Lone Hunter: Will Finch Mystery Thriller Series Book 3

by D. F. Bailey

  “Eve —"

  “Mr. Gimbel, my taxi is pulling into the airport right now. I need Will’s interview with Whitelaw before my flight departs. I don’t like to be blunt, but I have no time left to explain this. If you don’t send me these materials, the eXpress will lose all access to GIGcoin, Toeplitz’s bitcoin wallet and all of my information related to this story. Furthermore, I need the contact info for Will’s lawyer. Please let him know that I’ll be in touch as soon as I land.”

  By the time she arrived in the SFO departure lounge, Eve had received the lawyer’s name and cell number, Finch’s audio interview with Whitelaw and the Stand Up 4 Justice video clip.

  She would never know it, but for the first time in his forty-two year career, Wally Gimbel had breached the confidentiality of one of his reporters.

  ※

  Eve didn’t care for the view from her room in the Capitol Hill Hotel. However, it was the only decent hotel with a vacancy within driving distance to the DC Jail. But when Ornette Small met her in the hotel lobby her spirits were lifted. Ornette was a tall, heavy-set black man, built like a linebacker with the face of a choir boy. He wore a pin-striped grey suit and spoke in a hurry with a Brooklyn accent.

  “Ms. Noon.” He shook her hand briskly. “I just talked to Will. Considering his situation, he’s holding up well.”

  She led him to a quiet corner where they sat on two chairs separated by a round side table. “Did they beat him?”

  “Nothing he couldn’t handle.” He glanced away, then added, “He’s fine. In a cell with another white male. A stool, I imagine. Playing tit-for-tat. He confessed to his crimes — supposedly a double homicide — to try to get Will to do the same. I cautioned him.”

  Eve nodded. It meant the Feds were reaching for any ploy that might incriminate him. A sign of desperation.

  “I heard you were a cop with the SFPD.”

  “Ancient history. Did you tell him I’m here?”

  “He knows.”

  “Can you get me in to see him?”

  He shook his head. “You know how it works. But look.” He leaned forward, set his thick forearms on his thighs and lowered his voice. “Against all odds, there’s a good chance he won’t go to trial. I might even be able to pull him out of jail.”

  “Really? Someone’s accused of assassinating a senator and walks?” Her lips curled as if she might spit. “In this country?”

  “Ain’t it great? Can’t accuse me of being a cynic.” He smiled. Flawless white teeth, rosy-pink gums. Beautiful. “We’ve got the audio recording of Will’s interview. And we have this video from Stand Up 4 Justice. A phone app designed for exactly this situation. I asked Wally Gimbel to publish both of them immediately. The media’s all over it.”

  “I’ve heard them both.” Eve guessed that after Wally emailed her the files he decided he had only one option: release the recordings to everyone. Smart. “There’s one part, after he discloses he’s got Parkinson’s Disease when the senator says, ‘Pull the trigger. Please.’ That should get some airplay.”

  “It’s the top sound bite every ten minutes. CNN won’t let it go. They’re pit bulls when it comes to one of their own.”

  “So can you spring him?”

  “The firm’s mounted a full-court press to get him in front of a judge for a preliminary hearing tomorrow morning.” He rolled his head as if he had to work out a kink in his neck.

  “And until then?”

  “We’ll spend every minute to prep for the judge.” He stood up and glanced around the lobby, scanning for informers. “In the meantime, don’t tell anyone you’re in D.C. If we get him out, I want to bring him here. Did you book a room in your name?”

  “No. Alice Shaw.”

  “Good. Once he’s here, wait a day or two before you go back to Frisco. Cover your tracks. And one more thing.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

  “Yes?”

  “Will said you should check the second concrete flower planter outside the senator’s building.”

  A blank look crossed her face. “The second flower planter?”

  “The second one from the front door of the Washington Harbor building on K Street. And by the way, I never told you that.”

