"They weren't kind," Finn said.
"To say the least," she agreed. "His face kind of makes my leg look like a scratch."
"I'm surprised they didn't simply kill him," Finn said.
"We think they let Aman go because they knew that Takrit wasn't going to stop speaking out and killing him would just give her more fodder. Once we started releasing the YouTube stuff, Abu knew that we had him in our sights. We think Abu figured Aman would head straight for Takrit. If he did that, they could kill two birds with one stone literally. All Abu wanted was to find Takrit and silence her. She had no idea what they had done to Aman until she saw him. God it was hard to watch them together."
"And she chose you over her husband or him over you?"
Sharon's lips pulled up at one side and she chuckled. "If I say she pulled out of my project you're going to think I offed her; if I say she went against Aman, you're going to be looking at him for killing her. After what all of us have been through for Takrit, I seriously don't think we deserve the hassle."
"But even you will admit that both are possibilities," Finn said.
"I'm not admitting anything. It wasn't me. If we were taking about someone other than Takrit, I might give you Aman. His rage is really something else – and he is filled with it, believe me – but he would die before he would hurt her. I'd bet my life on it."
Sharon fell silent and while Finn waited for her to speak again, he considered that he might have found a reason for Aman's silence. Maybe the man was waiting for a chance to kill Sharon Stover as revenge for Takrit. Before Finn could suggest it, Sharon said:
"They didn't even give her anesthesia."
"Why would men agree to do such things?" Finn mused, respecting that Sharon's thoughts kept returning to the injustice visited upon Takrit.
"I don't know. Sick people are put in power or power makes them sick. You choose. Bottom line, Abu can honestly say he never lifted a finger to hurt anyone, but there's a lot of blood on his hands. Nothing happens in Eritrea unless he orders it."
"As you say, a powerful man. So powerful that I would think your movie would only be an annoyance to him," Finn pointed out. "There's a lot of lip service in our country to issues such as this, missus, but very little gets done about them."
Sharon dropped the chair's footrest, unwound her good leg and stood up. When her blade hit the floor, it gave a bit and Finn thought that cushion might be the softest thing about the woman.
"I've been living in this room for a year. I need a breather."
They went back to the great room and sat on the white sofas and looked across the deck to the glittering city beyond.
"Here's the thing," Sharon said. "Abu's been all over the U.S. trying to drum up business for Eritrea which really is just a front for him lining his own pockets. The more money he gets, the more control he exerts, the more people in his country suffer. Takrit has always been a thorn in his side."
"Do you think it was Emanuel who had her killed?"
"Yep," she said without hesitation. "His sidekick, Oliver, would do it for fun, and Rada, his manservant, would do it because he's programmed and afraid. But I don't care who did it, I want that thumb drive and if you have it then give it to me. I paid for her to get out and that means I paid for the video."
"Why didn't she already give it to you?" Finn asked, dodging the question of possession. "Why not when she moved in here?"
"Because she was smart enough not to trust me," Sharon said. "In case you haven't noticed, I have a bit of an edge."
"I wouldn't have mentioned it," Finn said.
"Yeah, well, here's the thing. Takrit was an intellectual and a patriot, but she was also a woman. The intellectual in her wanted to address all the injustices in her country, but I was asking her to show the world something intimate and shameful. There's a fine line between honesty and exploitation. It's one thing to talk about circumcision; it's another for a grown woman to allow us to watch it happening to her. What was taken from her is so much more than what I lost. Do you understand?"
"It was explained to me by a woman I know," Finn said.
"Good for you for listening, but I know you'll never be able to get what it really means. Men aren't wired that way." Sharon leaned forward and put her arms on her knees. She clasped her hands and stared into the night. "Look, I needed Takrit precisely because she wasn't an illiterate from a dusty, no-name village. We were down to the wire, and she had made her decision. She said she had the thumb drive hidden. If I had to guess, I'd bet it was at her grandmother's place. Wherever it was, she was supposed to pick it up and bring it back here the day she died."
