“Do you have any pain?”
“Not really, I was drinking too fast.” She smiled up at her godfather, then beyond him to the good-looking man and woman. “Who are you?”
46
* * *
Lulie kissed her daughter’s cheek and straightened. “Honey, let me introduce you to FBI agent Sala Porto from Washington and Chief Ty Christie from Willicott.”
They moved forward and held out their identification so she could see. She really liked what Chief Christie was wearing—black jeans, a tucked-in white shirt, a sharp black jacket. She had such cool hair, dark brown with curls down to her shoulders and the prettiest green eyes, a mossy green, maybe. She was taller than Leigh, fit as a marine, her godfather liked to say, which was a big compliment. Agent Porto was tall, hair and eyes as dark as an archangel’s, his cheekbones knife sharp, his face expressive. He was very good-looking indeed. She smiled, nodded. “It’s nice to meet you both. Are you here because of my accident?”
Lulie moved out of the way so Ty could stand close to Leigh. Ty took her hand and saw uncertainty in her eyes, but also awareness and complete focus on what Ty was about to say. Chief Masters had said when she’d awakened, she was different. Was this what he’d meant? She said, “Someone struck you on the head, Leigh. We’re here to find out who did. Can you remember hearing or seeing anything to help us find out who struck you?”
“Someone hit me on the head?” A sharp jab of pain made her close down for a moment. She raised her hand and felt the thick bandage. Slowly, never looking away from Ty, she shook her head.
Leigh didn’t look slow, she looked baffled, completely understandable after being knocked unconscious.
Leigh looked toward her mother. “Mom, I don’t understand. Someone hit me? Why? I’m Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, even you’ve called me that. Why would anyone hate me enough to smack me on the head?”
Sala took Chief Masters’s place. “Ms. Saks, I’m afraid someone did strike you, knocked you unconscious. You’ve had surgery, but you are not to worry. It all went well, and Chief Masters has assigned Officer Diaz to guard you. He’s right outside the cubicle.”
A small smile bloomed. “Romero? Guarding me? I remember he belted Keith Morton when he tried to kiss me. I really wanted Romero to kiss me when I was sixteen.” She paused, and a shadow of regret, of sadness, flitted over her face. “Then he grew up, and I didn’t.”
Ty squeezed her hand, couldn’t help it. She said, “Do you remember leaving the post office this morning?”
Leigh slowly shook her head, winced, closed her eyes, and leaned back against the hard pillow. “Where did you find me?”
Sala said, “Chief Masters found you behind the dumpster in the alley between the dry cleaners and a hardware store.”
“Lucky Hammer,” Chief Masters said as he lightly smoothed Leigh’s hair back from her forehead to cover some of the white bandage. “An FBI agent manning the Star of David belt buckle hotline called me, and I got to you really fast and brought you here to the hospital. You were in surgery for three hours. Dr. Ellis swears you’re going to be fine, no worries.”
Ty said, “Do you remember walking to the alley to make a phone call, Ms. Saks?”
Leigh slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s all a blank.”
“What is the last thing you do remember?” Sala asked her.
Her brow furrowed. “I remember speaking to Mrs. Chamberlain, but I don’t remember—wait, I had some question, I think, about Mr. Henry. But why would I? I mean, Mr. Henry’s been dead for a long time now, so why would I be asking Mrs. Chamberlain a question about him?” She gave a tiny shrug. “Whatever it was, I suppose I thought she’d know since she and Mr. Henry were sleeping together a long time before he was killed.”
Lulie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Gunny—Leigh—speaking about Mrs. Chamberlain and Mr. Henry’s affair? Not their being special friends, no, sleeping together, saying it like an adult would. She felt like the one who’d been smacked in the head. What was happening with her daughter?
Ty thought about showing Leigh a photo of the belt buckle on her cell phone to spark her memory, but instead, she said, “You were thinking about Mr. Henry because there was a press conference yesterday in Willicott. An FBI agent held up a belt buckle, a special one with a gold Star of David. It was found with a lot of human bones at the bottom of Lake Massey. Anyone who recognized it was asked to call the hotline, and you did, Leigh. In fact, you were the only one to call the hotline with any real information. You were knocked down before you could say much to the agent speaking with you. He thought something had happened to you on the telephone and called Chief Masters immediately, who found you in that alley. Then the agent called to alert us, and we got here as quickly as we could.”
