Mortal Faults (21 page)

“And no one saw him come home?” Tess pressed.

“Folks in this building aren’t too talkative, either, like I said. Besides, the guy was always coming and going at all hours. Believe me, we’re following up every available angle. We’ve got this thing covered.”

“I’m sure you do,” Tess said, though she was pretty sure there was one angle they had missed. Her gaze panned the bedroom, and she noticed Crandall watching her with unusual concentration. The look on his face disturbed her. He seemed to be reading her thoughts.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Carson said, “I have to use the can.”

Tess frowned. “Here?”

“Scene’s already been processed. There’s no harm in it.”

Tess knew there wasn’t any harm. But using Dylan Garrick’s toilet seemed ... disrespectful, somehow. What made it worse was that Carson grabbed one of Garrick’s porno magazines for reading matter before disappearing into the bathroom.

Crandall tapped her on the arm. “Let’s talk,” he said quietly.

She didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you think we’ve been doing?”

“Let’s talk about something
else
. On the landing.”

She followed him out of the apartment. He stood looking over the parking lot, not facing her.

“Something wrong, Rick?” she asked, keeping the tone light.

He still didn’t look at her. “I know something funny went down at Andrea’s house yesterday. Making me stay outside while you cleared the premises—that wasn’t standard procedure. Was Abby in there? Did you send her away before I came in?”

She hesitated a long moment. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

“God damn it. I knew it had to be something like that.” He finally turned to her. “She killed Dylan Garrick, didn’t she?”

Tess gave him an honest answer. “I don’t know who killed Garrick. Abby denies having anything to do with it.”

“You already interrogated her?”

“I
asked
her,” Tess corrected. “Not interrogated. Asked.”

“That’s why you disappeared from the field office after the briefing. You had to do a little briefing of your own.”

“I didn’t brief her. I asked her what she was up to last night.”

“Is she alibied?”

“No. But she says she had no way of tracking down any of the assailants.”

“And you believe her?”

“I’m not sure what I believe.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets. “We cannot keep a lid on this, Tess. We have to tell the ADIC.”

“No, we don’t.” She said it firmly, leaving no room for discussion.

“Then how about Hauser?”

“I’m not saying anything to anyone until I find out what happened.”

“You can’t keep covering for this woman.”

“Just let me handle it, Rick.”

“You’ve been handling it ever since the Rain Man. You’re in really deep. I’m not sure you still have a professional perspective on the situation.”

“Are you saying I’ve lost my ability to make sound judgments?”

“Where Abby Sinclair is concerned, quite possibly.”

“She doesn’t have any sort of hold on me. I just want to be careful, that’s all. I’ll keep you out of it. Carson can take you to the RA. You can talk to some of the people they’ve rounded up.”

“And where will you be?”

“Running down some ideas of my own.”

Crandall sighed. “It’s getting harder and harder to back you up on this. What if she’s gone rogue? What if someone else dies? The congressman, even?”

“There’s no chance of that.”

“How do you know? You can’t say what she might do. We need to tell Michaelson and get it out in the open.”

“It hasn’t reached that point yet.”

“I think it has.”

She felt a flutter of dread. “You’re not planning to go to the higher-ups on your own, are you, Rick?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that.” But he said it with less conviction than she’d hoped.

“Just let me handle it,” she said again.

“Right. So far you’re handling everything just great.”

Crandall walked back inside. Tess stared after him. He wouldn’t rat her out. She was almost sure of it.

But he would never again be her friend.

34

Abby waited in the restroom until she was sure Andrea had lured the FBI guys into the food court. She didn’t want to be spotted by the feebs. It was always possible that one of them would remember her cameo appearance in the Rain Man case.

Besides, she really did have to pee. She had kind of a nervous bladder today. Nervous everything, in fact. She felt like she was hopped up on some designer drug that had her thoughts racing and her body humming.

When enough time had passed, she left the ladies’ room and returned to her car. She was driving the Mazda, since she didn’t anticipate any undercover work, except the small deception necessary to get past security at Jack Reynolds’ house. Her fake press pass was in the glove compartment, along with a camera, notebook, and pen—a journalist’s tools of the trade, or so she assumed.