"Are you saying she never came back here?" Finn asked.
"I never saw her after that morning. I got caught up at the studio. I tried to call, but when she didn't answer I figured she didn't feel like talking. It never occurred to me that she wouldn't be here waiting for me. Anyway, I got home and you know the rest."
"Were you with anyone at your studio?"
"Yes," Sharon answered.
"Takrit's neck was broken. Someone hit her before she died. Do you think Aman could have done that?"
Sharon thought about it. "Yeah, I could see that. He wouldn't hurt her intentionally but reactively maybe. We had a good knock down drag out at the grandmother's house a while back. I'll admit I was scared of him, just not scared enough to quit."
"You're quite the crusader, missus," Finn said.
"Don't patronize me. I'm not a Westside do-gooder playing around with social justice," Sharon shot back. "I have spent every last dime I could get my hands on and years of my life on this project. I have women in sixteen countries working to stage demonstrations where this film is set to premier. I have the international press lined up to break this story and the finale was supposed to be the unmasking of Emanuel Dega Abu live and in person. The next sound you hear, detective, will be the world running away from Abu like he has the plague. He is going down because of what I created, so don't tell me this is just another run-of-the-mill outrage flick."
Sharon stood up and began to pace, gliding through patches of moonlight that sparked off her blade on the way north and left it dull when she walked south.
"This is how we take back our lives – this is how I take back my life. This film is academy award caliber. It will make back every penny I put into it and a hell of a lot more. If you're offended by that, too bad."
She paused and stared at Finn; her fists were clenched, her voice dropped an octave.
"I will do anything to get that thumb drive, detective. It was promised to me. Tell Aman you're going to throw him in jail for stealing what's mine. Then roust Emanuel and his men and charge them with murder. Do anything you have to but don't let them out of the country until this premier. Get me that video and I will make sure that little bastard is ruined."
"And Takrit?" Finn asked.
"What about her?"
"Don't you want to know the truth of what happened to her?"
"Takrit's dead. It's the film that's important. If I can't pull this off there are a couple of people who will want to kill me."
"Is that a figure of speech?" Finn asked.
"No," she snapped. "And if I do pull it off, there will be one who will definitely want to. We both know who that is. Now drink up, detective. I have work to do."
"One last thing, missus." Sharon stopped midstride, giving him a minute. "We found no identification on Takrit, no cell phone. We need a number to get phone records and track her whereabouts. Can you help me with that?"
Without another word, Sharon walked away and when she came back she handed Finn a piece of paper with a number written on it.
"It's a company phone. Her name won't be on the records," Sharon said. "If you find it, I'd like it back. Her ring tone was some old Ethiopian song. It was pretty; very unusual. I miss hearing it. It reminded me of what we were fighting for."
"And her car?"
"I told you, she never came back here so I don't know where
it is. It's a Honda Civic. Red. I think the license plate is 6GRZ702. It's registered to me. That's all I got. Really, it is."
It appeared to Finn that the woman was going to say something more, something personal. Maybe she was going to admit that her heart ached for her friend who had been lost. She admitted nothing.
"See yourself out when you're ready. Just press on the big mermaid. The one without any arms."
Sharon Stover left Finn and went back to the room where she would watch her gruesome film and plot her golden future.
Finn sat on the long white sofa. His eyes roamed over the furniture and the larger-than-life paintings: a perfect nude on one wall and the picture of maimed Sharon Stover on the facing wall. Finn didn't look at the leg or her nudity. Instead, he looked at her face and saw her sadness. She would deny it was there but Finn had seen enough sadness in the women in his life to know that Sharon had no more or less than they. Anger? That woman had enough anger in her to fill the canyon below but she saw it as righteousness. Then he wondered if it ever occurred to her that she and Emanuel had a lot in common. They both stood to lose a fortune depending on who found that thumb drive first. The question was, had one of them murdered to get it.
