Fixed in Fear (29 page)

“I heard you and Larry talking,” Bilbo told Mort. “Remember? Larry called you in from the porch. Said he needed your help making sense of something. It dawns on me maybe Larry found something about the kidnapping. I just figured Carlton had gotten rid of that stuff long ago. I mean, why keep it around, you know? So I figure I better lend an ear to what you two are gabbing about. And I hear you talking about confession. Confession this. Confession that.”

Mort recalled the grid Carlton had constructed. All the world's religions had one thing in common for forgiveness: A person needed to confess their sins.

“Then I hear you two yakking about Carlton's calendar. About how he had this lunch date with his brother all lined up. I put two and two together, man. Like real fast. Like I'm some kind of fucking computer. It dawns on me Carlton went over to confess his
sin
to his brother. Then Carlton ends up dead. And if he confessed
his
sin, did he tell Big Bro that I was in on it, too? No way I was gonna sit around and wait for someone to come stab my eyes out, man. No way in hell.”

Abraham pushed himself into a standing position. Mort was impressed with how imposing the seventy-five-year-old was.

“This is ludicrous,” Abraham thundered. “I'll not stand here and listen to some drug-addled lowlife insinuate I was implicated in any way in a murder.” He stabbed a finger at Larry. “And if you had anything to do with this, I'll
ruin
you. I don't care how many prizes you have lined up on your vanity shelf
. I'll destroy you.
Do you understand me?”

“Sit down, Abraham.” Mort used his official tone.

“I'll not sit. I'll not stay one moment longer and listen to this incredible fantasy.” He turned to leave. Rita stepped forward.

“Sit now,” she said, blocking his progress.

Abraham looked at the officers across the room. He threw a disgusted glare toward Mort and sat down.

“I suppose I should call my attorney about now. I'd like to have this entire charade witnessed by someone who's known me for years.” Abraham reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Wouldn't you rather hear the rest of the story? It might help you think of a decent explanation for your lawyer if you knew what we're thinking,” Mort suggested.

Abraham hesitated. He studied Mort's solemn face. He set his phone on the table in front of him. “I'm listening. Just what is it you all have concocted?”

Mort knew a perp could never resist hearing what the police had on them. They were always so convinced there was still a chance to outsmart the people who had just nabbed them. Mort found it odd that it didn't occur to them they had, indeed, been nabbed.

“Let's start with speculation first,” Mort said.

“As this entire fiasco is.” Abraham had resumed his imperial posture and tone.

“We think old Bilbo's right about his math. Carlton did meet with you. Your groundskeeper Frank Shelby confirmed that with us this morning. Even remembered what Alice served you for lunch. Man sure is proud of his wife's cooking. Carlton did confess his role in Helen's kidnapping to you. Even brought along Helen's brooch for proof. But my hunch is you didn't need much convincing. You never cared for your brother, did you, Abraham? It was easy for you to accept his role in this horrible tragedy. Maybe he offered the brooch to you as a peace token. Maybe you demanded it. That doesn't matter. What matters is what you did next.”

“And what do you imagine I did, Detective?” Abraham held his pose of disgust.

“You took your revenge for your only daughter's death,” Rita said. “You arranged to have your brother killed. You're down at your docks every day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. There's no end of day laborers willing to dance with the devil if the money's right. You found an ex-con. Got him to find someone who'd do the killings. Arranged a scenario that would lend confusion as to who the real target of the killings was. Then all you had to do was sit tight until you got verification Carlton was dead.”

Abraham waited politely while Rita laid out their case. “Are you so desperate to mark Carlton's murder as solved that you'd implicate me on pure speculation?”

“We're not,” Mort replied. “We've got Costigan and Apuzzo. They filled in the details about how initial contact and planning was done.”

Abraham moved his lips. More smirk than smile. “And they told you
I
was the one who contacted them?”

Mort shook his head. “You knew better than to get your own hands dirty. But Apuzzo described the guy who contacted him. Man has an artist's eye for detail. Guy's tats made him easy enough to find. We picked him up an hour ago. Wayne Dossel. Name ring a bell? Dockmaster says the guy's done a lot of work on your boats recently.”

