Beyond belief (24 page)

“It was his idea to take money from Dr. Nelson?”

“Yeah, but I thought it was a good idea too. My wife wasn't so crazy about it though. She thought maybe we were betraying our daughter.” He cleared his throat. “I don't know, maybe we were. I haven't been able to make sense of anything since Gaby left us.”

“So you blackmailed Dr. Nelson?” Howe asked.

“Blackmailed? Hell, no. I told him that we should be entitled to some kind of settlement. He gave us some research money.”

Joe smiled incredulously. “A hundred and sixty thousand dollars in research money?”

“A hundred and sixty thousand dollars for what he did to my family. He made us promise that we'd never talk about it to anyone. He said that people might accuse me and my wife of neglect. I didn't believe that, but it scared Crystal pretty bad. I think she's still feeling guilty.”

“And you aren't?” Joe said.

Rawlings swallowed hard and looked away. “Are we almost through here?”

“What about this man who came and told you about Dr. Yashin?” Howe said. “What did he look like?”

“He was a red-haired fella.”

Joe and Howe shared a quick glance. “What kind of car did he drive?” Joe asked.

“He didn't drive a car. He rode a motorcycle.”

N
atalie Simone rolled over in bed and looked at the clock: 3:37
P.M.
Shit. She'd meant to get up earlier and go to an ammo bazaar at the Alabama border, but she'd been partying with friends until six that morning. Gotta keep that from happening too often, she told herself. If she couldn't continue to supply the best guns and ammo, a lot of other people in town would.

She shuffled into her living room. All she needed was caffeine and maybe a little—

She screamed.

Garrett Lyles was sprawled across her sofa.

He chuckled. “A lot of women look like hell when they first wake up. Glad to see you're not one of them.”

She could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Keep it together, she told herself. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Relaxing. I haven't gotten much rest lately.”

“Don't you have someplace else you can do that?”

“Sure. But I wouldn't be able to talk to you afterward. I could have knocked, but you might not have been eager to see me. I could hear you snoring from outside your window, so I decided to come in and kick back for a while.”

She glanced at the door. “How?”

“Don't worry. Your booby trap works fine. I just happen to be extraordinarily good. If I weren't, I'd be lying on the floor with a nine-millimeter shell in my chest.”

“That's what it was designed to do. With the clients I have, I can't take chances.”

“I can relate.”

“I'm sure you didn't come in here just to take a load off.”

“No, I didn't. I need you to put me in touch with Jules Cavasos's organization.”

“Jules Cavasos? Why?”

“It's not necessary for you to know that.”

“He runs the city's biggest drug syndicate. What makes you think I could help you?”

“I'm sure that your business puts you in contact with his people on occasion. That's all I want. Contact. The higher up, the better. I'll handle the rest.”

“Handle what?”

“Again, not necessary for you to know.”

She took a deep breath. Why did this guy unnerve her so much? He was still lying on her couch, his right hand behind his head, tucked underneath the cushion.

She smiled. “Tell me, am I holding artillery now?”

“Doubtful. I don't think you strapped your Berettas under the sleeves of that nightshirt.”

“If I did, and tried to draw on you, I'd be dead in less than a second, wouldn't I?”

He didn't respond.

She nodded. “Because underneath that pillow, I'm sure you're holding that Lanchester I sold you. If you're as good as I hear you are, you could probably shoot me dead right through the pillow.”

“How did we get off on such an unpleasant tangent?”

“Okay, maybe I can get you close to one of Cava-sos's boys. What's in it for me?”

“Two thousand.”

“Five.”

“Time is of the essence. This needs to happen today.”

“Today? Are you crazy?”

He pulled the Lanchester out from under the pillow and put it on the coffee table. “If I had time to waste, I wouldn't need your help, Natalie. Get busy.”

Joe and Howe returned to the station to find Fisher and three of his FBI colleagues heading toward the fourth floor.

“Bailey, it looks like you were right,” Fisher said. “Your fellow officers got an ID off one of the news tapes. They think the guy who shot the sniper was on the press line in front of Jesse Randall's house.”

“They
think?”
Howe said.

“We're on our way to meet Detectives Powell and Reinertson at your A/V center. There's a witness from the church on her way. Care to join us?”

They went to the fourth floor audiovisual room, a
facility that was destined to grow in size and importance as more uniformed officers were miked and patrol cars were outfitted with video cameras. When Joe sprained an ankle the year before, he had spent a tedious two weeks in the center, logging tapes of routine traffic stops. He'd had more fun during his last root canal.

Powell, Reinertson, and a middle-aged woman were already hunched over a monitor. Powell introduced her. “Gentlemen, this is Leonora Madison. She's a member of the church choir.”

“First soprano,” she said proudly.

Powell gestured toward the monitor. “We spotted a man on the press line who matches the description of the guy who stormed through the church. We were just about to show Mrs. Madison the tape and see what she thinks.”

“Anytime you're ready,” Leonora said. “I got grandchildren coming to my house in an hour.”

Powell brought up the footage of the press line.

“My God, that's him,” Leonora gasped.

“Who?” Joe asked.

She pointed to a tall man with long hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a droopy mustache. “He wasn't wearing the glasses, but I'm positive that's him.”

Powell turned to Joe and Fisher. “Exactly who we thought. He matches the description given to us by several witnesses.”

“He was watching Jesse,” Joe said. “You should talk to Alan Whatley. He's the bully who got roughed up last week. He might be able to tell us if this is the same guy.”

“His mother is bringing him after school.”

“Good,” Joe said. “I'll talk to the journalists working
the press line and see if anybody knows anything about him. I'm heading over to the Randall home anyway.”

“Why?” Howe asked.

