The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15

by Catherine Coulter

  He stared down at her a moment, then, "Who are you? What can I do for you?"

  She smiled up at him. He was tall, nearly as tall as Dillon. She handed him her creds. "As you see, I'm Agent Lacey Sherlock, FBI. I'd like to speak with you and Jane Ann."

  She watched him hesitate. She reached out her hand and patted his arm as she pulled her ID from his fingers. "No, don't lie, I saw Jane Ann's Audi downstairs and I just heard her speaking." She stepped around him and gave a little wave. "Jane Ann? It's Agent Sherlock. I hope you're feeling all right today. I wanted to give you an update on what's happening."

  Jane Ann stood in the middle of a good-sized living room with small Persian carpets scattered on the oak floor. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides of the living room that gave out onto manicured lawns. It was an elegant room with high ceilings and delicate moldings. Jane Ann looked right at home. There was a tray on the coffee table holding two cups and a carafe of coffee. She was wearing black yoga pants with a loose purple top knotted at her side, black ballet slippers on her feet. Her hair was loose around her face, shiny as the polished floor, but she looked pale, her skin tight over her high cheekbones.

  "I'm strung out," Jane Ann said as she hurried through the graceful archway. She took Sherlock's hand. "Thank you again for saving me last night. You came so quickly. I knew, I just knew, that those men were going to come in and kill me."

  "You had your gun, Jane Ann," Sherlock said. "My money would be on you."

  Jane Ann gave her a wobbly smile. "You think? Well, thank you for the vote of confidence. But I don't know, Sherlock, I was so scared I was about to hyperventilate. You and Agent Savich saved the day before I was tested. I just can't stop thinking about it, you know?"

  Sherlock lightly laid her hand on Jane Ann's forearm. "It didn't happen, so don't go there. You survived."

  Tears sheened her eyes. "It's difficult. I was so scared. Here I am going on about how I felt, and they murdered Caskie. How must he have felt when they gunned him down? Please tell me you've caught them. Were they from Schiffer Hartwin?"

  "We don't know yet who's responsible. Do you believe they were from Schiffer Hartwin? You think they sent killers to murder Caskie?"

  "I was thinking they'd make Caskie the scapegoat. All they had to do was have him killed, and then he couldn't defend himself."

  "Yes, that's true. And you're exactly right about one thing, they're doing just that-blaming your husband for all of it, from the planned Culovort shortage, to the murder of Mr. Blauvelt in Van Wie Park. Who knows if it will fly in the long run. The thing is, Jane Ann, we've already traced two different accounts Caskie had in offshore banks. The sum came to just under four hundred thousand dollars, not nearly enough for a mastermind."

  Jane Ann drew in several deep controlled breaths. "He had four hundred thousand dollars?" She closed her eyes a moment. "That bastard."

  "I bet he was going to run off," Mick Haggarty said from his post at the front door. "I bet he was going to leave you and your kids high and dry, Jane Ann."

  "Very probably," Sherlock said, not taking her eyes off Jane Ann Royal. "Can you think of anyone else, Jane Ann? Anyone other than someone from Schiffer Hartwin who'd want him dead badly enough to invade your home?"

  "I still can't accept that my own husband was a criminal. But one thing I do know for sure, he wasn't a murderer, he wasn't, Sherlock."

  "Maybe not."

  "All right. Let me think about this. As far as I know Caskie didn't have any personal enemies-wait, unless you count Carla Alvarez, maybe. She's very passionate, about causes, politics, business. Caskie would say she'd fly off the handle and people would scatter. Maybe she figured out he was going to dump her and she sent some men over to kill him."

  "Did you speak to Caskie about her, after you spoke to me and Erin Pulaski? Did he tell you he was breaking it off with Carla?"

  "No, no, it's just his pattern. Like I told you, Caskie was a cheat, but he was a very predictable cheat. He always followed the same pattern-intense flirtation, romantic little hideaway dinners, lots of sex-no one could outdo Caskie's sex talk-then no more mystery, and he was out the door. Oh, I don't know, Sherlock, I'm just talking, trying to figure this out. But Carla's tough, tougher than I am, that's for sure. Nobody gives her grief because of that hair-trigger temper of hers."

