Paradox (An FBI Thriller Book 22)

by Catherine Coulter

  Sherlock picked it up. “It would have pissed off Lissy, and that’s why she appeared, tried to kill Cindy. Dillon hasn’t said it, but Lissy was a natural-born killer, a psychopath without a shred of conscience or remorse for her victims.

  “Cindy described Victor’s voice becoming higher, crazy mad, out of control. She said he even looked different, his face changed, his eyes darkened. When Cindy kicked him, he screamed she’d kicked him in the staples, and he grabbed his belly and went down in pain.”

  Ty’s eyebrow went up. “What staples?”

  Sherlock said, “Lissy had major surgery to repair a ruptured duodenum. Her incision wasn’t healed yet when she died, and the staples were still in.”

  Sala said slowly, “So Victor’s Lissy stayed frozen in time, so now when she takes over, she is exactly as she was before you shot her?”

  “Evidently.”

  “Now my brain is ready for a vacation. Or apple pie.” He looked hopefully at Sherlock.

  “All right, maybe all of you are worthy enough. Dillon, come help me. Let these two geniuses think about this.”

  Savich was carrying a tray with ice cream and plates on it and Sherlock the apple pie like a trophy for the winner when they came back. Sala breathed in the smell of hot cinnamon and wanted to weep.

  Ty said, “Forget these unworthy men, Sherlock, marry me instead. I’ll give you my all, which admittedly isn’t much, but I promise I’ll always be there for you.”

  “Hmm. All right, I’ll consider it.” Sherlock began cutting pie slices. “If Astro were here, he’d be bouncing around like a tennis ball, barking his head off.”

  Savich spooned the ice cream atop each slice and handed out the plates.

  After a bite, Ty closed her eyes in bliss. “I hated Dillon’s lasagna. It was swill. Now, this pie is ambrosia.”

  “I wouldn’t give Savich’s lasagna to my cat,” Sala said, “and that’s saying something. If given the chance, Lucky would eat my socks out of the hamper.”

  Sherlock laughed and patted his shoulder. “Music to my ears. Now, listen while you eat, okay? Sala, you dealt with Victor, plus you heard Lissy’s laughter. You already know something about her. Let me emphasize: Lissy had no self-control. If she thought of something, she did it, no mental brakes, no thought to consequences. It was always about the pleasure of the moment, and it often involved killing someone.”

  Savich said, “Now, Nesser. He was sent to live with his aunt Jennifer Smiley when her sister, Victor’s mother, and his father, a Jordanian, decided to return to Amman. Jennifer’s very young daughter, Lissy, seduced Victor. From that night on, he loved her to his soul, would do anything for her. Let me emphasize here, Lissy drove the bus.

  “Did Lissy love Victor as much as he loved her? Yes, I’m sure she did. Victor was damaged before Lissy, and he was destroyed after she died.”

  60

  * * *

  Sherlock said, “Sala, let me ask you this. Which of them do you think murdered Octavia? Victor or Lissy?”

  Sala said without pause, “It was Victor. It felt like a man’s anger.”

  “And which one decided to lock you in a closet to die?”

  “It had to be Victor, of course, who dragged me unconscious up to the third floor at Gatewood. As to which one decided to leave me to die in that closet, I don’t know, but I did hear a girl’s crazy laughter in there. So maybe it was Lissy.” He closed his eyes a moment, and Ty saw he was stiff as a board, back in that closet reliving the hopelessness, the knowledge he was going to die, and of course the guilt that he hadn’t saved Octavia. She lightly touched her hand to his arm.

  Ty decided it was time to turn off the guilt spigot. Turn off the horrible images of him left in that closet to die. She leaned over and jerked his pie plate away.

  “Wait! Oh, no you don’t!” And he was back. He waved his fist at her, ate the last bite of pie off his plate.

  Savich was remembering how he’d seen Victor walking up the path toward Gatewood, how he’d looked up at Savich standing in the second-floor master bedroom window and pumped his fist. Had Lissy not been with him when he’d rowed Octavia out in the boat and killed her? Evidently not. And that was interesting. They could be apart as well as together. Had Victor imagined he was seeing Lissy in that window?