“To find out if Ms. Randall knows anything about our red-haired friend.”

“Were you giving interviews out there?” Latisha Randall asked after she opened her front door for Joe to enter. Her face was drawn and tired, and she looked as if she'd aged ten years since he last saw her. “Why were you talking to those reporters?”

He stepped inside the house. There were several large flower arrangements around the room, probably from friends and well-wishers. The flowers made him uncomfortable; they seemed too much like funeral bouquets. He hoped they didn't give Latisha the same feeling.

“We think one of the men at the church was posing as a reporter,” Joe said. “I was asking the people on the line if they knew anything about him.”

“He was one of the kidnappers?”

“We don't think so. He may have been trying to protect your son. It's possible he's the same man who roughed up the boy who was picking on Jesse.” Joe showed her a printout from the news videotape. “Look familiar?”

She studied it. “Afraid not.”

He showed her the picture of the red-haired man. “How about this one?”

She squinted at the photo. “I've seen him. He was at some of Jesse's tests.”

“Did you ever talk to him?”

“No. I had no idea who he was. There were a lot of people hovering around those sessions.”

The doorbell rang. Latisha opened the door, and Stewart Dunning walked into the house.

“What's he doing here?” Joe asked.

Dunning smiled. “I could ask the same question about you, Detective.”

“I saw you outside,” Latisha said. “Mr. Dunning told me to call him if the police ever showed up here, so I did.”

The attorney crossed his arms. “I instructed her not to let you in until I got here. She's too accommodating for her own good.”

“Maybe she recognizes that I'm trying to help her son.”

“So am I, Mr. Bailey.”

Joe turned to Latisha. “All the videotaped test sessions I've seen were recorded several weeks after Jesse began to demonstrate his abilities. Do you have any home videos of your own, recorded earlier?”

“No. We don't have a camcorder.”

“Why do you ask?” Dunning spoke sharply.

“By the time those sessions were conducted, he'd had time to refine his technique. If I could see earlier tapes of him, recorded right after he started doing this stuff, it might be helpful to me.”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry, I can't help you.”

“Just thought I'd check. How have you been doing?”

“How do you
think
she's doing?” Dunning snapped. “I think that will be all, Detective.”

“Don't be rude,” Latisha said in the same tone she
used to scold her son. “I didn't call you to come over and insult him.”

Dunning's tight-lipped smile oozed condescension. “It's best that we limit our contact with Detective Bailey. Every minute a police officer is talking to you, that's one minute he could be out there trying to find Jesse.”

“I assure you, there are many, many people out there looking for your son,” Joe said.

“It's just that I'm so worried.”

“Of course you are.”

“I'm worried for another reason. Jesse has a respiratory condition, and he uses an inhaler twice a day. It helps him breathe.”

“Did he have it with him?”

“No, it was in my purse.”

Dunning soothingly patted her arm. “I'm sure he'll be fine.”

“Did you tell any of the other officers about this?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“One of the first officers I saw after I woke up. He was in a uniform.”

Joe pulled out his notebook. “He may not have passed it on to anybody. Is it a prescription?”

“Yes. It's called a Pulmicort Turbuhaler. It's corti-costeroid powder.”

“Can I have his doctor's name?”

“Why?” Dunning interjected.

“The investigating officers may wish to contact him. It'll give them a better idea what Jesse's up against.”

“Dr. Andrew Hearn,” she said. “His offices are in Midtown.”

Joe jotted down the name. “Is there anything else?”

“Like what?” Dunning said. “Be specific.”

Joe had had enough. “Anything that might help us find her son. Anything that might help me figure out how he does what he does. Anything that might help her get rid of the bloodsuckers on the sidewalk, and in here, Mr. Dunning, before she goes insane. Is that specific enough for you?”

Dunning stared at him for a moment. “May I speak to you outside, Detective?”

“Now?”

“Yes. I suggest the backyard rather than the front, unless you want to hear our conversation on the evening news.”

“This is my boy we're talking about,” Latisha said. “If you have anything to say to each other, you can say it right here.”

“I'm sorry,” Dunning said. “I need to talk to him outside. We'll be right back.”

“Don't bother,” she snapped. “You can let yourself out the back gate.” She turned on her heel and walked down the hallway.

“Ms. Randall …” Joe said.

She was gone.

Dunning and Joe stepped outside and walked along the flower garden that framed the backyard. “Emotional times,” Dunning said. “It's taking its toll on everyone.”

“You seem to be holding up all right.”

“I know you think I'm some kind of bloodsucker,
but I really do want what's best for Jesse. I know what it's like to grow up without money. I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been refusing all interview requests and keeping a low profile. This isn't a PR gambit for me.”

“Maybe I misjudged you.”

“You don't really think that, do you?”

“What do you want to talk to me about, Dunning?”

“I'd like this to be off the record.”

“In my business there's no such thing. What do you want?”

Dunning gazed at a bed of zinnias. “Do you have one solitary scrap of proof that Jesse Randall is not what he appears to be?”

“My investigation is ongoing.”

“I'll take that as a no.”

“Take it any way you like.”

“Detective, I've never believed in this stuff. Not at all.”

“That puts you in the minority. Most people have at least some belief in the paranormal.”

“I've read the accounts of his test sessions, but most of his tricks—the metal bending, the sealed-box card readings, reproducing drawings that others have made—are easily duplicated by magicians. But now …I'm sure he's still alive.”

“I hope so.”

“You don't understand. I'm
sure.”

Dunning was trembling.

“How are you sure?”

His lower lip quivered. “In my house, during the last couple of days, there've been … occurrences. Objects moving by themselves. Strange noises. It
began the night Jesse and I first met. I could tell he didn't care for me.”