  "If not Carla, then how about the manager of accounting, Turley Drexel, I think his name is?"

  Jane Ann said, "I hadn't considered him. Yeah, they slept together. I remember the night it all started. It was a barbecue at one of the manager's homes in Stone Bridge. Turley was all over Carla that evening, wouldn't let her out of his sight. I thought he'd even follow her to the bathroom. I remember thinking he was probably a real loss in bed, he just gave off that vibe, you know? I couldn't imagine he'd be of any practical use to her. He didn't even look particularly nice on her arm. I decided maybe Carla was desperate.

  "I think it was Caskie who took Carla away from Turley. Maybe that left him gnashing his teeth, swearing he'd make the alpha dog pay. Of course it would have been Turley who made Caskie perk up and notice Carla in the first place. And Caskie did, of course. He couldn't stand not having what another man had, particularly if the other man worked for him."

  Sherlock remembered overhearing the argument between Carla Alvarez and Turley Drexel the first time she and Dillon had visited Schiffer Hartwin. Had that been about her affair with Caskie Royal?

  Jane Ann suddenly whirled around and buried her face in her hands. "Forget everything I said. I'm a bitch, gold plated. I really don't know, I'm just blathering. Damn, this is so horrible, unbelievable really. Four hundred thousand dollars? I just can't believe it."

  That Caskie had stolen the money, or that he wasn't going to share it? Sherlock said, "I know. It's a huge shock, the sudden violence and death, even the hidden funds. But you came through it. You'll deal with it, Jane Ann, you have to because of your sons. Your husband's body will be released for burial sometime in the next two days. I'll give you Dr. Ella Frank's phone number. You can call her."

  Mick Haggarty said, "I remember now, I saw you a couple of days ago, Agent Sherlock, when I was giving Jane Ann a tennis lesson. You were with another woman."

  Sherlock turned to face him. It seemed he hadn't moved since she walked in. "That's right. Is it all right if we all sit down, Mr. Haggarty?"

  "Jane Ann didn't want to be alone," Mick said as he led them into the living room. He motioned Sherlock to a big easy chair, obviously his favorite place, with a fifty-inch TV six feet in front of it, the remote close by on the side table. On its very nicely polished surface, she saw the overlapping outlines of beer cans. He gave Sherlock a tentative smile as he sat down on the sofa beside Jane Ann, his feet planted apart as if he was holding his tennis racket between his legs.

  "How long have you been a tennis pro, Mr. Haggarty?"

  "Three years now. It's good money and I can pretty much pick my own hours. It helped pay my tuition at Belson."

  "A local liberal arts college," Jane Ann said, not looking at him.

  "What's your degree in?"

  "I have my B.A. in film. I'm an actor, really. I did summer stock over at Belson-Shakespeare. I played Petruchio until two weeks ago. I sure hope acting in summer stock impresses everyone in Hollywood. It'd be better, of course, if I had an uncle or a parent who already knew people in Hollywood."

  Jane Ann was sitting hunched over herself, her legs pressed tightly together, her hands clenched on her thighs. She shot Mick a look like, Who cares, you putz? She looked like a woman on the edge.

  She asked Sherlock, "How did you find me?"

  Sherlock was afraid she was going to have to push her over that edge. "Actually, I went by your house, but of course the crime scene people were still there. Then I realized you would need comfort after last night, and I thought of
Mick."

  "I'm leaving later to take the train to my sister's in Philadelphia. I've got to tell the boys their father is dead. How can I do that? How?" Tears formed in her eyes, and one big one slipped down her smooth cheek. She wiped it away, swallowed, and tried to pull herself together, but another tear slid down, then another.

  Sherlock looked from Jane Ann Royal to Mick Haggarty. "It will be difficult. I'm sorry." She paused a moment, then said quietly, "I hate lies, Jane Ann, particularly when I can't see the reason for them. Tell me, how long have you been sleeping with Mick?"

  Jane Ann Royal jerked as she dashed her hand across her cheek. "What? What a thing to say to me the day after my husband was murdered! I didn't think you were like that-"

  "Like what, Jane Ann?"

  "I expected kindness from you, but you're being cruel."