Abraham's jaw was churning. “I can't possibly know the name of everyone who works for me, Detective. Are you saying this Dossel character has involved me?”

“Oh, no,” Mort said. “You picked a good one. Tough guy's not saying a word. But like I said, it's only been a couple of hours. Dossel will get himself a public defender who will convince him his best bet is to tell us everything he knows.”

Abraham tapped his right hand on the table as he stared at Mort. “So in the end what you have is a coven of ne'er-do-wells concocting stories. From Runyan here offering his stoned-out mathematical equations to ex-cons desperate to make a deal to save their necks. Do you really think anyone's going to believe you?”

Mort shrugged. “We like our chances. Remember when Chief Willers here said all you had to do was wait for verification your brother was dead?”

“I do wish you'd stop calling him that,” Abraham snapped. “Carlton was my half brother.”

Mort ignored him. “Apuzzo said all arrangements for the hit were made by phone. In fact, Carlton was to have read a special message sent on that phone just before he was killed. You wanted him to know exactly who was responsible for his pending murder. But then Apuzzo said he was supposed to do one last thing before tossing that phone in the fire. He was to snap a photo of Carlton's body and send it to the man who'd arranged all that death. Sure would make things easy if we could find whatever phone was on the receiving end.”

Abraham said nothing.

Mort reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. He slipped them on before taking a phone out of the evidence box in front of him. “Turns out Apuzzo's a little smarter than he looks.” Mort pressed
1
on the keypad.

Abraham still said nothing as his phone, sitting on the table in front of him, started to vibrate.

Hayden hated shopping. She knew Mommy and Hadley liked it, but she would much rather have spent that Saturday afternoon jumping on the trampoline Daddy put up in the backyard last month. She could invite her best friend Willie over and the two of them could flip and bounce until their legs wobbled from the inside out. Or maybe she could go down to Papa's houseboat and fish off his back deck. Anything but go from store to store watching Hadley match up blouses to skirts. But Mommy said they were “growing like weeds” and needed new clothes. Hayden didn't know much about how weeds grew, but it didn't sound so bad. Nobody yelled at a weed for having their feet in the dirt.

And weeds never had to pass the time while Hadley tried on every hair band and barrette in that little store across from the pretzel stand.

Hadley didn't have any problem filling the shopping cart. Hayden sat with her mother on a little blue couch outside the dressing room while her twin played fashion show, walking out to them like the ladies on television do. Turning and posing. Making her mouth pout and sticking out her hip until Mommy laughed. Then Hadley would announce whether she liked the outfit or not. Sometimes the two of them would argue about getting one thing over the other. Hayden knew her mother would always win. But that never stopped Hadley from trying. Mommy said Hadley liked to “push the line.” Hayden never saw any line anywhere, but she had a pretty good idea of what her mother meant.

“Are you going to try on anything, my sweet?” Hayden's mother asked. “Or do I just buy two of everything your sister has in the cart? That would make it easier for you, no?”

If there was one thing Hayden hated more than shopping, it was dressing like her sister. It was hard enough for people to tell the twins apart. Hayden wasn't about to make anybody more confused by wearing the same stuff Hadley did. She dragged herself off the couch and followed the cart her mother pushed back toward the racks of clothes while Hadley scooted from one display to the next, always holding up another sweater or necklace or whatever and asking Mommy if she could have it.

“It's Hayden's turn now,” her mother said. “You have enough, Hadley. Let's see if Hayden can make a fashion show for us.”

Fat chance of that,
Hayden thought. She liked the clothes she had. Why can't there be a store where you just took the old stuff that didn't fit anymore and tell the man behind the counter to swap it all for the same stuff the next size up? She remembered Daddy told her once life doesn't always work out the way we want it to. This must be one of those times.
But a store like that would be so cool.

