“Murdering people? I invested my money with Safe Haven LLC into viatical settlements, to give dying people access to their money,” the senator said. ”Ben, do you know what he’s talking about?”
“No, he’s crazy,” Big Ben said, eyeing Quin.
Quin knew the senator was dodging guilt and trying to distance himself from the crimes.
“What about these files that have my name in them, Ben? Have you or anybody at Safe Haven been involved in any crimes that I should be aware of?” the senator asked.
“No,” Big Ben said, this time looking directly at the senator.
“I’d like to get a copy of the files to show my attorney,” the senator said.
“Fine, I’ll make you a copy,” Ben said.
“No, I’d rather see Quin and Christopher’s copy,” the senator said to Big Ben before turning to Quin. “Now if I wanted to remove my name from the files, how much might that cost?”
“You can’t make it go away,” Quin said. “I’ve seen enough evidence of killing at Safe Haven to send you all to prison.”
“Really?” Big Ben asked. “What evidence?”
“Your client Munroe Pilson was gunned down last week while visiting your office.”
“The sheriff’s deputy did that, not me,” Big Ben said with a smirk.
“And now the deputy is dead,” Quin said. “Was she in on the scam? Or did you use her and then destroy her in the end?” Quin looked directly at the sheriff.
“It was suicide,” Big Ben said. ”Police are more likely to die by suicide than in the line of duty. Isn’t that right, David?”
“Yeah, she was upset after the shooting,” the sheriff said mechanically, as if he’d been coached.
“What about Cassy and Martin?” Quin said, grasping at anything to trip up Big Ben. “You killed them, and I have the bodies.”
“You have bodies?” Big Ben asked.” Where?”
“None of your business.” Quin could see Big Ben get uneasy with this, but the sly wolf regained his composure.
Big Ben shrugged. “The toxicology report will show they died of carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“You have a lie for everything,” Quin said.
“All I know is that I had hired Christopher away from my competitor, Benson & White. And within a few months, I hired interns, Cassy and Martin, who turned out to be corporate spies hired by Benson & White. Did you double-cross me too, Christopher?”
“No, I swear, Ben! I had nothing to do with that,” Stray Dog said, forgetting he owed no allegiance to Big Ben. “I had no idea they worked for Benson & White!”
Big Ben ignored him and stared back at Quin. “You were hired by Spencer Lunde and Benson & White. One could make a solid case that all my problems were created by my competitor. They were framing me,” Big Ben said.
“You’ll never get away with it,” Quin said.
“Get away with what? Purchasing life insurance policies?” Big Ben said. “You know, the best thing that happened to me is you, Quin. Once you arrived and I learned you’re a little crazy, well that was just beautiful! You’re the crazy guy hired by my competitor, and maybe you killed Cassy and Martin and now you have their bodies. How sick is that? If they rule those deaths foul play, you still look like the guilty party. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. As we say in the insurance business, ‘Luck beats planning every time.’”
This wolf was cunning, and Quin tried to find another way out of the trap. “All they have to do is follow the money, Ben. You benefited from Pilson’s untimely death.”
“But I didn’t benefit financially from the other deaths,” he said. “Besides, I benefit from a lot of dying people. That’s the business I’m in.”
“But if a high percentage of those terminally ill clients die of other causes,” Quin said, “then we can prove you and everyone you work for is guilty of murder.”
Big Ben chuckled. “What’s a high percentage? Is it ten percent of our clients, or is it one percent? We buy life insurance policies by the hundreds, and we build a portfolio of thousands of policies. And then sometimes we resell those policies, so it really isn’t that easy to follow the money.”
“He’s right,” Stray Dog said, sitting up. “It’s similar to the mortgage industry. You can resell your portfolio to other investors and not be directly linked to the people who die of unnatural causes.”
“Almost every investment portfolio and 401(k) plan has a portion of its assets in viatical contracts—-billions of dollars,” Big Ben said, staring directly at Quin. “And you know why? Because viatical contracts offer higher returns than stocks and bonds. And nobody questions why, Quin. Nobody cares. You can’t take down the entire financial services industry.”
