3 Lies (29 page)

Binard came down to cover the hallway while he entered. From the monitors, Amir presumed all the men were asleep. He opened the door, their sonorous choir drowning any sound that he made, and slipped the stack of magazines onto the side table without anyone detecting his invasion.

The video portal into the lives of the women never told the complete story. They often appeared asleep. Upon entering the cabin, he discovered them whispering secrets, singing, playing, engaging in a sort of enforced slumber party.

He couldn’t see her this time, but he liked to watch the golden-haired woman. Even with her pallor of illness, vitality and warmth exuded like an infrared aura. After four days in their care, she still hadn’t changed into the clothing they’d given her. An act of futile defiance, but one Amir understood. Respected. He would have done the same.

She was a fine specimen to be sure but only a woman. Too many of those in the past to fixate on any one. Not anymore. He was done with the quaint notion of settling down. Unlike Jaman. Jaman spoke of her with an affection that bordered tenderness. Of course he denied it. Unprofessional. And foolish. Binard, while his intentions were nakedly obvious and wholly without discretion, at least did not endanger the mission. Mission first. The directive kept everyone focused, bounded, and alive.

Amir opened the door to the women’s cabin and stepped inside. The women gave him no real worry, but he assessed them to be more capable of violence. They closed ranks around the child and the ailing one. Their situation pulled them together through mutual desperation. Compared to the men, they were a likelier threat.

The child slept on the bed’s edge with a limp arm draped over the doll. Noises came from the mouth of the large woman as she rolled onto her back next to the girl. From the middle of the futon, the closed eyes of the black woman were barely visible to Amir as she curled tightly inward like an overcooked prawn. The sick one kept her back to the door. Her long golden hair lay over the blanket of blue.

“Why are you here?”

She did not turn around to see which of them came to the door. Perhaps it no longer mattered.

“We hope to have one of your dialysis machines here by morning.”

He waited. Expected a cry of joy, approval, relief, even interest. She didn’t move and said nothing.

Amir leaned over the futon and spoke in her direction. “Did you hear? We hope to have a machine here tomorrow.”

“I heard you. Tomorrow may be too late.”

He suddenly felt awkward and uncomfortable in her room, her presence, her place of rest—like partaking in the funeral of a stranger. The moment left him shaken, with a coarse sense of foreboding.

Clint thanked Avi for translating the message and dropped off the exhausted engineer at his home in Back Bay. Merlin moved to the front seat. They sat at the curb considering the message.

“You said Blake told you that they were after money.”

“He did. But I didn’t believe him. Still don’t. Even with the note. Something isn’t right.”

Clint launched the internet browser on his phone and ran a search on Abe Melinger. None of the news links suggested Hizzoner might be dead. A flicker of relief left his muscles marginally less tense. More decisions released by the Supreme Court. The pundits surmised they were clearing the decks for a landmark case.

Clint took out his phone and punched some numbers.

“What are you going to do?”

“Get some damn answers.” He listened to the Sutton’s phone ring before Blake answered.

“Blake. Clint here. We need to talk.”

“Abe wants to meet with you.”

“Is he alright? What happened?”

“He’s fine. He calmed down after you left and refused to go in the ambulance.”

Tension dissipated. One less straw for Clint’s weary camel. “What does he want?”

“He’ll meet you at our house. Will you come? Please?”

It wasn’t as if he’d say ‘no’. He’d planned to call Hizzoner anyway but tired of everyone scurrying about when the old man barked. Besides, this was about Beth, not him. And at the moment, they had no leads.

He huffed into the phone. “What time?”

“Can you come now?”

“I’ll be there in less than half an hour.” Clint ended the call before giving Blake a chance to say anything else. A childish gesture, but under the circumstances, he didn’t give a rat’s ass.

“Sorry.” He had forgotten about Merlin. “Do you mind coming to Cambridge with me?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” Clint opened the car door. “Would you drive?”

~

They arrived at the house of Blake and Cecelia Sutton in twenty minutes. Blake opened the front door before Clint got out of the car. Merlin stayed behind. When Clint got closer, he saw that lines grooved Blake’s tanned face, and his cotton shirt and slacks wore heavy creases. Clint found the facts perversely gratifying.