Reynolds’ address was unlisted but easy enough to find in the Internet databases she used. He lived in a gated community in Newport Beach. Abby was relieved to find Wanda Klein listed in the gatehouse logbook.

The guard directed her down a long, sweeping curve of immaculately landscaped homes. Reynolds’ house was the last one on the right. The barbecue was already underway; parked cars clogged the cul-de-sac and the courtyard driveway.

She found a space, assembled her paraphernalia, and hiked to the front entrance, where a female staffer and two men in suits were posted. The men had the look of off-duty cops moonlighting as private security. She gave her name as Wanda Klein. The rent-a-cops confirmed that she was on the media list, then scanned her with a handheld metal detector. Wanda gets wanded, she thought. Having anticipated the screening, she’d left her gun in the car.

The staffer handed her a new name tag, which she was supposed to wear around her neck along with her press pass. “Now just wait here, please, while I get Mr. Stenzel.”

“That’s not necessary. I can find my way around.”

“I’m afraid he insists on personally escorting reporters at events like this.”

Great. Abby waited as Stenzel was paged. She wondered if Reynolds had told him to expect her.

Apparently he had. She saw Kipland Stenzel approaching at a fast clip, a false smile plastered on his face.

“Ms. Klein,” he said, offering her a perfunctory handshake. “I’m glad you were able to make it. Any trouble finding the place?”

Abby matched his phony smile with one of her own. “I never have any trouble finding things. I’m a regular bloodhound.”

With a certain deftness he had managed to pull her away from the cops so they could speak more privately. His expression altered instantly from a counterfeit smile to an entirely genuine scowl.

“I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running,” he said quietly. “But please understand that you will not get away with it.”

“What makes you think it’s a scam?”

“Everything you do is a scam. You’re a lying, manipulating little bitch.”

Abby cocked her head, curious about this outburst. “Kip, are you mad at me for quitting on your boss?”

“My personal feelings have nothing to do with it. I just want you to be aware that I am looking out for the congressman’s interests.”

“Good for you. Now may we get going?”

“I have half a mind to throw you out and tell Jack you never showed up.”

“That wouldn’t be smart. I came here because I have something to say to your boss. Something he needs to hear, involving Bethany Willett.”

Stenzel did a fairly good job of looking nonplused. “Who?”

“Maybe you know her as Andrea Lowry.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“I’m referring to the onetime, illicit relationship between Ms. Lowry
nee
Willett and the congressman.”

“There was no relationship.”

“I’m afraid there was, whether you know it or not. And maybe you don’t. It was well before your time. What are you, like, fourteen years old?”

“Insults won’t get you anywhere.”

“How about threats? Either I meet with the congressman or I track down a real reporter and do my talking to him.”

He gave her a shrewd look. “Your career depends on keeping a low profile. You’re not going to get yourself in the headlines.”

“I’m more than happy to be the anonymous source behind the scenes. Just think of me as Deep Throat.” Abby frowned. “On second thought, I want a different nickname.”

“It would be a serious mistake to go that route, Ms. Sinclair. The congressman is not somebody you want to cross.”

“Why not? Will he send some of his motorcycle compadres after me? Or does he only use the Scorpions when getting reacquainted with old friends?”

“You’re raving.”

“I guess you won’t mind my raving to the press. Here’s the bottom line, Kip. You don’t run this show. I do.”

Stenzel hesitated, his face a tight mask. Then he turned to the two cops. “Did you pass the metal detector over her?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Do it again. Slowly.”

The cop with the wand frowned but did as he was told.

“Afraid I’m packing heat?” Abby asked Stenzel, smiling.

“I’m just taking every precaution ... Ms. Klein.”

“We can’t be too careful where the congressman’s safety is concerned.”

“No. We can’t.”

The cop confirmed that she was clean.

Stenzel nodded curtly. “Come along.”

Abby was right behind him. “Kipster, you couldn’t lose me now.”