Finn sighed and got up. For one minute more he stood in the moonlight listening to the silence only to have it broken when his phone rang. Reluctantly, he answered it. As he listened to the voice on the other end, thoughts of Sharon Stover, Takrit and the sad women of the world vanished from his mind. There was only one woman he was thinking of as he ran from the house and that was Cori.
***
Matthew Stover was getting more nervous the longer the cop was with Sharon, so he lit up a joint to calm himself. When that didn't help, he took some Ativan. That was a bust, too. Every time he lay down, his mind started going a mile a minute. He dug into his backpack and found the Adderell that one of the guys on the team had given him. After that, Matthew smoked another joint.
He thought he heard Sharon calling for him twice and twice he went to the door, opened it and listened but heard nothing. That probably meant she was still giving the cop an earful about him. Well, he had a few things to tell that guy, too. He was going to tell him as soon as he came out of the house. So Matthew went outside and he waited and waited and worked out what he would say in his head. But when the cop came out, he was running hard and got in his car before Matthew could react.
"Hey! Hey!"
Matt called but the cop didn't hear him, or maybe he did and just didn't stop. He put the car into gear and did a one eighty in the roundabout. Matt threw himself at the car. He managed to put his hand on the back end. He swore the Irish dude looked in the mirror and saw him, but the shithead accelerated and Matt lost his footing, falling onto the hard ground.
He didn't know how long he sat in the driveway but it didn't matter. The cop was gone. Sharon was working. Cordelia was gone. The main house was locked up tight. Matt let his head fall back and he howled; howled like a wolf; howled like a wolf that was hurt and ready to bite off any hand that reached out to him. When he was done, he hung his head. His chin rested on his chest. Nobody could hear him and even if they could it wouldn't matter. No one would come to help him; they never had.
Matt got up off the hard ground and stumbled a little going back to his apartment, but he made it. He stamped his foot. It was weird. He couldn't feel his foot and his fingers were tingling. He shook his head. He'd taken too much shit. He'd sleep it off. First though, he got a beer out of his fridge.
In the bedroom, Matthew put his beer on the side table and popped the snap on his jeans. Before he unzipped them, before he fell into the bed that Cordelia had made up for him like she was his mom, Matthew noticed something. Dangling his beer between his fingers, he walked over to the door, narrowing his eyes, wondering if he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. He put his beer on the dresser, opened the cracked sliding glass door and walked across the patch of patio outside his bedroom to check it out.
"Oh, ho."
He laughed a little when he saw that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He couldn't believe it. Sharon had left the glass wall open. If he wanted, he could walk right into the house. He could walk right in there and touch stuff just like he used to when his dad was alive. The bitch thought she was so smart, so perfect, and now look what she had done. She had made a mistake; a big one.
Smirking Matthew walked past the pool and right into the living room. He looked at the paintings on the walls. When he turned eighteen he was going to burn the one of her because it would belong to him. Everything would belong to him. But tonight he just wanted to have a little fun.
"Sharon?" he called as he sauntered toward the theater. He raised his voice and sing-songed, "Sharon Stover…"
He stumbled and steadied himself, putting a hand on a pedestal made of Plexiglas. The vase on top of it teetered, fell and shattered at his feet. He went on, stepping over the glass that Cordelia would clean up. That was her job. Sharon's job was to watch out for him until he grew up. She was his trustee and that meant he should be able to trust her. Since she forgot how to do all this, it was his job to remind her. But when Matt got to the theater and tried to open the door he couldn't. Sharon had left the whole side of the house opened but this one, friggin' door was locked.
"Sharon?" Matthew jiggled the door handle. "We need to talk, Sharon. Come on. Open the door."
Sharon didn't come to the door. She didn't even have the decency to answer him. Matthew put his head against it. Suddenly exhausted, he closed his eyes and rested. Pushing himself away, he turned back toward his apartment and just as suddenly whirled around, raised his fist and crashed it against the door to the theatre.
