“Ooh, I hear a car. That must be our new lawyer. The vigilantes recommended her. I hear she’s superb. Not that she’s going to do you any good. When the FBI agent gets here, just drool and slobber all over yourself. You will keep those crooked fingers of yours under your blanket and remember what I said, no blinking. I’ll be watching you. And when they leave, after you play at eating your lunch, the vigilantes are coming for dessert. That’s what you have to look forward to. If you even think about making any of those gurgling, gargling sounds, I will personally choke you. Remember that time you did choke me and almost crushed my larynx? I couldn’t talk for months and had to be fed through a tube in my stomach, and my tongue swelled up to twice its normal size. I’ll go you one better and yank your damn tongue out by the roots and stuff it up your ass. Now, blink to show me we’re together on all this.”
Karl Woodley blinked right on cue.
“That’s a good boy, Mr. Woodley. Ah, the doorbell is ringing. I bet you can’t wait to meet our new lawyer. Mind your manners, Mr. Woodley,” Paula trilled as she danced her way to the front door.
The introductions made, Paula escorted her new attorney out to the kitchen, where she poured her a cup of fine Kona coffee. Paula noticed the tremor in Lizzie’s hands when she picked up her coffee cup. She smiled. “It’s always a shock when people first see Mr. Woodley. I, of course, am used to it. I like looking at him. Sometimes I just sit and stare at him and thank God for what the vigilantes did to him. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for them.”
Lizzie didn’t know what to say. She knew Paula Woodley’s story and marveled at the woman’s guts. “Can…can Mr. Woodley talk?”
“In a manner of speaking. He makes noises. I understand him. No one else can. The agent won’t get a thing out of him. Me either, because I wasn’t here when Mr. Woodley was attacked. I can’t imagine what she hopes either of us can tell her. Do you know why she’s coming here? Are you one of them, Ms. Fox?”
“In a manner of speaking I know. The director of the FBI appointed a new task force, and Ms. Powell is heading it up. All indications are that there’s a serious push on to capture the ladies. Am I one of them? Yes, Mrs. Woodley, I am. This is very good coffee.”
“That’s funny you should say that. Mr. Woodley had a standing order with some company in Hawaii to send coffee to us once a week. It was expensive. I wasn’t allowed to drink it. Maxwell House was good enough for me. I make a point of grinding the beans in front of him and drinking the whole pot myself. He gets water with his toast in the morning. Do you think I’m too sadistic?”
She sounded to Lizzie’s ears like she was asking if she thought it would rain before noon.
Lizzie squared her shoulders. “After what you went through at his hands, no. I just don’t understand why you haven’t killed him. If you ever decide to do that, I’ll represent you.”
“Thank you, Lizzie. I’ll be sure to remember your offer when it gets to the point where I’m tired of tormenting him. Oh, dear, there’s the doorbell. Shall I bring Ms. Powell out to the kitchen, or shall we adjourn to the den?”
“I’ll come with you. I will answer for you at times. If I hold up my hand, that means you don’t answer whatever question she poses for you. Do you understand, Mrs. Woodley?”
“Perfectly, and call me Paula.”
Lizzie Fox stayed in the den out of Karl Woodley’s sight as she waited for Paula to return with Erin Powell. The attorney was dressed in a power suit of steel gray, with a scarlet blouse and gray suede shoes. Her silvery mane of hair was done into a fashionable chignon. She wore her headlight diamond earrings and no other jewelry. On the coffee table was her ostrich-skin briefcase that cost more than Powell’s yearly salary. A gift from a grateful client. She did love fine things.
Lizzie Fox waited patiently. It was one of the many things she was extremely good at. Then, like a cobra in bright sunlight, she’d strike. She could hear the voices at the front door but couldn’t make out the words. She continued to wait.
Paula opened the door and waited while Erin Powell fished out her credentials. Paula pulled a pair of reading glasses out of her pocket, put them on, and read all the fine print. She spent a few extra seconds studying the shield and even rubbed her fingers over it before she nodded and stepped aside for the agent to enter.