35

Reynolds’ house was a massive modernistic pile. Twenty-foot ceilings soared over marble floors. Walls of glass let in the abundant California sun.

“Nice place,” Abby observed. “I’m surprised your boss can afford it on a public servant’s salary.”

Stenzel caught the implication. “If you’d done your homework, you’d know that Mrs. Reynolds is quite well off.”

“The boy from the barrio married money? I didn’t catch that detail on his Web site. Maybe it doesn’t go so well with his rags to riches story.”

“The congressman and his wife have a wonderful marriage. They recently celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

“So I guess she didn’t hold his indiscretions against him? Or more likely, she never found out.”

“I find you tiresome, Ms. Sinclair.”

“Yeah, I’m a real pain in the ass.”

They passed a game room and a small but well-equipped gym. He led her through a solarium and into the backyard. The yard wasn’t huge, most of the property having been taken up by the house, and the square footage available for Reynolds’ guests was further diminished by a swimming pool that simulated a tropical lagoon, complete with waterfall. The guests were crowded around the pool, doing their best not to fall in while they picked at plates of food. Abby was reminded that she hadn’t eaten today.

A knot of visitors had formed around a well-dressed lady of Reynolds’ age, recognizable from her photos on the Web site and in the
L.A. Times
article. Nora, his wife. Nearby, Reynolds’ assistant—his constituent services coordinator, Rebecca, or as Abby called her, Moneypenny—was chatting with an earnest man who seemed in need of a favor from the congressman. Rebecca seemed a little overdressed for a summer day; she was showing hardly any skin at all.

Stenzel proceeded to the far end of the yard. There the crowd parted to reveal His Excellency in front of a monstrous gas-powered grill. He wasn’t actually flipping or serving burgers, and Abby was a little disappointed about that.

Reynolds was in his element, surrounded by well-wishers, the center of attention, radiating authority, accepting the adulation of the wealthy and influential. Then his gaze flickered in Abby’s direction, registering her presence, and something in his eyes told her it was a pose. Reynolds was scared. His hold on power was threatened, and he could see it slipping away. Beneath the façade of self-assurance she read fear, desperation, vulnerability.

That was good. She could work with that.

“I was wondering if you would actually be here,” he said quietly as Abby moved alongside him.

She smiled. “No, you weren’t.”

Reynolds glanced at Stenzel. “Take her to my office. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

Stenzel ushered her away. “Hold on a sec,” Abby said. She grabbed a plate and loaded it with chicken and potato salad, then found some plastic cutlery and paper napkins. What the hell, the food was free and she was hungry. Plate in hand, she followed Stenzel past a garden of hydrangeas, sea grasses, and bird-of-paradise, and back inside the house. Down a short hallway was a small office with oak shelving and paneled walls. It occurred to Abby that being out of public view was perhaps not the best idea, under the circumstances.

“By the way, your rent-a-cops will remember me,” she told Stenzel. “If for some reason I don’t leave this party, there’ll be an investigation, and you’ll be the first one questioned.”

“Are you always so dramatic?”

“Most of the time.”

“If you’re worried about your safety, I’d advise you to walk away from this situation right now.”

“Sorry, Kip. No can do.”

“I’ve given you fair warning.”

“You’ve been more than fair,” Abby agreed.

“Then I won’t consider myself responsible when they zip you up in a body bag.”

There had to be a great comeback to that, but offhand Abby couldn’t think of one.

Fortunately she didn’t have to. Reynolds stepped through the doorway, shutting the door behind him.

Abby took a seat and started on a chicken wing. “Nice little get-together,” she said. “Few hundred of your closest friends?”

“My biggest contributors. Which amounts to the same thing.”

“Somehow I find that sad.”

“You know what Harry Truman said. If you want a friend in Washington, buy a dog.”

“That’s the second Truman anecdote I’ve heard from you. Are you just wild about Harry?”

“All politicians admire Truman,” Reynolds said as he rounded his desk and sat in a plush leather chair. “You know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“We like him because he was always underestimated. The party bosses thought they could control him. The pollsters thought he couldn’t win in ’48. He was dismissed as a mediocrity. And now he’s an icon.”

