Double Vision (25 page)

An hour later she had everything she needed: the pages she'd printed and something to wear. The low-key beige pantsuit, cream camisole, beige shoes and matching handbag were classic. Combined with her jewelry, the outfit would look much more expensive than it had been. She also bought a new watch, perfume and makeup.

By the time she unlocked the door on her motel unit, she was exhausted and hungry. With all the shopping she'd done, she hadn't thought to get food. In the end, she settled for a pizza delivered by a franchise that had an outlet in the small shopping center that backed on to the motel. When she had eaten, she hung her new clothes in the bathroom so the creases would smooth out while she showered.

Just before she drifted off to sleep, she set the alarm on her clock. First thing in the morning, she needed to pay a visit to Carlton and Sykes, the Morell family solicitor. Directly after that, she'd head to the bank, then Radcliff's interior designer. She had considered visiting his architect instead, but the likelihood that an architect would let her look at the plans of the senator's house was remote; they would be very conscious of his need for security. The interior designer, with the emphasis on paint schemes and furniture, was a better bet.

She needed to be out of town before ten if she could manage it. Time was tight; Marlow would be looking for her, and so would JT and Bayard. By now, with the bogus flight to L.A. turning up empty, they would have discovered she had taken a second flight to San Jose Municipal and would be searching the San Francisco area.

She stared at the light strip of skin on her wrist where her watch had been. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that cutting that link with JT could mean she would never see him again. After the night they had spent together, the thought was hard to accept, but there hadn't been any other way. JT had his agenda, and she had hers.

When it was all over—if she was still alive—she would have time to rethink. She knew his name, she knew a little about his family, but her only real reference point was the CIA. It wasn't much of a basis for a relationship. She wasn't sure if she could see herself phoning Langley and asking for the number of the agent who had been working her case.

She turned off the bedside lamp, the absence of light soothing. Maybe JT had no idea that she was tired of being observed and judged, while everyone else got on with their lives, uninterrupted. She was just a part of their job. Destroying that last link had been liberating—for the first time in her life she was out on her own—but it hadn't stopped the ache of loneliness. And it hadn't stopped her wanting him back.

She was certain he would find her, eventually, even without the transmitter. If he had broken WitSec's security once, he could break it again. Nothing had been said between them, nothing confirmed, but when it came to men and women, she had an idea that JT was as uncomplicated as he was about his work. The day she had received her driver's license was a case in point.

If he still wanted her, he would have to work for it.

A
t 9:00 a.m. the following morning, Rina strolled into Carlton and Sykes. When she made her request the receptionist gave her a startled look. After a flustered moment, she asked Rina to wait while she checked to see if either of the partners was available. Neither Henry Carlton nor Richard Sykes usually saw clients without an appointment, but in this case…

Seconds later, Rina was shown into Henry Carlton's office. Rina had never seen him, but his voice was recognizable and he knew her well enough. He had been handling her family's affairs for as long as she could remember, and he was likely to be handling them in perpetuity. Cesar's assets and accounts had been frozen, pending the outcome of an investigation into his links with the Chavez cartel. Apart from the more serious criminal charges, the side issues of money laundering and tax evasion were likely to tie up the estate for years.

Within a matter of minutes she had a copy of Esther's death certificate. Instead of catching a cab, she walked a block to the bank, which was situated on California Street.

Bracing herself against the scrutiny of the security cameras, she stepped through the doors into the cool, air-conditioned interior. The reception area was spacious and minimalist in design. Contemporary works of art dotted neutral walls, and large panels of frosted glass screened a number of cubicles where people could be glimpsed working at desks. The effect, apart from the security cameras, which sprouted from the corners of walls and gleamed from behind lush arrangements of potted plants, was soothing and serene.

Hooking the strap of her purse more firmly over her shoulder, Rina continued toward the information desk. A pretty dark-haired woman glanced up and smiled.

Rina made her request. Seconds later, she entered an interview room, took a chair and waited while a bank officer, who had introduced herself as Melinda, collected the relevant file. Seconds later, Melinda took the chair opposite her.

She opened the file, and the pleasant expression on her face slipped. After Cesar's death, the Morell name was high-profile enough that recognition was guaranteed. “The box is owned by Esther Morell.”

“That's right. She was my mother.”

Just saying the words touched an unexpected chord. When the memorial service for Esther had been conducted, she had still been recovering in hospital and had been excluded from the final rites. She had never gotten to say goodbye, or to even talk about Esther, because Cesar had refused to let her mention Esther's name. The reasons behind Cesar's behavior were now clear, but twenty-two years ago they hadn't been. To the ten-year-old child she had been it had felt like Esther hadn't so much died as ceased to exist.

But she
had
existed. No amount of skullduggery on Alex's part, or Cesar burying his head in the sand, could change that. Esther had been her mother, and after years of limbo, it was a relief to publicly state that fact.

She produced the death certificate and the power of attorney. The woman looked a little disconcerted as she read through the documents and made notes on the file. Rina felt shaky herself.

Melinda smiled. “Wait here. I'll get the bank's key, then take you into the vault.”

Minutes later, battling an eerie sense of stepping into a role that had once been played by Esther, Rina was cleared through security and stepped into the vault. Melinda walked along the rows of numbered steel boxes and selected one. She laid the box on a table, which was set to one side of the room, inserted her key and withdrew it. She indicated the security guard standing just outside the door. “When you want to leave, Joe will ring through to me, and I'll take you back to reception.”

