Grave of Angels

by Michael Prescott

  “How old were you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “That’s very young.”

  “I didn’t feel young. I felt a million years old. I felt worn out and ready to die.”

  “Yet you survived.”

  “Not on my own. I had help. I joined the order. I became a postulant with the Sisters of Mercy. They saved me. I didn’t save myself.”

  “So your faith in God pulled you through?”

  Kate shook her head. “I never had any faith. I joined because I needed a home. Needed a purpose. But I never believed. I pretended. I knelt with the others. I said the same prayers. But I never believed.”

  “They took you in anyway? Despite all that?”

  “They didn’t know.”

  “About your lack of faith or…?”

  “About any of it. I lied to them. Lied about everything. I said I loved God. I never told them I’d been married—in fact, technically, I was still married. I hadn’t gotten a divorce. And of course they didn’t know about…her.” She shook her head. “I was a nun under false pretenses. Not very holy, was I?”

  “Were you happy as a nun?”

  “I was happy.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  “Because my past caught up with me. It took two years, but James tracked me down. I think he wanted his car back, not me. Tough luck. I’d sold it long before. Altered the registration and sold it for cash.”

  “And he told them about the marriage?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why?”

  “To hurt me. To get back at me for hurting him. He’s the type who carries a grudge.” Carries it for a long time, she added silently, thinking of the taunting phone calls, the laughter beneath the overpass. “He knew I loved the order. But a married woman can’t be a nun. Or a divorced woman, either. And besides”—she bit her lip—“when that part of the story came out, I made a full confession. I told it all to the mother superior. And she cast me out.”

  “And you lost everything.”

  “Yes.” She and the sisters had roomed together, cooked and cleaned together, shared stories and jokes, prayed the divine office twice a day—and then it was over, and she was shunned, a pariah. “But I deserved it, didn’t I?”

  “Did you? You’re not the first one to make a mistake. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. Some of us, a lot more recently.” Victoria sat up on the bed. “Kate…how old would your daughter be now?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Just a few years younger than Chelsea. Is that why you care so much about her personal life, the choices she makes?”

  Kate wanted to deny it, but there was no point. “I know she’s not my daughter, obviously. Not my responsibility. But when I see her making mistakes—dumb mistakes, mistakes that can ruin your life—”

  “Like the mistakes you made.”

  “You should have listened to me,” Kate said simply.

  “I’ll start. If there’s still time.”

  “There is.”

  There had to be.

  Through the closed the door, Alan’s voice rang out from the living room. “Incoming call!”

  Kate leaped up, glancing at her watch. The time was four thirty. Swann had made them wait an extra half hour. Made them sweat.

  But he was calling now.

  KATE forced herself not to run. Swann had kept her waiting, and now it was his turn to wait for her.

  Her new cell phone rested on the coffee table in the center of the room. Alan and Skip sat on the divan. Skip’s face was white with tension.

  The caller ID showed a number with an out-of-state area code. Swann must have been using the AT&T phone card again.

  She took a breath before pressing the phone’s talk button. She wanted to sound calm. “Hello, Jack.”

  “How’s it hanging, Sister Kate?”

  “Everything’s copacetic, Jack.”

  “Yeah, right. Sure it is. Sure it fucking is.”

  His voice had a new, halting quality. It was the voice of a man finding it hard to hold himself together. The strain had to be getting to him, especially after he’d come so close to losing everything in the car crash.

  She paced, making tight circles on the carpet. “I need to hear Chelsea’s voice.”

  “After the shit you pulled, I’m not doing you any favors. You have the jewelry?”

  “Yes, it’s all ready. But first I have to hear Chelsea’s voice.”

  “I told you, no favors.”

  “It’s not a favor. It’s business. The last time I saw her, she was in a car with you, and you’d just taken a shot at me. I have no way of knowing what you did next. Put her on, or I’m hanging up this phone.”