  ※

  By the time Eve stepped out of the taxi onto the brick mall leading to the Washington Harbor building, the Georgetown crowds were strolling the streets, searching out late-night diversions and entertainment. It was almost eleven o’clock but a burdensome humidity still hung in the air and the scent of decay rose from the bank of the river. Rotting fish? Seaweed stewing in the sun all day? She couldn’t tell the difference.

  She calculated that whatever Will had left for her in the concrete flower planter had been waiting for her for almost twenty-four hours. A sense of urgency filled her mind as she approached the four receptacles. They were perfect hemispheres, perhaps three feet in diameter, each one set on a flat bottom. All four brimmed with masses of mixed bedding plants: petunias, geraniums, fuchsias. She was pleased to see that they hadn’t been watered for a day or two.

  As she walked past each pot she scanned them for anything unusual. She lingered at the second flowerpot, hoping to discover something obvious: his discarded phone or wallet, maybe a note. Nothing. After her first pass, she sat on a bench near the building entrance and studied the scene. Despite the senator’s “assassination” earlier that morning, no cops were visible. Nor could she detect any sign of Witowsky or Malinin, who might have tracked her to Washington. A few tourists sauntered past on their way to the riverfront. Two couples dressed for a night at the symphony or opera returned to the building, entered their access codes on the exterior keypad and disappeared into the elegant interior. The senator would have had little to fear living here, she mused. Except for his suicidal impulses.

  Assured that she wasn’t being monitored, Eve approached the second receptacle again, set her bag on the ground and began to sift through the flowers spilling over the concrete lip.

  “Can I help you miss?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see a uniformed man standing between her and the building entrance.

  “No, thanks.” She continued her search, now separating each plant from its neighbor with her hands, pressing her nose into the buds as if she might be assessing the scent of each flower.

  She heard the man approach. “I’m sorry, but these planters are property of Washington Harbor.”

  “Are they?” She stood up and turned to face him, a puzzled expression on her face. He appeared to be about twenty or twenty-one. Most likely a college kid working his shift at a part-time job. “Are you the concierge?”

  “Assistant concierge.” He smiled, at ease now that they’d established a conversation. Perhaps the head man had sent him out here to see what Eve was doing and shoo her away.

  “Well maybe you can help me.” She smiled and arched her back a little and half-turned to the planter. “My sister lost a really valuable earring here last night. She thinks it must have fallen into one of these pots!” She let out a laugh, a note suggesting how absurd her sister could be. And so typical of her. “Can you look at that first one?” She pushed a hand through her hair and pointed to the planter nearest the front door.

  “Happy to, ma’am. What kind of earring is it?”

  “Pearl,” she said. “A tiny black pearl. Size of your little toenail.” She considered shaking his hand and telling him not to call her ma’am, then thought better of it and returned to her search.

  A moment later the front door swung open again. Another uniformed man took a step forward. “Dirk, what’re you doing out there?” His voice carried the suspicion that however Dirk might reply, his answer would be ludicrous.

  “Sorry, Mr. Wayburn. This lady’s sister lost a black pearl earring here last night.”

  “Black pearl?” He paused to consider this.

  Eve glanced at Mr. Wayburn. He wore a cap over his bald skull. “Are you the concierge?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”<
br />
  She smiled again. “Could you have a look through the third planter, over here? I know Alice will be so upset if we don’t find her earring.”

  Wayburn stepped over to the third vessel and began to sweep the plants with his gloved hand. “Black pearl. I never heard of a black pearl.”

  “It’s very rare,” Dirk said, his nose hovering above the flowers. “Size of your little toenail.”

  Partially convinced, Wayburn pointed back to the doorway and said, “Go get Pinky out here. Have him search through that last planter.”

  Dirk returned with another uniformed employee and together they continued the search for the missing black pearl earring.

  Seconds later Eve spotted the SD card. She knew in an instant what it had to contain. She pressed it between her thumb and finger, peeked at her helpers and slipped it into her pocket.

