"MAX experienced another sex change just three days ago," Sherlock said from the doorway, a wet washcloth in her hand. She daubed at her forehead, but she was smiling. "It's happened twice since I've known Dillon."
"I might have thought it meant MAX didn't know how to relate to her," Savich said. "That he was trying to make an accommodation since he knew she was here to stay. But the fact is he's gone back and forth now for about four years."
Ramsey said simply, "Molly and I both appreciate your help."
"We know that, Ramsey." He smiled up at his wife. "You okay, Sherlock?"
She nodded. "Just a brief brush with the devil." She turned to Molly. "That's what Dillon calls it every time I'm sick. Now, we'll put every scrap of information we can get our hands on into MAXINE and see what she comes up with." She saw that Molly didn't understand. "Dillon is the chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit or CAU at the FBI. We don't do profiling, but we work with the profilers and with local law enforcement to catch serial killers. We use a number of programs that Dillon's developed. We plug in all the information we can get our hands on, including everything from the local police, the forensic reports, the autopsy reports, witness statements, you name it. MAXINE isn't better at figuring things out than real people, but he or she, depending on the month, is faster and looks at the data in many different ways. In just the first year, we solved six cases along with the local cops. We think we can apply that experience to help us catch this monster."
Savich said, "Ramsey, I'll speak to Agent Anchor and get all the reports on the cabin where Emma was kept. There's bound to be some physical evidence left. I'll get MAXINE to work on child molesters who have an M.O. using disguises."
Ramsey said, "Emma said he smoked, had bad teeth, and drank. Once when she was coming out of a nightmare, she remembered he'd said that he needed her more than God needed him."
Molly said, "He also used twine to tie her up." She swallowed and looked down. "He used twine because she was just a little girl."
"That's a start," Savich said.
Sherlock patted Molly's shoulder as she said, "Dillon and I took a week's vacation. We're at your command."
"I already told them," Savich said, pulling her down onto his lap. "They haven't applauded just yet, but when they see what we can do, they'll do handsprings. I'll also speak to the police in Denver. We can add stuff from forensics from the explosion. Sherlock can help us by translating what you know into data for MAXINE."
"Then we push a button and MAXINE becomes the brightest Cuisinart on the planet," Sherlock said.
"While Dillon talks to the cops, why don't we make a list of all the things you guys can remember.
"Where," Sherlock began, "do you think Louey Santera planned to go if he did manage to get the Mercedes off the estate?"
"Nowhere," Molly said. "He hadn't thought that far ahead. He was scared and he lost it. He did that sometimes."
"This time it was fatal," Ramsey said. "Poor bastard."
"Not a poor bastard if he was the one who staged Emma's kidnapping," Molly said, her voice hard.
"How will we prove it if he was behind it?"
"Follow the money," Savich said. "I'll get a warrant to search through all Santera's financial records.
There's always something there, always."
"You don't need a warrant. I'll get the records." Mason Lord stood in the kitchen doorway, Gunther standing right behind his right shoulder.
"I'd just as soon you didn't do anything, Mr. Lord," Savich said. "It's our job. Let us do it on the up and up. Admittedly it takes a bit longer. On the other hand, it's legal. There are advantages to being really legal in this situation."
Mason said, "I know Louey's accountant. I will speak personally with him. Warren will plead to tell me everything he knows, to show me every record he's ever entered. Warren has always been useful and informative."
"You know," Sherlock said slowly, eyeing Mason Lord, wondering how he could be so utterly different from her own father yet look so remarkably like him. Both men had power, but they were on opposite sides of the law. "Just maybe since Mr. Lord and Mr. Santera's accountant are such good acquaintances, it wouldn't be a bad thing. What do you think, Judge Hunt? Does that sound kosher enough to you?
Would evidence from such a source give the defense a shot at an appeal?"
"Not that I can see. Hey, why not? We're on Mason Lord's turf. Let him glean information for the case."
He grinned at Lord. "I would discourage breaking and entering, though."
In that instant Molly realized her father had been standing there stiff as a poker. Now she saw him ease up, saw those aristocratic hands unclench, the long lean fingers uncurl. The cops were admitting him.