  “You’re not hanging up anything, and you know it.”

  “Okay then. Put her on, or else waste the next twenty minutes arguing with me about it.”

  He hesitated, thinking it over, then let out a sigh. “Fuck, you’re a pain in the ass. Hold on.”

  A beat of silence, then Chelsea came on the line. “Kate?” Her voice was strangely subdued. A lost soul’s voice.

  “Chelsea, are you okay?”

  “I guess so.” The words were faraway and hollow. “I saw him shoot at you. Couldn’t tell if he hit you…”

  “He didn’t. Don’t worry about me. Listen, we’re going to bring you home, we just—”

  The phone was snatched from her hand and Victoria was shouting into it, pressing her ear to the small speaker. “Chelsea? Chelsea?” Then her face changed, turning dark with rage, and she screamed into the phone, “You let her go! You crazy son of a bitch, let her go!”

  Kate pried the phone from her grasp and pushed Victoria away.

  “Who the fuck was that?” Swann asked, his voice ragged. “Her mommy?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s you I’m supposed to be talking to. No one else. Just you.”

  “She wanted to hear her daughter’s voice.”

  “Fucking bitch screaming at me, giving me orders. Nobody gives me orders.” He was breathing hard, like a man who’d just run a mile. “Keep her the fuck off the phone, you hear me? You hear me?”

  “Yes, Jack.”

  “I don’t want to hear her again. I’m not interested in dealing with hysterical women.”

  “Is that why you drugged Chelsea again?”

  “I had to give her a booster shot. So what?”

  “What’s she on, Jack?”

  “Nothing that’s dangerous in the right dosage. Don’t fret. She’s doing fine. I’ve got enough drugs to last a good long while, and there’s more where they came from.”

  A chill flickered through her. “Why would you need enough to last a long while?”

  “Well, let’s suppose I don’t get paid. Then I go to plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  “Chelsea stays with me. She’ll be my female companion. After enough time has passed, I won’t even need the meds anymore.”

  She lowered her voice, hoping Victoria couldn’t hear. “I thought you were looking out for her best interests.”

  “Altruism only goes so far. Besides, I’m not talking about killing her. She’ll be perfectly okay.”

  Sure she will, Kate thought, a drugged sex slave. “Is that really what you want for her?”

  “Maybe it is. Or maybe I’ll sell her. There’s a thriving market in such commodities. A movie star would fetch a fair price.”

  “You don’t want to do that, Jack.”

  “Don’t tell me what I fucking want. You don’t get it, Kate. You don’t see. You used to pray, didn’t you? Pray to God?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who’s God? The man in charge, right? Well, that’s me. I’m in charge. I hold Chelsea’s fate in my hands. I can do whatever I want with her. I can give her back, or I can keep her, or I can sell her, or I can kill her. Anything. Do you see?”

  “Yes, Jack, I see.”

  “I’m your God now. You bow down to me. You pray to me.”
r />   “All right.”

  “I’ve saved your client’s life, you stupid bitch. I think I deserve some fucking gratitude. Some fucking respect.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  He hitched in a sharp breath, like a gulp. “You have the jewelry?”

  She’d already told him so. Repeating the question was another sign of his deteriorating condition. “Packed in a valise, as you asked.”

  “That’s good, Sister Kate. But since you distrusted me and interfered, I think I’m entitled to additional compensation. There’s some fine artwork in the Brewers’ house. An Ellenshaw in the master bedroom, a William Wendt in the den. And don’t forget the Wyeth.”

  She didn’t ask how he knew so much about the household decor. More information from the insurance files. “Those items may be difficult to transport.”

  “Not if you remove the frames and roll up the paintings one inside the other.”

  “It’ll take some time to get that done.”

  “I’ll give you an extra twenty minutes. This little milk run doesn’t have to get underway till five a.m. But no later. Remember, I’m still watching the house.”

  “Where do you want me to bring the stuff?”

