Deadly Sins (28 page)

“I don’t know,” Lambert insisted. “That’s all he had me do. Maybe he’s done.”

Maybe. And maybe the mysterious man—if he existed—was just getting started.

Jaid and Shepherd had left a yellow legal pad and pen lying on the table. Adam shoved it toward Lambert. “Write down your whereabouts for these dates.” One by one he named the evenings that the three victims had been killed. And while the man bent over to write, Adam reflected on the bitter fact that John LeCroix was still causing suffering, even in the grave.

“He’s lying,” Shepherd said flatly in the observation room. He had an opened bottle of water next to him, but he was tapping the keyboard of his electronic notepad, scowling at the screen. “He has to be. Everything I’m finding online matches up with his resume, which he so thoughtfully uploaded on LinkedIn.”

Hedgelin only looked at Adam, who shrugged in return. “I worked a case last winter. The Mulder kidnapping. The girl I’d returned safely two years earlier when my case intersected with Tom’s was snatched again. Obviously, since she’d been grabbed by a pedophile the first time, we looked hard in that direction. Even reinterviewed the head of the child-swap ring we’d nailed in the case. He later told one of my operatives that LeCroix had a son and suggested the boy might not be dead.” What he’d said was that he hoped the boy had become a man consumed with revenge against the person who had killed his father. Considering what Lambert had suffered at LeCroix’s hands, if Lambert were telling the truth, it was unlikely he was motivated by that emotion. LeCroix’s death had freed him in one respect.

“If you work backward, you’re liable to find a place where that online history breaks down.” Jaid’s suit today was a dark forest green made out of a soft fabric. It highlighted her coloring. Drew attention to those wide dark eyes. “He gave us locations and dates. Places they landed along the way in their escape from his father. It’s enough that we’ll be able to verify his story, one way or another.”

“I have agents checking out his alibis for the dates in question as we speak.”

“Maybe he was one of LeCroix’s victims at one time,” Jaid suggested. “He’d carved his initials in all the bodies you managed to recover, hadn’t he?”

“The boys he killed.” Adam frowned, remembering the details of the case. “But not the ones he planned to swap later. He wouldn’t have wanted to leave any evidence leading back to him.” He turned to Hedgelin. “You should also put an officer on Lambert’s mother.” He intercepted the other man’s look and correctly interpreted it. “If he’s being honest, she could be in real danger.”

“Honest?” The man’s mouth twisted. “At worst he’s the killer we’re hunting. At best an accomplice. He could have saved those victims by coming forward. He’s probably only justifying his own actions.”

Adam didn’t deny it. He wasn’t sure himself what to make of the man’s claims. “So you err on the side of caution. Because if an elderly woman with Alzheimer’s is hurt and the bureau could have prevented it, it’ll make for some ugly press. And we’re likely to get a higher degree of cooperation from Lambert if he’s assured his mother is being kept safe.”

The assistant director said nothing. But he pulled out his cell and turned away. A few moments later he barked out, “What’s the name and address of the home where Lambert is keeping his mother?” Shepherd read it off to him, and the other man continued his conversation. Shortly, he hung up and fixed Adam with a baleful look. “Satisfied?”

“Lambert may be. And that’s the important thing.
If
we discover he’s telling the truth, we aren’t a whole lot closer to solving this thing than before. We still don’t know the identity of the person who blackmailed him. The one who sent him a thousand dollars cash to give Sanchez in exchange for the code. We need to look harder at Newell.” Anticipating the assistant director’s objection, Adam reminded him, “Lambert is already his lackey. Think the senator wouldn’t have done a thorough background check on him before hiring him? And there’s the Bailey connection, too. Some of these strings are tying up too neatly.”

“Funny.” There was no humor in Hedgelin’s response. His gaze was narrowed. “The common thread that keeps cropping up in all these different pieces that concerns me the most is the one that keeps leading back to you.”

It was late when they left FBI headquarters. They’d started checking on Lambert’s story about the journey he and his mother had taken on their escape. The few they’d managed to contact on the list he’d supplied had verified at least parts of what the man had told Adam. A landlord, a clergyman, a counselor . . . even a doctor along the way admitted to helping a woman and her boy years earlier. With the multiple identities they had taken over the years, verifying the story was going to be a laborious process.

“Either Lambert is telling at least part of the truth, or he gave us someone else’s background.” Shepherd was pulling on his leather gloves as they stepped into the parking garage and headed for their cars.

“I’m inclined to believe he’s LeCroix’s son.” The scar on Lambert’s arm had gone a long way toward convincing Adam. “I’m just not so sure about the limitations of his involvement.”

Jaid was silent as she walked beside them, her head bent over her phone.

“Hopefully, we’ll know more tomorrow.” Shepherd stopped at his car. “How long can it take to follow up on his alibis for the nights of the murders, anyway?”