Erin Powell felt her heart plummet to her stomach when she got her first look at Karl Woodley. Nothing could have prepared her for what she was seeing. She tried in vain to cover her shock.
“It’s all right. Most people react that way when they first meet Mr. Woodley. Both of us are used to it.” She turned when she heard foot taps on the hardwood floor. “This is our attorney, Elizabeth Fox. Ms. Fox, this is Special Agent Erin Powell.”
Erin’s heart plummeted from its hiding place in her stomach all the way to her feet. She was trying to think of something to say when Lizzie Fox beat her to the punch.
“We really have to stop meeting like this, Ms. Powell.”
Erin’s eyes narrowed, and she offered up a tight little smile. “I just have a few questions for your clients.” Of course, that was a lie, she had a whole list of questions, but seeing Woodley’s condition and Lizzie Fox at the same time, the list immediately dwindled down to just a few.
Excellent hostess that she was, Paula motioned to the sofa and chairs. The three women took their seats, but not before Paula turned her husband’s chair so he could face the trio. She sat back and waited for the agent to begin her questioning, the picture of complete cooperation.
Erin began by placing a small recorder on the coffee table. Lizzie held up her hand, then set a matching recorder next to Powell’s.
“What can either of you tell me about the night the vigilantes invaded your home?” Erin asked, not caring who answered the question.
Paula shrugged. “I can’t tell you anything. I wasn’t here. Actually, I was in the hospital. Your people have all my hospital records, my doctor’s affidavits. I see no reason to make me go through all that again.”
“I understand.” Erin turned and addressed Karl Woodley. “Is there anything you can tell me? I need to know how many women were here that night.”
Woodley stared at her but didn’t move or blink. His gaze immediately went back to the television screen.
“There were six women,” Paula said.
Lizzie chirped up. “That’s hearsay. Mrs. Woodley wasn’t in the room that night. She’s just telling you what someone told her.”
Erin nodded. She went back to Woodley. “Were there any men here? The reports say there were five or six men. Can you verify that?”
Karl Woodley ignored the agent and the question. Erin turned to Paula, but she was looking at Lizzie when she asked, “What did your husband specifically say to you about the home invasion?”
Paula looked at Lizzie, who nodded that she could answer the question.
“Nothing.”
Erin allowed her dismay to show. “How is that possible? When you recovered from your stay in the hospital, and Mr. Woodley came home, you must have discussed what happened.”
Lizzie nodded again to show Paula she could answer the question.
“You would think that, wouldn’t you? It didn’t happen. Believe me, I tried. I think the memory was just too terrible, and he blocked it out. All you have to do is look at him to know how badly it all went that terrible night. I’m really sorry that I can’t be of more help. If you recall, I did try explaining all that to you on the phone this morning. You could have saved yourself a trip out here.”
Erin didn’t think she looked sorry at all, and Lizzie Fox looked almost gleeful. Her stomach muscles bunched themselves in a knot. Her tone was surly, contrary-sounding when she asked, “Can’t he blink, wave his fingers?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Ask him yourself, Agent Powell.”
Erin knew when she was being taken down the garden path. Her shoulders stiffened. No smart-ass lawyer in a Chanel suit was going to get the best of her. She moved then, lightni
ng quick, and asked, “Mr. Woodley, how would you like to come down to headquarters where we can ask you some questions? I can have your doctors standing by. I know you can communicate, we just have to figure out the best way to do it. Just blink if you want to do that.”
Karl Woodley blinked defiantly. Erin turned to the lawyer and Mrs. Woodley. “I’ll get the paperwork in order and have an ambulance to take Mr. Woodley down to headquarters.”
“I don’t think so, Agent Powell. I think we need to do another test before you put my client through any more misery. Paula, dear, I think you should be the one to ask your husband the question. Blinking is a natural occurrence, Agent Powell. We all do it a hundred times a minute or some absurd number like that,” Lizzie said.