  “You don’t bring it anywhere. You’re not the messenger. Sam Brewer makes the delivery.”

  Kate was glad Sam couldn’t hear Swann’s end of the conversation. “He’s not going to like that idea,” she said quietly.

  “It’s Sam or it’s nobody. I know him. I’ve worked with him. He’s the one I want. He puts the valise in his SUV, the black Lexus. And he takes his cell phone. That way I can call him once he gets started. I’ll instruct him where to go after he’s on the road.”

  “You’ll need his number.”

  “Already know it. I’m always three steps ahead, Sister Kate. Always.”

  You weren’t three steps ahead when I plowed my Jag into your Town Car, she thought. “Yes, you are.”

  He laughed, a crazed sound like a hyena’s bark. “I like the way you said that. So nice and humble. You must’ve been a good nun, all docile and timid. A sad little virgin married to Christ—that was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s that tell again. Liar, liar. So you weren’t a virgin? You were a fucking whore even way back then?”

  She didn’t like his voice in her ear. It was too much like being inside his head, thinking his sick thoughts.

  “But you pretended to be a virgin, didn’t you? You faked it. Why not? Religion’s all bullshit, just a way to keep the sheep in line. Isn’t that right? Most people are sheep. And then there are men like me. Ask Chelsea if any God would let a man like me do the things I’ve done.”

  “What things have you done, Jack?”

  “More than you want to know, Sister Kate. Put Sam in his car and on the road. Have him take Mulholland to Beverly Glen into the Valley, then work his way over to San Fernando Road, northwest bound. You writing this down?”

  “I’m recording the call.”

  “Of course you are.” Another bark of laughter. “I’ll call him when he’s underway. He has to be alone. Got that? Just him in the car. And nobody follows him.”

  “Right.”

  “You tried fucking with me once tonight. I don’t want any more surprises.”

  “When will we get—”

  Get Chelsea back, she meant to ask, but the click in her ear told her the call was over.

  It didn’t matter. Whatever answer she might have received would have been a lie. His tone of voice when he talked about plan B had not been speculative. It was the tone of a man who’d imagined that scenario many times and relished the prospect.

  She was starting to think plan B had been Swann’s real plan all along.

  KATE summarized the conversation, watching Sam’s face when she mentioned his role in the drop-off. His eyes flickered, and he shifted in his chair. That was all.

  “So we’ll collect the artwork and put it in the valise,” Victoria said. “We’ll give him what he wants, and he’ll let Chelsea go.”

  Kate pursed her lips. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “What do you mean? He has no reason to hurt her if we follow his instructions.”

  “I don’t know. Some of the things he said…” She didn’t want to repeat what she’d heard.

  “You’re saying he’ll kill Chelsea?”

  “No. I think he wants her alive. With him. I think…I think he’s going to run off with her.”

  “Run off?”

  “I could be wrong. But his control is starting to slip, and he may have said more than he intended.”

  “Then what can we do?”

  The answer came to her without thought, but instinctively, she knew it was right. “We need to apprehend him. The drop site is our one opportunity.”

  “But if you do that,” Victoria said, “he could panic and…” She didn’t need to finish.

  Kate nodded slowly. “It’s a risk. Everything we do from this point forward is a risk. If we play the game his way, he may disappear with Chelsea for good. Or he may eliminate her once he doesn’t need her anymore. If we move in on him and try to take him down, he could sacrifice Chelsea, or she could be hit in the crossfire. There’s no risk-free option. I’m sorry.”

  “We need time…there has to be more time…so we can think…”

  “There is no time. We have to decide now.”

  “Oh God.” Victoria shut her eyes. “You think this is the best way? You really do?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Brewer.”

  “All right then. All right.” She said it firmly, but tears ran from beneath her closed eyelids.

  Kate turned to Alan. “We’ll have to track Sam on the road.”

