Ransom River (11 page)

Zelinski looked at her thoughtfully. “Really. Why?”

She seemed to hear a creaking noise, like a pin had been pulled from a support beam below her.

“I think they were working with somebody on the outside. Nixon kept looking at—” She spread her hands. “Do you know his name? Something else I can call him?”

“Nixon is interesting,” Zelinski said. “We can go with that for now.”

She paused. She wasn’t imagining the good cop, annoying cop routine. “Nixon kept handling his phone. I got the impression he was sending text messages. And I heard them arguing.”

Xavier said, “About what?”

“Whether the two of them should flee on their own. Nixon wanted to take hostages with them. He said, ‘We leave by ourselves, we die.’”

“He probably meant he wanted human shields. For good reason. Look what happened to him the second our sniper got a clean shot.”

Rory shook her head. “It was more than that. He insisted that they take the people who got tapped on the back. He said, ‘The plan is the plan.’”

They didn’t react.

“Then Reagan suggested surrendering. Nixon shut him down cold. And asked if Reagan understood the consequences. That’s the word he used.
Consequences.
”

“Yeah. Trial, conviction, execution,” Zelinski said.

“I don’t think that’s what he was talking about. I think he meant that if he botched the attack, a third party would punish him for it.”

“Really?”

“He got increasingly upset. Then he mentioned ‘payment.’”

“Payment for what?” Xavier said.

“I don’t know.”

“When you were pinned against the window,” Zelinski said, “did they tell you to pass along information to the outside?”

“What? No.”

“They didn’t direct you to make hand signs and give the police ideas about how many gunmen were inside and what weapons they had?”

“God no. The police thought there was only one gunman in the courtroom. I was trying to tell them there were two.”

“The gunmen didn’t want you to mislead the authorities?”

She just stared. “I provided accurate information.”

Xavier had stopped writing. The ventilation system hummed. The fluorescent lights hummed. Rory’s nerves hummed.

Zelinski said, “What kind of outside agenda do you think the gunmen had?”

“I have no idea.”

Xavier looked pensive. “You grew up in Ransom River, didn’t you, Ms. Mackenzie?”

What was this, a change-up pitch? “Born here.”

“Ransom River High? Sports—is that where I remember you from?”

“Cross country and track,” Rory said.

Xavier nodded. “I played basketball at St. Joe’s.”

Zelinski turned to her, head cocked. “Really, Mindy? You want to talk old times?”

She waved him off. “He’s new in town. Doesn’t know the ropes. You were a star.”

“I did all right,” Rory said.

“Better than that.”

Xavier continued to stare at her. Waiting for her résumé, it seemed.

“I won State my senior year,” Rory said.

Xavier said, “You have siblings?”

“Only child.”

“Mackenzie sounds familiar.”

“There’s family in town.”

She had cousins. And maybe Xavier remembered them from Ransom River High School football games. Boone had started at tight end, when he wasn’t benched for fighting. Nerissa had been a cheerleader. She was rumored
to be the one who seduced the St. Joseph’s quarterback the night before the game, slipped Rohypnol into his rum and Coke, and then dumped him, stoned and naked, on a back road outside town. The QB ended up in the hospital. St. Joseph’s won anyway.

But Rory bet Xavier knew her cousins’ branch of the family from their history of arrests. The air buzzed as if a scarlet
M
had lit up overhead.
She’s a Mackenzie. One of
them.

“Small world,” Xavier said.

Zelinski said, “Glad to know you could outrun me, Aurora. Glad it won’t come to that.” His smile was humorless. “Can we show you something?”

He opened his laptop and queued up a video.

Rory said, “You got footage from inside the courtroom?”

“CCTV system records all proceedings at the courthouse. Each courtroom has a camera.”

He pressed Play.

The video was silent, grainy and gray. Prosecutor Cary Oberlin was conducting his direct examination of Samuel Koh. Oberlin waved his hand as he spoke. The stenographer typed on her machine. Judge Wieland studied his computer screen. In the jury box, everybody seemed attentive.

Then, soundlessly, people jumped. Oberlin turned and Wieland looked up, startled. Nixon rushed the bailiff.

Rory tried to swallow. The hum of the lights and ventilation system seemed to set her entire body thrumming.

On-screen, the gunmen forced people to lie on the floor. Nixon began to count aloud. Reagan moved among the crowd. When Nixon called
four,
he tapped a hostage on the back with the barrel of his shotgun.

It was random and chilling. Judge Wieland was tapped and drew a faltering breath. Reagan moved on, slowly. Nixon counted
four
and Reagan tapped the man in front of him, Oberlin.

Rory felt the detectives’ eyes on her.

On-screen, Reagan stepped over hostages.
One, two, three, four.
He tapped the third man on the back.

Rory’s stomach tightened. She knew what was coming next.

Except she didn’t.

Nixon counted. Reagan walked. She expected him to continue moving slowly and randomly. But he didn’t. He took large steps. Quietly, carefully, he covered twice the distance he had previously. He aimed straight across the courtroom. He stepped over half a dozen people. And when Nixon counted
four,
Reagan took an extra second to stare down at the person on the floor below him. He glanced back at Nixon. Nixon raised his chin, a crisp, wordless
yeah.

Reagan lowered the barrel of the shotgun and tapped Rory between the shoulders.

The humming in the interrogation room filled her head.

“What the hell?” she said.

Zelinski paused the video. “You saw that?”

“He picked me deliberately. What the
hell?
”

“Can you explain it?”

“No.”

This was crazy. This was bad.

“Rewind,” she said. “Show that to me again.”

“It’ll show exactly the same thing,” Zelinski said.

“They
chose
me?” She turned to Xavier, lips parting. “Why did they do that?”

“You tell us,” Xavier said.