A smile on her face, her voice gentle, Paula leaned over and touched her husband’s hand. “Darling, did you understand what Agent Powell just asked you? If you did, and if you want to go to the FBI Building, blink twice.”
Karl Woodley stared at the television screen. Satisfied, Paula took two steps backward, her gaze never leaving her husband’s face.
“Ask him again, Agent Powell,” Lizzie said.
There was a note of desperation in Powell’s tone when she repeated her question. Karl Woodley ignored her, his eyes glued to the television.
“Ask him something else, Agent Powell. I want you to go away from here knowing there is no point in tormenting these fine people.”
Not about to give up, Erin Powell dropped to her knees and with both hands turned Woodley’s face so that he was staring directly into her eyes. “Are you being coerced by these two women, Mr. Woodley?”
Lizzie sucked in her breath, and said, “That will be just about enough of that, Agent Powell. You have overstayed your welcome. Do not try to come back here unless I am present. Just to be on the safe side, I’m going to call Director Cummings myself and let him know about this little visit. There is cruel and then there is cruel. You just stepped over the line, and I will not tolerate it. Paula, show Agent Powell to the door.”
The moment the door was closed and locked, Paula ran back to the den. She was clearly rattled. “Is it okay? She can’t do that, can she? He can communicate with his fingers and by blinking. You can’t let that happen.”
“Why? All he can say is what happened, and that was a long time ago.”
“No! No! I told him the vigilantes are a few doors down. I told him they were going to come over here to see him. I was…I was…tormenting him the way he used to torment me.”
“Damn!” Lizzie felt a momentary flurry of panic. “I guess that means we have to relocate Mr. Woodley. Not to worry. I can have him out of here within minutes.
“That is, I hope,” she muttered under her breath.
Paula ran to the front window. “She’s just sitting out there staring at the house. She thinks we pulled a fast one on her. I saw it in her eyes. Damn, she’s on her cell phone now.” Paula turned around to see Lizzie whispering on her own cell. She strained to hear what Lizzie was saying.
“Like right now, Harry. A medical van. We’ll do our best to walk through the backyards and dump him with the Sisters. I’ll call you back to tell you where to meet us. Call Charles.”
Lizzie turned to Paula. “What are the backyards like?”
“Not good for a wheelchair. The second house up has a tall fence. Why?”
“Powell is going to get a warrant. We have to get him out of here. How much does he weigh?”
“Around a hundred and ten pounds. Why?”
“I know how to do a fireman’s carry. You need to go out there to distract Powell, and I’ll carry him over to 11063. Stay with her until you see me coming out your front door. The house with the fence, how do I get past it?”
“There’s a gate on the side, outside latch. Just open it. The Brants live there. They sit in the living room all day watching television, their kitchen overlooks the back, so I don’t think either one of them will see you. The people next door are at work, the house is empty. Do you need any help?”
Lizzie thought that was funny. She laughed. “No. Go out and keep Agent Powell busy. Get as angry as you want and make it good. Threaten anything you feel like threatening. Throw my name around as much as you want. Hurry, Paula.”
Lizzie sucked in her breath and approached the wheelchair. Before she could change her mind, she swooped down and threw Woodley over her shoulder. Paula was right, he was a featherweight, all bones.
Woodley’s fingers clawed at Lizzie’s neck. “Do that again, and I’ll tell your wife. I don’t think you’ll like that. I’m taking you to the vigilantes, so pay attention, you bastard.”
Chapter 17
The kitchen door at 11063 burst open with a loud bang, the door hitting the wall with tremendous force. The Sisters came on the run, gaping at what they were seeing. Speechless, they could only stare. They all started to babble at once.
“Where do you want this guy?” Lizzie gasped.
They all continued to talk on top of each other until Annie whistled sharply and was rewarded with instant silence.
Unable to sustain Woodley’s weight on her slim shoulders, Lizzie dropped him onto one of the kitchen chairs. His legs swung crazily for a second, then he slid off to the floor. Lizzie shrugged. Yoko poked at his leg to be sure he was alive.