  Savich said, “Let me take the bomb at the church yesterday. Before Sherlock and I brought down Victor, he tried to bomb us, so I’m sure he did the work. He had the expertise. But I bet Lissy loved the idea of blowing up the church at Octavia’s funeral. Lissy loved drama, loved making a statement. What could be more dramatic than destroying a church full of people? Killing as many as she could? She had to be dancing, waving her fist.”

  Sherlock picked it up. “Remember Norm, from Norm’s Fish and Bait in Bowman, near Greenbrier State Park, where Victor went in to buy junk food Sunday morning? Victor saw his face on TV. He didn’t kill Norm, he panicked and ran. Lissy would never run. She’d yell, ‘Lights out!’ and kill everyone in sight. So it was Victor at the Fish and Bait in Bowman.”

  Ty said, “Okay, then it had to be Lissy who tried to shoot you guys in Peterborough after she saw you talking to people at that fried lobster place where Victor had lunch. It was spur-of-the-moment, over-the-top. I mean, it’s broad daylight, and there you are, the enemies. She went hard at you to get you, kill you dead.”

  “Yes,” Sherlock said, “that’s classic Lissy. Thank heavens it wasn’t Lissy who came into the children’s tent at the book festival. It was Victor, and I’ll admit what he did had to be spur-of-the-moment and really out of character for him. I mean, his weapon was a big chocolate bar.”

  Savich said, “Winslow happens to lie in a direct route to Fort Pessel, where Lissy and her mother lived and where Victor lived with them. It’s where we believe Jennifer Smiley hid her half-million-dollar share from the bank robberies. We know Victor has a big wad of cash, so it makes sense he knew where the money was hidden, and he retrieved it.” He ate the last bite of pie, regretfully set his empty plate on the coffee table. “If this is true, can you guys think of any reason why Victor would go back to Fort Pessel again?”

  “Not unless he didn’t take all of it,” Sala said, and scraped up the last tiny bit of apple pie from his plate and looked like he wanted to cry.

  Sherlock took his hand. “Come with me, Grasshopper. I think I have one slice of pie left, and it’s got your name on it.”

  “Suck-up,” Ty called after him. He waggled his fingers without looking back.

  Savich sighed. “And here I was thinking about having that last slice for myself in bed tonight.”

  When Sherlock and Sala returned, Sala hugging a plate to his chest with one small slice of apple pie on it, Savich had to laugh. It looked like he was holding a life jacket. “We told you how Victor gave Cindy a hundred-dollar bill to pay for his dinner at the diner. Let’s say we can trace the hundred-dollar bill to one of the bank robberies. That would leave us with the same question—why go back to the Smiley house if you already retrieved the money? No one’s lived there for over two years. The bank foreclosed and has been trying to sell it. It’s probably not habitable by now.”

  Ty said, “Sentiment? No place else to go? Someplace you—and Lissy—know and feel safe? Or maybe he didn’t take all the money, and he’s going back to make another withdrawal, like Sala suggested. His own personal bank.” She waved her hand, frowned. “On the other hand, the bank could sell the place at any time, and then it wouldn’t be safe to go back. And Victor would know that.” She looked beyond Savich’s shoulder.

  “What, Ty?”

  “Oh, well, this is probably stupid—”

  “Spit it out, Christie,” Sala said, “or I won’t give you my last bite.” There was a sliver of pie on his fork, and he waved it in her face.

  “All right, but don’t call me crazy. What if Victor never knew where Jennifer Smiley hid the money, maybe Lissy never told him, or she herself didn’t know where her mother hid the stash. So maybe he
got his wad of cash someplace else or from somebody else.”

  Savich said, “No, that’s not crazy at all. Actually, we checked all convenience store robberies around the time Victor escaped, but none in the area fit the bill.”

  Sherlock said slowly, “Let’s say he didn’t rob anyone. It would be a huge risk for him. He escaped, he’s on everyone’s radar. What you said, Ty—what if someone gave him the money?”

  “But why on earth would anyone give Victor money?” She smacked the side of her head.

  “No, wait,” Savich said. “Victor didn’t have any friends, any benefactors, rich or otherwise. Maybe someone paid him money to do something for him.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “You mean like commit a crime for him?”

  They all considered that possibility.

