Abandoned: A Thriller (48 page)

“Again,” James muses, “the sadism. Cutting your finger. It’s at odds.”

Alan shrugs. “Maybe not. What he does is pretty damn twisted. Maybe sadism is the altar he’s praying at after all, and the money motivation is just a smoke screen, a way of hiding the truth from everyone. Even himself.”

“Many of them do develop self-deception to an art form,” Callie says.

Except the ones who have no shame about what they are. Nothing I saw painted Dali in that light. He knows what he is, and he’s not worried about the next life.

“None of that is going to get us anywhere right now,” I say. “Let’s
focus on what Leo told me. He thought Hollister was the one who tipped Dali off.”

“Sounds like we need to have a little private chat with Hollister,” Alan says.

“Leo also said that we should have a really good computer tech examine whatever server or servers Hollister used at his job. He said we might find something.”

James nods, thoughtful. “Perhaps Dali made a mistake. It’s almost impossible not to leave any footprints in the digital age. Maybe he knew that and knew his only option was to hide it really, really well, by enlisting the aid of those who could.”

“I don’t follow.”

He waves me off. “Supposition. Let Callie and me get a tech on this. We’ll chase the warrants. You and Alan should go and interview Douglas Hollister.”

“Who died and made you boss?” Alan grouses.

“Am I wrong?”

“No, James,” I say. “It’s the correct division of labor. Let’s get on it.” My cell phone rings. “Barrett,” I answer.

“Who the hell cleared you to get back on the job?” AD Jones.

“That would be me, I guess, sir.”

“Too fucking soon, Smoky.”

“Sir—”

“Get your ass up here.”

I put the phone back into its holster. “I have to see the AD, Alan. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Good luck,” he calls after me.

“Jesus Christ” are AD Jones’s first words when he sees me.

“Just me, sir,” I joke, taking a seat in one of his leather chairs.

He rose as I came through the door. He sits down now. He regards me long enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

“Take a picture, sir. It’ll last longer.”

I get a sour look. “All flippant bullshit aside, Agent, what are you doing back here? I read your debrief, what there was of it. You just
finished four weeks of incarceration and torture, culminating in the partial amputation of your little finger. Not to mention that you’re balder than a billiard ball and pregnant to boot.”

“Thanks a lot for that, sir.” I’m losing my sense of humor about the hair loss.

He rubs his face with both hands. Sighs deeply. When he looks at me again, I see a man trying to get himself under control, to be reasonable. “You’re on mandatory leave, Smoky.”

“That won’t stop me, sir.”

Anger rises in his eyes. He tamps it down. “Why?”

“Because I’m not crazy now, but if I don’t work on getting him, I really will be. That’s the bottom-line answer.”

He tries on a sympathetic face. It doesn’t sit well on him; that’s not how this man is built.

“I understand, Smoky. I really do. But I’m sorry. You’re on paid mandatory leave until you get clearance from a shrink to return to work.”

Rage sweeps over me, leaving me a little bit dazed by both its suddenness and its fury. I do my best to bite it back, but some of its fire and bile leaks into my voice.

“Can’t follow that order, sir.” The words sound like rock grinding against rock.

He points a finger at me and shouts, “You’ll fucking follow orders or I’ll have you escorted off the premises!” So much for sympathy.

“Go fuck yourself,” I shout back, jumping up.

I hear myself speaking from a distance. It’s me, yet it’s not.

Rein this in now, or something’s going to happen here that you can’t take back.

AD Jones hits his feet as well. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him this angry. It strikes me that this reaction is probably based as much on fear for me as anger at my defiance.

“Give me one good reason to keep you on the job!”

I explode inside. It’s all internal. It’s as though I’m in the meadow again, but this time the light is atomic. A mushroom cloud rises, and the winds erase the living.

This rage, I realize, is for Dali, not the man in front of me.

“Because, sir.” My voice shakes. I grip the desk and look into his eyes. “Because he came into our world and he took two of us away and
one of us is never coming back. He has to answer for that. Nothing is going to stop me from going after him.”

I watch him struggle. He wants to destroy something right now, but it’s not me. He slumps back down in his chair. “Fuck it and fuck you. Get out and catch him, then.” He doesn’t look at me. “If you screw up, you’re fired.”

My mouth opens in surprise. I’m angry again, rage thrums. “Fine.”

He doesn’t seem to care.

No other response is forthcoming, so I turn and leave the office. A final glance back catches him looking after me. I’m shocked at the sadness I see in his eyes. It’s as if he’s already mourning my loss.

Why? Does he know something I don’t?

“Rough one?” Alan asks me as I drive. He’d offered to take the wheel, but I need the control and the speed.

“He wanted me to stay at home. Ordered it, actually.”

“And?”

“I refused. He gave in.”

He looks doubtful. “Just like that?”

I grip the steering wheel with my nine good fingers. The injured one throbs. “No. He said if I screw it up, I’m fired. Can you get a couple of Advil from my purse?”

He hands me two pills after a little bit of searching. He offers no wisdom but silence. We watch together as the road disappears beneath us. The sky is what California is always so ready to offer up: hopeful, blue forever, blessed by the sun.

We pull into the prison parking lot. It’s about half full. A handful of people, mostly women, some pulling children along, head either to or from their cars. No one looks very happy.

“Up place,” Alan observes. “Gotta love a prison.”

It’s true. The sky here somehow seems less blue. The sun frowns, shining not quite as bright. “Good place for him.”