With fingers that weren't quite steady, Rina slid the key into the second lock, turned it and opened the box.

A manila envelope lay on top of a sheaf of papers. She glanced in the envelope; her heart thumped hard in her chest. It was filled with cash, neat bundles of one-hundred-dollar bills. There had to be upwards of one hundred thousand dollars. Twenty-two years ago, that had been a great deal of money. Today it was still a substantial amount.

Closing the envelope, she lifted out the stack of papers and skimmed over a few pages. They were copies of bank records, sheets and sheets of transactions, some listed under Alex's name, most for a Michael Vitali. A penned note on one of the sheets made her go cold inside.

Michael Vitali/Miguel Perez.

Los Mendez.

In the weeks after she had been moved out of Winton she had researched the Chavez cartel, obsessively reading anything and everything she could find. One of the most brutal and publicized events had been the massacre at Los Mendez.

Included in the papers were financial reports for a number of companies and a handwritten précis outlining the paper trail Alex and Vitali had used to exert pressure on the Morell Group. With Esther's banking background, she would have known what to look for, and she had obviously found it.

Another much smaller envelope was in the bottom of the box. The envelope contained a cassette, and suddenly the connection to the past was immediate and visceral.

Heavy traffic. Fog everywhere, rolling in, wreathing the traffic lights.

“Lopez is a problem, isn't he?”

Esther's gaze was sharp. “What do you mean?”

“I heard him and Dad talking. Don't look so surprised. Just because it looks like I'm not listening, it doesn't mean I'm not…They thought I was listening to my Walkman…You want to hear?”

Esther braked for an intersection. “Hear what?”

“The tape. I told you, I wasn't listening to music, I was taping.”

Fingers shaking slightly, she slipped the cassette she had been searching for in Winton in with the cash. Like the bank records, the tape was evidence. The conversation she had recorded couldn't help Cesar now, but it would prove that he had been set up and coerced.

Light glittered off something in one corner of the box. Rina picked up what she had at first thought was an earring. Beneath the harsh, white lights of the vault, the pink diamond ring flashed with a soft fire. Her chest swelled. If there was one piece of jewelry she associated with Esther more than any other, it was this ring. Esther had worn it more often than any other piece of jewelry other than her wedding and engagement rings. She had no idea what it was worth, but for Rina its value lay in the message of the ring. Pushed to the edge, Esther hadn't had time for notes or goodbyes. Determined to defeat Alex, attempting to save Cesar, she had done what she could. She had left the ring, a gift from mother to daughter.

Locking the now-empty box, Rina gathered up the papers, the envelope and the ring and exited the vault. A short phone call later by the security guard and Melinda escorted her back to the interview room.

“Would you like an envelope for those things?”

“For the papers, yes.”

Opening a drawer, Melinda produced a large manila envelope. Rina slipped the stack of papers inside, scribbled a note to Marc Bayard and addressed the envelope. Maybe she was overreacting, but she didn't want to hold on to the papers any longer than she had to, in case something went wrong. Esther had literally risked her life to obtain this information. She would mail the documents off to Bayard as soon as she left the bank.

“Would you like an envelope for the ring?”

Rina stared at the pink diamond, her chest knotting. “No. Thank you. I'll wear it.”

 

After posting the envelope, she caught a cab to the prestigious Pacific Heights district and stepped out onto a street that featured an array of designer boutiques. St. Marie Interiors occupied an impressive amount of ground-floor real estate. After negotiating acres of elegant furniture and fabrics, she found a retail assistant, introduced herself as Rina Morell and requested a consultation.

Within seconds, Hebert St. Marie himself was on the floor and directing her into a large, lushly appointed office. Rina sat down on one of the comfortably padded brocaded chairs positioned around a gleaming rosewood coffee table. St. Marie's gaze settled on the pink diamond. The fact that she had to lie didn't sit easily with her, but in the small hours of the morning, she had come to the conclusion that she had no option. She swung into action, her delivery as smooth as she could make it given that her nerves were strung so tight that if she hadn't folded her hands together they would be visibly shaking. She dropped Cesar's name, with a delicate mention of his estate being finalized, capped off by the information that she had just bought a beachfront property near Eureka. “A rather large house, actually.”

St. Marie murmured condolences about her loss, his expression fascinated as his gaze slid back to the ring. He had read the newspapers; he knew the scandal; he could smell the money. “I take it the house needs some work.”

“It's modern.” She named the architectural firm who had designed Radcliff's house. “It needs redecorating. I never did like all that steel and glass.”

St. Marie's assistant entered the room with a tray of coffee. While the coffee was poured and the tiny white cups handed out, she mentioned that she had seen Radcliff's house, leaving out the detail that it had only been in a magazine article. Calmly, she stated that she was very interested in seeing the complete design layout that St. Marie had done.

St. Marie set his cup down, his inner struggle brief. Rina was Cesar's heir. He knew an investigation was in progress, but money was money. If Rina inherited even a fraction of Cesar's assets, she would be one of the richest women in the country. “It's not normally done, but in your case, since you've already seen Senator Radcliff's house…”

He stepped out of the room. Moments later, he came back with a portfolio and began spreading the sheets detailing the design of each room. He didn't pull out the final sheet, which was a blueprint of the plans for the house, but Rina only needed a glimpse to imprint the layout of the rooms and read the address on the bottom of the page.