Bloodline (16 page)

All very probable. Maybe even explained Thompson's reluctance to talk about Creighton, but a part of Jack wasn't buying it.

Damn, he wished he'd known this before interviewing Thompson. Could have asked some interesting follow-up questions when he said he hadn't decided what to write next.

"Would you believe," Levy was saying, "Thompson says he thinks Bolton is innocent, that he was framed by the real killers?"

"Who were…?"

"Who else? Radical Christian extremists."

"Any chance that's true?"

"Are you kidding? Not in a million years. I've seen the case files—we check out every inmate exhaustively—and the evidence against Jeremy Bolton was overwhelming. After what he did to me, can you doubt his impulsive violence?"

No, Jack couldn't.

"What did you tell Thompson when you let Bolton out?"

"Nothing. Didn't need to. He'd completed his interviews before the start of the trial."

"A convenient coincidence. Could they possibly be meeting outside?"

Levy shook his head. "Bolton is violent but he's not stupid. If Thompson exposes him—accidentally, or deliberately for the publicity—the clinical trial is over and Bolton is back behind bars."

Jack had a strong sense that that was just where this man wanted him.

Levy waved Thompson away.

"Anyway, back to this Pickering girl. I just wish she were a few years older, then we wouldn't have her overprotective mother in the picture."

"How did you sneak him back into civilization?"

"We put him through the witness protection program—even the FBI didn't know his real identity."

"So you Earl Scheibed him into a law-abiding citizen. Why put him in Queens?"

"He wanted Rego Park and he persuaded the Bureau to put him there."

"Wait-wait-wait. He
wanted
Rego Park? Why?"

"I have no idea. I remember thinking it odd—born and raised in Mississippi, and he insists on Rego Park, Queens. Go figure."

"Yeah. Go figure."

Something about that bothered Jack, but he couldn't say why.

"The other odd thing is his money. He was set up with an apartment and a stipend to provide him with the essentials, but not enough to be comfortable. The idea was to spur him to get a job. He's been locked up since his teens. We gave him some training, but we wanted to see how he functioned as an adult in the real world."

"He's telling people he designs video games."

"Yes, I know. He's obsessed with them—structure, design, gameplay. He probably could design one."

"But he doesn't. He doesn't do much of anything according to Mrs. Pickering. Yet she told me he's got a beautiful townhouse with state-of-the-art computer and AV setups. How's he afford that?"

"We don't know. He goes out and buys these things for cash. When we ask he won't tell. When we threaten he says what's the difference where he gets his money as long as it's not jeopardizing the clinical trial?"

Jack wondered if Thompson might be the source—paying him for an exclusive story.

Thompson's reticence about Creighton was becoming more and more understandable.

"So, you tell him to 'fess up or you'll haul his ass back behind bars, but he blows you off. Seems to know you don't mean it. He indispensable?"

Levy looked at him. "Let me put it this way: If we can succeed in taming and making an upstanding citizen of Jeremy Bolton, we can succeed with anyone."

Christy paced her living room, wringing her hands as she waited for that man to arrive.

Even though she'd been expecting it, she jumped at the sound of the doorbell. Instead of moving toward it she stood frozen, frightened.

She'd asked a possible murderer to meet her. Alone. In her home.

Am I crazy?

As a precaution she'd hidden her little semiautomatic within easy reach under a cushion, but she doubted she'd need it. That man seemed obsessed with her daughter. Possessive. He wouldn't do anything that would cause him to lose her. One sure way of doing that was to harm her mother.

At least Christy prayed it would be that way. What if he was some sort of Svengali who could force Dawnie to stay with him even after he'd harmed her mother?

All right. Enough of that. Be calm. This is going to work. He's not going to hurt you because you're not going to threaten him or accuse him of anything. What was the point anyway? She'd toyed with the idea of calling the police and telling them what she knew about Michael Gerhard, but without proof—with no body even to indicate there had been a crime—she'd wind up right where she was now.

So she'd come up with another way.

The bell rang again. She moved to the door and opened it. There he was, standing on the front steps. He wore jeans and a fitted black western shirt that clung to his frame. Christy couldn't deny his aura of raw-boned animalism. Once again she could see why Dawnie was so taken with him.

"May I come in?" he said, his tone and expression neutral.

Well, at least it was a cordial start. She stood aside and motioned him into the room.

