“Doubt it. We’ve already thrown so much shit against the wall, I’m surprised we can even see the wall. Go ahead.”
“Remember the Menendez trial from a few years ago?”
“The one where the Beverly Hills parents were murdered by their two kids? I think I was a year old at the time.”
“Thanks, smartass. I wasn’t even in high school yet. But I studied it in law school.”
“I’m just giving you shit. I did too, and I watched a documentary on it last year.” I stood up and tried to stretch without sending a stabbing pain into my stomach—until I realized what Alex was getting at. I stopped and stared at her. “Are you thinking that Drew and Marcy might have…?”
“It’s not like I’ve already convicted them and put them on death row, but we’re looking at all angles. Maybe they were abused, like the Menendez brothers claimed had been the case for themselves. It’s something to consider.”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, with our huge team of resources,” I scoffed. “Look, I think I’m mostly responsible for this, but we’ve got so many balls in the air that I’m not sure what’s up or down anymore.”
“Or which ones to just snip right off,” she said, using her fingers to mimic a scissor-cutting motion. A sly smile washed across her face.
“You’re cruel. You know how that makes guys feel. I think I’m getting weak at the knees right now.”
“Yeah, whatever. But you’re right. We’ve got to debunk at least some of this theoretical bullshit so we can see what’s real and what, if anything, is connected.”
I grabbed my laptop and shut it. It felt like my eyelids had almost shut with it. “First task in the morning?”
“Maya.”
That surprised me. I considered Maya a dead-end. “Maya? I know you mentioned her earlier, but you gave her the ultimate carrot two days ago. She didn’t bite.”
“Have I told you I can swing a baseball bat like a tennis racquet?”
I blinked a few times. “Is there a joke in there somewhere?”
“Your pants.” She spit up with laughter the moment she said it. “Sorry…I think I’m punch drunk right now.”
I laughed too.
Finally, we both calmed down and headed for the stairs. “You going to connect the dots for me on this baseball bat and tennis racquet?”
She shook her head. “I used to play tennis. I was decent. So, if I can swing a bat like I do a tennis racquet, that means I know how to play that game where it takes a big stick.”
A slow nod. My brain had been stuck in sludge. First, she tried the carrot, and tomorrow the stick.
This should be entertaining.
30
Alex
I hung up the phone with Jerry as Ozzie slid into the passenger seat. I floored the gas before he had his seatbelt buckled. Again, I peeled rubber.
“Now you’re acting like a teenager…a teenager who just got her driver’s license,” Ozzie said.
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
I jumped on I-95 as we looped around Boston and headed for FMC Devens, where Maya was still being held until her next court appearance. I told Ozzie about my call with Jerry.
“He said we’re in the clear on the Bandar suicide.”
Ozzie had been thumbing through something on his phone when he turned his head to me. “Why wouldn’t we be…in the clear?”
“One word.”
“Randy?”
“Ding-ding.”
“Why is that guy synonymous with everything bad about…well, just everything bad?”
“I think his mother dropped him on his head when he was young.”
Ozzie gave me a quizzical look as if I had insider information.
“You know I’m joking—right?”
“Yes, Captain Sarcasm.”
“Just a captain? Then again, not sure how many women generals there are.”
“Break the glass ceiling, Alex. I’m sure you’ve done that a few times in your FBI career.”
“Eh. Mainly when I’m dealing with sexist pigs like Randy.”
I expected Ozzie to jump on the Randy dog pile. Instead, I noticed him reading from his phone.
“Getting your daily update on the Kardashians?”
“Damn, you’re merciless.”
“I think I’m in one of those moods. Probably hormones.”
He gave me one of those looks where guys hear a word like “gynecologist” or “tampon,” and they act like you’ve soiled their minds.
“Did you know that one percent of women go through menopause before the age of forty?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I read up on it. One percent is millions of women each year.”
“So, now you’re thinking that your communication problem with Brad is actually menopause playing havoc with your hormones?”
“Just sayin’,” I said with a shrug.
“I guess you can talk to your doctor to see if you’re in the one-percent club.”
“Actually, it would be higher for me, since I’m forty-one.”
“Okay, whatever, one-point-five-percent club. Or—and I know this might stop the earth from rotating—you could sit down and have an adult conversation with Brad.”
I kept my eyes looking straight ahead. “How did I find someone more sarcastic than I am? How could this happen?”
“I’m not. You just think I am, because you’re not used to hearing it thrown back at you.”
Damn, I think he’s right. “Enough about my hormones.”
“So, you’re not going to talk to Brad?”
“Hey, buttinsky…” I arched an eyebrow.
He held up both hands. “Okay, okay. I know when to change topics. So, do you think we’ll have to wait long to see Maya, like we did the last time?”
“You don’t like hanging out at prisons?”
He looked at the window for a moment. “Back when I was on the run, I had a lot of time to think about being away from Mackenzie. So, prisons are my worst nightmare.”
“Sorry. It shouldn’t take long, not with my—”
“Big stick. You talk like a guy sometimes, you know?”
