath before starting, “There was a bust on the southside, one of the projects in East Point. Evelyn led the raid team into the apartment. Early morning. The bad guys were still asleep, hungover from the night before, with a pile of money sitting on the coffee table and enough coke to take down an elephant.” Amanda started to smile, clearly enjoying the story. “They rounded them up and perp walked them into the street. They had their hands behind their backs, sitting on their knees, staring at the doors on the squad ca
rs to remind them who was in charge. In comes the media, which Boyd could never resist. He lines up the team for photos, with the bad guys in the background. Charlie’s Angels territory. Your mother always hated that part. She usually left—went back to the office to do the paperwork—when the press came. This time, the street was blocked, so she went back into the apartment and looked around for herself.” Amanda pursed her lips. “First thing she notices is that the cash pile doesn’t look like it did before. She said it was stacked into a pyramid when they busted down the door. You know your mom was always the first one in.” Faith nodded. “She said she noticed the pyramid right off, because Zeke used to—”

  “Pyramid everything.” Faith explained, “When he was ten or eleven, he started stacking stuff—books, Legos, Matchbox cars—into pyramids.”

  “Your mother thought he was autistic. Maybe she was right.” Amanda continued, “Anyway, she noticed the pile, is the point here. That the pyramid was a square when she went back into the apartment. She started watching the team more closely after that, keeping her ear to the ground, tracking which cases made it and which fell apart because evidence was lost or witnesses went missing. And then when she was sure, she came to me.”

  Will said, “You told me the tip was anonymous.”

  “Evelyn had to be investigated just like everyone else. These weren’t choirboys we were dealing with. Boyd and the crew were raking in tons of cash. They were also being paid to look the other way. You don’t cut into that kind of business without risking your life. Ev had to be protected. So we decided that we’d call it an anonymous tip and put her through the ringer just like everyone else.”

  Faith said, “But they must’ve suspected the tip came from Mom. She was the only one who wasn’t in on it.”

  “There’s a big leap between suspecting and knowing.” Her tone became strained. “And Boyd Spivey protected her. He let it be known that she was off limits. He stood up for her at every turn. I suppose that’s why they took him out. They could take the GBI and the APD on their tails, but someone with Boyd’s juice could get to them in ways we can’t.”

  Faith was quiet, probably thinking about the dead man who had protected her mother. For her part, Sara was thinking about the time and money that went into putting a hit on a man who lived on death row. The whole thing had been carefully planned and executed by people who knew Evelyn Mitchell’s weak points: Boyd Spivey, her muscle; Faith, her daughter; Amanda, her best friend. This was sounding more and more like a revenge attack and less like a money grab. Sara could tell that Will had made the same connections. But as usual, when he finally spoke, he didn’t make mention of the obvious.

  Instead, he asked Amanda, “Did you redact the bank account out of my report?”

  “We’re not the IRS.” She shrugged. “No reason to punish someone for doing the right thing.”

  Sara could tell Will was angry, but he still said nothing. He didn’t even seethe. He just tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned his back against the counter. She had never had an argument with him. At this point, she wasn’t sure she ever would, but Sara could imagine that it would be a grand exercise in futility.

  For her part, Faith seemed oblivious to the holes in Amanda’s story. Considering her blood sugar had been spiking and plummeting like a Ping-Pong ball for the last few days, it was surprising she could even sit up straight. That was why Sara was sure she’d heard wrong when Faith finally spoke.

  “They left her finger under my pillow.”

  Amanda didn’t blink an eye. “Where is the finger?”

  “In my medicine cabinet.” Faith put her hand to her mouth. She looked as if she was going to be sick. Sara jumped up and grabbed the trashcan, but Faith waved her away. “I’m all right.” She took a few deep breaths. Sara got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water.

  Faith drank greedily, her throat making gulping sounds.

  Sara refilled the glass and put it in front of her. She leaned back against the counter and kept an eye on Faith. Will was leaning a few feet down from her. His hands were still in his pockets. She felt the distance between them like a cold rush of air.

  Faith took a sip of water before telling them, “They tried to get Jeremy. I sent him away with my brother. Emma, too. And then I went to the grocery store and the guy cornered me in the bathroom.”

  Amanda asked, “What did he look like?”

  Faith gave them a very detailed description of his height, weight, clothing, grammar. “I think he was Hispanic. He had blue eyes.” She looked at Sara. “Is that normal?”

  “It’s not common, but it’s not rare.” Sara explained, “Mexico was settled by Spaniards. Some of them married Native Americans. Not all Mexicans have brown skin and dark hair. Some have blond hair and lighter skin. Some have blue or green eyes. It’s a recessive gene, but it shows up.”

  Amanda asked, “But this guy had blue eyes?”