  Her next impulse was to call off the search, apologize for wasting their time and make her way back to the Capitol Hill Hotel. Instead, she decided to continue the charade for another five or ten minutes before giving up with a gasp of exasperation. Life is too short, she told herself. Enjoy the moment. After all, how often do you come across three young, uniformed men bent over to serve your whims?

  ※ — SIXTEEN — ※

  FOUR DAYS LATER — after his appearance in court on Friday, a long wait through the weekend and a second appearance on Monday afternoon to hear the judge’s “considered opinion” to conclude the preliminary hearing — Finch collected his wallet, phone, laptop and courier bag and passed through the final security screen in the DC Jail. He took a moment to look through his wallet. A pleasant surprise: every dollar accounted for. On the other side of the steel door he was joined by Ornette Small.

  Will shook his lawyer’s hand. “Thanks, Ornette. I can’t believe I’m walking out of here.”

  “Nobody can.” Ornette said.

  “I went from ‘confined without bail’ to ‘get out of jail free.’ Who’s pulling the strings?” The shock of sunlight blinded him and he held up a hand to shade his eyes.

  “The Parson brothers. Must be nice to work for a company that’s all heart.”

  Finch smiled. “I’d really like to believe that. But they know I’m more valuable to them outside a jail cell writing this story for the eXpress.”

  “Yeah. I guess this is going to sell a truckload of ads.”

  As the guard turned away and left them standing on D Street, a crowd of photographers rushed toward them. Ornette held out his arm to shield Finch from the throng of reporters. “Don’t say a word. I’ll handle the press.”

  Finch smiled at the thought. As if he’d break this story to the ravenous mob. No, this one I keep for myself.

  Ornette guided him to a black Lincoln waiting at the curb, opened the back door to let Finch slip onto the seat. Then he turned and faced the cameras.

  “As you know William Finch has been released unconditionally. The arguments supporting his release are incontrovertible. I’ll give you a brief statement but I won’t answer any questions,” he announced. “First, I’d like to congratulate the presiding judge, Michael Stenopolous, for having the courage to embrace the irrefutable facts presented to him in the preliminary hearing last Friday and again today. Second, based on the recorded evidence at the time of and preceding the senator’s death, it’s a sad but undeniable fact that Senator Franklin Whitelaw committed suicide in the presence of Mr. Finch using a weapon registered in the senator’s name. And finally, this is the time for us to mourn the loss of one of our most prolific senators in recent decades. While he achieved great legislative victories, he suffered greatly, too. Not only did he suffer a string of recent tragedies in his family, but he endured the increasing debilitation of Parkinson’s Disease with stoic bravery. The world would be a better place if more citizens lived his example.”

  Will heard the collective outcry from the reporters as Ornette declined to answer their questions. The lawyer smiled, waved a hand to the cameras, squeezed into the back seat beside Will and closed the door.

  As they drove through the city, Ornette instructed the driver to employ an evasive route which led them through several bypasses and tunnels before they arrived at the Capitol Hill Hotel. When they reached C Street the car pulled up to the curb. The door lock beside Finch popped open.

  “Two things, Will.” Ornette clasped Finch’s forearm to hold him in place. “One, don’t trust your phone or laptop. These days the surveillance technology is just too good. You’re better off having a pro destroy them and buying new gear. Second, hang in a day or two before you fly back to Frisco. Order room service. Watch some Netflix on the tube. Let things cool down.”

  “Good idea.” Finch said. “Do me a favor and tell Wally that I’ll be off the grid for a few days,” He pressed two fingers to the swollen cheek on his bruised face. “Besides, I can use a break. And listen, I owe you big time.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Ornette released a deep laugh. “Next time I’m out your way, you and Eve are taking me and Hennessy to dinner. Five-course meal. Ball-busting expensive.”