“I’ve been told. So, what are you reading?”
“Glad you asked. I’ve been doing some additional digging on IBIT.”
“This is the company that Salvatore and Percy both worked for and, I’m assuming, made them very wealthy.”
“Correct. Actually, they founded the company after first meeting at MIT.”
“Founders, huh? I’m thinking Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos. Do they still own a part of the company?”
He nodded while scrolling down the screen. “From what I’ve learned so far, it appears each own about twelve percent. Net worth numbers range between eighty and a hundred million.”
“They each hit the lottery ticket.” For a brief moment, I pictured my life if I’d actually won the lottery. Everyone did this, at least for a few seconds in their lives. The lottery winners are always asked if they plan to quit their jobs. There are parts of this FBI gig that give me purpose. And while it’s probably immodest of me, I sometimes wonder, if I left, who would push back against the Randys of the world? Who would act first and ask for permission later? Who would do anything possible to save a life? Nick was a great guy, but he didn’t like to rock the boat, not unless he was at my side. Yeah, I was probably giving myself way too much credit. Give me a lottery ticket and then give me a home on a piece of land? I don’t know…maybe I’d just live the same life. Same job, same home. It was too hard to envision. Did I have a problem? Most people could rattle off a hundred things they’d do with fifty million bucks.
Yeah, I have issues.
“So…” Ozzie continued. “Intelligence Before Its Time, IBIT, is some type of robotics company.”
“That’s a crafty name.”
“I think these guys are…I mean, were really smart. The company was founded in 1987, but they didn’t get their first real paying client until two ye
ars later. And then it took off. They went public, and since then, the stock price has gone up tenfold.”
“So I wonder if they were close friends. Sometimes money can divide people. Then again, the Macks were at Salvatore’s funeral.”
A few seconds of silence. I saw Ozzie glaring at his phone.
“Did you hear me?”
“Huh? No…I just…” He paused, continuing to look at his phone. Finally, he looked up at me.
“Yeah? So? I can’t keep playing this staring game, Oz. I have to watch the road. Talk to me.”
“I missed this earlier. There’s another founder. Her name is Elise Tran. The other two, Percy and Salvatore, are still on the board and have some type of research role. But Elise just stepped down from the board two months ago.”
I could feel Ozzie’s eyes on me. I increased my speed, weaving through traffic. “Interesting timing,” I said. “I assume she’s loaded too.”
He told me to hold on a moment as he found her reported net worth. “Oh, she’s only got thirty million stashed away.”
“How does she put food on the table with that kind of pittance? Seriously, maybe her husband is really into art collecting, and they’ve blown fifty million dollars on art. That art-collection world is full of elitism, you know.”
“Hey, you might be talking about my daughter in the future.”
“You can only hope.”
“True. Selling a painting for a million dollars…that might fund my retirement.”
“Might?” She laughed. “Seriously, you sound like a proud daddy.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Uh, yeah.” I shot Ozzie a quick smile.
He went back to his phone. “By the way, Elise Tran is not married.”
“In between husbands four and five?”
“Zero. Never been married.”
We drove in silence for a few minutes. I saw a sign that said we were ten miles out. My mind started spinning around all the information Ozzie and I had tossed back and forth late last night and now here on the drive. I was feeling an urgency to speak to Maya, hoping I could figure out if she’d known Bandar. And if there was a relationship there, had he ostensibly carried out the attack on her behalf? Still, though, I knew the pair didn’t line up perfectly. She’d shown no religious leanings. And then there was Bandar’s bizarre last statement.
“You wondering the same thing I am?” Ozzie asked.
“Probably not. I’m wondering if Maya might be this Plato or Pluto person that Bandar seemed to be pledging his allegiance to.”
His head tilted left and then right, weighing my idea. “Good theory.”
“Right. But we’re up to, like, ten theories now, depending on if we’re combining the marathon bombing with the murder-robbery scenario of the two IBIT founders.”
“Here’s number eleven…or twelve. Whatever. I’m back to Elise. She’s the only founder who’s still alive. So, could that mean she’s a potential target herself? Or is she behind the murders because of some vendetta against her former colleagues?”
I twisted my lips. “I might believe it up until we get to the robbery part. She does have thirty million. So, bad investments aside, stealing two million in cash…is it really worth it?”
“Hell if I know. I think we need to talk to her, though.”
I could see the outline of the prison fence off to our right. I gave Ozzie my phone.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Call Gretchen, put her on speakerphone. I’m tired of having so many balls in the air.”
“I thought she was still wrapped up in Randy’s task force.”
“Brad told me they’re not working twenty-four hours a day. She’ll do this one favor for us.”
“Which is?”
“I want every piece of information on Elise Tran.”
We pulled into the prison, but we talked to Gretchen for five minutes before we went inside.
31
Ozzie
Before Alex and I finished going through security, a barrel-chested man wearing a black suit walked through an interior door. He introduced himself as the northeast regional director of the Federal Bureau of Prisons—Michael Cervante. His face was grim.