Hayden tried to get interested in the pants her mother showed her, but she was never any good at faking things. She did like one T-shirt. It was blue and said
RUN LIKE A GIRL
on the front in neon green letters. Hayden stood with her back to her mother and let her measure it across her shoulders. Mommy announced it was a fit and tossed it into the basket. Hayden was about to ask how many things she was expected to get when she saw Hadley duck behind a circle rack of raincoats.

“What about a dress or two, Hayden?” Mommy asked. “It might be nice to see you in something other than the blue jeans.”

Hayden couldn't see Hadley anymore. The rule was everybody was supposed to stay together. Daddy made a big fat deal out of the twins understanding that when they'd left the house after lunch.

No fair,
Hayden thought.
I stood right there while you and Mommy picked out all your stuff. You gotta stay here. No way I'm gonna take as long as you did. Least you could do was act like you like my stuff.

“What about this one?” Mommy held up a dark blue dress. It looked like a long T-shirt that just kept going down to her knees. Something like that might not be so bad.

“Maybe,” Hayden said. She kept her eyes on that rack where she last saw Hadley. “What other colors they got?”

Hayden waited for her mother to return her attention to the dresses, then scooted over to bring back her sister. She didn't see Hadley when she rounded the far side of the circle rack, but she heard her. Hadley was giggling and whispering. Hayden looked down and saw a pair of brown leather shoes poking out from underneath the rack of raincoats.

She's pushing that line again.

Hayden shoved a handful of garments aside to expose her twin, huddled inside a cocoon of pink and blue shiny slickers. Any words of warning froze in her throat when she saw what Hadley was doing.

She was talking on that phone. The one she wasn't supposed to have.

Hayden looked over the rack. Her mother had several things slung over her arm. Hayden knew she was going to have to try on each and every one of them. But she couldn't be worried about that now. Hadley was going to be in for it if Mommy caught her talking on that phone.

“What are you doing?” Hayden hissed out a whisper while keeping one eye on her mother.

“I'm taking a bubble bath.” Hadley didn't seem worried at all. “What's it look like I'm doing?”

“Mommy will ground you good if you don't get out of there right now.” Hayden saw her mother turn around. Hayden waved to her and whispered to her twin through a frozen smile. “She's gonna come this way. Hang up.”

“Go try on some clothes,” Hadley said. “I'll be right there.” Hadley giggled again into the phone.

Mommy was turning the shopping cart around. She'd be there before anybody could count to ten. If she saw Hadley with that phone, there'd be hot water for both of them. Hayden hated when her parents were disappointed. It didn't matter if it was with Hadley or her. Hayden didn't like the way the air felt when Mommy or Daddy had something to say about the way things were going.

And things weren't going well with Hadley right now.

Hayden looked down at her twin, nestled in the cave of rainwear, whispering to the beautiful aunt she knew they'd been told to stay away from. She looked up.

Mommy was getting closer.

Hayden shot her sister a fierce warning look. Hadley held up one finger, like she was promising to hang up real soon, then waved her away. Hayden shook her head, pulled the curtain of raincoats closed on her twin, and ran toward her mother.

“Whatcha got, Mommy?” Hayden hopped on the wheel base of the cart, peeking inside at the mound of clothes her mother had placed there. “Hey! Let's go try these on.”

Her mother smiled that way Hayden liked—the way that told her she'd made her mother happy.

“Another fashion show!” Mommy turned the cart toward the dressing room. “Come, Hadley. Let us see your sister walk the runway.”

Hayden grinned up at her mother, hoping she wouldn't notice Hadley wasn't following along behind them. She glanced back to the circle rack and sent a mental warning.

Get your butt over here, Hadley. I'm not going through this clothes business for nothing.

“Are you disappointed?” Lydia sipped her merlot and watched the Seattle skyline twinkle from the back deck of Mort's houseboat. “Angry? Maybe even a little relieved?”

Mort took a long drink from his bottle of Guinness and a long time before answering. “I don't know what I am anymore, Liddy. Weary to the bone with it all, that's for certain. But there really isn't anything I can do about it, is there? That's a hell of a feeling for a father.” He shook his head and took another drink. “A hell of a feeling.”