  "Well, fact is, I'm a federal cop and I'm investigating a particularly brutal murder." Sherlock flicked her finger toward the bedroom. "I saw a dress on the floor in the bedroom. Mick forgot to close the bedroom door before he answered my knock. Or maybe it's another woman's dress, Mick?"

  Mick looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "No, no, th-there is no other woman. We're not sleeping together. Poor Jane Ann was exhausted. She came over here, all upset, and so I let her sleep in my bed. I slept on the sofa."

  Sherlock looked back and forth between the two of them. "Your salary, Mick, I checked. No way do you earn enough to afford this lovely apartment. You only moved in two months ago. Your former residence was far more basic than this one, on the other side of the tracks. Do you have many paying clients, or is it just Jane Ann who keeps you in comfort?"

  Jane Ann Royal jumped to her feet, her face flushed, waves of anger rolling off her. "I didn't lie to you, I didn't! But it wouldn't matter if I had. I did come to Mick for comfort, so what? What business is it of yours? It had nothing to do with anything.

  "Look, I didn't want to hear all the nauseating pap I'd get from my girlfriends, they're idiots. I knew Mick would understand, he wouldn't just mouth platitudes, he'd care, and that's why I came here. It's the day after my husband's death, surely not the time to screw around with another man.

  "I want you to leave now, Agent Sherlock. I'm not going to sit here and let you make crazy accusations. You've done nothing to find his murderers-those two men who also tried to kill you and your husband, if you'll remember."

  Sherlock asked, voice mild, "Are you paying for this very nice apartment, Jane Ann? I really can't see you visiting the Merriam Bartlett down the road twice a week. Someone would recognize you, and then Caskie would have done something, wouldn't he? I know he had the money in the family, not you. You worried about a divorce? Losing your lovely lifestyle?"

  "All right, okay. So what if I do trade the cost of the apartment for tennis lessons? What's wrong with that?"

  Mick Haggarty roared to his feet. "I wouldn't sleep with her. Do you think I'm insensitive? Jane Ann is in pain. I've done what anyone would do, I've given her shelter, a place to rest, what comfort I could."

  "You and Jane Ann have been sleeping together how long? Three months, maybe a month before you broke your existing lease to move in here?"

  "No! Never! I'm not interested. Jane Ann's too old for me. Who wants to sleep with his mother?"

  His stark words rode a violent tsunami into the now silent living room.

  Mick yelled, "Wait, wait! I didn't mean that. I mean Jane Ann is a great tennis player and I like her a lot, but I mean, I'm twenty-four years old and she isn't, she's a mother, for God's sake, and her husband was murdered and I'm her friend, really, that's all-"

  "You puking little freak!" Jane Ann Royal roared at him and slammed her fist into his jaw. Mick fell back onto the sofa. He sat there, holding his jaw, staring up at her, pinned.

  "All you can do is play tennis. You, an actor? That's a joke. I saw you in Taming of the Shrew-you were ridiculous, you hear me? All you did was prance around, and everybody could tell you're a no-talent little creep! You don't even have any talent in bed. You're a huge conceited bore!"

  Sherlock jumped up and hauled Jane Ann back as she pulled and heaved toward Mick again. "Don't hit him again, all right? Or I'll have to arrest you. Listen to me, this is going to stop, all the lies, and especially this little drama you're enacting for me." Drama. Is that what all this was? Sherlock saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye, but she wasn't fast enough.

  A man's fist struck her temple hard and she fell to the beautiful Persian rug. She hit the edge of the coffee table as she went down. Pain exploded in her head, and then she didn't feel anything at all.

  54

  Sherlock heard Jane Ann Royal's panicked voice through a blinding fog of pain. "You idiot, she doesn't know anything! Dammit, she was just guessing, throwing stuff out there to see if we'd bite, that's all. Now look what you've done. She's a freaking FBI agent! What are we going to do now?"

  As she listened to them fight, Sherlock knew she'd wondered deep down whether Caskie's murder really was part of a big conspiracy. When Mick wanted to show off his acting talent, it was all there, right in front of her nose, two greedy people who saw their opportunity to get rid of their big obstacle, and cash in.

  She saw Dillon's face, sharp and clear.

