“So are we,” Sylvia snapped.
“In a fair fight or race, the good guys usually win in the end. Unless the unknown comes into play. Then the playing field opens up wide. All you have to do is look outside. That’s the unknown, the unexpected. It works more to his advantage than ours.” Disgust registered on Lawrence’s face. “Damn, I hate snow!”
Sylvia squeezed her eyes shut as she saw pictures of Lucy Baker, Wylie Wilson, and their houseguest, dead on the floor in Wilson’s house. The picture was so horrendous, she bolted for the bathroom, but it didn’t erase the vision or the knowledge of all the other murders Leo Banks had committed. Her shoulders drooped. Lucy and her friends were sitting ducks, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing. She squared her shoulders and walked back into the suite’s living room. “How much longer before that snowplow gets here?”
“They said eight o’clock. It was iffy. When it gets here it gets here,” Mason snapped irritably. He wasn’t looking forward to braving the elements.
“Go back downstairs and see if you can find out anything. Find all three of us some boots and some heavier outerwear. Explain to the manager we’ll reimburse everyone when this is over. Tell them to give me an outside line immediately and to keep it open. Don’t look at me like that, Mason, do it!” Sylvia said, just as irritably.
When the door closed behind Mason, Sylvia looked over at Lawrence. “What do you think, Tom?”
Lawrence scratched at his head as he shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything is getting jerked around by this damn storm. For whatever it’s worth, I think he’s close by, and I think he’s made an attempt already but the storm foiled it. He knows where she is, even if she’s with other people, so that makes his job easier. Where he is, I have no idea, but wherever he is, he has access to a phone, and yeah, he’s trying to scare her. The guy she’s with, Wilson, he’s no lightweight either. Those two dogs would make me take a step backward. And, you said, she has a gun. The visiting guy doesn’t appear to be any kind of threat, but you never know. You wanna run with this or what?”
Sylvia snorted. “Run where? Lucy said she thinks he’s got something hidden under the fireplace. Any ideas?”
Lawrence’s face registered despair, as well as disgust. “Nope. None. It’s got to be something pretty awesome to warrant the kind of security he has installed there.”
Connors’s eyes narrowed. “Not so awesome if Wylie Wilson’s friends dismantled it. I’m talking about the system, not what’s inside.”
“I think our pal was just trying to cover himself from the locals. They wouldn’t know what to make of it. Goes with the profile. He’s cocky, never thinking anyone other than the locals would home in on him. Maybe money, maybe drugs. And, Baker said there was only an SUV in the garage, a car we didn’t even have in our inventory. What happened to the other vehicles? I think people went there and got them, his pals. Do I know why? No, I don’t. What other explanation could there be for the other vehicles? One is left for St. Clair himself. Admit it, Connors, we’re operating blind here. Half our case is assumptions. The guy is like quicksilver.”
A scream ripped from Sylvia Connors’s throat. In the blink of an eye, Lawrence had his gun in his hand as he pivoted to the right and to the left. “Jesus Christ, what?” he roared.
“Look, it’s stopped snowing!”
Lawrence mopped at his forehead as he replaced his gun in his shoulder holster. “Christ, Connors, you almost gave me heart failure.”
Connors looked sheepish. “Sorry, Tom. It really has stopped. Look for yourself. In your life, have you ever seen this much snow?”
Lawrence continued to mop at his forehead. “No, and I hope I never have to see this much snow again. Where the hell is Mason?”
As if in answer to his question, Agent Mason opened the door and dragged a hotel dolly into the room. On it were assorted jackets and parkas with hoods, a pile of gloves, scarves, and what looked like a small mountain of boots. “The plow is due in thirty minutes, the outside line is clear, and we owe a fortune for this gear. And, lady and gentleman, it has stopped snowing. They’re singing in the bar downstairs. The booze is flowing, and it’s all free. They ran out of food late last night, in case anyone is interested. There must be seven hundred people milling about. Everyone who made it on the train this far plus all the regular guests. It’s a zoo down there.”