“True,” he agrees. “And others like him. Look, when we’re done with this case, I’m out. I’m retiring.”

I swivel my head in shock. “Retiring? Why?”

Alan peers at me with a mix of pity and … what? Disbelief? Yes. “Why? Are you serious?” He indicates his arm in the sling. “It’s happened again, Smoky. I got shot. Leo got part of his brain carved away. You lost half a finger and spent time getting tortured while you’re pregnant, for Christ’s sake!” He shakes his head once, vigorously. “No more. Price is too high. You should think about the same.”

“Quitting? No. Never.”

“Why? What’s so important about this job that you can’t just walk away? You’ve done your part, sure as shit.”

I twist my hands on the wheel and think about my answer. “It used to be because I know that evil exists. You understand? I’m not talking about morality or religion. I’m talking about an understanding. A certainty. There are people out there who exist—who
exist
—to hurt others. I know that. Can’t unknow it. Have to do something about it.”

“I follow that.”

My finger is really starting to throb. I hope the ibuprofen kicks in soon. “Now? Truth? It’s all I know. I’m afraid of being left alone with myself. If I don’t have the job, I’ll have to spend too much time with me. What’ll happen then?”

“You’ll heal, love your husband, love your daughter, raise your baby. Not a bad deal if you ask me.”

If anyone else had been asking me these questions, probing me in this way, I’d be on the attack. Alan is different. He has seen the whole of me and remained my true friend.

“I’m hanging on by a thread here, Alan. I appreciate what you’re saying, and I promise I’ll give it all some thought, but right now it’s going to take everything I have to finish this. Can you back me up?”

“’Til the cows come home. Let’s go fuck this fucker up.”

Hollister is a changed man, and not for the better. If his unraveling began during the interrogation at his home, it’s been completed here.

Bruises decorate the right side of his face. He’s missing four of his upper front teeth and four of the lower. His skin is gray and his eyes are filled with wildness and despair.

“Looking good, Hollister,” I tell him. It is cruel. I can’t help myself. I point at the bruises. “Gifts from a friend?”

Hate replaces the despair. “Fuck you, cow.”

“Got a lover?” I press. “Let me guess, he got rid of those teeth so his cock could slide in easier, right?” Alan’s hand against my arm, warning me.

I wanted to hurt Hollister, and his expression tells me I’ve hit home. “Fuck you!” he screams. Tears roll down his cheeks.

I grin. The cruelty is like a living thing inside me, something demonic and real. “So it’s true! You’re someone’s property.” My grin grows wider. “How’s your asshole, Douglas? Got AIDS yet?”

He launches himself at me, tries to jump across the table. The restraints yank him short, like a dog on a leash. I laugh at him as Alan watches, aghast. Douglas collapses into himself, the rage burning away as fast as it had arrived. It’s replaced by despair.

“Fucker won’t leave me alone,” he mutters, more to himself than to us. “He’s too big, a monster. If I fight him off, he makes it worse.”

My hatred evaporates, as his rage had. I feel tired, drained. “This is you paying for your sins, Douglas,” I tell him. “You killed your own son.”

To my surprise, he nods in agreement. “Yes. You’re right, I think. Heather got what was coming. But Dana? And my boy? No, no, that’s all on me. I got greedy.”

Alan steps into the breach between us, taking advantage of the cessation of hostilities. “Douglas. I want to ask you something. If you answer honestly, it won’t add anything to your sentence, but it might help make up for some of the things you’ve done.”

He takes Hollister’s silence as assent.

“Approximately five weeks ago, the man you call Dali shot me and took Agent Barrett and another agent hostage. The other agent was a computer expert, and he told Agent Barrett that he was convinced Dali had been tipped off by you.”

He tries to hide it even now, but I see the truth in his eyes. It’s a cunning light, a flash of self-satisfaction.

“Piece of shit,” I whisper. I struggle to breathe, and I understand, at this moment, here and now, why they make you surrender your weapons before entering an interrogation room. I have no doubt that, if I had my gun, Douglas would have been dead a millisecond after I saw that light in his eyes.

He grins now. The missing teeth make it hideous. I can see his tongue.

“Did he do that to you? Cut off your hair? What else did he do?”

I recognize his cruelty. Warning bells clang in my head; the similarities between us need to end. But I’m helpless. All I can see is Leo and the choice that I made.

I lean forward, keep my voice calm, and put as much promise in my eyes as I can muster.

“You’re going to die in here, Hollister. Fucked to death or shanked in the shower. You’re going to die. That’s a promise.”

The grin fades slowly. I see uncertainty, followed by fear. I nod.

“That’s right.”

He rips his eyes away from mine with effort. Focuses his gaze on Alan. “All I did was send him an email. I told him that I was pretty sure you were trying to set him up.” He glances at me. “I told him about
her.”

“How’d you send the email?”

“Prison library. Not supposed to have access, but there are some smart people in here. They have ways.”

Alan digests this. I manage to hold my tongue. “That’s good, Douglas,” he says. “But the thing is, you told us you didn’t have a way to contact Dali, remember?”

Douglas remains silent.

“Is there something on the servers you worked on that we need to know about?”

There it is again. The cunning light. Alan sees it too. “Douglas?”

“I need protection. I’ll trade segregation for information.” He fumbles with his hands. He looks humble and frightened. “Please. I’ll tell you what you want. Just get me away from him.”