"Please."

Before closing the door she sneaked a peek to see if Dawn had tagged along, but saw no sign of her. She decided to address him with the same level of cordiality.

"Forgive me for not offering you a drink or a seat, but I don't think our business here will last all that long."

"Business?"

Might as well get to it.

"Yes. I have a business proposition for you."

"Really." He drew out the word. "Okay. I'm listenin."

She picked up a Talbot's shopping bag from the coffee table and handed it to him.

"That's yours if you agree to certain conditions."

Frowning, he took it and glanced inside. Then he looked up at her.

"Cash?"

"A quarter of a million dollars."

After her confrontation with Dawnie and this man, she'd run out and withdrawn it from the money-market account she used to hold her cash between trades. The bank had given her a hard time but she'd insisted. This was worth every penny if it worked.

"What?"

"It can be yours. All you have to do to earn it is say good night to Dawn tonight as usual, and then drop out of her life forever."

His blue gaze bored into her, through her. "You must think I'm the worst sort of lowlife."

She stepped back, closer to the pistol. Remember: no threats, no accusations.

"My only thought is that you are the wrong man for Dawn."

He shook his head. "You got it all wrong. I'm the
right
man for Dawn, the rightest man in the world. Our destinies are twined. Together we're gonna change this big ol' world."

Christy wanted to scream but kept her tone level. "I want you out of her life and I'm willing to put my money where my mouth is. Take it."

Of course he could take the cash and stay with Dawn, but that would cause a fall from grace in her eyes. Dawn would want him to give it back, and if he refused…

"You don't get it, do you. We was made for each other. I'll fight to keep her and I'll fight anyone who tries to come between us. But more"—he pointed a finger at her—"and you as a mother ought to appreciate this—I will protect her from all harm. I will trade my life for hers if it comes down to that."

The words stunned her. Not so much because she hadn't expected them, but because of the undeniable sincerity behind them. This man would indeed die for Dawnie.

Why? He'd known her only a few months.

This was crazy.

He stepped to the side and dumped the stacks of bills onto the coffee table.

"What are you doing?"

He said nothing as he pulled out his cell phone. She watched as he opened it and started pressing buttons.

Calling Dawn? Oh, no!

"What are you doing? Who are you calling?"

"Nobody." He aimed the flip top of the phone at the pile of bills and pressed a button. "Just gettin proof."

"Proof of what?"

And then she knew. Her heart twisted in her chest when she realized what he was up to.

"No, please. Let's forget this ever happened! Please?"

He smiled as he slipped past her, opened the door, and stepped out into the night.

Christy stood there, numb, bloodless.

What would make a thirty-something man turn down a quarter of a million dollars to stay with a naive eighteen-year-old? Most people would say it had to be love, but Christy couldn't buy that.

It was something else. He talked about entwined—"twined"—destinies and changing the world… what was going on in that man's head?

But worse than that… she had a feeling she'd just made an awful mistake. She had to call Dawnie, reach her before that man did. Find some way to explain.

She ran for her phone.

"What I don't get," Jack said, eyeing Levy, "is why you'd even think of letting a psycho killer like Bolton loose."

Levy smiled. "He's not a 'psycho.' He's just… different."

"What kind of a guy doesn't say word one to anyone—not even his lawyer—during his entire trial? Doesn't that fit with psycho?"

The smile turned condescending. "It's not a term we use in the medical field, but yes, that sort of behavior would certainly be considered aberrant. In Bolton's case, however, it was aberrant like a fox. As soon as he arrived at Creighton he began talking. He's never explained his silence. He might have been looking for a verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity, but it didn't work."

"All right then, but psycho or not, he's still a stone killer. Why can't you test this drug on him behind bars?"

"Because that's not the real world. He's been a model prisoner, but it's a rigidly controlled environment. We couldn't gather worthwhile clinical data while he was locked up. It simply wasn't possible. We had to test him 'in the wild,' as it were."

"He's wild, all right."

Levy cleared his throat. "I'm not going to discuss experimental protocols with you. We'll make you the same offer we made Gerhard: We'll match what the Pickering woman is paying you."

Levy obviously figured he was talking to a sleazeball. Why disappoint him?

"Some offer. I'll be pocketing the same either way. Where's the benefit to me?"