They wanted to involve him. He didn't smile, no, he'd never go that far, but there was something in his expression that held at least some degree more warmth than usual.
WARREN O'Dell was completely bald-probably through shaving-and looked like a longshoreman, exactly the opposite from what you'd expect of an accountant. He did wear wire-rimmed glasses, though.
He had something of the look of Michael Jordan.
When he spoke, you saw he had yellow teeth from too much smoking. He had calluses on the pads of his fingers and his palms. He spared one glance for Ramsey, his full attention on Mason Lord. Then he did a double take. "I know you," he said, staring hard.
Ramsey smiled and said, "I'm Ramsey Hunt."
"You're that federal judge in California who jumped over the railing and chopped up a group of terrorists in your courtroom."
"That's the way things worked out. It was just a little group."
Mason Lord cleared his throat, and suddenly Warren O'Dell turned pale. "Uh, sir," he said, nodding his head and making a sweeping gesture with his hand toward an expensive white leather sofa. "Please, sit down. I was devastated at the news of Louey's death. I was going to call you."
"Were you now, Warren?" Mason said. "Why?"
It was obvious that Warren O'Dell was scared spitless. He was standing in the middle of his beautifully furnished office on the nineteenth floor of the McCord Building on Michigan Avenue looking as if he wanted to jump out a window.
"Yes, sir," he said finally. "I would have called you as soon as it happened, but it was such a shock, you know. I couldn't pull myself together until just this morning. Louey's dead, blown up by a car bomb. I can't believe it. It doesn't seem possible. I heard you allowed the cops to investigate?"
Ramsey felt a small ripple of surprise in his gut. Did O'Dell consider Mason Lord to be some sort of god with total immunity?
"It was murder, Warren. I'm a law-abiding citizen," Mason said, his voice austere, as if he'd been the one to insist on the cops coming in. He looked toward Ramsey. "Judge Hunt is the man who saved Molly's daughter."
"Oh, yes, now I see. I couldn't imagine why he was here, with you, seeing me. It's the shock of Louey's death. It's shaken me badly. I gave my girl the day off I was so upset."
"I see you have some boxes shoved behind your desk, Warren. I don't suppose you were planning to destroy some documents? Perhaps in preparation for a nice long vacation?"
"Oh no, sir. I was just cleaning house. Nothing more."
"I'll see that you get any assistance you require," Mason said.
"No, sir, I'm just fine, really."
Mason Lord barely raised his voice. "Gunther."
The huge man was there in the doorway, looking dead on at Warren O'Dell. As if O'Dell were a bug, Ramsey thought.
"Yes, Mr. Lord?"
"We need to assist Mr. O'Dell. See those boxes shoved behind that impressive mahogany desk of his?
We'll take those and have a look at them. Ramsey, maybe you would be so kind as to look through Mr.
O'Dell's file cabinets."
"I have some questions first," Ramsey said.
"Please, Mr. Lord, there's really nothing-"
Mason Lord raised his hand. O'Dell was instantly silent. "Judge Hunt wants
to ask you some questions, Warren. You will answer them completely and honestly."
Warren O'Dell's bald head glistened with perspiration. He watched Gunther carrying out the boxes. He licked his lips. "Yes, sir."
Ramsey felt exceedingly strange. Here he was with a powerful criminal boss who had a potential witness nearly pissing in his pants, and he, Ramsey, a federal judge, was a co-conspirator in what was probably extortion, at least duress. Who cared? "Mr. O'Dell, tell me about Mr. Santera's finances."
Warren O'Dell swallowed. He looked again toward Gunther, who was coming back into the office, his gun in its shoulder holster clearly visible because his coat was open.
"Louey was broke," he said at last. "Dead broke. He was doing this tour to try to pay off his debts.
There's nothing now that he broke his contract, not even loose change."
"Louey was broke?" Ramsey repeated. "Did he owe a lot of money?"
"Louey wasn't ever big on denying himself. Then he got butt-deep in debt. There's this small consortium in Las Vegas. I think they arranged for Louey to lose heavily at the craps table, which he did. He was a lousy gambler, but he wouldn't admit it. He thought he was the greatest in just about everything. No, in everything. He was into them for nearly a million dollars. They kept him gambling and he couldn't begin to pay them off. They just kept adding on interest. They made threats. On him, on your daughter, sir, and on your granddaughter."