Adam didn’t answer. Chances were the agents charged with the task had already reported back to Hedgelin, although Adam hadn’t gotten any word yet.

“I’m going to get something to eat. There’s a great little Mongolian place a half a mile from here. Anyone hungry?”

“I’m good, thanks.” It was the first Jaid had spoken, though she still didn’t look up.

“I’m heading home,” Adam answered. With a wave Shepherd got into his car and backed it out. With a hand at the base of Jaid’s back, Adam steered her out of the way so Shepherd could drive past.

She looked up then. “What?”

“Just getting you out of the way of traffic.” Her attention drifted back to her phone where she was typing in a command. “What are you doing there?”

“Trying to get a birthday gift ordered for Royce since it appears that I’m not going to see the inside of a store anytime soon.”

He studied her. “And what does a soon-to-be eight-year-old boy want for his birthday?”

Her gaze flew up then. Met his. And he knew she was recalling her words before getting out of the vehicle at the airport last night. Regretting them. Her shoulders braced. “He’s not yours.”

There was no reason, none at all, for the words to stab deep. “I know.” He reached out and pushed a strand of hair back that clung to her jaw in a gesture that was purely involuntary. “You would have told me.”

The tension in her stance didn’t lessen appreciably. “Yes. I would have.”

He’d reached the conclusion last night, but that hadn’t stopped his mind from returning to the subject time and again. Because that meant she’d met someone almost immediately after they’d parted. Slept with him. And, since Jaid wasn’t a woman to give herself casually, she must have cared for him on some level. There was no denying that the knowledge burned. Even when he’d been the one to end it. Jealousy was an ugly, futile emotion. One he once would have sworn he was incapable of. But this woman seemed to summon his regrets effortlessly. In an effort to lighten the mood, he gestured toward the phone. “The present?”

“Oh.” She looked at the screen for a moment. “What Royce wants is a newer, bigger skateboard ramp. After his recent accident, what he’s getting is a DS and some games for it.”

“Ah.”

Obviously seeing the lack of comprehension on his face, she explained, “A DS is a handheld gaming system. And he’ll be happy with it. Especially once he accepts the fact that the ramp is not happening in the near future.”

“Well. As long as it isn’t something he can break bones with, it’s probably a wise choice.”

“Yeah.” She moved toward her car, which was parked next to his. “But this is one of those times it’s no fun being the responsible adult.”

He watched as she got in the car. Backed out. He wholeheartedly agreed with her last statement: Because doing the right thing was often a bitch.

Adam parked. Looked at the light shining in the window and wished for a reason to avoid the upcoming scene. He took a moment to text Paulie and tell him to meet him at his place in a couple hours. Then he slipped the cell back in his pocket and shoved aside the reluctance he was feeling. Got out of the car and headed up the walk to the rectory.

Jerry opened the door before Adam even knocked. Unlocked the screen for him to enter. Adam stepped inside, examined his friend’s face carefully. “How are you doing?”

But he didn’t need words for his answer. The priest looked like he had aged a decade since they’d last seen each other. And when he turned without a word and headed back to his office, Adam followed just as silently.

“I counsel grieving family members all the time.” Without asking, the priest took another glass out of his desk drawer and poured two fingers of Scotch into it. Handed it to Adam. Picked up his own nearly empty glass and drained it. Refilling it, he continued morosely, “Something that frequently comes up is guilt. ‘Father, how can I forgive myself? The last words we exchanged were angry, and then she was dead.’ Or variations on the theme.” He grimaced. “I wonder if my lecture on forgiving themselves as God forgives sounds as empty to them as it does to me right now.”

“Angry words didn’t contribute to Cardinal Cote’s death.”

The priest wagged a finger that didn’t look entirely steady. Adam wondered how much of the bottle on the desk had been consumed tonight. “You’re getting ahead of me. I tell those grieving parishioners to dwell on the wonderful memories they had with the deceased. That a relationship is about the whole, not the individual parts. But the cardinal and me, well.” He drank again. Deeply. “The antipathy between us was the whole. There was little else to the relationship. And because of that, I’m finding the guilt particularly hard to shake.”

He stared into the contents of his glass. This was the man who had always had answers for Adam. First as a kid. Then as a surly teenager. Later as an adult. Even when he hadn’t liked the answers, they’d been there, delivered with equal measures, he’d always thought, of wisdom and humor.

“Did you see pictures of the scene today?”

Raising his gaze, Adam said soberly, “I was there.” Watched his friend wince. “I can’t go into detail, but there will be some uncomfortable questions arising from the cardinal’s death. Questions about his past, perhaps. Of possible accusations leveled. Of a sexual nature.”

Shock flickered over the other man’s expression. “Why?”

Ignoring the question, Adam continued deliberately, “Agents will get to you eventually and level those questions. I’ll try to be sure the team I’m assigned to will be the ones to visit, but I can’t be positive that we’ll be the only ones to do so.”