“You’re evil,” Quin said.
“Am I? For months, I watched my mother suffer in a hospital. And when her money ran out, and all the doctors and clinics had been paid, they sent her home to die.”
Quin noticed Big Ben holding back emotion and fighting the urge to cry. Big Ben continued. “I realized at that point that the entire health care industry feeds on sick and dying people. Everyone does it in their own way. We can’t all be evil.”
“So you’re admitting guilt,” Quin said.
“I’m not admitting anything,” Big Ben said.
“It ends now,” Quin said.
“You got nothing on me, Quin,” Big Ben said. “That database that you stole, while potentially damaging to politicians like the senator here, doesn’t worry me.”
Quin realized how good Big Ben was at his own game. He realized there was no way he could trick this wolf.
“Now about the files.” Senator Almquist said. “I’d like to ensure my name and party is not linked to that data.”
“Let’s make a deal,” Quin said, looking for a consolation prize.
The senator sat up straight. Politicians like deal-making.
“Your terms?” Senator Almquist asked.
“I keep the evidence with my word nobody sees it as long you shut down Safe Haven. And Christopher and I walk out of this limo safely,” Quin said, testing the waters.
“I could agree to that,” the senator said. “But you already stood on top of your car shouting about a government conspiracy. You’ve piqued the curiosity of reporters.”
“Tell them I’m crazy,” Quin said. “I sometimes hallucinate. Ben can explain it to you. My doctor will back you up on that.”
“Why are you agreeing to this?” Big Ben said to the senator.
“This whole scene is still bad public relations,” the senator said to Quin, ignoring Big Ben. “I’ll have a lot of explaining to do to the press.”
“I’ve already handed over the escaped prisoner,” Quin said. “You can take credit for her capture on the evening news.”
The senator’s granite colored eyes lit up. “What’s the catch?”
“Helene returns to the women’s prison in Shakopee with no further time added to her sentence.”
“Impossible! If a reporter hears about that deal, it will be all over the news.”
Stray Dog, who had sat through many viatical negotiations, stepped in with a compromise on the compromise. “OK, same prison, but no more than six months added to her existing sentence.”
“She escaped and took a woman hostage,” the senator said.
“And that hostage is dead,” Big Ben added.
Stray Dog snarled at him. “Really? What makes you so sure?”
Quin turned to the senator. “I’ll give you a press conference with Rebecca Baron. You can sit next to her and explain how you helped settle everything.”
“I like the sound of that. I can pull a few strings,” he said. “Are we finished?”
“The press conference and the database will cost you $10 million,” Quin said, holding his best poker face.
The senator thought for a moment, looked to Big Ben and back at Quin. There was long silence, and the senator finally smiled.
“Very well,” he said. �
��I’ll pull the funds from my public relations budget.”
Quin was surprised how easy it was to recoup Hawk’s money with interest, but Big Ben showed even more shock.
“Why are you paying him anything? How do we even know Rebecca is alive?”
“Show him,” Quin said.
Stray Dog slipped his phone from his coat and showed Big Ben, the senator, and the sheriff video of Rebecca talking about her injury.
“Your investment hasn’t matured yet, Ben,” Quin said.
The smile that had never been far from Big Ben’s face was noticeably absent. He clenched his teeth. “You’re agreeing to all of this? Senator, you’re letting them blackmail you and walk away?”
“Sorry, Ben, he’s got the list,” the senator said. “I’m meeting his demands. Once they hand over the prisoner, I’m calling off the National Guard. I’m shutting you down, and I’m looking forward to a press conference with the freed hostage, Mrs. Baron.”
“What the fuck just happened here?” Big Ben said.
“They have the upper hand,” the senator said.
“Remember, she has a brain tumor,” Big Ben said to Quin. “She can’t live long. I’ll collect on that policy.”
Quin remembered the simple advice about Big Ben that Candy had given him yesterday. Make him wait a long time.
“Oh, you’d be surprised, Ben. Most people have a strong spirit and live far beyond their life expectancy,” Quin said to the alpha. “Isn’t that what you told me last week?”
