Hidden Legacy (26 page)

A man used to attracting attention; not one used to fading into a crowd.

He greeted Lucas with polished and practiced enthusiasm. Probably as automatic as breathing, Lucas thought, shaking the man’s extended hand.

“I’m running late,” Putnam said, sitting down once more at his desk—a massive affair with a granite top. “I’m due in Manchester in half an hour for a dinner in my honor. I can only grant you a few minutes.”

“A few minutes is all this should take.” Covering his ass—just in case. As if to prove his point, the governor’s earnestness dimmed several degrees after Lucas introduced himself. No need to pretend now.

“Where were you last Friday night?” The night the Blackwell Opal disappeared.

The governor stilled. “In Hanover, at the dedication of a new hospital wing. What’s this about?”

“Your fingerprints matched those taken yesterday from a man charged with attempted burglary.” Another time, another place, but Lucas was sure both had been committed by the same man. He repositioned his watch to the inside of his wrist so he could keep an easy eye on time.

An indignant frown creased the governor’s forehead. “Are you accusing me of theft?”

“I’m trying to find out why your prints matched those of a Mr. Bert Link arrested in Massachusetts yesterday.”

The mention of the name made Putnam’s eyes widen, but he quickly recovered.

“Do you know him?” Lucas asked.

“I’ve never heard the name,” Putnam said much too fast. He averted his gaze, returning his attention to a pile of papers. Taking out a pen, he busily sorted through them, scribbling his signature.

“Then why do his prints match yours?”

“I have no idea. Isn’t it your job to find out?” Putnam challenged in a regal voice. “I’m a public official, Agent Vassilovich. I don’t have time to hide in bushes or burglarize homes. I have much more important ways to spend my time.”

Lucas made a non-committal sound. What was the connection? There had to be a connection. There had to be a reason Willy was sending him here. He scanned the framed photographs displayed on one dark-paneled wall. All featured the governor, in various stages of his career, shaking hands with important and influential people. In the middle of it all, stood a family picture—the governor, his lovely wife Barbara, and their two teenaged daughters. He frowned.

“When was the last time you saw your son?” he asked, not liking the sudden punch to his gut.

“My son?”

“Yes, your son. By your first wife.” The son who seemed to have completely disappeared from the picture. A sick feeling twisted Lucas’s gut. “Will. Isn’t that what he’s called?”

“Three months ago.” Putnam engrossed himself with the pile of papers his desk of his desk.

“What was the occasion?”

“Does it really matter?”

“It matters a great deal.”
Especially when he supposedly works on your staff
.

Putnam ran through several more documents before he answered coolly. “He wanted an advance on his trust fund disbursement due at the end of April.”

“Did you give it to him?”

He shuffled papers with a dexterity a Vegas blackjack dealer would envy. “Yes, why not?”

“Did you ask him why he needed an advance?”

“He’s an adult, able to make his own decision.”

Crisp. Cold. Was that how he dealt with his son, too? Give him what he wants, get him out of sight? How much of a liability was an unassuming son like Willy to a man’s public office career?

“Weren’t you even a little bit curious?”

Putnam picked out a file, flicked it open, and gave it rapt attention. “Will’s handled his own affairs for a long time.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I don’t ask. He doesn’t tell.”

Sounds like a great basis for a relationship
. Did Putnam know more about his son’s activities than he was letting on? Or had he made sure to distance himself from them? How often had he bailed him out of trouble? Something to look into. “You don’t keep in touch with your son?”

An exasperated look crossed Putnam’s face. He sighed and put down the file he’d been studying. “It’s his preference. He’s a grown man.”

Lucas shrugged. “I’m a grown man. I still call my mother once a week.”

Putnam ripped his navy tie from his shirt collar, riffled through a drawer in the credenza behind his desk, and brought out a red one, which he knotted in place. “Things with Will have been, er, difficult since I remarried.”

“How?”

“He and Barbara don’t get along.” The flurry of activity started once more. Putnam snapped his briefcase open, took out files, added new ones. “Conflict of personality. She tried to work it out, but he refused, and chose to leave.”

“At eighteen?”

The governor appeared surprised by Lucas’s knowledge. “After a while it seemed the best solution for all. Barbara and I have two daughters to take into consideration.”

Two beautiful, socially-conscious, active daughters to make a governor proud. In what way did he feel he had to protect them from Will?

“What do you do if you need to get hold of him?”

Putnam clicked one brass tab of his briefcase, then the other, whirled the small combination lock in the middle. “He keeps a P.O. box in Nashua.”

“That’s a little slow for an emergency, isn’t it?”

“There have been no emergencies.” Putnam scratched the box address on a card and surrendered it to Lucas. “Look, Agent Vassilovich. I’d really like to stay and chat some more, but I’ve got a dinner commitment that can’t wait. It’s an election year, you know.”