“I normally would leave these matters up to my staff, but I understand the critical importance of your visit with the prisoner Maya Sherman.”
I could see Alex stiffen.
An older couple walked into the building and stood right behind us, waiting to go through security. The man removed his hat but nervously rotated the rim through his hands. The woman blinked a lot and could not seem to land her gaze on any one person or thing. They had to be family members of a prisoner.
Cervante took notice of the people in our space, and he extended an arm to us. The three of us shuffled into a small room with four plain chairs, an equally forgettable table, and four white walls. No one sat. The only thing that stood out was a small, black-framed picture of the American flag in the middle of one wall. The image of Lloyd’s office came to mind, with his stapled flag above the door. One man’s symbol of freedom apparently is another man’s symbol of confinement.
But what did I know?
“You said you’re the regional director,” Alex said, her arms folded across her chest. “Not the director for this prison.”
“I just happened to be on site this morning, conducting a series of monthly review meetings. We were just in our leadership meeting discussing our medical-supply needs when the head RN interrupted us.” He looked us both in the eye and took in a breath that expanded his chest another six inches.
“It’s Maya,” Alex said. “What’s going on with her? Has her condition worsened?”
The questions seemed to confuse Cervante. “Worsened? No, well, I have no idea of her exact condition before…” He cinched up his pants as shifted his gaze to the corner of the room. I knew there was nothing there so I didn’t bother turning. He was in delay mode, as if he were anxious about something.
“Yes?” Alex motioned with her hand for him to get to his point.
Another tug of his belt loop, and he said, “I’m sorry to tell you that Maya took her own life this morning.”
I could feel my cheeks go cold. “Suicide?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“Self-inflicted stab wounds to the carotid artery. It was very messy, from what I was told.”
Alex started to pace the room, but she had only about three feet of space. She let her hands drop to the top of her slacks. “How could you let this happen?”
“I’m deeply regretful for any type of impact this might have on your investigation.”
Alex looked at me. I could see fire in her eyes. Then she turned to Cervante. “You didn’t answer my question. I don’t need some bullshit political answer that you think is going to cover your ass to everyone in the Justice Department.”
Cervante’s nostrils flared for a quick moment. She’d pinged his core on that one. “This all occurred within the last hour,” he said, struggling to keep a measured tone. “From what we know thus far, it appears that Maya stole a needle from a nurse. We had no idea to believe she had suicidal tendencies. She’d passed all psychological tests.”
Alex snagged my gaze again. This time a question came to my mind. “Was she aware that we were on our way to interview her?”
Cervante reached for the top of his pants again, but he stopped himself. A nervous habit, obviously. “Again, we haven’t had time for a formal investigation, and please know that we will conduct a thorough—”
“Cut the shit, Cervante.” Alex said. “Did she know or not?”
Two quick nods. “She was told, yes.”
“Mother…” Alex bit into her lower lip, threw open the door, and walked out. I avoided Cervante’s gaze and caught up with her at the car. She paced next to the car for a moment. I let her be.
A breeze kicked up around us. I looked up at the sky and noticed a thin veil of gray clouds, and an i
mage flashed across my mind. It was from the last time we were here at the prison, talking to Maya. She’d been snippy with her comments, even a little rude. But there was one moment when she had looked down and whispered something to herself. I hadn’t picked up on it at the time.
But now? Now I knew what she’d been saying—or at least the gist of it.
I could feel the wind rushing through my hair as my mind zeroed in on Maya’s lips, as if they filled up a movie screen. I am…
I blinked.
I knew she’d said, “I am…” The same two words muttered by Bandar. But had she said “Number Two”? I wasn’t sure.
I rewound the mental video. After the garbled part of her message, I could see her lips mouthing the words, “I owe my life to Pl…”
I wasn’t sure how it finished. But I could guess.
A chill crawled up my spine. I didn’t have every word mapped out, but I knew enough of what she’d said to relay the broken message to Alex. When I stopped, she just stood there and stared at me with a blank face.
“What?”
She smacked the top of the car and then pointed at me. “You’re a freaking genius, that’s what.”
I wasn’t going to argue.
32
Alex
I’d heard it a million times, but right now I was convinced that Gretchen’s falsetto voice could shatter a glass. We were driving back to Salem and had her on my speakerphone. She’d told us to hold on, since someone had approached her desk. I looked at Ozzie. He tilted his head like a dog who’d just heard a sound outside the normal human spectrum.
“That’s her laugh?” he asked in a whisper.
“If you’ve been around her much, you hardly notice it. But over the phone, it’s a little like fingernails on a chalkboard.” I cringed as another shot of her laughter pierced the air. “Oh, you may not know what chalkboards are, unless you studied them in your ancient-history class.”
“Self-deprecating humor. I’m a fan,” he said, lowering the volume on my phone.
AT Stake (An Alex Troutt Thriller, Book 7) (Redemption Thriller Series 19) Page 15