"Names, please, O'Dell," Ramsey said. "Give me names and then give me records."
Mason rose and walked to the small bar, a chrome-and-glass affair on wheels with three gold leaf-framed glass levels. He picked up the brandy decanter and poured an inch into a snifter. He never turned, just stood there, looking out the wide windows, sipping on the brandy. He said quietly, "I know who it is."
"Who, sir?" Ramsey asked.
"Rule Shaker. Am I right, Warren?"
"Mr. Rule Shaker's the main player, yes sir. Louey had turned him down on a long engagement to play in Las Vegas. Mr. Shaker insisted, Louey kept saying no, even after he was in for all that money. That's when he decided to go on tour in Europe. He thought he could make back all the money. He's very popular in Europe, much more so than here in the U.S. He would have been able to repay Mr. Shaker if he'd stayed on his tour."
Ramsey said quietly, "You must have heard that Emma and Molly were the targets of that bomb, not Louey."
"Yeah, I heard. That's why I was heading out of town, until things settled down, just as Mr. Lord said.
Mr. Shaker told Louey that no one he knew was safe. He was the one behind the car blowing up, there's no doubt in my mind about that. But he didn't want to kill Louey. He was after Louey's kid. He wanted to use the kid to show Louey he was serious."
"You think then Mr. Shaker also ordered Emma taken?"
Warren O'Dell said, "Louey was sure it was him. Didn't surprise me either. Louey called me from Germany. He didn't know what to do. I didn't either."
"Yes," Mason said. "Rule Shaker had Emma kidnapped. Rule killed Louey by mistake. I wonder why?"
Mason had spoken very quietly, but Ramsey had heard him. He said to Warren O'Dell, "How much money did Louey make before he died?"
"About three hundred thousand. There would have been taxes, of course, and some extra overhead we hadn't figured in, but he was getting there. If he'd been able to finish his tour, he might have been able to pay back every cent."
"Where's the money?"
"I don't know."
"You're his accountant," Mason said, his voice soft and clear as he turned from the huge glass window.
"His accountant. Louey was particularly feckless, couldn't even seem to understand the most basic concept of how the dollar worked. I'm sure you must have been the one who guided him after he and my daughter divorced. I know that she handled all the finances during their marriage, but after? No, Warren, it was you. Now, tell Judge Hunt where the money went."
"I'm not lying, sir. I swear to you, I don't know. Louey wouldn't tell me. I've got the records, sir.
Withdrawals from the bank, nearly all of it. He just took it out, didn't say a thing to me."
"When did he withdraw the money, Mr. O'Dell?" Ramsey asked.
"Just before he went to Germany. He was broke, but he still managed to talk the backers out of a huge advance, nearly two hundred thousand, if I remember correctly. Another hundred thousand was coming later, after he was in Germany performing, and that's gone too. Louey took all of it. He didn't tell me a thing, I swear it."
Gunther stood by the door, silent.
"You have all of Mr. O'Dell's papers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then we'll be off. Judge Hunt, do you have more questions for Warren?"
"Yes. Where were you early this morning?"
Warren O'Dell looked as if he was going to faint. He cleared his throat. He swallowed and made himself cough. He said at last, "I was home in bed."
"Was anyone with you?"
"Yes, my girlfriend, Glennis."
"Give me her phone number."
In another four minutes, Ramsey was on the phone speaking to Glennis Clark, a waitress at the Downtown Diner over on O Street. He spoke quietly for several minutes. Finally, he hung up. "Unless you have excellent ESP, Mr. O'Dell, and a very strong connection to Ms. Clark, it appears you're telling the truth."
Ramsey nodded and walked with Mason Lord to the door of the opulent office. He turned and said,
"Who are you hiding from, Mr. O'Dell?"
"Mr. Shaker. He already called me. He's very angry, claims I'm responsible for Louey being in that car.
Now that Louey's dead, he won't get his money back."
"A million bucks is a spit in the ocean for the likes of Mr. Shaker. Why is he really so angry?"
