by Sara Gauldin
I opened the door and walked in with my head high. Why not? I’d survived what his brother sent my way. I survived his attempt to shoot me. And I wasn’t the one wearing the handcuffs. This was no mansion with a maid, he was on my turf now, and he needed to know it.
“You again?” Zachary Vance leered at me.
I nodded. “Mr. Vance. I can’t say I’m glad to see you again so soon. You’re having a bumpy week.”
“Get rid of her. I don’t want her here,” Vance shouted.
Kirk laughed. “Good luck with that.”
“I realize that in your world, what you say goes. But you need to realize that this is my world.” I spoke as sweetly as I could, as I pulled out my chair and sat down with a little flourish for good measure.
Vance scowled but said nothing in reply. “Oh, I see you found my picture, Agent Nelson.” I pointed to the picture on the table.
“Your picture?” Vance snorted. “You took that from my house. What, does the police department just steal what they like these days?”
“Well, we searched your house; it was a legal search after you committed a crime. But this picture belongs to me. I inherited it, so to speak.”
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water but never managed an intelligible response. I wondered if he knew the picture came from my mother’s notes. I would not tell him. He didn’t have any privilege here.
“Well, let’s have a look together, shall we?” I looked at the photo and found Gerald New on the back row. “Here’s your brother.”
“Half-brother.” Zachary Vance looked away.
“Which half?” I was being sarcastic. He wanted to hate me; there was no reason to play nice.
He sighed. “You know he’s my father’s child.”
“Right, but not your mother’s.” He would not open up until I found the right trigger.
“Do you always dwell on the obvious?” he remarked.
“Well, maybe I didn’t know that bit of information,” Kirk Nelson said.
He knew; I was sure of it. He was just playing along. “Oh look, you’re right here in the picture. I have to say you look much happier.”
Vance peeked at the photo for a fraction of a second to see what I was pointing at. “That’s not me.”
“No, really, I could have sworn?” I was lying through my teeth. Gerald New already told me that the boy I was pointing out was Nate Spencer.
“Oh, well. Please point yourself out in the photo.” I held it up, not willing to take no for an answer.
He leaned in and showed which boy was him. It was clear his face hadn’t changed.
“Well, if that’s you, then who’s this other guy?”
“Nobody you’d want to meet,” Vance grumbled.
“Nobody’s a strange name. Can you be more specific?” Nelson asked.
“He’s Nate Spencer… the freak.”
“Freak? You say that like you’re angry. Did Nate Spencer do something to you?” I asked.
“No,” he said with too much emotion.
“I see.” There was something there, and I would not give up until I found the connection.
“When was the last time you spoke with or saw Mr. Spencer?” I asked.
“How should I know?” Vance asked.
“Think back.” I smiled. I knew what Kirk had in his surveillance camera folder.
Zachary Vance stared at me with a leer that made his normally handsome face shadowy and cold.
“Oh, okay, I think I can help you with this one.” I pulled out the photo of him handing something to Nathan Spencer. “Here you two are. This photo was taken on the corner of Third and Marshall near the café. The camera there captured you. And there is Mr. Spencer. It looks like you were getting along just fine.”
“You doctored that photo.” Zachary Vance gripped the edge of the table with one fist. I was glad that the table was bolted to the floor.
“You think so?” I pulled out another photo. “The traffic camera picked you up, coming and going. That’s you, right there. And look at the date and time. It’s funny how you passed by right before the café photo and a little while after. So, we know you were there. Your license plate confirms it and facial recognition.”
“So what… I know the guy. We went to summer camp together when we were kids.”
“I thought you didn’t like him,” I said.
Kirk nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Vance scowled. “I don’t. He’s the worst kind of freak.”
“So, if you just bumped into him, then why are you handing him a bag?” I asked.
“I was shaking his hand,” Vance claimed. His face lit up with renewed confidence in his lie.
“Oh, because I think you should know that this isn’t the only image the camera captured. It’s a video camera. Here you are before you met up with Mr. Spencer. See, that’s you holding the bag. And here is Mr. Spencer with the bag in his hand right after you met. So what was in the bag?”
“Nothing,” Vance said.
“Nothing or ten thousand dollars in cash?” I held up the financial statement from the FBI’s forensic accountants.
“Those are business expenses.” He rolled his eyes. It only made me dislike him that much more. Calling paid hits a business venture, what a sick guy.
I forced a smile. I wouldn’t let him see my contempt. “All right, clarify for me what business you have with Nathan Spencer.”
He shook his head. “That’s confidential.”
“So Mr. Spencer is your lawyer?” Kirk Nelson asked.
Vance shook his head. “No, him? A lawyer? Ha, he’s not the type.”
“Or your priest?” I asked.
Vance rolled his eyes. “Now, you're reaching.”
I nodded, shuffling through the folder for what I needed next. “Well, the trouble is that unless the relationship is privileged, we can ask about it. And from what you're telling me, this arrangement wasn’t privileged.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Vance complained.
