The Last Word (29 page)

So he tried a creative exercise that an actor or writer might use to get into character. He imagined how Tony Soprano might deal with the same situation that Mark was facing.

It opened up many possibilities, all of which required a cold heart, total disregard for the law, and lots of violence.

And that exercise allowed Mark to see a possible course of action, one that was completely out of character for him and would require him to do things that violated the principles he’d lived by.

He was okay with that.

His plan was risky, and relied on a lot of people behaving exactly the way Mark expected them to. But what he was counting on the most was that they were expecting the same from him.

And he wasn’t that man anymore. They had seen to that.

But Mark still couldn’t pull off what he had in mind alone. He’d need help.

To get it, he would have to pressure one person to gamble his career and his freedom and manipulate another person into risking his life. And all to serve Mark’s selfish needs. There was little, if any, possibility that there would be any benefits at all for the others.

It was probably a lose-lose proposition for them.

So be it. He’d make them do it anyway.

Because he could. Because this Mark Sloan didn’t give a damn.

At daybreak, he used a pay phone to call Special Agent Barton Feldman at the Chicago office of the FBI. Feldman had once been a low-level agent on the retirement track, exiled to the Denver office. But all that had changed a few years ago during Mark’s investigation of the Standiford kidnapping. Mark gave Feldman the opportunity to make an arrest that revitalized his career and vaulted him to the top ranks of the bureau.

Now it was payback time.

Mark and Feldman spoke for nearly two hours. Feldman whined and complained. Mark connived, threatened, and made promises he couldn’t keep.

Ultimately, Feldman gave in and agreed to do what Mark asked.

If Mark failed, Feldman could lose everything he’d gained. If Mark succeeded, Feldman’s career could rise to even greater heights.

They were big
if
s to overcome,
if
s surrounded by moats of molten lava and rigged with explosive booby traps.

But Feldman was indebted to Mark and greedy and therefore willing to take the risk.

And Mark was a desperate man with absolutely nothing left to lose.

It was a perfect match.

Mark showered, changed, and checked out of the motel. He put the gym bag full of electronic goodies on the passenger seat and headed east on Interstate 10 towards Phoenix.

On the way, he called Dr. Jack Stewart, his former protégé, who’d left Community General to join a high-powered medical practice in Denver.

Mark got Jack’s answering service. He left a message, said it was an emergency, and then left the same message with the nurses and services who answered for Jack’s partners. He also called Jack’s home and cell phone and, when he stopped for gas, sent him a text message as well.

He checked in with Tyrell, who informed him that, as expected, Steve had been denied bail and would be held in custody pending trial. Mark filled Tyrell in on what he’d learned about Olivia Morales.

“It’s good to know,” Tyrell said. “It gives us something to use to undermine her credibility.”

“That gives her a motive to want Burnside dead and frame Steve,” Mark said. “The same circumstantial evidence they’re using to incriminate Steve can incriminate her as well.”

“Her fingerprints aren’t on the murder weapon,” Tyrell said. “And there aren’t any photos of her planting bugs for Burnside’s opponent.”

“She had the same access to Yokley’s weapons that Steve did and she was in Konrath’s apartment building at the time of the assassination.”

“But she isn’t the one in jail charged with the murder,” Tyrell said.

“She should be,” Mark said. “She can be if you make the case against her in the courtroom.”

“You’ve watched too many episodes of
Matlock
,” Tyrell said. “It’s not our job to pin the murder on someone else but rather to raise reasonable doubt regarding your son’s guilt. I can use the information you’ve given me to attack her credibility. I’ll leave it to the police to go after her for Burnside’s murder once the charges against Steve are dropped.”

“Is that confidence I hear in your voice?” Mark asked.

“I wish it was,” Tyrell said. “Where are you?”

“Out and about,” Mark said.

“Good idea,” Tyrell said. “Stay that way until things quiet down. Leave everything else to me.”

“You bet,” Mark said and hung up.

Jack called just as Mark was entering the Phoenix suburbs.

“I got all your messages,” Jack said. “The whole world knows you were trying to get in touch with me. But I’m glad you called.”

“You won’t be when you hear what I want from you,” Mark said.

“I’ve been following the news. That’s why you couldn’t reach me,” Jack said. “I took all my phones off the hook. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Whatever you need, consider it done.”

“Once we get started, there’s no going back,” Mark said. “You could lose everything.”

“So be it,” Jack said. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help you fight this.”

Mark detailed what he had in mind and the risks involved and then waited for Jack to change his mind.

“When will you be here?” Jack asked.

“Tomorrow,” Mark said. “I have to pay a visit to an old friend in Phoenix first and then I’ll drive up. We don’t have much time.”

“I’ll be ready,” Jack said.

Mark stopped at a mall, bought some clothes, a couple pairs of shoes, and a small suitcase to carry them in. He found a restroom, changed out of his T-shirt and shorts into casual business attire, and went back to his car, where he discovered he had no room left in the two-seater for his suitcase.

So he drove behind the mall, found a Dumpster, and threw out everything but his diplomas, his toiletries, and the bag of electronics from Tanis.

There was no room for sentimentality in his life right now. Only one thing mattered.

He put his suitcase in the trunk, closed it, and headed for his unscheduled meeting with Noah Dent.

The headquarters of MediSolutions was a three-story multicolored cube that aggressively clashed with the rocky desert backdrop and the adobe-influenced styling of the surrounding buildings.

The lobby was decorated in stainless steel, giving it all the charm of a meat locker, which, given the company’s trade in body parts, was strangely appropriate.

Mark approached the security desk and told the stocky, fish-eyed guard that he was there to see Noah Dent. The guard asked Mark for his driver’s license and, glancing dismissively at it, called Dent’s office. The conversation lasted less than five seconds.