“And without a death certificate,” Stray Dog said, “You’ll never collect on her policy. So this might be one deal where you lose!”
Stray Dog stepped out of the limousine first, and Quin followed him, walking along the gravel road. They felt better about the outcome when Quin heard Big Ben walking behind them.
Stray Dog quickened his pace. “I told you, Quin, Ben hates to lose, especially to somebody like me. He’s about to explode. Wait for it…”
Quin could see Big Ben fuming, like a wolf gone mad.
“Christopher, you son of a bitch!” Big Ben shouted, stalking Stray Dog.
“There it is,” Stray Dog said, walking quickly.
Quin remembered Hawk’s warning: “Resist any temptation to fight the wolf.”
But Quin noticed his ravens had returned, perched on a fallen log in the field, watching intently—hungry and ready for fresh kill.
“Caw! Caw!” called the first raven.
“Kill! Kill!” cried the other.
Quin decided it was time to step in and protect the omega from the alpha, and he knew blood would spill. He blocked Big Ben from approaching Stray Dog.
“Get out of my way, chief,” Big Ben said, shoving him.
A rage sprang from within Quin’s chest. He grabbed Big Ben by the collar. He punched the wolf hard in the stomach, with another immediate blow to the wolf’s ribs.
“Ahh!” Big Ben shouted, rising and throwing a left hook at Quin the same way he’d thrown a mock punch in the office on Quin’s first day. This punch connected with Quin’s right temple. He was stunned and could hear ringing in his right ear.
Quin lost his cool again, and with a surge of adrenaline he swung around with his right leg and connected his boot to the wolf’s head, sending Big Ben sprawling to the prairie grass and snow. The ravens cheered and flapped their wings. Quin jumped on the wolf, both hands locked around his throat.
To kill a wounded wolf with your bare hands, you have to be fully committed to holding that grip. If you let go, the wolf will chew your fingers right off. If you reach for your knife, the wolf will chew your arm.
The wolf choked and thrashed underneath Quin, and all he could hear was the ringing in his own ear. His vision blurred from the wolf’s sucker punch, and then the wolf relaxed as if accepting death, eyes staring off to the horizon toward the ravens.
Hold tighter. Hold longer.
Quin felt somebody pulling on his arm and realized it was Sheriff David Carlson. He looked up to the barrel of the sheriff’s gun.
“Let him go.”
Quin rolled off Big Ben and sat in the grass watching the sheriff still pointing his weapon.
Big Ben sat up. “He nearly killed me. Shoot him!”
Quin watched the sheriff stand firm, listening to Big Ben but taking no action.
“You can arrest me,” Quin said. “There’s no need to shoot me.”
“Shoot him, David,” Big Ben said. ”This is your chance to be a hero.”
“He’s using you,” Quin said to the sheriff. “Is this what he did to your partner too? Did he manipulate her into killing Munroe Pilson? And then Ben killed her?”
Those words resonated somewhere deep within Sheriff Carlson’s consciousness, and he turned the gun toward Big Ben.
“What the hell?” Big Ben said, sliding across the grass and snow toward the limo.
“Did you kill Monica?” the sheriff asked Big Ben.
“No, of course not—“
“We’ll never get away with this,” the sheriff said to Big Ben. ”They have the data, and he has the bodies. My wife and kids will never understand how I got wrapped up in this. I can’t go to prison, Ben. A sheriff would never survive in a prison!”
“He’s insane,” Big Ben said, almost pleading.
The sheriff fired his weapon, hitting Big Ben in the chest. Quin braced himself to be the next victim as he reached into his boot for his knife.
The sheriff put the gun to his own right temple and looked directly at Quin. “Tell my wife I’m sorry,” he said before closing his eyes and squeezing the trigger, and then collapsing in a spray of blood.
Stray Dog was in a panic, not sure whom to assist. Quin staggered over to Big Ben, who was gripping his chest and struggling for air.
“Christopher, call Delmar. Get an ambulance here,” Quin said, his ear still ringing.
He looked into Big Ben’s eyes, which were wide with fear and shock. His boss was fighting for his life, and Quin knew Big Ben would fight hard. An injured wolf wouldn’t go down easily.