  “Easy. His cell phone has GPS. There are online services that allow real-time tracking.” He glanced at Skip like a student eager to impress the teacher with a good answer.

  Kate wasn’t satisfied. “What if Swann takes the Lexus before we can intercept him? Is there some way to track the car itself?”

  “It has Safety Connect,” Victoria said. “It’s like OnStar. If the car is stolen, it can be located.”

  “No good.” Alan had the faraway look he got when he was deep in thought. “Those security systems can’t be utilized until an official police report has been filed. And even then, the info would go to the authorities, not to us.”

  “Let’s say we modify the system”—Kate was thinking aloud—“hack into it or something.”

  Alan shook his head. “The proprietary software in automobile computers is designed to prevent third-party alterations. A hack like that just isn’t possible.”

  “I can do it,” Skip said simply. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph, leaning back with his hands behind his head.

  Alan blinked at him, irritated. “No way.”

  “Yes way. Safety Connect is an ATX-based telematics system. When it’s activated, it basically makes a cell phone call to the ATX call center. I can reprogram it so it calls a different number, and the information will show up on any computer screen.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Alan said skeptically.

  “Watch and learn.”

  “Swann has a camera on this house,” Kate pointed out. “If you start fooling around with the car, he’ll know something’s up.”

  “I don’t think so.” Skip flipped open Swann’s laptop. “I’m looking at the webcam feed right now. The camera doesn’t have a good angle on the Lexus. The car’s half hidden by shrubbery. I can slip inside and do my thing, and Big Brother will be none the wiser.”

  “You really believe you can make this work?” Kate asked.

  “Belief has nothing to do with it. When it comes to this stuff, I’ve got mad skills.”

  “Then do it.” She ushered them out the door, then looked at the others. “Di Milo and Grange will wait here until after Sam leaves, then follow in Vince’s personal car, the Buick. They’ll stay at least a mile behind at all tim
es.” She frowned, seeing the bandage on Grange’s head. “Alfonse, do you think you’re up to it?”

  “I’d love another crack at that son of a bitch.”

  “Okay, then it’s set. You two will hang back until Sam reaches the drop site and Swann shows up. Then you’ll move in and take him. I’ll drive a separate vehicle and close in from another direction to cut off escape.”

  The two bodyguards exchanged a glance.

  “I don’t think so, boss,” Grange said. “It’s not a good idea, you being there. You’re too personally involved.”

  “As if you two aren’t?”

  “Not the same way. I’ve seen how you talk about Chelsea. You’ve got an emotional connection to the case that could…um…impair your judgment in a crisis situation.”

  She turned away. “Bullshit.”

  “They’re right, Kate.” It was Victoria. “Remember what you told me? You know they’re right.”

  “Anyway,” Grange said, “someone needs to monitor the computer and call the shots.”

  “So I’m a desk jockey now?” Kate heard the bitterness in her voice. “Just because I care about my client?”

  “Because you care too much,” Di Milo said.

  She stifled a retort. It could be true. She was tired, stressed out, maybe not thinking clearly.

  Of course, she could override their objections, insist on going along. But then she would be creating friction, serving as a distraction. The last thing she wanted to do.

  “Guess I won’t be needing these,” she said softly. She handed her Glock and a spare clip to Grange, who’d come unarmed from the hospital.

  Grange nodded. “It’s the right call, boss.”

  “Just make sure you get her back. Make damn sure.”

  “Count on it.”

  “It’s really great how you’re all in agreement on this fine strategy you’ve come up with,” Sam Brewer said. “There’s only one hitch. I’m not doing it.”

  Silence in the room. Sam stood up slowly, staring at the ring of faces.

  “You have to,” Victoria said without heat or rancor, as if stating the self-evident.

  “Don’t gotta do nothing. Ain’t gonna do this.”

  “But…” Victoria stopped, at a loss. “But Chelsea.”

  Sam’s face was set, his eyes cold. “We’ll have to work it some other way.”