“So he gives hope to all the other mediocrities in politics?”

“That’s a cheap shot, Sinclair. I’m starting to lose my respect for you.”

“You had never mine to begin with.”

“What is it you wanted to say?”

Abby looked up from her lunch and focused her stare on Stenzel. “Privacy, please?”

He started to protest, but Reynolds cut him off. “Wait outside, Kip. Tell the folks I’ll rejoin them in a minute.”

Stenzel opened the door, then turned back. “She’s not wearing a wire. I had security check her twice.” So that was the reason for the do-over.

Reynolds nodded, and Stenzel was gone, the door closing after him. With his campaign manager out of the way, Reynolds seemed more relaxed. He rose and moved to a liquor cabinet. “Drink?” he asked, sounding almost cordial.

“If you can make a New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, I won’t turn it down.”

“What the hell is that?”

“My own invention. Splash of rum, splash of gin, splash of vodka, splash of tequila, splash of rye, and a soupcon of carrot juice.”

“Sounds god-awful.”

“It really is.”

Reynolds poured himself a Scotch, fixing nothing for her. She contented herself with the chicken. It was a little overcooked, but you couldn’t beat the price.

“Tell me what this is all about,” Reynolds said as he resumed his seat.

“First of all, there was an attempt on Andrea Lowry’s life yesterday afternoon.”

He gave her his best poker face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about or how it could possibly have anything to do with me.”
 

“Right. Then let me make it clearer.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Andrea used to be known as Bethany Willett. You and she had an affair. It didn’t end well.”

“I’ve never known anyone by that name.”

“Give it a rest, Jack. Andrea and I have become pals. She opened up to me, told me the whole story. All the sordid details, like your floating love nest,
The Mariner
. She told me how you would have your intimate moments below deck, then share a nightcap under the stars.”

“This is all bullshit. If the woman said any of this, she’s delusional.”

“She’s not delusional, and you know it. This has been your nightmare for the last twenty years. Your past coming back to hurt you. A couple of months ago, it finally happened. The woman you knew as Bethany started showing up at your campaign events. You didn’t know what she was up to. Maybe she was planning to go public. Maybe she was thinking of blackmailing you. Maybe she wanted to assassinate you. You were terrified, but you couldn’t raise your concerns with the police, not without risking the exposure of your relationship. And exposure would kill your career, which means almost as much to you as life itself. Hell, maybe more.”

Reynolds was doing his best to look bored. “Let’s not get carried away. The electorate isn’t so squeamish about infidelity anymore. We’ve come a long way from Gary Hart and Donna Rice noodling each other on the good ship
Monkey Business
. These days, in some circles a little extramarital activity may even be seen as a plus.”

“How about two dead babies? Are they a plus? Especially when they’re your flesh and blood, and your mistress shot them to death before shooting herself? And then there’s the part about how you kindly arranged to put Bethany in the nuthouse so she couldn’t talk about it. This is not the sort of thing that looks good on the resume of an Orange County family man and former crusading D.A.”

“You’re making a lot of wild allegations—”

“Cut the crap. You were scared out of your gourd, so you tried to find Bethany. I’m guessing you put Stenzel on the job. He called the hospital where Bethany had been treated, but he couldn’t get any info. At least I assume it was Stenzel who called. I don’t think you’d be ballsy enough to call them yourself.”

“Get to the point.”

“Point is, you had no luck tracking her down. How could you? She was living under a new name. You got desperate, so you brought me in. You figured I might succeed where your flunky had, well, flunked. And I did. But I wouldn’t give you her new name or her whereabouts. Somehow you found her, anyway.”

“Who says I found her?”

“The jacketed hollowpoints that were dug out of her wall. I’m really not wearing a wire, Jack. This conversation will go a whole lot faster if you decide to be straight with me.”

Reynolds stood up, Scotch in hand. He hadn’t touched it before, but now he took a good swallow.

“You told me she had a schedule of my events,” he said as he started pacing behind the desk.

“So?”

“We mail those out.”

