3 Lies (10 page)

“How do you access the bloodstream?”

She patted Emmy’s back. “Are these details necessary?”

“No. But, I find it interesting.”

Honest. If creepy. “Then look it up on the internet. I’m tired. Fatigue. You’ll find that on the list of symptoms.”

“I will speak about the matter to the one in control.” Blue-Mask motioned toward the blanket. He pulled a small tape recorder and an index card from a pouch pocket on his shirt. He handed the card to her. “You will read the sentences on the card when I say ‘go’. Are you ready?”

She scanned the card. Her fingernail flicked at the corner. “Yes.”

He clicked a button and held the machine close to her mouth. “Go.”

“My name is Elizabeth Louise Sutton. I am in good health and am well treated. The Sox beat the Braves 4-3 this morning in Atlanta.”

He stopped the recorder. “What is the girl’s name?”

Beth rocked back. “You mean you don’t know?”

Even behind the ski mask, she detected a flinch.

“You rip this child away from her family, and you don’t even know her name.”

“Do you know it or not?”

“She’s a little girl. What could you possibly want with her?”

“What is her name?”

He didn’t hear Emmy say her name. So they hadn’t planted microphones in the room—only cameras. If she lied and told him the wrong name—but, lying wouldn’t guarantee any help for Emmy. And when they found out the truth—

“Emmy. Her name’s Emmy. It’s probably short for Emily. It’s popular these days. I don’t know her last name.”

“You will ask her and tell me what you learn. How old is she?”

“She’s four years old.” She thought about Emmy’s bent pinkie. “Make that four and a half.”

“A half a year makes a big difference in one so young.”

He was right. But under the circumstances the sophisticated observation sounded surreal. Maybe this cretin was somebody’s father.

Blue-Mask turned from her stare. “Make a list of any items you require for this dialysis process.”

“Can you get my machine?”

“We would not likely return to your home.”

An icy finger stirred her blood. Her home. A place of comfort and peace. At least it used to be. She may never return either. She thought of Emmy.

“Emmy will need some things too. The place is bad enough for grown-ups, but she needs something to do. I’ll add those to the list.”

“I make no promises.” Blue-Mask nodded and left the room.

Beth reached down to the blanket and tickled Emmy until she heard a giggle. She popped out dramatically gasping for air.

“You don’t like hamburgers, do you?” Beth put the tray on Emmy’s lap.

“I like hamburger.” She pointed at the black beans. “But not that.”

“We’re going to pretend we’re camping. And when we go camping together, you don’t have to eat anything you don’t want. Okay?”

Emmy seized the hamburger and stuffed it in her mouth.

These guys didn’t care whether Emmy ate. They didn’t even know who she was. Something tied all these strangers together. Something linked her and the girl and the two older women who slept across the room. Something caused these men to wrench each of them from their lives and hold them captive.

It was about damn time she found out what.

If only because the clock now displayed five a.m., Clint knew sleep had visited him during the night. The last time he rolled over to check, it showed three-thirty. The restful part of sleep, however, didn’t penetrate. Apparently the alcohol did, resulting in a resounding, pounding spike of a headache.

At the restaurant the night before, Cecelia assured him that Abe must have gotten the message from Beth wrong. Blake agreed with her, but Clint was unconvinced. After the encounter, Blake and Cecelia increased the pace of their meal to that of a pie-eating contest. Clint left as close to on-their-heels as he could urge Paige and sobriety. It only fed her annoyance. By the time he got on the road, no one was answering his calls. He decided to visit them in the morning.

He dragged himself to the shower and took a short, cold one. Caffeine. A required step before confronting Cecelia. No doubt she’d discussed the questionable cousin story with Abe. Maybe Beth wanted out of the relationship. He didn’t think he had pressured her in any way, but his enthusiasm was obvious. He thought she enjoyed their time together as much as he did. Abe as much as told him that, but he also lied about the cousin. She must really want to dump him if she got the Chief Justice to do her dirty work.

Clint would end it.

Even if.

He limited his exposure to emotional drama. Over the last two years, Paige had hammered his nerves to a paste. If he wanted head games, he could go back to her.

He threw on jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt, grabbing his keys from the peg by the door.

“C’mere, boy.” Clint called to the dog.