The temperature in the room seemed to plunge. Rory felt so spooked that she forgot herself. And she did what no Mackenzie ever did: She spoke without thinking, without checking her cards. She spoke without understanding she’d been dealt a joker.

“Jesus Christ. I heard them muttering when I was up against the window—when they were talking about leaving, one of them said something about ‘the girl.’ They were talking about me.” She looked at Xavier. “They chose me. They wanted to take me.”

Zelinski said, “‘The girl’?”

“That’s what they said.”

He fast-forwarded through the video. “Show me where they mention you.”

She watched, a tremor building in her arms again. “Stop.”

The camera showed her pressed against the window. Behind her, Nixon and Reagan had their heads together. Their posture was aggressive and nervous.

“That’s where they were discussing it all,” she said.

Zelinski tilted his head and examined the screen. “You think they were after you. Not the defendants?”

“I’m telling you what I heard.”

“You don’t think they were after money?”

“They asked for five million bucks in gold. So maybe.”

“Why did they demand bullion, do you think?”

“Shall I speculate? No dye packs. No serial numbers. You can melt gold down. Craft it into wedding rings and necklaces and little figurines of the Smurfs.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m not. I thought their demand for bullion was absurd on its face.”

“Really?” Zelinski said.

“What kind of institution has five million dollars in gold bars lying around? How’d they expect to get it within a short period of time?”

“You interested in money, Ms. Mackenzie?” Zelinski said.

And when did you stop beating your wife?
She kept her voice even. “I like to pay my rent and put food on the table.”

“You’re unemployed.”

“The charity I work for lost its funding.” She knew her cheeks were burning.

“Lucky that put you here in Ransom River with plenty of time on your hands, so you could fulfill your civic duty.”

“Lucky? Asylum Action works—worked—to monitor refugees seeking political asylum. We followed up on cases where people were sent back to
their home countries. Filed appeals. Fought deportations. Checked that people weren’t put in danger.”

“I saw your passport. Geneva?”

“Helsinki, London, then Geneva. Two years.”

“You have any Swiss bank accounts?”

Xavier said, “Gary.”

Zelinski took out another piece of gum, added it to the wad already in his mouth, and started the video again.

“What did the gunmen want?” he said.

Rory felt chilled. “I don’t know.”

“Did they storm the courtroom to kidnap the defendants?”

“Maybe.”

“Then how come they chose four other people to go with them?”

Rory’s lips parted. It stopped her dead. “I have no idea.”

“You said they had an outside agenda. So you think they were coordinating with somebody outside the courtroom?”

“You’ve got Nixon’s phone—you can find out who he was contacting.”

Zelinski’s mouth stretched into cold and toothy approximation of a smile. Rory thought,
Burn phone.
Prepaid, used only during the courthouse attack, and then dumped. And whoever he was texting probably did the same.

Zelinski leaned forward. “Outside agenda. I agree. But I can’t help wondering whether you’re part of it.”

The room seemed obscenely bright. The hum from the lights and ventilation system sounded electric.

“No,” she said. “What are you talking about?”

“Outside forces. Sounds completely plausible. The gunmen had confederates outside. But they also had one inside.”

“Not me.” She heard the shock in her voice, and the note of panic.

Xavier said, “Show her the rest of the video.”

Zelinski pressed Play again. The silent gray video showed Judge Wieland lying shot on the floor, gripping his robe in agony. On-screen Rory turned to Reagan, her face stricken. Her words didn’t need a lip reader.

“We’ve got to get him help. You—”

Zelinski paused the video. “‘
We’ve
got to get him help.’”

She said nothing.

“Not
you,
” Zelinski said. “
We.
If I remember my grammar,
we
means the first person plural.
We
means ‘our group.’ It means
us.
And it means you’re done.”

This wasn’t bad. This was crazy bad.

She said, “
We
meant all of us in the courtroom. Judge Wieland needed help. I didn’t think about grammar; I just spoke.”

Zelinski was leaning forward like a dog at the end of its chain. “You were speaking to somebody on your team. You were under pressure. You let it slip.”

“No.” And she finally got a grip on herself. She put her hands on the table. “I’m done talking until I speak with a lawyer.”

Xavier looked gravely disappointed. Slowly, with what seemed immense frustration, she shut her notebook. Zelinski, however, looked pleased. He looked like he had just won a jackpot on the slots.

“What was the agenda?” Zelinski said.

Xavier put her pen away. “Never mind, Gary.”

She meant: no more questions. Rory had just invoked her right to counsel. But Zelinski didn’t stop talking—he simply changed his questions into statements.

“Save yourself a long and agonizing process, Ms. Mackenzie. Tell us what the gunmen wanted.”

She shook her head.

“Maybe you were bought off to throw the trial.”

“Gary,” Xavier said.

“I’m just speculating,” he said. “Maybe you were getting paid to ensure that the defendants were convicted unjustly.”

“Am I under arrest?” Rory said.

Neither detective answered, which was an answer. But Zelinski turned to the computer and pressed Play one last time. He fast-forwarded to the
end, to the moment when Rory turned from the courtroom window and refused Nixon’s order to go with him.

“What did he say to you?” Zelinski asked. “Because to me, it looks like a cozy conversation. It looks…intimate.”

Rory sat like a stone.

Xavier stood. “You’re free to go. But think hard about your next steps, Ms. Mackenzie.”

“She’s an attorney,” Zelinski said. “She knows the score. That’s why she lawyered up.”

Rory bore their stares and the weight of their accusation. She refused to look away from Xavier. Finally the detective waved her toward the door.

“Go on,” Xavier said.

She held still. “One thing,” she said. “What time are the jurors expected in court tomorrow morning?”

Zelinski actually sat back in his seat.

“Excuse me, but I need to find out.” She stood up and left.