Buying Time (13 page)

“So what’s the deal?” Dre challenged. “You don’t seem all that excited about gettin’ married. Is it some old guy? You marryin’ dude ’cuz he got bank or something?”

Angela rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not marrying for money. He is older than me, though. A little more than ten years.”

“Ain’t the wedding comin’ up?”

Angela responded with a labored sigh. “Yep. Ten weeks and four days to be exact. My mother just put the invitations in the mail.”

Dre spread his hands. “Well, what’s the deal? Talk to me.”

Angela averted her eyes. “I guess I don’t know the deal myself. I’m not exactly sure Cornell is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.” She fidgeted with the straw in her drink. “And getting to know you has certainly complicated things. But, unfortunately, the train has already left the station.”

Lines of confusion filled Dre’s forehead. “Sounds like you’re about to marry some dude you’re not sure you wanna be with ’cuz you’re too embarrassed to call off the wedding. That’s crazy.”

“I agree,” Angela said.

Dre was dying to lean across the table and kiss her. Instead, he took her right hand in his and squeezed it. When Angela squeezed back, Dre knew. He knew he would eventually have her.

“Well, what you plan to do about it?” he asked.

There was a long pause before Angela responded. “I don’t know,” she said weakly. “I really don’t know.”

W
hat do you mean Claire’s not having the surgery?”

Becker appeared to be as stunned as Erickson had been when Claire sprang the news on him.

“You heard me,” Erickson said, flopping down into an upholstered chair in front of Becker’s desk.

“But why?”

“I think she’s given up,” Erickson said.

“Has she given up on destroying you, too?” Becker asked.

“I doubt it.”

Erickson still could not shake the images on the DVD that Claire had secretly recorded. An activity that had once brought him pleasure, now threatened him with not just embarrassment and financial ruin, but prison time. Simply being in possession of child pornography was a federal offense. He had taken tremendous precautions before downloading the video from the Internet, using an email address, computer and credit card that could not be linked to him. Ensuring the privacy of his study had been the one precaution he had stupidly failed to take.

Becker slowly rocked back and forth in his chair. “What about her sister, Sophia? Maybe she could convince her?”

“I doubt it. Once Claire makes up her mind about something, she can be pretty stubborn.”

Becker tapped his pen on the desk. “This isn’t good.”

Erickson didn’t exactly see it that way. “We don’t really need her to have the surgery, do we?” He still had no idea how Becker planned to carry things out. Did he want Claire to have the surgery because he planned to sneak into her hospital room and inject her with some lethal drug?

“It would just be preferable if her death followed the surgery,” Becker explained. “Like I said, no one would think you had a motive to kill her after trying to save her life.”

Erickson wanted to laugh.
Yeah, I have a motive alright.
He just prayed no one ever found out what it was.

“Well, I can’t convince her. So where do we go from here?”

Becker stood up and started pacing the short distance between the window and his desk.

“Let’s proceed,” he said. “If something were to go wrong, there’s always the evidence that you wanted her to have the surgery. I can testify to that and so can her doctors and that viatical broker. You told him why you wanted the money, right?”

Erickson nodded.

Becker leaned his head from side to side, cracking his neck as he continued to pace. “Actually, I guess it’s really not that big of a problem. Just means a minor change in plans on my end.”

“There’s something else you should know,” Erickson said.

Becker abruptly stopped pacing.

“Unbeknownst to me,” Erickson continued. “Claire made Ashley her sole beneficiary about six months ago.”

“And you’re just telling me this now!” Becker looked incredulous. “Someone could argue that you convinced Claire to sell the policy to get access to half of the insurance money when you really weren’t entitled to any of it. I thought Ashley’s grandparents left her a trust fund. I’m really surprised Claire did that.”

That’s because you have no idea what’s going on in my household.

“Ashley only gets three grand a month from that trust,” Erickson explained. “But it won’t be a problem. I’ll just give her the two-fifty. That will completely erase any financial motive.”