Louie stepped off his flannel bed and clicked his nails across the teak floor. Before letting Clint snap the leash on his collar, he stopped to lap up some water. He led Clint out to the parking lot.

The dawn sky broke with wind-swept clouds of smoky greys and greens. A rumbling in the distance warned of a closing front. The temperatures threatened to drop and the prevailing winds to shift. He kept an extra rain poncho in the truck for such occasions.

A quick stop to fill himself and the truck with some high octane, and Clint drove the fifty-eight miles to the Sutton’s house. He left Louie in the truck and landed on their Mansard Victorian porch at six forty-five. He saw light from a single window on the first floor. Clint clapped the lion-head knocker and waited. Above the lion head, a peephole opened to reveal a large, brown eye.

“Hey, Blake, it’s Clint. May I come in?”

The peephole closed, and the big door swung open. Blake leaned against the thick jamb and stiff-armed the door. Uncombed, unshaven, and wearing wrinkled plaid pajamas, creases cascaded beneath his eyes. He mustered only a glower.

Beth. Damn her. Why didn’t she call? This was her fault. Clint never chased a woman in his life. He felt like an incompetent stalker.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s a little early for socializing, don’t you think?”

Wearing an elegant lilac peignoir, Cecelia stepped out from behind Blake. “It’s all right. Let him in.”

Blake opened the door wider and moved to the rear of the foyer, his head barely upright.

Cecelia’s combat makeup and hair freshly coiffed, revealed that sleep hadn’t been her friend last night either.

“Clint. What brings you here so early?”

“I’m sorry, I’m worried about Beth. If she just doesn’t want to see me anymore, I won’t bother her again.”

“Oh, no.” She leaned back on her left foot. “No.”

He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but she didn’t cry.

“That’s not the case. We spoke with Abe last night.”

Hizzoner answered his calls rather selectively.

“Beth did go to San Diego, but it wasn’t to visit a cousin.” Cecelia chattered in clips. “You see, he did have it wrong, as we told you.” She fluffed her skirt then smoothed it down with a quivering hand. “It was a girlfriend of hers from college. They roomed together, and Beth promised to come visit her.”

“She promised to visit her. That’s nice,” said Clint. Abe said Beth went to help with a new baby and several kids. “Did her friend recently have a baby?”

“Why, yes, she did.” Cecelia feigned a girlish giggle.

“What about her dialysis?”

“Oh.” Cecelia looked past him. “She took the machine with her.”

Confirmed. The first lie.

“Did you speak to Beth?”

“She’s so busy at the moment. I— I’m sure she’ll call you as soon as the baby is settled.”

Lie number two.

Blake padded between them. “Clint, I’m sorry, but I’ve got some pressing business downtown this morning, and Cessy needs to make me some breakfast. “

He opened the door and stared directly at Clint. He showed no hint of malice, only fatigue. And something else. It strained his voice. And hers.

“You understand?”

“Yes. Of course.” Clint backed out. “Let her know, please. I’d like to talk to her.”

Cecelia blotted her brow with the back of her wrist. A haze clouded her irises. “I will, certainly.”

A third lie.

“Thank—”

Blake shut the door.

Bizarre.

He could think of no other description. They lied to him and wanted him to stay away. But from where? San Diego? After their shoddy performances, he doubted Beth was anywhere near California.

Clint leapt off the porch and ran back to the truck. At least Louie was glad to see him. He threw a parting glance at the house and thought he saw the curtains rustle.

Hizzoner. Honest Abe. He was next on the list.

~

The three-mile drive to Back Bay took longer than the distance warranted. It was a workday and every car, truck, and bicycle in the greater Boston area seemed to be on the Mass Ave Bridge. He got there as Hizzoner was locking his door. He unfolded from a crouch when he saw Clint.

“Sir.” Clint exhaled. “Where is Beth?”

“Good morning, Clint.” He stood a little straighter. “I told you she’s in San Diego.”

“Sir. I just came from Cecelia and Blake’s. I ran into them at dinner last night. They were surprised—no—shocked when I told them she’d gone off to a cousin’s. You know she doesn’t have any cousins.”

“Nonsense. I simply misspoke. They undoubtedly told you as much. Now if you will excuse me.”

“Yes, sir. They did. They did indeed.”