“That’s true, you don’t,” Kirk said
I tried to smile with some illusion of sincerity. “I understand why you don’t want to tell us what the arrangements were. That’s no trouble. I’m sure Mr. Spencer will help us understand what service you were arranging. It just so happens that he’s already here in lockup, so we can clear things up. There can only be one deal, so if Mr. Spencer talks first, the deal is his.”
Vance scowled. The veins in his forehead bulged and his face turned red. “You want to give that sicko a deal? He’s a killer!”
“Yes, but paying for a killer to do your dirty work is no different from killing them yourself,” Kirk said.
“Yes, it is. I’d never do that. Do you think I could just take someone’s life?” he gasped.
I tried not to laugh. “Well, if I tried, I bet I could picture how you pulled a gun on an FBI agent and a consultant.”
“I didn’t shoot.” He glared at me as though I smacked him.
I fought back a laugh. “That makes me feel so much better.”
A knock on the door caught me off guard. “Excuse me.” I went to the door to see who was there. Genevieve stood in a fresh suit with a tired, stern expression.
“You should be in the hospital,” I said
“Yes, but it’s time to put this one together. I’ll go. But not yet.”
Chapter 34
Genevieve gestured for Kirk Nelson to approach her. He hopped up from his seat and crossed the room. “Boss, why are you here? I mean I’m glad to see you, but you need to take care of you.”
“Good to see you, too, Kirk. I’ll be fine. If you don’t mind, I have a few questions I’d like to ask.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Genevieve knew something that couldn’t wait. I was sure of it.
Kirk nodded. “Yes, ma’am but I’d like to drive you to the hospital after the interview.”
“I’d appreciate that. Where is my squad car?”
&nbs
p; “I’ll have it ready,” Kirk assured her.
Genevieve didn’t wait. She turned toward the table and hobbled, like someone who forgot her walker, toward Zachary Vance.
“Boss?” Kirk raised his eyebrows.
“Kirk, thanks for getting us started. Avery and I can take it from here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He held out his chair for Genevieve to sit down. She lowered herself into the seat with a scowl. Kirk headed out of the interview room, but I suspected he would watch from outside.
“What’s up with her?” Vance asked me. He nodded toward Genevieve, as though she was a statue instead of a woman grimacing in pain.
“I’m sitting right here.” Genevieve snapped back into cool focus. “You’re the one who had some questions to answer.”
“Really?” Vance smirked. The chauvinist thought he had the advantage.
“I want to talk about Dana,” Genevieve said.
“What about her?”
Genevieve coughed and winced. “She betrayed you, but not in the same way you thought.”
“So, she wasn’t giving away insider trade secrets?” A vein in Vance’s neck protruded.
“Right, you thought she was working for the enemy while she was sleeping with you.”
“It’s a cheap trick, but it’s not a new one,” he said.
“That’s no way to mention the dead.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Genevieve shot me a look. I’d gone too far.
She flipped open a folder. “So what I know about Dana is that she took a little page out of her old friend’s book and did some consulting. She was on the payroll for the CIA starting a few months before she died.” Genevieve showed Vance a letter addressed to her.
“She was bringing in the authorities?”
Genevieve smiled. “You know what, it’s classified. But this is what I think. Somehow, Dana realized that your little operation wasn’t in the business that the website likes to advertise. Since you took over your parents’ businesses, you drove them into the ground.”
I found the forensic accounting report and put it on the table. Genevieve was right; Microcircuits Inc. was in trouble. The company had been on the very brink of bankruptcy until everything was solvent a few months before Dana died. I tapped my finger on the report considering the situation “Your competition was too much. Local companies can’t compete with mega-companies with worldwide reach. Your business’s niche was closing and you knew it, so you made up for the losses.”
Vance scowled. “You can’t prove I did anything wrong. My business is respected. We help the community.”
“Charities make excellent covers for moving money,” I added.
“So, you were contacted by a gentleman about something more lucrative. Run-of-the-mill work would not work, but an American company that owns extensive amounts of local IP’s is a valuable asset for Russia.”
“Now what? Are you accusing me of treason?” Vance shouted.
“Not my case, I’ll save the details of that for my colleagues in Central. No, I already know that you took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. Your parents would have never sold out like that, but you were smarter than them. You took the business to the next level. Your influencers were experts. You could change the narrative in the public eye in a matter of moments. But your competition figured out your game, and they wanted a cut. It’s scary how many people are willing to sell out the American system and program people like zombies with misinformation.”
“All news is editorial,” Vance said.
“Sure, but your company was spinning the narrative for the benefit of Russia.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
“I don’t have to.”
“So, you thought Dana was the one who gave your secret to Justin Jansworth?” I asked.
“I knew she was keeping secrets. She was taking calls in private. She had a second cell phone that she was keeping secrets on.”
“So, you admit you suspected Dana was up so something,” Genevieve said.
“We were seeing each other. I can tell when someone is up to something.”
“Did you think she was unfaithful?” I asked.
Vance snorted. “Do you think I care?”