Chief Masters closed his eyes against the enormity of what could have happened if not for that FBI agent who had cared and acted.
It was as if Leigh had read his mind. “If you hadn’t found me, I could have died, right? Thank you, Dan, for saving me.”
It was unnerving for him now to listen to this young woman he loved but had always believed to be special—yes, simple, unable to function in this big bad world without the kindness and protection of others. Where was that girl?
“You’re welcome,” he said. “The bottom line, sweetheart, is now you’ll be around to wipe drool off my chin in the misty future.”
Lulie laughed. “My chin as well. Are you in pain?”
“A little bit. My head, it feels like a block of concrete is perched right on top pressing down. Mom, in the misty future, you might have buttercream frosting on your chin, but never drool.”
A man’s voice came from the entrance to the cubicle. “What’s this about drool? Whosever it is, never mind.”
After introducing Ty and Sala and Leigh to her surgeon, Lulie said, “Dr. Ellis, I’m glad you’re here. I suppose the nurses called you because Gunny—Leigh—is awake? But she doesn’t remember anything about what happened.”
“That’s not uncommon, Ms. Saks. It’s almost expected after the kind of trauma she suffered. Post-traumatic amnesia often clears in a day or two.”
Lulie lowered her voice. “Dr. Ellis, I don’t know how to put this, but Leigh seems even more awake, more with us than usual. It’s as if she’s more aware than ever of everything around her.”
He nodded. “That’s good to hear, actually. Patients can seem hypervigilant sometimes soon after brain trauma, a sort of self-protective response, you might say. I would say it’s nothing to be concerned about. She’ll be herself again soon.”
Lulie didn’t give up. “What I mean to say, Dr. Ellis, is that for those of us who know Leigh very well—you’ve never met her, of course—she seems, well, very focused, different, in a good way, I guess, but none of us quite understand what it might mean. To be blunt, before she was knocked in the head, she was simple, but now she’s not.”
Dr. Ellis stared at her, then over at Chief Masters, who nodded. “That is perplexing, Ms. Saks. Tell you what. Why don’t you let Leigh and me talk about that together while I do my neurological exam? If you would all leave me alone with her now. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
Dr. Ellis ushered them out and snapped the curtain closed over the cubicle entrance, and they found themselves standing beside Officer Diaz.
He stood. “Is Gunny going to be all right, Ms. Saks?”
Lulie smiled at the handsome young man her counter girl Glory wanted desperately to notice her. And Leigh had wanted him to kiss her when she’d been sixteen? “Her name is no longer Gunny, Romero, it’s Leigh. That’s her real name and that’s what she wants to be called now.” Diaz cocked his head to one side, and Lulie patted his arm. “You’ll get used to calling her Leigh. She doesn’t remember anything about what happened yet, but she might soon. Please keep a close eye on her, all right?”
“I told you, no one will get past me, Ms. Saks,” Diaz said, and tried his best to look ten years older
and Rambo-tough.
There was a commotion at the large central nurses’ station, and they turned to see a tall man dressed in a bespoke light gray pinstripe suit striding toward them. Sala recognized him from a law enforcement meeting on the Hill. It was the chairman, Congressman Andrew Mellon. What was this about?
“Who is that?” Chief Masters said aloud.
Lulie said simply, “He’s Congressman Andrew Mellon. I called him, Danny. He had a right to know what happened. I admit it, I’m surprised he came, rather than sending an aide.” He was walking toward her, his eyes never leaving her face. Lulie realized it gave her a spurt of pleasure, and wasn’t that odd after so many years? It was the first time Andrew had ever come to see her in public. She walked quickly to him, and he took her hands. Everyone watched him bend his head down to speak to her.
He had a right to know what happened. What did she mean? Ty watched the tall, distinguished man with his dark gray-flecked hair take Lulie Saks in his arms and hold her close, whisper against her hair, comfort her. Then he handed her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. She gave him an unsteady smile, took his hand, and brought him over to them.
“Andrew, I would like you to meet Leigh’s own trio of cops.” She introduced everyone. “They’re here to find out who hurt her. I guess I should introduce you as Congressman Mellon.”
Congressman Mellon raised a patrician black brow. “Andrew is fine, Lulie. Now, what are the FBI, the police chief from Willicott, and the police chief of Haggersville doing together here in the matter of a young woman struck down in an alley?”