Abe checked the time on his watch. “Then I don’t see your difficulty.”

“You and the Suttons have gone to some length to reassure me that Beth has feelings for me.” Clint clapped his heart. “I am genuinely touched.”

Abe sat his briefcase on the stoop. “She’s had few relationships over the years.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth. “Surprising, given her looks. But then she’s not what you might call a people person. As you likely know Beth possesses a keen mind and a determined spirit.” A sigh left him in a shudder.

“They said she took her machine. But—”

“My niece is a rare woman. She should be worth any slight inconvenience you might be experiencing.” He replaced his glasses and took his briefcase. “Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what to think. If she’s visiting someone in San Diego why hasn’t she called?”

“I’m sure she’ll contact you soon.”

“Sir, with all due respect. This isn’t the nineteenth century. She has a cell phone, email, fax.” Clint ignored the irony of his complaint. “Hell, I’d take smoke signals from her right about now. Why hasn’t she contacted me?”

Abe strained a smile. “I have little insight into the female mind.”

“You’re not a poker player, sir. That’s a load of crap, and we both know it. Where is she?”

He hesitated just long enough. “I’m fond of you, Clint. But I won’t have my integrity questioned by a high-tech drop out, not even one of your caliber. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some cases to review. There are a quarter of a billion people waiting for my opinion.”

Abe tried to sound arrogant, but it didn’t resonate. A dissonance in his tone undermined his choice of words. Cecelia and Blake shared the same emotion. It was what Clint heard in their voices, too.

Fear.

They were afraid. All of them. They were afraid for Beth.

“You don’t know where she is, do you?”

“I told you. She’s in San Diego.”

“You’re lying.”

“How dare—”

Abe turned to leave. Clint put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m not stopping until I get some answers.”

Clint heard the siren when the blue and white police cruiser shut down in front of Abe’s house. Two uniformed officers, one white, one black, strode up to them.

The black officer led the pair. “Sir. I understand there’s a disturbance here.” He directed his comment to Abe.

Clint started toward him. “No, officer. There’s no—”

“This young man has refused to leave my property.”

Clint spun toward Abe. “What!”

The second officer said, “Sir, please step this way.”

“That’s a lie. Tell him.” Clint barked at Abe.

Abe held his briefcase with both fists. “As I said on the phone, he has been asked to leave the premises, and he refuses.”

“Officer, we were having a conversation. He has never asked me to leave.” Clint gestured toward Abe.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.”

He turned back toward the first officer. “This is ridiculous. Tell them—”

“Stop right there.” The officer leveled a pistol at Clint’s chest. “Sir, we need to finish this discussion downtown.”

Clint shared the close quarters of the holding cell: a young, white punk, pierced and tattooed, who passed out on the bench soon after he arrived; a pair of tailored, older men, one black, one Hispanic, argued over a petty drug deal gone awry; an obese Chinese pickpocket muttered to himself in Cantonese. Here, the melting pot that is America displayed her dingiest hue.

An odor he could only hope was disinfectant permeated the air—a cloying mix of ammonia and citrus. He decided to avoid oranges for a while. Clint’s jeans and flannel shirt adhered to the bench by an unknown substance. When he got home both were going into the fire.

The sergeant on duty came up to the cage. “Clint Masters?”

He raised his hand. “That’s me.”

“Somebody punched your claim check. Let’s go.”

The officer led him to the property desk where Clint signed for his wallet and keys.

“Where’s my dog?”

“He’s a guest of animal control.” The officer handed him some paperwork “We only take the two-leggers here.” He squeezed an eye at Clint. “Say, aren’t you the guy that started CatSat with Todd Westerfield?”

“Now if I were that guy, would I be in your jail?”

A large, lumbering lieutenant huffed up to them.

“Clint Masters?”

“Yeah, this is him.”

“I’ll take him from here, Sweeney.” The lieutenant tipped his head toward Clint and ushered him down the hall. “Mr. Masters. Lieutenant Patino. It’s a pleasure, sir. I understand you lost a round with the Supreme Court Chief Justice. Look, my intervention here is two-fold.” He checked the hall behind him. “The charges were dropped, but I was sent to warn you to stay the hell away from the judge. That came from on high. Any further communication with said justice, and they plan to keep you a while. Got that?”