“All right, so you were getting what you wanted to from Dana, and you thought all was well until you had reason to think she was getting what she wanted from you instead.” Genevieve managed a weak smile, even as she folded her arms across her chest to hold her ribs.
“You bring someone into your home, around people who matter. I expect to be able to trust her. She wasn’t doing her part.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“Oh, I followed her. She tried to be sneaky, lead me all over town. But when I saw her get in a car with Justin Jansworth…”
“Did you think she was dating him?” I asked.
“No, he wasn’t her type. I knew she would let him know how we had saved the business.”
Genevieve leaned forward, keeping eye contact with her prey. “And then you thought back and tried to remember the scariest person you could, someone who could take care of your problem once and for all.”
“You can’t prove anything. I never laid a hand on her.”
“You went to Nathan Spencer, and you knew just how to make him do what you wanted. You told him who Dana was,” Genevieve said.
I listened closely. Genevieve had spent time with Nathan Spencer. She must have used the time to get inside his head. She knew what I was missing.
“She was nobody, from a long line of nobodies.” Vance looked down at his hands.
“Her father, Henry Yeaman, knew Nathan. You knew what happened between them.”
“Nothing, Henry just reminded Nathan of his place.”
“He and several of your little camp mates assaulted him. Then they posted Polaroids of him afterward to shame him.”
Vance laughed. “Yeah, but that was a long time ago.”
My stomach churned. Vance had no remorse for what had happened to Nathan Spencer. He was a monster, just like Spencer. “Okay, let’s back up. We know you went to Nathan Spencer and asked him to kill Dana to get back at her father. Did you know that the first kill would open the door to the others?”
“Kill Dana?” Vance asked. He leered at me with a smile that was out of place, considering the topic.
I glared at Vance, daring him to flinch. “You opened the door. Once Nathan Spencer tasted that first kill, one that wasn’t some animal he could turn to leather, he wanted more. He wanted to kill all the people connected to his nightmare.”
Vance shook his head. “That’s crazy. Half those people aren’t even around anymore.”
Genevieve tapped on the folder. “Here’s the interesting thing. You kept paying Spencer, after the hit on Dana.”
Vance smiled again. “Exactly, we had a business agreement. There was no hit.”
Genevieve glared at Vance. “Your business is covering for your crime. Spencer has something on you, and you wanted it kept quiet.
A knock on the door startled me out of my focus. It was all right there; he was going to confess. A moment later, Kirk stepped into the interview room. “Avery, there’s a lady here to see you. She’s waiting in the lobby. She said it’s about your father. I think there is an emergency.”
I looked at Genevieve.
“Go, Avery. Kirk and I can finish this.”
I nodded too numb to talk. I couldn’t lose my dad, not now.
Chapter 35
I didn’t know what or who to expect in the lobby. Part of me hoped it was Marge, with a friendly face. Instead, Cynthia Ellis was pacing by the front desk.
As soon as she realized I was there, Cynthia charged at me from across the station’s lobby. Not knowing what her intentions were, I move my hand towards the holster of my gun.
Throwing her hands up, Cynthia stopped where she was. “I’m not here to hurt anybody. I just need you to know what’s going on.” She looked around, taking in the
people in the lobby as though at any moment they might become a threat.
“I’m glad to talk to you, but maybe not here.” I hadn’t figured out what was going on with Cynthia yet, but something would go wrong if I didn’t get her out of the lobby.
Cynthia nodded. “Yes, I need to talk in private.”
I waved for her to follow me into Officer Miller’s office a little way down the hall, knowing that she was out on patrol.
As soon as I closed the door behind Cynthia, she turned to me with tears in her eyes. “It’s my fault. I called him back here.”
“Your fault? What’s your fault?” I asked.
“Your father. I think something has happened to him.”
“You think? Or you know?” A knot was rising in my throat. I’d almost lost my dad to a case recently. My relationship with him had changed, but he was my dad, my only family.
“I know,” she mumbled. “He was going after them.”
“Going after who?” I asked.
“He found a lead on the person responsible for killing your mother. He wanted to get to them before they went after either of you.”
“Then why didn’t he call me? Dad knows my number.”
“Avery, where is your phone?” Cynthia asked.
I reached into my pocket, expecting to find the phone, but there was nothing. “How did you know?”
“Your father was using it to track you. He was trying to keep tabs on you himself since you came here. It was easier before. He had someone covering you.”
“Someone covering me? What are you talking about?” Who was Cynthia talking about?
“The bodyguard he hired. Seriously, Avery, we don’t have time for this now. Get as far away from here as you can. They know you’re here, they’ve known for a while, but they didn’t know about your father, from what we can tell, somehow the message was interrupted.” Cynthia gasped between each phrase. She was hyperventilating. I tried to get Cynthia to sit down, she sat down, but as soon as her bottom touched the chair, she was back up and her hand was on the door handle.
“Message? What are you talking about?” I wondered if I should call an ambulance for Cynthia. It was becoming clearer and clearer that she was having some kind of breakdown.