“Where are your shoes, dear? Your feet are full of mud,” Myra asked inanely.
“Myra, dear heart that you are, I couldn’t carry that piece of scum over here through the soggy ground wearing four-inch heels. Listen, as much as I would like to stay here and chat, I have to get back. Call Harry. I would have called Jack, but he’s due in court. I saw his name on the court schedule yesterday. He knows what to do. You don’t have a lot of time, ladies. I know Powell is sitting out there waiting for one of her guys to show up with a warrant. I’ll send Paula over here as soon as I get back. Look, I really have to go. Call me.”
The kitchen door opened and closed.
Lightning couldn’t have moved faster than the Sisters at that moment. They worked as one, with Nikki and Alexis carrying Woodley to the den, where they tossed him on the couch.
In the blink of an eye, Nikki and Alexis changed into their airline outfits. Their cosmetic transformation took all of eight minutes once they were dressed.
Five cell phones started to ring at the same time, but nothing deterred the women. If anything, they worked faster to hasten their departure.
“Wrap the guy in a blanket and dump him in the airline van,” Nikki shouted as she ran to the window in time to see Lizzie’s Porsche racing down the street. It was obvious she wasn’t obeying the posted twenty-five miles per hour speed limit. “Paula should be here in a minute. Someone call Charles so he can tell us where to take the two of them.”
“Pack up all the files, load them in the van,” Yoko screeched, as she tossed papers and files any which way into the cardboard boxes.
Karl Woodley’s eyes followed the scurrying women. His breathing was labored, but no one paid any attention. His eyes rolled back in his head when he saw his wife entering the room. He tried to bury himself into the thickness of the sofa, but Paula jerked him into a sitting position. “This is all your fault, Mr. Woodley. But don’t you worry, I have some wonderful plans for you. Right now I have other things to do, but I will get back to you, and that’s a promise.”
Paula dropped to her haunches to help the women pack up the boxes, which she then helped carry out to the van.
“Ten minutes and counting,” Nikki shrilled. “Who has a permanent Magic Marker?” Three different-colored markers sailed through the air and she caught them deftly. She raced to the garage and made the 6 on the license plates into an 8. The 9 became another 8.
Myra and Annie were working feverishly with Clorox Wipes, trying to wipe down everything any of them might have touched since their arrival.
“Two minutes!” Yoko called out.
“Done!” Myra and Annie shouted breathlessly.
“Then
let’s do it!” someone shouted.
“We’ll take him, Paula,” Nikki said, as she grabbed Woodley’s feet and Alexis held him under his arms. Paula held open the door leading into the garage, and they barreled through. Woodley’s arms flapped every which way.
“Go! Go!” Yoko shouted. A minute later she shouted again. “We’re clear and locked and loaded. Did I say that right, Annie?” she asked fretfully.
“Not exactly, but we get the message that it’s time to hustle our asses, dear. Does anyone know where we’re going?” she asked as she clambered into the van with the darkly tinted windows. “We should have just taken out Ms. Powell. It would have been so much easier,” she grumbled.
“She’s a federal agent,” Alexis said.
“And Mitchell Riley wasn’t the acting director of the FBI when we took him on? We didn’t worry about it back then. Powell is just a lowly agent. We should have just taken her out and worried about it later. Now she’s going to cause us trouble. I rest my case,” Annie snorted.
“She has a point,” Yoko said. “We still have time. I can render Ms. Powell unconscious in a matter of seconds.”
The momentary silence was palpable, then everyone was talking at once. Where to stash her car? What to do with her? Agents will be crawling all over the neighborhood asking questions.
“No, we made the right decision. The minute we start to second-guess ourselves is when we’ll run into trouble,” Nikki said. The others agreed. The remainder of the trip to Tysons Corner was made in silence.
Nikki spotted the ambulance at the far end of the mall lot. It was still early enough in the day that for the most part the lot held only workers’ cars. Even the hardiest of shoppers didn’t venture forth until late morning or early afternoon. She thought she’d read that somewhere once.
Collateral Damage Page 15