“Blake.” He reached out his hand.

Blake covered it with both of his and pulled Clint through the doorway. “Come in. Come in. Thank you for coming.” His lungs puffed out each word. “Please forgive Cecelia’s absence. She’s taken to her bed the last few days. You know it’s been a strain on her.”

A strain. On her. Sure. Restricted to her down bed with gazillion-thread-count sheets by pills or something from a bottle. The elastic of Clint’s charity snapped.

He dismissed Blake with a wave. “This is hardly a social call. Where’s Abe?”

“He’s waiting for you in the study.” Blake gestured the way. “Go on in.”

Clint stepped off to the study and glanced back at Blake. Clint didn’t know Blake well, only that he came from a moneyed family, and he ran the company his father founded until two years ago when he sold the business and semi-retired. Now he consulted. Nothing in his silver-clad life had prepared him for this kind of fight. In spite of his inertia, Beth loved him, and that weighed in his favor.

Clint had fought for everything—well, worked—if not fought. Maybe he wasn’t a Green Beret, but he damn sure fought for his business at the beginning. He fought for his marriage until the end. However, if results mattered, he’d better leave that particular experience off his résumé.

But he wanted someone in this fight with him. He’d expected it to be Abe, but they had different goals. He’d hoped it would be Cecelia and Blake, but they had their limitations. Fortunately, Clint knew a pirate with game.

When Clint entered the study, Abe quickly rose to his feet but seemed unable to stand fully erect. A thin man by nature, Abe’s gaunt face looked hollowed out like a skinny jack-o-lantern sunken after days of rot, his usual stately stride reduced to an old man’s shuffle.

A flicker of recognition appeared in the jack-head. “Clint, my boy. Thank you for coming.” He gestured to the sofa. “Please, come sit with me.” His eyes acquiesced. “I’m sorry. I’ve requested that the restraining order be rescinded.”

“And my record?”

“Expunged.”

The news was good like hearing the toaster still worked after your house burned down. Clint took the seat at the far end of the couch.

“Why’d you ask me here?”

The man sighed with a breath that seemed to release his pent up despair, the first whoosh of ancient air from an opened tomb. “Have you any leads?”

Clint took his howling anger for a walk, giving it short leash. “Abe, you’ve jerked me around from the beginning. My questions first. What case do they want fixed?”

Abe rubbed his forehead above the nose. “I don’t know. They don’t actually interfere with our work, but they require us to tell them the cases on which we have reached a decision each day.”

“Your decisions are setting new land speed records.”

“We have picked up the pace but most of these cases were granted certiorari back in the fall and some don’t merit plenary review.”

“English, please.”

“The cases were already approved for a decision by the court. In some, the oral arguments are completed. In others, they are not required. The briefs are sufficient to make a decision.”

“What else?”

“They want to know the decisions before any announcements. Otherwise, they don’t interfere.”

No. No interference. The gun wasn’t aimed at you, old man.

A time came for every man when evil walked up and punched his face. To hell with Abe. Clint wouldn’t turn and run. The gauntlet was down. They had Beth, and only God knew what they were doing to her.

“Have you called the FBI?”

“Cecelia doesn’t want me to.” Abe rubbed a knuckle across his nose. “They threatened to kill Beth if we do.”

“Do Cecelia and Blake know the truth about the demands?”

Abe’s hand tremored. “Yes. They do now.”

Clint’s arms strapped his chest. “All of the court members—all nine of you have someone you love missing.”

“All but Justice Cohen.”

“Beatrice Cohen from Colorado?”

Abe nodded.

“What about the little girl that was abducted from the ski resort?”

“The injured man, Myron Walters, is her brother. The little girl, Emily Watters, is Myron’s grandniece through his wife. The last names are similar, but she’s not a blood relative of Myron Walters or Beatrice.”

“So only eight with skin in the game.”

“Actually, Beatrice voted to call in the authorities, but she was in the minority opinion.”

Every muscle in Clint’s body went rigid. He hadn’t heard Abe correctly. He couldn’t have. “You voted on whether on not to call in the FBI?”