Becker let that alternative settle in for a few seconds. “Good idea. Sophia and Ashley knew you were trying to convince Claire to have the surgery, right?”

“Unfortunately, no. Claire didn’t want to get their hopes up, so she never told them she was even considering it. Anyway, I thought you said your plan was failsafe. Sounds like you’re planning on someone pointing the finger at us.” Erickson intentionally used the plural pronoun
.

“That’s not going to happen, but I always plan for the possibility that something could go wrong. That’s why my clients pay me seven hundred dollars an hour,” he boasted. Becker’s hourly rate was as high as some senior partners. “I never let anything slip through the cracks.”

Erickson smiled. He could not have a wiser co-conspirator. “How does this change our timeline?”
In other words, how fast can you get rid of her?

“I think we can speed things up now. Quite a bit.”

“May I ask how you—”

Becker held up a hand. “I really don’t want you to have any of the details. Just let me protect you, okay? Once this is done, I don’t want to discuss it again. Ever.”

“That’s fine, I just—”

“No, I mean it. When Claire’s gone, she’s gone. I’m not going to share any of the details. Before or after. Ever.”

“I’m fine with that and I don’t need specifics,” Erickson pushed. “But can you give me some idea of how soon you plan to move forward?”

“Soon,” Becker said. “Very soon.”

“Her sister Sophia is usually around the house.”

Becker paused. “That could be a problem, but I’ll come up with something.” He cracked his neck again. “One more thing. Claire hasn’t contacted a lawyer or talked to anyone about filing for divorce, right?”

“No,” Erickson replied. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Have you heard anything more from the White House?”

“Nothing definite. But based on the increasing frequency of the calls I’m getting, I’m definitely still in contention.”

“Of course you are.” Becker snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” He opened a drawer to his left and pulled out a silver, framed photo. He handed it across the desk to Erickson.

The eight-by-ten portrait showed Becker, his wife, son and four daughters, dressed in blue jeans and white shirts, standing on the beach. There was a larger version of the same photograph on the credenza behind Becker’s desk.

“You have a beautiful family,” Erickson said, reciting the response he knew Becker both wanted and needed. “It’s amazing. The twins are the spitting image of Staci.”

Glowing with pride, Becker took a seat on the corner of his desk. “And my boy Garrett is turning out to be quite a handsome kid, if I do say so myself.”

“How’s he surviving with four sisters?”

“
Him?”
Becker chuckled. “How about me?” He folded his arms. “Make sure you keep me aware of your travel plans. Ideally, I’d like this to go down when you’re out of town. Preferably, far away from the scene of the crime.”

W
averly backed into a stall in the underground garage of his office complex and climbed out of his brand new Lexus.

Business was going so well, he’d traded in his ancient BMW. Deidra begged for a new Lexus of her own, but Waverly denied the request. But only because he planned to surprise her with a Mercedes E-Class convertible for her birthday in three months. He couldn’t wait to see Leon’s face when she pulled up in
that
.

Waverly opened the back passenger door and was about to grab his briefcase when he felt the presence of someone or something nearby. He peered across the hood of the car, but saw nothing. He glanced back over his shoulder and his body became immobile.

In an empty stall just a few feet away, Waverly saw a human heap lying on the ground. He took a few steps forward, stopped, then ran over. “Christ, Quincy! What happened to you?”

Quincy tried to answer, but blood not words, spewed from his brother’s bruised lips.

Waverly crouched down and placed two fingers in the crook of his brother’s neck. He felt a strong pulse. Quincy’s left eye was swollen shut and his face was a mass of black, red and purple bruises. Waverly lifted his shirt and was relieved to see no stab wounds or bullet holes. His face had taken the brunt of the beating.

“Quincy, what happened?”

Quincy moaned something indecipherable in response.

Waverly pulled out his BlackBerry to call for an ambulance, then suddenly slipped it back into his pocket. He would take Quincy to a hospital himself. He slid his arm underneath Quincy’s neck and tried to help him up.