  Savich said, “It’s possible. Victor’s crimes garnered lots of publicity, and maybe someone paid attention. Regardless, I already have agents at the Smiley house in Fort Pessel in case Victor shows up.”

  “Here’s for your twisted brain.” Sala handed Ty his fork with the final sliver of apple pie balanced on it.

  Savich soon realized they were tapped out on Victor, and no wonder. Everyone was exhausted. He looked at his Mickey Mouse watch. “We’ve got some good ideas going, but you guys have an hour drive ahead of you. Let’s call it quits for tonight. I’m looking forward to bringing Dr. Hicks to the hospital tomorrow to hypnotize Leigh. If anyone can help her remember if she saw anything in the alley before she was struck down, it’s Dr. Hicks.”

  “You’ll like Dr. Hicks,” Sherlock said. “He’s an Elvis impersonator. He stuffs a pillow in his pants because he’s skinny. He goes to all the events dressed like the King. He sounds like him, too.”

  Savich said, “Let’s add that he’s the very best hypnotist we’ve ever worked with. If he really likes you, it’s possible you might get him to sing ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ ”

  “I wish I’d thought of hypnosis,” Sala said. “I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks, Savich.”

  “Right now, I’d rather have more apple pie.”

  61

  * * *

  WILLICOTT, MARYLAND

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT

  It hit her so hard, Ty took a turn too fast and skidded on the rain-slicked road. She couldn’t see clearly enough through the rain-fogged windows or the windshield to find a familiar landmark, so she prayed as she slowly, carefully managed to straighten her truck out of the skid. She stopped the truck in the middle of the empty road, briefly rested her forehead against her clenched hands on the steering wheel.

  “Ty, are you all right? What happened?”

  “My heart’s pounding out of my chest. Sorry about that. Sala, a thought just hit me, made me jerk the steering wheel. Listen, Haggersville is a lot like Willicott, and a lot of people heard us talking about Leigh Saks and her hypnosis tomorrow. Everyone who heard us tells someone else, and on and on it goes. The person who struck her down, maybe they’ll try again before she can be hypnotized. And there’s only one deputy guarding her.”

  Sala punched a number on his cell. “Chief Masters? Ty and I are concerned there’s only one guard on Leigh.” Ty listened to him explain their concern, then, “Thank you, Chief. Good night. We’ll see you tomorrow at the hospital.”

  “Neither of you questioned my judgment at all,” Ty said.

  A dark brow went up, but Ty didn’t see it, she was watching a small Fiat pass. When they were driving again, he said, “That’s because you’ve got great instincts, Ty. I don’t know whether the hypnosis will help, but neither does the killer. And with Leigh more cognizant now, able to understand better, maybe she’ll be able to put something more together about what happened, with or without hypnosis. So you nailed it. Protecting her is our priority.” He turned to face her. “But next time you get inspired like that, try not to be driving in a downpour. You can stop worrying about it now. Chief Masters is on it.” He paused a moment, looking out into the rain. “You know, Ty, this still feels like a Serial to me, but maybe something more, too, something we’re not seeing, something we don’t yet understand. I still wonder if it comes back to the Sparrows.”

  She whipped the steering wheel left to take the exit to Willicott, skidded, and straightened. She gave him a manic grin. “Sorry again. I nearly missed it. You’re right. But the Sparrows aren’t throwing their clients in Lake Massey, not those three people we met. Their parents? Nah, it doesn’t feel right, either. Well, I could be wrong, it’s happened on rare occasion, but not this time.”

  He held on as she turned onto the twisty lake road that wound through and around hills and crossed bridges over deep gullies, always hugging the lake. There was scarcely ever any traffic at night on this road and none tonight, what with the heavy rain that had started right after they left Washington. Who would choose to drive in this weather with no guardrails and the occasional fifty-foot drop?

  Sala said, “The lake looks like a black hole through the rain and the shadows of those hills.”