The guard handed Mark back his driver’s license, gave him a clip-on security pass, and walked him to the elevator. Mark stepped inside. The guard leaned in, used a key to unlock the control panel, and pressed the button for the third floor.

As soon as the guard left, and the doors slid shut, Mark hit the button for the second floor just to see what would happen. The button didn’t work.

There was a woman waiting for him outside the elevator on the third floor. She was in her twenties and had both the look and the artificially cheery attitude of a stewardess. Mark was tempted to ask her for a Diet Coke and a bag of peanuts as she led him down a long row of cubicles to Noah Dent’s corner office.

Dent didn’t bother to rise from behind his massive desk. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and smiled at Mark. He was leaner and more physically fit than Mark remembered him. Desert living and revenge obviously agreed with him.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Dent said. “To be honest, I’ve been counting the minutes.”

“Do you have a speech prepared?”

“I knew you’d come looking for someone to blame for your misery,” Dent said. “Here’s an idea. Try a mirror.”

“I feel terrible about what happened to Tanya,” Mark said. “It was a tragedy. But she committed murder.”

“She killed the man who brutally raped her and left her for dead,” Dent said.

“If that was all she did, I would have understood. I might have let her get away with it. But she also killed an innocent bystander to cover up her crime.”

“A homeless man who was dying anyway,” Dent said. “She ended his suffering. It was hardly murder.”

“Is that how you rationalize the actions of the people you’ve helped to commit murder?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mercy Reynolds injected two brain-dead organ donors with West Nile virus so that whoever received their body parts would die,” Mark said. “If you helped her do it, you’re an accessory to murder.”

“I
am
an accessory to murder, Doctor. The murder of Mercy Reynolds.”

“You set her up to die,” Mark said.

“Damn right I did,” Dent said. “When I wrote her that letter of recommendation, I might as well have been signing her death certificate. I had no idea she was going to use it to apply for a job at Community General. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She had a bright future until she walked in there. You took that future away from her.”

“She was killed for the good of the conspiracy,” Mark said. “If you didn’t do it, you know who did.”

“Steve Sloan,” Dent said. “Your son killed Mercy in a lame attempt to make her appear responsible for the crimes committed by your sycophants. I knew as soon as you discovered that Mercy once worked for me that you’d show up here, trying to blame me for everything.”

“You’re obviously involved,” Mark said.

“I’m involved because I cared about Mercy Reynolds, yet another young woman that you’ve destroyed. I’m involved because my company is a victim of a body-parts scam perpetrated by your doctors. The FDA has announced a health alert and issued a nationwide organ recall that’s going to cost us tens of millions of dollars.”

“Revenge isn’t cheap, Noah. Send the bill to Carter Sweeney.”

“Who?” Dent asked.

Mark leaned on the desk and looked Dent in the eye. “I’m giving you fair warning. I won’t let this stand. I’m going to devote my life to bringing you down.”

“You do that, Mark. Come back often. I want to see how you rot from the inside out.”

Mark turned and walked away.

 

The black Bentley Continental GT in the driveway of Jack Stewart’s Washington Park bungalow was worth more than Liandra Haven’s condo across the street. But it wasn’t the six-figure price tag of the car that impressed the twenty-six-year-old real estate agent. And it wasn’t that he was attractive, wealthy, and a doctor, though that would have been enough to make most single women she knew weak-kneed.

What made her swoon over Jack Stewart was the fact that he didn’t behave like an attractive, wealthy doctor. He was a genuinely nice guy, which, for Liandra, was the sexiest thing a person could be.

She’d been living on his quiet, tree-lined street near Washington Park for only a month or so, but in that time she’d seen him play catch with some kids, help his next-door neighbor clean out his garage, and rescue a dog that had been hit by a UPS truck.

He always chatted with his neighbors and actually listened to what they had to say instead of talking about himself, which was very unusual for someone who was attractive, wealthy, and a doctor. Most people with his attributes believed that they were the most interesting topic of conversation imaginable, given that they also happened to be the center of the universe.

She’d spoken with him a few times, and never once did he try to impress her with anything but his natural, amiable charm.

And it was working.

She hoped he wasn’t moving, but there was a big Dumpster in front of his place, and it looked like he was doing a lot of remodeling, usually the first sign in this older neighborhood that a house might be going on the market soon.

Liandra didn’t want to see him go. But then again, if he was leaving, she wanted to get the listing. Whether he was or not, it gave her an excuse to say hello.

Jack was getting a late start that morning and so was she. They came out of their homes at just about the same moment. He smiled at her and she waved him over. They met in the middle of the street.

“Good morning, Liandra,” Jack said, flashing a smile that seemed to make his eyes sparkle. She felt herself blushing, and that embarrassed her, which only made her blush more.

“Tell me you aren’t moving, Jack. And if you are, tell me why I don’t have the listing.”

She wondered if she was being too aggressive, too real estate-focused, and if that would turn him away.

“I’m here to stay,” Jack said. “I’m finally getting around to doing everything on my fix-it-up list. Before I knew it, I was gutting the whole place.”

“I know how that is,” she said, just to be saying something. “I’m glad you’re not going anywhere. I still have the bottle of wine you gave me as a housewarming gift. I was hoping you’d share it with me one night.”

She’d surprised herself with her admission. She was never this forward, at least not when it came to anything that didn’t involve an escrow.

“Anytime,” Jack said. “Come to think of, I’m free tonight. How about you? You bring the wine, I’ll put two steaks on the grill, and we can eat outside under the stars.”

Her face felt so warm, she was afraid her hair might spontaneously combust. “That sounds nice.”

“Good, because to be honest, my backyard has become my kitchen and dining room until the remodel is done,” Jack said. “How does seven sound to you?”

“Perfect,” she said.

“See you then,” he said, and went back across the street to his Bentley.