  Will laughed. Nice to know someone as hard working as Ornette had someone to love. “You got it,” he said and eased out of the Lincoln.

  He walked into the hotel lobby, stopped in at the florist shop for a dozen roses, picked up a box of Callebaut dark chocolate and asked the receptionist for Alice Shaw’s room number. Seventy-seven. As he made his way down the corridor, he thought, wouldn’t you know it. A pair of sevens. Lucky as they come.

  ※

  “I had four days to think. For the first time since I checked out of Eden Veil, I sat back and considered where this is going.” Finch pulled himself up in the bed and stirred his hand as if he could be mixing a pot of stew.

  “That’s where you went to dry out after Buddy died?” Eve drew the bed sheet over her breasts, leaned on an elbow, and kissed his bare shoulder.

  He blinked and stared through the window. “Mostly he was all I could think about. About how I should have taken the car keys away from Bethany. If I’d done that, he’d still be alive.”

  “That’s magical thinking, Will.” She brushed a finger over the bruise on his cheek. “Go down that rabbit hole and you might never come back.”

  “I know.” He studied her face and when she didn’t turn away he looked into her eyes. She drew him in and they stayed there a moment, in a place deep and alive. Finally he glanced away.

  “Whitelaw said something to me just before he shot himself.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s so strange, because I wondered why I didn’t take the gun away from him. He stood this close to me.” He held a hand in the air. “Just holding the gun. Backwards, the barrel pressed to his heart.”

  She drew two pillows under her head and listened to him.

  “I mean, why didn’t I just knock the pistol out of his hand?” He searched her face as if she might be withholding the answer.

  “So ... why?”

  “Because of what he said. Just ten seconds before he did it. He said I chose to attack his family so I could get past what happened to Cecily and Buddy. It hit me like a brick. I froze. I couldn’t do anything, let alone take his gun. Then he said he’d chosen me. He planned the whole thing. That’s why he agreed to do the interview.”

  “So he could have some perverse kind of revenge.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Exactly.”

  He thought about revenge. Where it could take you, how it hurt you.

  “You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to.” She studied the cuts and bruises on his face. “On the other hand, you can tell me as much as you want.”

  He shrugged and felt an urge to have sex again. Long, deep, animal sex that would take his mind away from the precipice he’d been walking along for almost two months.

  “And it doesn’t have to be just now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It could be tomorrow. The next day, even next year. You can tell me anythin
g, Will. Any time.”

  He leaned over and kissed her mouth.

  “Hold that thought,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back after I shower.”

  She let the sheet fall away, pulled herself from the bed and tip-toed into the bathroom.

  Finch drifted in the haze of his confusion and memories, his longing and exhaustion. He could easily sleep for another hour, but no, he decided, he would wait for this woman who loved him so completely and let their instincts carry them through the night, into some far-off zone of unconsciousness where he could hide for another day.

  ※

  “Once we get home it starts all over again, you know.”

  “By it you mean Witowsky.”

  “And Malinin.”

  “Then maybe we should just stay here.”

  A laugh. “How many more times can you make love?”

  “I don’t know. A little more, I think.”

  They kissed.

  “You won’t get bored?”

  “Maybe after a hundred times.”

  “A hundred?” Another laugh. “That’s all it would take you?”

  “It’s not the loving that wears me down, darling. It’s the room service.”

  They gazed at the stack of dinner trays piled on the desk.

  “And the soap.”

  “The soap? Hell, it’s the shampoo driving me crazy.”

  He nodded. She grinned.

  “So. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

  “We’d have to get dressed, first.”

  “Dressed? Then forget it. We’re not leaving.”

  ※

  They took the bus to Philadelphia, then a taxi to the airport where they booked tickets on the next flight to San Francisco. To avoid any digital tracking by Malinin or Witowsky, they paid their fares in cash.

  “But the Feds could be on our trail as soon as we register our boarding passes,” Finch said as they considered their options in the airport Starbucks outlet.