Connors listened with half an ear as she dialed Wylie Wilson’s house. “Mr. Wilson,” she said, when she heard his voice, “this is Special Agent Connors. We’re told that a plow should be here in about thirty minutes. That’s not carved in stone, however. The good news is it has stopped snowing. I have no idea how long it will take us to get to your house but we wanted to tell you we’re on our way. Hold a second, Mr. Wilson.
“Mason, did you get us some cell phones?”
Agent Mason offered up a snappy salute. “Yes, ma’am, Special Agent Connors, ma’am. I managed to snag three Nokias. They belong to the manager, the assistant manager, and the reservations clerk. They put a sticky on the side with the number on it, and they’ve been charged, so we’re good to go. We either have to return them or pay for them.” Mason handed one of the phones to Sylvia.
“Mr. Wilson, write down these cell phone numbers as I read them off to you. Please, repeat them back to me. Good. You’ll see us when you see us.
“Then I guess we should avail ourselves of some of this outerwear and head downstairs to wait for the plow. Does anyone know the temperature?”
Mason slipped his arms into a shearling-style jacket. “According to the television in the bar, it’s around twenty-seven degrees. That’s pretty damn cold if you want my opinion.”
“Mine, too,” Lawrence and Connors said in unison.
18
Less than three hundred feet from where Jonathan St. Clair sat smoking, Lucy rubbed oil on the capons she was getting ready to put into the oven. She used a heavy hand with the ground pepper.
Thanksgiving.
Lucy was washing her hands in the kitchen sink when she heard the thought. Crash and burn, baby…This is a hiccup…“Wylieeeee!”
It was Jake, his sandy hair standing on end, who responded to her call. “What’s wrong? I passed Wylie in the hall upstairs. He was heading for the shower. You’re white as this kitchen counter. Did something happen?”
Lucy told him what she’d heard. “Do you think that means he’s close by, Jake?”
“There’s no way of knowing, Lucy,” Jake said quietly as he poured himself a cup of coffee. The tests done on people that I read about were all in one location. Same medical building, same house, close proximity, that kind of thing. However, there are documented cases where a subject picked up on things a hundred miles away. I think there are six cases like that. My guess, and that’s what it is, a guess, would be he’s close.”
Lucy’s head bobbed up and down. “That’s my guess, too. I feel him, Jake. I really do. He’s close by. I can’t explain how I know, I just know. The agents are on the way. Listen to the news, it’s almost scary. No, that’s wrong, it is scary. I wish there was something I could do, but this storm…”
“I hear you. You know, Lucy, I woke around five-thirty. My bed was so warm and toasty I didn’t want to get up, so I just lay there thinking. I think my brain was going a mile a minute. I tried to dissect this whole thing, to put it into some kind of chronological order so it would make sense. I kept coming back to the same things every time. What would the man gain by marrying you? Why did he put the house and the brokerage accounts in your name, and why did he buy all that insurance? More important, how did he pull it all off? How did he get around the physical you should have taken for the insurance company? Why did he put that house in Watchung in your name? It’s coming up to the first of the year, and in January, people start thinking about filing their income tax statements. How was he going to get away with that? Where do those brokerage statements go? And the paperwork pertaining to the house. I think all that stuff goes to th
e apartment you said he has in New York. I bet you a dollar he has someone pick up his mail once a week or something like that. Whoever picks it up is probably paid very well and knows how to keep their mouth shut. That person probably mails it to a drop box or someplace out of the country. It’s so…detailed. Most crooks try to keep things simple, so they don’t make mistakes.”
Lucy made an unladylike sound in her throat. “It’s pretty much like that in the law, too. Keep it simple, stupid. The more you plot, the more you scheme, the greater likelihood you’re going to get caught and prosecuted for your efforts because, somewhere along the way, it gets hairy, and you make a mistake. Nothing about Jonathan was simple. He thrives on details. It’s like a challenge to him.
“Do you want to know what I think, Jake? I think he was going to marry me and then…and then he was going to…kill me. Everything would then go to him legally. I also think he has setups like this all around the world. Jonathan is a global person, as the FBI pointed out. That’s just another way of saying, he’d scratch me off his list and move on to another part of the world if this end of his venture went awry. He never thought I would find out what was going on.”