Lulie said, “Like I was telling you, Andrew, it’s pretty complicated.”
Mellon nodded. “I was notified by our liaison of the press conference being held in Willicott, which is in my district and therefore of interest to me. I saw it. Agent Porto?”
As Sala was bringing the congressman up to date, Dr. Ellis came out of the cubicle, saw a well-dressed stranger had joined the group, and automatically nodded to him. He said to Lulie, “Ms. Saks, there is nothing significantly wrong with her neurological exam. She needs rest, which is the best thing for her right now.” He nodded to the group and walked toward the central nurses’ station.
“Sir,” Ty said to Congressman Mellon, “I recognized you, of course, since you’re our representative, but I am surprised you would actually come here in person to find out about a constituent’s medical condition.”
He gave her a charming smile, warm and inviting, showing a slightly crooked eyetooth. “Of course I’d come, Chief Christie. I’ve known Lulie and her daughter for some time. Lulie and I need to talk.”
47
* * *
ON THE ROAD TO FORT PESSEL, VIRGINIA
TUESDAY EVENING
Victor, why are we on I-95? You know I hate all this traffic, all these cars piled nearly on top of one another, all these losers trying to get home to their boring little houses to their boring little kiddies. It’s fricking rush hour, turn around and let’s go back to Washington. I want to drill that murdering Riley right between his stupid eyes.
“I told you, Lissy, I won’t let you kill him unless you tell me where your mama hid the bank money. I told you, too, it seems Riley’s gone to ground, probably Savich warned him to stay away for a while. So we’ll go to Fort Pessel first, to your mama’s house. You show me the money, and in a couple of weeks, I’ll even let you drive back to where Riley lives.”
If I tell you, you swear you’ll let me pump a couple of bullets in his brain?
“Yes.”
Victor felt the touch of her wet mouth against his cheek, the lick of her tongue. He felt a surge of lust, then a sort of familiar settling down all the way to his soul. He remembered her mama’s journal, a thin white book she’d kept hidden in a small hidey-hole behind the baseboard under her bed. He’d been watching her unawares. When she’d hidden it, he’d snuck it out and saw she’d listed all the banks the gang had robbed, the guards they’d murdered, the people they’d killed who’d interfered, the amount of money stolen from each bank, and how much she had left after paying out everyone’s shares. All of it entered in Jennifer Smiley’s spidery black handwriting. He hadn’t had time to read all of it, didn’t know if there was any clue about where she’d hidden the money. If he could get to that notebook, maybe he wouldn’t need Lissy to tell him. Then again, it was risky going back there, and maybe the FBI had already found the notebook. Still, it was a smart hiding place, so maybe not.
“Lissy, do you remember your mother’s little notebook?”
No, I didn’t even know Mama had a notebook. Why are you talking about that? You’re putting me off, aren’t you, Victor? Listen, I’m hungry, we had only a couple of tacos for lunch. When my stomach growls, it makes those awful staples pull, makes them hurt.
“I know you love Southern fried chicken and mashed potatoes, so we’ll stop and get you some.”
Forget the mashed potatoes. I want grits, Victor. I haven’t had grits in way too long. Hey, I really like the whiskers and the glasses, makes you look all badass and dangerous and smart. Turns me on. After dinner, let’s stop a little while.
Again he felt her warm breath, felt her lick his cheek.
He shook his head at her. “Come on, stop it, Lissy, you almost made me rear-end that car. Look, we’re nearly out of rush hour now, all the worker bees are starting to peel off. Don’t lick me again, not yet, okay? I’ll find us a place to eat dinner.”
And no one will recognize my guy. You really look hot, Victor, and maybe a little bit mean. Just right.
He was whistling when he walked into the Golden Goose Diner in the small town of Winslow, Virginia, and slipped into a cracked leather booth. A pretty blond girl with a pencil tucked over her right ear, wearing shorts and a skimpy top, came to his table, looked him up and down and grinned. “Hey, you ready for some barbecue?”
“No, not tonight,” Victor said. “Fried chicken, a double order, ah, and some grits.” He saw Lissy was smiling really big. He added to the waitress, “Lots of butter in the grits, please.”