  Ty drove around a curve and there, right in front of her, was something huge and black. She slammed on the brakes, sawing the steering wheel to avoid a skid this time. The brakes stopped them hard a few yards short of a large construction truck, sitting like a dark monolith in the middle of the road. A few more yards, she thought, her heart galloping, and they could have been badly hurt, her truck bashed in on them.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, her hand over her kettledrumming heart. “I’d like to know why someone parked a fricking construction truck in the middle of the road on a dark, rainy night, no hazard lights, no nothing. This really burns me. I’m going to go bust some chops.” She jerked open the door, but before she could jump out, Sala grabbed her arm and pulled her back in, slammed the door closed. “No, don’t move. I saw this too many times in Afghanistan. It’s an ambush. Kill your lights.”

  She did. “What? An ambush? Us? Who would want to ambush us?” Her breathing hitched. “You’re thinking the killer’s worried we know too much? But Sala, there would be lots more cops to take our place. Why try to kill us?”

  He shoved her down. “We’ll talk about it later. Call 911, Ty. Get your people here as fast as possible.” He listened to her speak to her dispatcher, Marla Able, then punch off.

  “Do you have a bullhorn?”

  She stretched over the seat and pulled it out from the back.

  Sala opened his window and shoved the bullhorn out and shouted, “Whoever you are, drop your weapon, put your hands on your head, and come out. We’ve called for backup.”

  There was silence, no answer. He pulled her down to the floor of the truck beside him. She said, “I’ve never made all my five foot ten inches fit into such a small space before.”

  He patted her back. Good, she’d made a joke.

  “Sala, maybe I can slowly back us out of here.”

  “Nah, no reason to take a chance. Let’s wait for your deputies. Charlie, right?”

  “Yes, and Paula and Doug.” Ty started to whine about cramping up, but she thought of the three or four inches Sala had on her and the fifty pounds and said, “So you think he was expecting us to get out of the truck, come and investigate.”

  “That was what he’d be counting on, yes.”

  “Thank you for stopping me, then. I was about to jump out of the truck and run to that huge behemoth, all full of righteous indignation and anger. I could be stone-cold dead.”

  “Ty, listen.”

  There it was, the faint blast of a siren.

  Ty’s cell rang. Charlie shouted, his voice hyped with adrenaline, “Ty, are you all right? What’s happening? I’m nearly there.”

  “Charlie, it could be your siren scared him off. If you see a car or a truck hightailing it away from our position, go after it. We’re fine. Are Paula and Doug close?”

  “They’re some minutes behind me, both had to come from home. I see a big honker construction truck in the di
stance sitting in the middle of the road and part of your truck behind it. I’m going to approach from my side. Meet you there?”

  Ty called her other two deputies, sent them to Willowby Road to cut off that exit. She punched off, said to Sala, “Time to find out if you’re right, Sala.”

  She pulled a flashlight out of the glove compartment. They stepped out of the truck, using the doors for cover, and into the deluge.

  They heard Charlie’s siren nearly to them.

  “If the attacker is still around, he’s an idiot,” Ty said. They saw the bright lights of Charlie’s truck illuminate the big black construction truck in the middle of the road.

  Charlie left the lights on but turned off the engine. Ty shouted, “Charlie, you see anything? Anyone?”

  “No! Not a thing. No one’s here.”

  Slowly Ty and Sala, guns at the ready, walked to the construction truck. Charlie’s flashlight lit up the inside. He opened the truck door and leaned in. When he straightened, he raised a piece of paper in his hand. “Look at this, Ty.”

  Ty and Sala read the big block letters:

  BROKE DOWN. IN TOWN.

  The three of them looked at one another. Charlie said, “Well, guys, better be safe than sorry, my mom always says. Hey, Chief, you okay? Looks like a false alarm. I’ll go find the truck driver, get him taken care of, okay?” He pulled out his cell. “I’ll give Paula and Doug a call, tell them false alarm and to go back home.”

  Ty could only nod. She saw that Sala was holding himself stiffly, and he was quiet, too quiet. She took his arm. “Let’s go home, Sala, have a nice cup of tea. This little adventure might have put a white hair in my head.”

  He nodded, but didn’t smile.

  62

  * * *

  Ty found herself nearly mesmerized by the slap and glide of the windshield wipers, metronome steady. She’d laughed about Charlie’s call reporting he’d found the truck driver in the all-night diner on Route 37, drinking a Bud and full of apologies. She’d fallen silent, watching those windshield wipers.