“We vote on everything. That’s how we operate.”

Flames licked his central nervous system. He bolted from the couch and began to pace. No one was looking for Beth.

No one.

No. He couldn’t lose it. Not now. Whatever this judicial geezer knew might help him find her. He vied to channel his anger. Breathe deep. Get-some-kind-of-a-grip. “How do they contact you?”

Abe’s manicured hands fidgeted with a handkerchief. “A man called while we were in conference the day Beth was abducted. The phone number to that conference room is unlisted. We listened to the call over a speakerphone. We thought it was a crank call until he told us the names of those kidnapped.” He mopped his brow. His focus flew like a gnat that never landed.

“What can you tell me about his voice?”

“It was electronically altered. The speech was choppy. I think it was foreign.”

“Middle Eastern?” Clint thought of the ransom note he found. Avi said it asked for money. But that wasn’t what they wanted. It made no sense.

“Perhaps. We checked the caller ID, discreetly, of course—but the call came from a pre-paid cell phone.”

“Do you have any idea who or what he is?”

Abe shook his head. “None. He refers to ‘we’ in conversation.”

No one person could have pulled this off.

“I heard Beth’s voice. They recorded it with a verifiable time stamp. She sounded fine.”

Fine. Sure she did. “Then what?”

“Then he started making demands.”

“Such as?”

Abe reached for a manila folder. “I’ve made notes on the cases we have decided in the last few days. He calls each day at 2 p.m. We tell him the case numbers we will be announcing that day and the opinion.” His eyes averted. “Then we tell him the cases we intend to conclude over the next two days.”

“He’s running through your entire case load. It keeps them unassociated with any particular case. If you decide the way they want you’ll never know which one they were after. You could have already decided the case they want. How many do you have left?”

“We’ve cleared forty cases with another ten due today.” He handed the folder to Clint. “That leaves approximately sixty-eight on the docket.”

“Does he give you any indication of which case caused all this?”

“No. But when I read the list of cases coming up there was a shift in his demeanor. It may be my imagination, but the case of interest might be in one of the next two groups.”

He scanned the list of cases for Middle Eastern plaintiffs. Even at ten a day, she might be dead before they finish.

“Why did you want to talk to me now?”

“I don’t trust them to leave her alive after this is over.”

“Why did you ever?”

“He promised they would all be set free if we complied and kept the authorities uninvolved. Otherwise, they would start killing people in order of court seniority and notify the press.”

Beth’s life or involving the press. Clint wondered which threat worried Abe more. “Is that when you voted?” His voice wielded a sneer.

Abe’s face heated. “You have no concept of the burden carried by this court. ‘We The People’ demand a rational judicial body providing Constitutional interpretation without prejudice. This is the court of last resort.” He shook a finger at Clint’s nose. “We cannot allow common thugs to pervert our noble legal system. We cannot allow a single life to hold this court hostage. If anyone found out, this could diminish our reputation for impartial proceedings.”

“Accusing me of stalking you—which tenet of our august legal system did that trick uphold?”

Abe sunk back into the sofa.

Clint intended to tell Abe about his trip to the medical supply store, the white van, the translation of the note, but now he knew. Abe already rendered his decision. Saving the court’s reputation was more important than saving Beth’s life.

The call came at the precise time. A grunt served as greeting.

“You’re going to kill Clint Masters?”

“I’ll kill anybody if I need to. But I don’t need to. Yet. He’s going to play the hero only as long as there’s no price.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do you really want to know?”

There was no response.

“I didn’t think so. I’m not going to kill him.”

“The press would be relentless.”

“He’s not worth the hassle. No one should get hurt. I just need his attention. Let him know he has to answer for his actions. For now, I only want to make him bleed.”

“Beth. Wake up. C’mon, honey, food should be here soon. Wake up. You need to eat something. Can you hear me?”

She heard. But she’d spent her waking time cultivating this particular funk and wasn’t ready to give it up. Beth figured she’d earned the right to feel pissy, but Vonda’s relentless enthusiasm leavened even her sinking despair. The covers over her head inched back with the tug of an unseen hand. Vonda’s tentative smile met her on the other side of the blanket and refused to let her retreat.