Both the portions were huge, and when the last chicken wing was only bones, Victor pressed his hand over his belly. He was stuffed and felt faintly nauseated. Too much fat. He thought of all that fried lobster, and all the fried chicken he’d eaten in his short life. Lissy should have been happy, but she wasn’t.
That little bitch is flirting with you, Victor. She keeps coming back here, pressing closer and closer, talking to you in that slutty voice. You let her see that wad of cash on purpose, didn’t you, to get her interested? You want to have sex with her since I have staples in my belly and it hurts too bad ? You sleep with her, Victor, and I’ll shoot her ass.
He’d never before seen Lissy jealous and realized it made him feel hot, like a chick magnet. He pulled back his shoulders, gave the waitress a big smile when she came over, and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “I’m Victor, and your name tag says Cindy. That’s a real pretty name. Hey, keep the change. Maybe after work you’d like to have a glass of iced tea with me, cool down? Or we could go somewhere.”
Cindy Wilcox made a snap decision. Victor looked nice, sort of sexy with that long hair and goatee. Fact was, she was bored. She looked at her iWatch, a gift from her married brother last Christmas. “Thirty-five more minutes, and I’ll be done here. Hey, I’ll ask Chuck real nice if I can leave early, how’s that?”
“Sounds good. Why not bring me a glass of iced tea, and I’ll wait for you.”
Victor watched Cindy sashay back behind the counter and fill his glass with more tea, squeeze in some fresh lemon, plunk in the ice cubes. He breathed in deep when she leaned over to set his tea on the table, felt her breast brush his arm. The feel of her was amazing. She smelled like roses. He knew Cindy had seen the cash and knew, too, she wanted some of it. He didn’t blame her, didn’t think less of her, stuck in this hick town in a hick diner with crap air-conditioning and grease floating in the air. He could take her to a nice cool motel and see. Or m
aybe it would be best to go to her place. He felt Lissy’s anger, thick and hot, pouring over him, into him, heard her hissing in his ear, and that felt even better than good.
He smiled, glanced at his own watch. “I’ve got some time before I have to be on the road again.”
Ten minutes later, Victor followed Cindy’s ancient faded green Mini Cooper as it twisted through a half dozen quiet, unlit streets. It was late enough that there wasn’t much traffic and no screaming kids. They were all inside, watching TV, then off to their beds for the night. She pulled into the driveway of a middle-class duplex in a not-bad neighborhood, turned off her Mini Cooper, got out, and walked to his car, hips swaying. He stepped out of the Chrysler.
Cindy said, “Hey, not a bad car, except for the color. Why’d you get a vomit-brown car? It’s like a rental nobody would ever steal.”
Victor said smooth as silk, “That’s why exactly. I had a car stolen once, a beautiful white Mustang, so all I buy now are ugly-butts. Never got one stolen again.”
“Did you live in a bad neighborhood?”
Victor thought of Jennifer Smiley’s house at the cul-de-sac in Fort Pessel, only three or four hours’ drive southeast of Winslow. It wasn’t a bad house, a bit run-down, and the neighborhood had been mainly white, hick, and nosy. “Yeah, maybe,” Victor said, and stared at her breasts.
48
* * *
Cindy laughed, fully aware he was looking his fill at what her mother called her “assets.” She knew she looked good. There was no way he would get back on the road tonight. She’d made up her mind while she’d helped clean up Chuck’s greasy kitchen so he’d let her go early. She’d see if the skinny cute dude with all his cash might be her meal ticket out of this lame town. He was better-looking than the paunchy middle-aged man she’d met two years ago on the casino floor in the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas. He’d scored ten grand at blackjack and laid his eyes on her nubile self, and she’d kissed him, congratulated him, told him how lucky he was. He’d taken her shopping, and she’d come home with two designer outfits, a diamond bracelet, and three pairs of Louboutin shoes. She’d left the dude smiling. It would be the same with Victor—she’d butter him up, make the right promises to get him to offer to take her with him, didn’t matter where. She imagined there was more than ten thousand in that roll of cash he’d flashed at dinner, and she intended to have a blast with him until it was gone. She’d leave him smiling, too. “I’m going to turn on the air conditioner the minute we get upstairs. It’ll cool down pretty fast. Come on, Victor, let’s forget the iced tea and have a little bourbon. That’s my favorite.”
Paradox (An FBI Thriller Book 22) Page 20