Abby got it. “Mailing list. Shit.” She cursed herself for being dumb. Dumbness was the one unforgivable crime in her line of work, the original sin.

Having polished off the chicken, she assuaged her guilt with a forkful of potato salad.

“Okay,” she said, her mouth full, “so you knew where she was, and you sent in the stormtroopers. You didn’t know what she had in mind, and the only way to be sure she wouldn’t do something crazy was to have her killed.”

Reynolds gulped more Scotch. “The woman is crazy. Unpredictable. I had to be proactive.”

“Well, the best laid plans of mice and men, et cetera. Andrea, nee Bethany, is very much alive. And the police have taken an interest in her.”

She used the word
police
advisedly. She had decided not to mention the involvement of the FBI. As a Washington insider, Reynolds might have contacts in the Bureau. It was best to let him think that only the local authorities were on the case.

“I’m sure she wants nothing to do with law enforcement,” Reynolds said, though he didn’t sound sure at all.

“You’re right. But my guess is, they’re looking into her past. They’ll find out that her credit history goes back only eight years. Then they’ll question her. And she’ll talk. She’ll have to talk.”

She paused to let the comment sink in. Reynolds drained his glass and poured another.

“She’ll talk,” Abby went on, “unless you silence her first. But here’s the rub—you can’t get near her. Police protection, you know. That’s the thing about a failed hit, Jack. It’s twice as hard to get to the victim a second time. So it looks like you’re royally fucked. Unless you let me help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Reynolds said.

“Yes, I can. Andrea trusts me. I can take advantage of that fact for our mutual benefit, as I told you last night.”

“By handing her over to me?”

“Exactly.”

“Yesterday you quit on me because I didn’t meet your high ethical standards. Now all of a sudden you’re willing to deliver the woman?”

“Ethics is a luxury I can no longer afford.”

“And why is that?”

“I need to get out of town. For a long time. Maybe for good. And I need to do it fast.”

“Sounds like you’re in trouble.”

She looked down at her plate. Her voice was low. “I am.”

“What a shame. Care to tell me about it?”

“Maybe you’ve heard what happened to Dylan Garrick.”

“I may have read something about it in the newspaper.” Reynolds narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re the one who offed him?”

“Me? I’m just a simple Arizona girl making her way in the big city. But I was seen with him.”

“You mean you tracked him down?”

“It’s what I do.”

“So you
did
kill him.”

“Haven’t said that.” Abby set down her plate and got up, facing him. “Whatever I may or may not have done, people are going to suspect the worst, and I’m not going to have any way of proving them wrong.”

A moment passed while Reynolds stood motionless. Then he lifted his glass and took a slow, thoughtful sip. “All right, maybe I can believe you need to go on the run.”

“And to do that, I need a sudden infusion of cash, courtesy of you. I need money, you need Andrea. We can work together and solve both our problems.”

“If the police are watching Andrea, how can you possibly deliver her to me?”

“She trusts me, like I said.”

“So what?”

“I can get her to leave the house and ditch her police escort. Once she does, she’ll be all yours.”

“You’re bullshitting.”

“No, I’m not, Jack. I can get her away from the police. And I can do it tonight.”

He considered the idea. “Once I’ve got her, you get paid? Is that it?”

“I get paid up front.”

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand dollars. In cash, obviously. I’m afraid I can’t take a personal check.”

“I don’t have fifty grand in cash here in the house.”

“But you can get it.”

“It’s Saturday afternoon. My bank is already closed.”

“Make the manager open up.”

“You think I keep fifty thousand dollars in my checking account?”

“It’s your rich wife’s account, more likely, but I’m sure you have privileges. Or maybe you can borrow it from your campaign fund. Cut yourself a check and run one less billboard ad. Or take out a loan and say it’s for the campaign. I don’t care, as long as you have it by six o’clock tonight.”

“What if I pay you the fifty and then you renege on the deal?”

“I’ll have Andrea close by. The way I’ll work it, you’ll know you’ve got her before I take off. You’ll have her, and you won’t be able to touch me. It’s not as complicated as it sounds.”

“Let’s say we were to have this meeting at six. Where would it be?”