“What’s going on?” Wylie said, entering the kitchen, the dogs trailing behind him.
Lucy looked up at him and smiled. Her heart thumped in her chest at what she was feeling for this man towering over her. He’d shaved and was wearing jeans and a hunter green sweatshirt with DARTMOUTH on the back. Wylie loved collecting sweatshirts from different universities. They were his casual wardrobe, all old, all faded, but comfortable.
“We were discussing Jonathan, but we didn’t come up with anything concrete. We’re just guessing, at least I am. Gut feelings, that kind of thing. Maybe if and when the agents get here, they’ll have some input. He’s close by, Wylie. I can smell him.”
“It’s entirely possible,” Jake said, “that he actually made it here and is in someone’s house holding them hostage. Don’t look at me like that. How else do you explain the dogs’ strange behavior? He could have been prowling the neighborhood. Hell, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face when it was snowing. He could have tried to get into Lucy’s house that first day. Anything, where that man is concerned, is a possibility.”
“You two think about it while I get my clothes out of the dryer and take a shower. Wylie, turn the oven on in ten minutes,” Lucy instructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Wylie said, saluting smartly before he blew her a smacking kiss that Lucy returned with the same gusto. Jake pretended to be embarrassed, to the delight of both of them.
Under the steaming shower, Lucy’s thoughts turned somber. If Jonathan managed somehow to get to her, she’d never know what it would be like to be married to Wylie. She’d never have that little girl and boy, never get to meet his students, never see her brother Steven again. If. Like hell.
As the shower rained down on her, Lucy relaxed as she tried to get to that place in her head where she could hear a thought. Lucy to Jonathan, Lucy to Jonathan, she thought inanely. There was a buzzing sound in her ears and a thrumming sound in her head. She stopped rubbing shampoo into her hair and leaned back against the tile shower to take advantage of the moment. Then she heard it. Harvey. Talk about stupid, dumb luck. Damn cold. Just wait it out. No crash and burn for you, buddy. So close. So very close. Return to fight another day. Wait it out. Relax. I’m going to get you, Lucy. I know you know I’m looking for you. I’ll find you, too. Spend your days looking over your shoulder. You’re the one who is going to crash and burn. Not me, never me.
And then it was all gone, the buzzing in her ears, the thrumming sound inside her head. Gone. Lucy shivered against the cold tile. She immediately scooted under the hot spray and rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Her mind raced as she finished her shower and dressed in the Liz Claiborne plum-colored sweat suit she’d taken from the dryer. Her head was soaking wet, but she didn’t bother to use Wylie’s blow-dryer. Instead, she ran a brush through her hair, fluffed it with her fingers, and left the bathroom, but not before she hung up her wet towels and gathered up her dirty clothes to throw in Wylie’s washer. When this was all over, she was going to burn these sweat suits and buy bright yellow ones. Maybe a pumpkin-colored one, too. She needed color in her life. Rich, vibrant colors.
Downstairs she took a deep breath and held her audience captive as she repeated what she’d heard in the shower.
Her voice jittery, Lucy asked, “Do you think it means what I think it means? That wherever he is, he’s leaving because he’s afraid he’s going to get caught. Wasn’t there a movie about a rabbit named Harvey or something?”
Both men stared at Lucy as though she’d lost her mind. Wylie shrugged. “What would a rabbit named Harvey have to do with anything?”
Lucy threw her hands in the air as she inched closer to Wylie. “He’s leaving wherever he is, but he’s coming back to fight another day. He wants me to crash and burn. Isn’t that what pilots say when they fly those super airplanes? Wall Streeters and lawyers have been saying it for years. Jonathan is, among other things, a movie buff. He always prided himself on seeing first-run movies no matter what part of the world he was in. I don’t know if it means anything or not. Probably not.”
“Where the hell is he?” Jake suddenly boomed. Lucy and Wylie reared backward to gape at him.