"No, you misunderstand.
We'll
pay you while
she's
paying you. We want you to keep working for her—
pretend
to be working for her—so she won't hire a third detective. That way you'll be getting double your fee for nothing. Because that's what you'll be doing: Pretending to be conducting an ongoing investigation but coming up empty-handed."

Jack leaned back and thought about how he could make this work.

A crummy, complicated situation. Christy had hired him to come up with some way to split up Dawn and her older guy. Jack had that. All he had to do was go online to the FBI site and find a white male in his thirties on their most-wanted list, then drop a dime and identify Bethlehem as the guy. The feds would investigate, check his prints, and
voila
, back behind bars.

But would that trigger another sort of investigation? Would the agency Levy had spoken of figure John Robertson for the finger man and come after him? Might. Might not. But Jack couldn't afford to take the risk.

Especially if Bolton had nothing to do with Gerhard's death.

He'd have to find another way to fix this. Come at it from an entirely different angle. And it wouldn't hurt to maintain ties with Levy and Creighton while he was looking.

But he didn't want to sell himself too cheaply.

"Give me double what the lady's paying and it's a deal."

Levy nodded. "I believe we can handle that—as long as you hold up your end of the bargain."

"No problem there." But Jack saw a major hitch. "Might have a little problem taking back what I already told her."

Levy stiffened. "What's that?"

"That Gerhard's dead and Bethlehem could be the perp."

Did that sound detectivey enough?

"You didn't!" he said, bolting from his chair. "How could you be so stupid?"

Jack gave him an angry look. "Hey, watch it. I was doing what she was paying me to do. And now I'll do what you're paying me to do."

"Which is?"

"I'll tell her I checked out where Bethlehem was at the time of Gerhard's death and that he has an alibi."

Jack hadn't bought the alibi yet, but, not a bad plan. It might allay Christy's fears while saving her life.

"Just do whatever is necessary to keep her from exposing Bolton—for her sake as well as yours."

"When do I get paid?"

"I'll mail you a check tomorrow."

Jack shook his head. "Uh-uh. No way I want a paper trail between us. Cash."

"We can't do cash. We have to account for expenses."

"Cash or I walk away from this whole thing. Then you'll have to deal with the next dick Pickering hires."

"All right, all right! Cash it is. Now leave me alone. I've said too much already."

"Not nearly, but I can take a hint." He rose from his seat. "I'll be back to pick it up tomorrow."

"Not here! I don't want you near my home ever again."

"Your office then. Makes no difference to me."

"Not my office either."

Jack hid his disappointment. He'd wanted a look inside Creighton.

"Why not?"

"It's not a good place for private transactions."

Private… Jack realized that Creighton was probably lousy with bugs and security cameras. He remembered Levy's RF detector and figured he was worried his own place might be bugged.

"Where then?"

Levy thought a few seconds. "The shopping mall. We can meet in front of the A&P, say, around five-thirty."

Jack had one more question, so he pulled a Columbo—started for the foyer, then turned at the door to face Levy again.

"What makes Bolton so special?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Why's he still out there after kidnapping one of his handlers?"

"He's unique, and that's all I can say."

"Is it in his blood?"

Levy frowned. "Blood?"

"You know—his genes?"

"The nature-versus-nurture argument in regard to criminal behavior has been going on since before Darwin's day."

"Who's winning?"

"The nature argument—as it should. I am a geneticist, after all."

"So you believe people are born bad."

That condescending smile again. "We're all born bad—some just badder than others."

Helluva worldview.

Genetics, ay? Jack remembered what he'd seen on the notepad in Gerhard's office and decided to see if his next question would wipe that smile off Levy's face.

"So as a geneticist you've probably heard of oDNA."

The smile vanished. "Wh-what? What did you say?"

"Little-oh, big D, big N, big A—oDNA."

"Where did you hear of that—of such a thing?"

Jack winked. "I'm a crack detective."

Levy recovered a little. "You must mean
crack-head
detective. There is
no
such thing. Forget about it."

"You mean if I do some heavy research I'll come up empty?"

"Exactly. But if you do stumble upon anything, let me know. I'd be very interested to read whatever you find. Now if you'll excuse me…" He guided Jack toward the door. "I have other matters to attend to."

Jack noticed how Levy's hand shook when he reached for the knob.

"Sure thing. Be seeing you."

Oh yeah, doc. Count on that.