Quin saw Stray Dog on his phone calling for help, but the ringing in Quin’s ear muffled the Stray Dog’s voice. Quin felt like a boxer in his corner of the ring taking a standing eight count from the referee. Nothing was making much sense.
Senator Almquist closed the limo door and lowered the window. “Before the ambulance arrives, we’re good here, right? We got a deal? I’ll contact you, Quin, about that payment and the press conference?”
Quin couldn’t answer him. He felt a rush of vertigo and Stray Dog grabbed him, but the world was spinning in muted flashes of black-and-white. Quin heard a flock of ravens hovering somewhere above, their wings flapping like applause. He felt dizzy, and the world began spinning faster and faster. He dropped to his knees on the cold snow and laid himself down as his tunnel vision narrowed into darkness.
The last thing he heard was the sound of Stray Dog saying, “Quin! Are you all right?”
Quin heard a woman’s familiar voice calling him.
“Quin, are you all right?” she asked.
He opened his eyes and squinted into the bright light. He was in a hospital bed staring up at his therapist, Dr. Kirsten Hayden. He sat up and felt as if the room was spinning.
“Easy does it,” Kirsten said. “You took a good blow to your head.”
Quin remembered the left hook punch from Big Ben. “Where am I? What day is it?”
“You’re at St. Francis. It’s Wednesday. You’ve been out cold on and off for twenty-four hours.”
Quin looked around the room. The soothing blue paint on the walls looked familiar. “This is the psych ward.”
“I’m afraid so,” Kirsten said. “Quin, this is Agent Sean Kruse from the FBI. He wants to ask you some questions.”
Quin recognized Agent Kruse from their previous work together. Kruse always wore navy suits and paisley ties. His silver eyebrows matched his thick head of hair. Quin remembered calling him from the icehouse and hanging u
p before leaving a message.
“Nice to see you again, Quin,” Kruse said, as he set a large envelope on Quin’s bed.
Quin nodded. He felt a bandage across his forehead. “Did I say anything while I was knocked out?” Quin asked.
“You were quiet until a few minutes ago,” Kirsten said. ”You mumbled something about a raven and a wolf.”
“Strange dream,” Quin said.
“Maybe, but the doctor ran a blood test on you when you were admitted,” she said. “You had hallucinogens in your system.”
This wasn’t good news. As a condition of his release for anger management, he was to be drug free. Quin rubbed his sore temple. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kirsten pulled a small bag from her pocket. “You drink herbal tea?”
Hawk’s home brew tea bag. Quin laughed, even though his head hurt. “Hawk makes me that tea,” Quin said.
Kirsten glared at him. “He blends the tea with ayahuasca. Drinking that tea might explain the ravens you’ve seen.”
“I like the ravens. I’m not afraid of them,” Quin said. He new Hawk used ayahuasca for spiritual revelations and Hawk sometimes added it to Quin’s tea to calm Quin.
“You can’t mix hallucinogens with your medication,” Kirsten said.
“Then get me off the medication,” Quin replied.
Quin’s mind was foggy. The entire week had passed by so quickly. Had he even slept at all?
Agent Kruse stepped closer to the bed. “Dr. Hayden, may I speak with Quin?”
“Yes, of course,” Kirsten said.
Quin felt uneasy. “Am I under arrest? Do I need a lawyer?” he said to Agent Kruse.
“You’re not a suspect in this case,” Kruse said. “We’ve already spoken to several people from Safe Haven, and Christopher Gartner has been quite helpful. We also met with Rebecca Baron about an insurance policy.”
“You know Safe Haven killed clients to collect on death benefits, right?” Quin asked.
“Yes, the FBI was closing in on Ben Moretti but then you stepped onto the scene,” Kruse said. “How did you learn about Safe Haven?”
“A man named Spencer Lunde hired me to find two missing people,” Quin said.
Agent Kruse slipped a notepad out of his suit pocket. He paged through it and handed Quin a small mugshot. “This man?”
In the Company of Wolves_Thinning The Herd Page 28