  She forced herself to focus on Mick's voice now, scared, defensive, thin as soup. "I'm not an idiot! She knew, I know she did. I saw it in her eyes when she looked at me. I didn't have a choice, I didn't. I'm not going to jail! It's not going to happen. The next Mel Gibson can't go to jail!"

  "You're too tall to be the next Mel Gibson! You look like a pretty boy, he doesn't. Why am I even talking to you? I've got to figure out what to do."

  Mick's voice faded in and out. Sherlock realized he was pacing the length of his lovely living room. He was saying, "We've got to be calm here. We can't lose it, not now. We've got to find out what she knows, then we can decide what to do with her. You've got to get me out of this, Jane Ann. You owe me."

  "All right, all right." Jane Ann was taking slow deep breaths, smoothing herself out. Yoga breathing. "She isn't dead, is she?"

  Sherlock heard Mick's footsteps crossing to her, felt his warm hitching breath on her cheek as he came down on his knees beside her. She felt his fingers on the pulse in her neck, smelled the sweat on him as he leaned over her. "I hit her pretty hard, but she seems okay. I've done that in my martial arts classes, but this is my first time I ever hit a real person." He sounded more pleased with himself now than scared.

  Keep breathing, keep listening, stay unconscious. Do not puke. Sherlock felt nausea roiling in her stomach, and knew the not puking part could be a tall order. She tried to breathe slowly, lightly, like Jane Ann.

  Sherlock knew Jane Ann was standing over her now; she smelled her too, a fresh jasmine scent. "I liked her, you know? I thought she liked me too, but it was all an act. She suspected something was off, but Mick, she really didn't know a thing. Oh, I wish you hadn't lost it-where's my cell?"

  He rolled right over her, anger and aggression spilling out of his mouth, "Yeah? Well, she was going to haul you away, and me too, and I don't deserve that, I don't! You are nearly old enough to be my mother! Look what you've got me into. She's a federal agent. Why do you need your freaking cell? Who do you want to call?"

  Sherlock heard the sound of Jane Ann's hard slap against his face. Not smart, Jane Ann, not smart, he's nearly boiling over. "I'm thirty-six, you fool. Don't you ever call me your bloody mother again!"

  "You hit me! Don't you ever slap me again, Jane Ann."

  Sherlock felt the air shimmer with violence, heard Jane Ann's harsh breathing. She heard a smack that sounded like Mick catching Jane Ann's hand when she would have hit him again, knew he'd twisted her wrist because Jane Ann moaned. They were face-to-face, their rage beating the air between them. But when Mick spoke, it was in n
early a whisper, but there was rage in his voice, deep and thick. "You hit me again, Jane Ann, and I'll knock your perfect teeth down your throat, you hear me? Poor old Caskie paid for those pretty teeth, didn't he, just like he paid for all your tennis lessons? Did you ever pay for anything in your life?"

  Jane Ann jerked away from him, and, smart woman, she moved to the other side of the living room, cursing under her breath. Sherlock slitted her eyes open to see Jane Ann vigorously rubbing her wrist, trying to regain control of herself and the situation. "Listen, Mick, we're losing it. We have to focus here. None of this is important now. We've got to tie her up."

  "Yeah, well, that's the first smart thing you've said."

  Sherlock was dead weight when Mick hauled her up and laid her on her back on the sofa. "I know just the thing. I'll be right back. How long is she going to be out?"

  "We'll throw some water in her face, that'll bring her back." Jane Ann was moving away. "I'll get some. Then we can find out what she knows."

  Sherlock heard Mick coming back into the living room. She moaned and slowly opened her eyes to stare up at the young man who was sitting next to her, a roll of duct tape in his hand, studying her face.

  She blinked and gave him a smile. "Mick? Is that you? What happened? Did I faint? Oh good, you stretched me out on the sofa. Thank you."

  He froze. "You think you fainted?"

  She frowned at him in confusion. "Didn't I? All I remember is you were telling me how you were an actor and then, well, I woke up here on the sofa. My head hurts a bit. Hey, I think it's low blood sugar. It's happened before, my blood sugar just bottoms out and down I go. Mick, thank you for making me comfortable."