"Sharon! I want to talk to you! I know what you did! Sharon! Do you hear me? I know what you did! I'm going to tell that cop if you don't open this door right now."
Inside the theater, Sharon Stover watched her film and made notes. If Matthew came through that door it was all over – all of it – because he was going to kill her.
CHAPTER 28
Rada opened the door to Emanuel's suite. He turned on the entry light, looked inside and then stepped back to let Emanuel pass.
Emanuel was tired but the evening had been fruitful. This Rada knew because Emanuel commented on how easy it was to please these men of politics and industry. Americans, he said, were greedy people but they were also short sighted. They wished for fortunes that could be put on paper to impress their stockholders, their voters, and their investors. He, Emanuel, would never think to account to anyone for his wealth. Emanuel spoke to Rada as if he were made of stone and had no feelings and did not wish for riches himself. What Emanuel didn't know was that Rada heard every word and saved them all in his mind and weighed the importance of them. Emanuel would be surprised to know how truly angry Rada was. After that, Emanuel would be amused at Rada's anger. After that, Rada would be dead.
"I am tired. I will go to bed," Emanuel said now that he was safely delivered to his suite. "Come back at ten in the morning. I don't wish to be disturbed until then."
Rada needed no urging. He would go to his room and call his wife. He would speak to her about coming home, he would ask after the baby and he would pretend that he was a free man. Rada wished Emanuel goodnight and knew that the man thought no more of his servant the moment the door was closed.
Inside the suite, Emanuel took off his jacket and put it over a dining room chair very neatly. He loosened his tie and walked to the bedroom, longing for a good night's sleep, longing, even, to go home. Though many would find it hard to believe, Emanuel Dega Abu did love Eritrea. Perhaps the only reason he did was because it belonged to him, but that did not diminish the feeling he had for his country.
He passed through the doorway, reached for the wall switch and flipped on the light. It was a moment before he fully understood that there was someone else in the spacious room. All his life Emanuel assumed his end would come unexpectedly as the end often came for men who dar
ed to be great. Because of this understanding, he was prepared to appreciate the way in which he would come to this end. Emanuel knew it would be violent, he hoped it would be elegant, and he prayed it would be quick. This is what he thought was about to happen until he looked at the man in his bed. It was then that Emanuel knew he would not be the one to die that evening; Oliver was another matter.
The Aussie was spread eagle on the bed, having no regard for the linens. The white satin bed cover was dirty from his boots, the pillowcases bloody. His right arm was propped on a pillow and three others were behind his head. His arm was wrapped in a towel soaked through with blood and his face was ashen.
"I believe you have had an interesting evening, Oliver," Emanuel commented.
"I've had worse, mate," Oliver answered.
"You are in my bed and you have soiled it."
Oliver pushed himself to a sitting position with some difficulty, rearranging the pillow that cradled his arm.
"Sorry about that, but there was no choice. I would have had to take two elevators and walk through the lobby to get to my room. Yours was a straight shot in that private lift."
"You are efficient, Oliver."
Emanuel went to the man's side and raised the bloodied towel. Oliver winced. His upper arm was a mess.
"You are shot. This is not good for my business. People know you are my man." Emanuel tossed the towel back on Oliver's arm. "Shall I expect the police?"
"Eventually," Oliver said. "Probably not tonight. It was the Sheila, the one who was with that cop at the restaurant? She did it. She's a cop too. Pretty good one to get a shot off after what I did to her."
"And what did you do to her, Oliver?"
Emanuel asked this almost absentmindedly as he wandered to the great expanse of windows and pulled back the sheer curtains. He looked at the yin and yang of the freeway so far below him: red brake lights on one side and bright white headlights on the other. The people in this country drove side by side in different directions and each believed it was they who were going forward. Was it not true that they might be going backward? Who was to know in life what was forward and what was not?
Foreign Relations: A Finn O'Brien Thriller (Finn O'Brien Thriller Series Book 2) Page 20