  Faith nodded.

  “No tattoos?”

  “A snake on his neck.”

  It was Amanda’s turn to nod. “We can put that on the wire. At the very least, we can get a list of Hispanic men eighteen to twenty who have blue eyes.” She seemed to remember something. “No luck on the search for tattoo parlors. Whoever did Marcellus Estevez’s tattoo of the archangel Gabriel is either out of state, off the books, or isn’t talking.”

  “There was something familiar about him,” Faith said. “I thought maybe I’d arrested him, but he told me no.”

  “I’m sure he was telling the truth.” Amanda pulled out her BlackBerry and started typing as she talked. “I’ll have records look through your reports. I know someone in the APD who can sneak in the back door for your cases before you started working with us.”

  “I doubt you’ll find anything.” Faith rubbed her temples. “He’s Jeremy’s age. Maybe he knows him. Maybe they went to school together. I don’t know.”

  Amanda finished her email. “Did you ask Jeremy?”

  Faith nodded her head. “I gave him a rough description last night. He doesn’t know anybody who fits the bill. At least no one he can recall.”

  Will asked, “Is there anything else you can remember?”

  Obviously, there was something. Faith looked reticent. “It’s something really stupid. Maybe …” She looked at Sara. “My blood sugar has been crazy. It’s making me hallucinate.”

  Sara asked, “In what way?”

  “I just—” She shook her head. “It’s stupid. The silverware drawer was wrong.” She laughed at herself. “It’s really stupid. Never mind.”

  “Go on,” Sara told her. “What was wrong with it?”

  “The forks were turned the wrong way. And the spoons. And my pens were in the wrong drawer. I always put them in the same place, and … And then I went into the living room and the snow globes were all turned toward the wall. They usually face out. I’m really careful with them. They belonged to my father. I dust them every week. Jeremy isn’t allowed to touch them. Zeke wouldn’t go near them. I just …” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I did it last night and I don’t remember. Maybe I just thought they were turned around. But I remember turning them back around, so …” She put her head in her hands. “My mind has been off-kilter since all of this happened. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not. Maybe I’m just going crazy. Could I be hallucinating?”

  Sara told her, “Your numbers are erratic, but they don’t point to metabolic derangement. You’re not that dehydrated, but you’re certainly under a lot of stress. Do you feel like you have a cold or infection?” Faith shook her head. “I’d expect confusion, which you’ve shown, and paranoia, which is understandable, but not full-on hallucinations.” She felt the need to add, “Turning the snow globes around sounds more like something a kid would do for attention. You’re sure your son didn’t do it?”

  “I haven’t asked him. It’s embarrassing even to talk about. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  Amanda was shaking her head. “Jerem
y wouldn’t do something like that, especially with what’s been going on. He wouldn’t want to cause you more stress. And he’s almost twenty years old. He’s too mature for that sort of thing.”

  “Maybe I just imagined it,” Faith said. “Why would these guys turn around all the snow globes?” She seemed to remember something else. “And unscrew the light bulbs.”

  Amanda sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Faith. What matters is that we’ve got to get a plan together.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost seven o’clock. We need to put our thinking caps on.”

  Faith said, “Will’s right. They’re watching Mom’s house. I know they’re watching mine. If we bring in the APD—”

  “I have no intention of doing something so stupid,” Amanda interrupted. “We still don’t know if Chuck Finn is involved in this or not.” Faith opened her mouth to protest, but Amanda held up her hand to stop her. “I know you think that Chuck was pushed into a life of crime while the others willingly jumped in, but guilty doesn’t come in shades. He took the money. He spent it. He confessed to his crimes and he’s out on the street somewhere with a very serious habit that costs a great deal of money. You also need to remember that Chuck still has friends on the Atlanta force, and where he doesn’t have friends, he might have the money to buy them. I know you don’t want to hear this, but there’s no getting around that he either gave Hironobu Kwon the tip-off or he’s pulling the strings on this new group of young guns.”

  Faith countered, “That doesn’t sound like Chuck.”

  “Skimming money off busts didn’t sound like Chuck, either, but here we are.” She told Will, “You mentioned the vantage point from Roz Levy’s house. There’s no way they could set up there. She’d shoot them the second they set foot in the driveway.”

  “It’s true,” Faith agreed. “Mrs. Levy watches the street like a hawk.”

  Will countered, “Unless someone’s getting shot or kidnapped next door.”

  Amanda ignored the observation. “The point, Will, is that we can exploit the position just as easily as the kidnappers can. Short of shipping you in the world’s largest box, we need to figure out how we’re going to get you and your rifle into Roz Levy’s carport without being seen.” She looked at Faith. “Are you sure you weren’t followed here?”