He'd called her after his visit to the Larchmont. Allie wasn't there, of course. Mort tried to get some information from the management team onsite, but Mort said they'd held to their corporate code of respecting the privacy of their guests. He couldn't use his police status, he'd said. No one had been murdered.

They haven't found Staz's body yet,
Lydia thought.
But it shouldn't be long now.

So Mort had called Lydia, asking her to use her system to see what she could learn. She waited fifteen minutes to call him back with information she already had. Allie had called for a car at eight thirty that Saturday morning. She knew by then Staz was never coming back. Allie's plan to ship Lydia off to some high-ranking Arab operative was foiled. There would be no chance of reuniting with her family. Not even the opportunity for a surprise retaliation against Lydia. Allie would have no other option than to go away and regroup.

Lydia would hear from Mort's daughter again. Of that she was certain. And Lydia would be ready for her.

She didn't let Mort know about Staz's assault the night before. There was no need. She'd handled things. Allie was gone. Mort and his family were safe. Lydia heard the weariness in Mort's voice when he called, and she offered to drive up. He promised to try to be good company. When she arrived he asked her about the bruise on the side of her head. Lydia was relieved Mort was tired enough to buy her story about stumbling while filling her bird feeders and hitting her head on the cedar deck in her backyard.

“On the brighter side of your day, you cracked a murder case.” Lydia raised her glass in salute. “Though I doubt Larry's feeling much like celebrating.”

Mort shook his head. “Abraham's no fool. He said nothing other than demanding the opportunity to call his lawyer. But he knows we've got him. You should have seen him when we confiscated his phone. You know he still had that picture of his half brother's corpse on it?”

“People hold on to grudges. Carlton had set in motion the plan that ended in his daughter's murder. That would be a tough thing for any father to overlook.”

“Let's not forget Helen's role in that scheme,” Mort said. “Her father may be able to peg her as the innocent victim, but Larry sees what happened with clear vision. He's going to have some work reconciling what he thought about his wife's murder for all these years and what really went down.” He turned to Lydia with a weary smile. “He could use someone like you.”

Lydia shook her head. “He could use someone like
you.
A friend is what he needs right now.”

Mort's jaw tightened. “It would have been nice for Abraham to have reached out to Larry before he was led away. I know that sounds odd, but Carlton, Abraham, and Larry were bound together by the pain of losing Helen. Larry could have used a kind word from his former father-in-law—hell, maybe even an explanation—after it all was exposed this afternoon.”

Lydia understood. “Like I said, people hold on to grudges. And it always eats them up in the end.”

Mort's phone rang, intruding on their quiet reflection on the peculiarities of human interaction. He reached for it.

“It's Robbie. You mind?”

Lydia waved his concern away and settled back against the deck chair, content to watch the competition between the skyline and the stars.

“Hey, son,” Mort said in way of greeting. “What's up?”

Two seconds later Mort bolted forward in his chair. “When?” he barked. “What happened? Who's there?”

Lydia focused her attention on Mort's face as he leaned into his phone, trying to read what was being said on the other end of the conversation.

Whatever it was had Mort scared. And that was a state she'd never seen him in.

“Let me call it in,” Mort said. “I know some direct numbers. I'm on my way. I want you to get Hayden and Claire and sit with them at the dining room table. You hear me? The three of you sit there. Together. Someone will be there in less than five minutes. Five minutes after that it'll be me walking in your front door.” Mort's voice cracked. “I love you, son. I love you all. I'm on my way.”

He closed the phone and stood, pulling Lydia up with him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at her, his eyes filled with fear.

“Tell me in one fluid statement,” Lydia said.

“Allie's taken Hadley.” Mort's face was drained of all color.

Lydia didn't know how to categorize the emotion she saw in Mort's eyes. But whatever it was, it was primal—more instinct than measured. “What do you need? Tell me and it's done.”

Mort didn't hesitate. “Find them, Liddy. Find them and bring them home.”