Jake cursed under his breath as he waved his empty coffee cup about. “We should have figured this all out by now. Why haven’t we?”
“Because Jonathan, or whatever his name is, has had lots of time to plan all this. We just fell into it. He knows what he’s doing, and we don’t. It’s that simple,” Wylie said.
“Well, we should know. We aren’t stupid, for God’s sake. The guy’s a scumbag, a con, and he’s starting to piss me off. Big-time. Now, let’s sit down here and talk.”
• • •
Jonathan St. Clair looked at his appearance in the foyer mirror. No one would think he was anything other than a shuffling old man who had lost his bearings and was looking for warmth.
Dressed in Nellie’s husband’s oversize clothing with a little padding here and there really did make him look like an old man. He was also wearing one of Nellie’s gray wigs he’d found in a drawer that he’d hacked and cut. He still sported the mustache he’d had earlier. The gray watch cap he pulled on his head held the wig in place, allowing just enough gray hair to show at the sides.
Jonathan felt confident that none of the neighbors who were busy with their snowblowers and shovels would pay any attention to him if he shuffled along with a destination in mind.
His plan was to go to the door, ring the bell, and push his way inside, gun in hand. Whatever happened after that was unknown. Hopefully, he would walk away leaving three dead people and as many dogs behind. He’d then clear the snow off the Rover with the four-wheel drive and capable of getting through this snow that was sitting in the driveway, at which point he’d get in, hot-wire it if he couldn’t find the keys, and drive away slick as you please. He wasn’t sure yet about his getaway. He rather thought he’d make his way to the Metro Park train station, switch up license plates from a stranded car or, if the trains were running, take the next train to New York, where he could lose himself. He could book a room in a small hotel, work out a disguise that would pass muster, and board the first flight he could get to wherever it was going. He had enough bogus identities to take him around the world. He’d made a clean getaway after he killed Adam Ligar, so there was no reason to think he wouldn’t get away with it this time, too.
Jonathan hated the thought that he had to cut his losses where the house in Watchung was concerned. All those beautiful, sparkling diamonds, all those bearer bonds, all those bars of gold he’d secreted under the fireplace. Sometimes, you just had to cut your losses and walk away. He consoled himself with the fact that he had other stashes in other places. Still, Lucy had to pay for this particular loss.
He wondered what she was doing, right now, this very minut
e. Was she cooking Thanksgiving dinner? Was she laughing and talking with the man she was with, Wylie? Were they drinking good wine or that swill Lucy bought in the supermarket? Like he really cared what she was doing. Just a few more minutes and everyone in that cracker box of a house would be toast. Jonathan opened the garage door and looked around. He waited a few minutes, his ears tuned to any kind of activity. Minutes ago he’d heard a snowblower. Two men and a boy had been shoveling and shouting to one another. Now there was only silence. He moved then, slowly, the rubber boots that were too big almost coming off his feet in the deep snow. He used his knees to propel himself forward just as he heard a garage door open. Ah, the man with the snowblower was finished and going back into the garage. From what he could see, he had the road all to himself. Even so, it was slow going as he made his way to the house next door.
• • •
Wylie was blue with cold when he stomped his way into the small foyer. He was also covered with snow. Coop and Sadie had to be rubbed down with towels. Both dogs were shaking as Lucy led them to the fire where Lulu was prancing and yipping her delight that her new best friends were back in the fold.
“I cleared a narrow path to the road for the agents if they manage to get here. A few of your neighbors were doing the same thing. I’m going upstairs to take a hot shower! Hey, where’s Jake?”
“In the study talking to his wife. Do you want me to make you a cup of hot tea?”
Wylie, who was halfway up the stairs, turned and called down, “I’m going to stand under the shower till it runs cold. Wait till I come down. Are the dogs okay?”
“They’ll be fine as soon as they warm up,” Lucy shouted, wondering if Wylie heard her. She shrugged as she made her way to the kitchen. She looked around. What was she doing before Wylie came in? Taking the garbage out to the garage, that’s what she had been doing. She made a mental note to buy a trash compacter.
The Nosy Neighbor Page 26