Quincy winced in pain.

“You have to help me,” Waverly said. “C’mon, get up.”

It took some effort, but Waverly managed to get Quincy to his feet. They stumbled the few steps to his car and Quincy fell across the backseat, splattering blood all over the immaculate cream interior. Waverly climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

What had Quincy done now?

As they reached the garage exit, Waverly glanced at the attendant sitting in a small glass booth. She was reading a magazine and didn’t even glance his way. He stuck his card key into a slot and waited for the gate to lift. Waverly didn’t know whether to go left or right and tried to compose himself long enough to figure out the direction of the closest hospital.

He looked back at Quincy. “I’m taking you to the hospital, okay?”

“No,” Quincy moaned. “I’m okay. No hospital.”

“You need to see a doctor,” Waverly insisted.

Quincy tried to sit up. “No!” he cried out. “They’re gonna start askin’ a lot of questions that I can’t answer. Take me to your place. Please!”

Waverly was torn. Quincy needed medical attention, but his fear of going to the hospital meant he was probably involved in something illegal. Waverly needed to know what was going on first. At the next light, he cut off a UPS truck and headed down La Cienega toward the freeway.

By the time they pulled into his three-car garage, Quincy was able to exit the car with Waverly’s help, but every step elicited a painful whimper. They were a few footsteps from the door that led from the garage to the kitchen when Waverly realized he had left the garage door up. He pressed a button to the right of the door. This scene was not something he wanted to explain to his new neighbors.

When they finally staggered inside, Deidra covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my God! What happened?”

“I wish I knew.” Waverly deposited his brother into a chair at the kitchen table. “Go get some towels.”

Deidra dashed down the hallway and returned in seconds.

She handed Waverly the towels, but did nothing else to help. “He can’t stay here,” Deidra said.

Waverly ignored her. He wiped the blood from his brother’s face as best he could.

“Wet this for me, will you?” He hurled one of the towels at her.

Deidra did as asked, but the disapproval on her face only deepened.

Waverly examined his brother more closely. He’d taken an ugly beating, but his bruises didn’t appear to be life threatening. Waverly helped him wash up, gave him a change of clothes and put him in one of their three guest bedrooms.

It was almost four hours before Quincy was finally awake, though one eye remained swollen shut.

Waverly gingerly sat down on the side of the bed. “Tell me what happened.”

His brother started to whine. “I told you, man, you need to call that guy. Next time they’re gonna kill me!”

Waverly took in a big gulp of air. “How much do you owe them?”

“Not a dime. I swear. They just want you to call ’em.”

“How much?” Waverly demanded.

Quincy tried to turn away, but even the slightest shift in position seemed to cause him extensive pain.

Waverly raised both the volume and intensity of his voice. “How much, Quincy?”

“I don’t owe anybody anything. They just wanna talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Your business, I guess.”

Waverly pounded the wall above the headboard with his fist. “How would they possibly know about my business?”

He could imagine his brother sitting in some sleazy bar, bragging to some lowlife about his rich brother the insurance investor.

“I’m sorry,” Quincy cried. “I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble. I swear I didn’t.”

“You haven’t gotten me into any trouble. You need to worry about what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Just talk to the dude,” Quincy begged. “Don’t let them kill me. Whatever it is, just tell him you can’t do it. Maybe he’ll accept it from you.”

They both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“He’s gonna call you tonight.” Quincy looked away. “At nine o’clock on your cell.”

Waverly pounded the wall again. “What? Who’s going to call me?”

“I don’t know. I’m just tellin’ you what they said before they messed me up.”

“You gave them my number?”

“I had to!” Quincy started to cry. “You gotta at least talk to him. If you don’t, they said they’re comin’ back to kill me
and
you.”

T
he day after Angela and Dre admitted their feelings for each other, Cornell asked Angela to meet him for lunch. Cornell usually ate lunch in his chambers, so the invitation surprised her. Maybe he sensed that her love for him was slipping away.