"Because he can't have Louey," Warren O'Dell said finally. "He really wanted Louey. When he realized that Louey would earn back the money and he couldn't use the debt as leverage, then he kidnapped the kid. Jesus, he'd kill me if he knew I'd told anybody."
"He wanted Louey to perform in his casino?"
"That too."
20
IT WAS AFTER nine o'clock that evening. Everyone had finally moved from the dining room into the huge living room for coffee and some of Miles's low-fat apricot tarts. Emma had begged to stay up so she could help Miles load the dishwasher. After she'd left in Miles's wake for the kitchen, Ramsey told everyone about their encounter with Warren O'Dell. When he said, "And then Mr. O'Dell said Rule Shaker really wanted Louey," Molly stared at him, disbelieving. "He's gay? This Mr. Rule Shaker wanted Louey Santera for a lover? Is that what he meant?"
"Yeah," said Sherlock. "What's all this about?"
Ramsey just smiled. Both Sherlock and Molly had understood it just as he had. Their incredulity was as great as his had been.
Savich sat back in his chair and said, "I'll bet there's an unexpected punch line here. Come on, Ramsey, spit it out."
Ramsey smiled wider, nodding to Mason as he said, "As it turns out, it was Mr. Shaker's daughter who wanted Louey. Her name is Melissa and apparently she's the apple of her daddy's eye. Anything she wants, Daddy gets for her.
It was Louey she wanted, and so Mr. Shaker went after him."
"And ended up killing him." Molly was tired to her bones, worried sick about Emma, and now some gangster's daughter had wanted Louey? She continued, "So her daddy rigged a craps game so Louey would lose big time? And when that didn't work, you're saying this Mr. Shaker had Emma kidnapped to make Louey fall into line? Then he sent men after the three of us? Finally he tried to blow Emma and me up and killed Louey by mistake?" Molly jumped up from her chair, nearly knocking it over. She began pacing up and down, her eyes fastened on the toes of her black Bally loafers. "No, that's as nuts as this Shaker guy being gay. What kind of monster is he? That's sick."
Mason narrowed his eyes on his daughter, "Get a hold of yourself, Molly. Louey could have had his own daughter kidnapped so he could get his hands on my money and
pay back Rule Shaker. It would further seem that finally Rule Shaker tried to kill Emma so that Louey would be frightened enough to do as he wanted him to do. It was business."
"Mason's right," Eve said. She gracefully set down her coffee cup. "If there's something you want badly enough, then you must be prepared to do whatever is necessary to gain it."
"Despite the costs?" Molly asked.
"Costs are part of doing business," Mason said.
"No," Ramsey said. "Louey didn't have a thing to do with any of it. Don't you see? There wasn't enough time to get another team in there working for a different master. Emma was kidnapped; I found her; then the two men came to the mountain cabin and tried to shoot us. Then two others probably followed us all the way here. No one knew where Emma was except the people who took her. All these acts seem connected, they're all part of the same piece of cloth."
Mason was chewing on an unlit cigarillo. He said slowly, "Well, it's a lot simpler to think that Louey wasn't involved at all."
"I've got a headache," Molly said, going toward the door. "It's late and I don't think I can help us anymore. I'm going to go to bed."
"I'll come with you," Ramsey said. "Sherlock? Savich?"
"I want to speak to MAXINE about all this just a bit longer," Dillon said from where he was sitting near the fireplace in a massive leather chair, his laptop on a small table in front of him. "She's been chewing over some information while we were talking."
Sherlock said, "When she's finished chewing, then, doubtless, MAXINE will want to speak to me. When she's a female, she communicates better with another female. We'll be up soon."
Mason held out his hand to Eve. "Shall we go up, my dear?"
"Certainly, Mason," Eve said, smoothing the silk of her dress over her hip. Every man's eyes followed that move.
Mason Lord turned at the doorway, slight bewilderment in his voice, "I have a judge and two FBI agents staying in my house. This isn't what I'm used to."
He left without another word. Ramsey would have laughed, but he felt too much tension. He rubbed his neck. Emma would have remarked that her granddaddy had made a joke. Mason Lord knew this Rule Shaker, or at least he knew of him. What did he really think of all this? He as well as all his staff had been politely unhelpful to the police. What would Mason do?
The Target f-3 Page 19