“Every year’s an election year,” Lucas said wryly, noting the time creeping on seven. It took an hour to drive from Concord to Aubery. Which meant meeting his own appointment would be a tight squeeze. He’d wanted to get to the library ahead of time—to stake it out, as Juliana had put it earlier.

“Yes, but this is one of mine, and I’ve got strong opposition in John Murton.”

Had career always come before his son’s welfare? Had this attitude created a vacuum big enough for Willy to want to fill with something? Something solid and valuable. Something like precious jewels? “Shaking up the establishment?”

The governor’s blue eyes turned ice cold, narrowed to slits. He rose and reached for his London Fog on the coat rack in the corner. “Spreading lies. I’ve got damage control to deal with.”

“You’ll have more once your son is exposed as a serial thief, hunted by the FBI in at least five states,” Lucas said, as if he were imparting a piece of strategic information. “Is that the kind of exposure you want?”

“Then we must make sure that doesn’t happen.” Putnam sat behind his desk, pulled out a ledger from the middle drawer. “How much?”

“Bribing a federal agent?” Lucas tisked. “Governor Putnam, that doesn’t look good at all.”

The governor’s irritation showed in the way he flashed his pen. He ripped the check and handed it to Lucas over the desk. “Take it.”

He made no effort to reach for the check. The paper dangled in mid-air between them. “The truth is the only price that can buy me, Governor.”

“The truth is that Will is a troubled man, but he’s also innocuous.”

“I wouldn’t call stealing other people’s property innocuous. How about kidnapping a child? Can you honestly label that as innocuous?”

Putnam sighed heavily. “I don’t need this trouble right now.”

“Whether you want it or not, it’s here, and you’ll have to deal with it.”

Putnam crumpled the check in his hand. “There are ways to handle this without bringing any attention—”

“I’m not trying to ruin your career, Governor. I’m trying to stop a man before he goes completely out of control.”

“I’ll be on the phone to your superior.” Putnam made good on his threat by reaching for the phone book.

“Want the number?” Time to leave. There would be no reasoning with the man now. Lucas headed for the door. “Your son needs to be stopped. You could help him, and turn this into a media coup.”

The governor ignored both his offer and his caution and dialed the FBI’s Concord resident agency number. “This is Governor Putnam,” he said, searing Lucas with a look of pure hatred. “I’ve got an Agent Vassilovich in my office. He’s making threats against my family. Patch me through to whoever’s in charge.”

“I will stop him,” Lucas promised.

“And I will stop
you
,” he said, putting one hand over the phone’s speaker. “I will not let you ruin my career. I’ve worked too hard.”

Lucas left the office, closing the door behind him. Concord would be on the phone with Boston in no time at all. But he had more pressing things to worry about. Glancing at his watch, he rushed outside, and spotted his Jeep parked at a meter.

“So?” Juliana asked eagerly as he started the engine.

He didn’t like the pallor of her skin, the worry she tried to hide, but understood her need to put an intangible thing into a tangible form. If the Phantom had a name, a face, she could confront and deal with the fears he’d sowed. She needed solid things in her life. The thought heightened the feeling of time running out.

“So, I don’t know how he did it, but Willy seems to have borrowed daddy’s prints.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense, Lucas.”

“Maybe not, but I’m pretty sure the Phantom is the governor’s son.” Checking his mirror, he entered the flow of traffic. He would give her the Phantom. Give her at least that much peace of mind. And then? What? “The father is a cold son of a bitch. Add the storybook stepmother and step-sisters. You have the perfect elements for a fairy tale gone wrong.”

“But why would he frame his own father? And just how could he borrow his father’s print.”

“It’s easy enough to lift prints. They saw each other recently. And he framed his own father as a clue of some sort. It’s part of his game. He wants me to know exactly who he is.”

“But then you’ll catch him.”

He flicked on the radio. Now was not the time to think—it was the time to act. “See if you can find us a station with a traffic report.”

“Are you afraid Cindy will leave?”

He was afraid this case had gone straight down the sewer. Willy had played one hell of a hand. “Let’s hope not.”

* * *

Juliana had always thought of the library as cheerful. Even in the winter when she and Briana often visited during evening hours, the bright lights in the parking lot and at the doors gave the place a feeling of warmth and invitation.

Not tonight.

The library had closed at five. Fog swirled about, blurring edges and corners, giving life to every tiny, inconclusive shadow, making the air heavy, hard to breathe. Cars traveling along Main Street sounded as if irritated grouches powered their engines. She tasted the moisture in the fog, smelled the damp grass beneath her feet with sharp awareness. No cheery lights emanated from the library windows. Only a veiled darkness that had her skin itching as if a colony of tiny fleas had suddenly taken up residence on her arms. She scratched at them through her sweater.

“Do you think she left?” Juliana asked, staying close to Lucas as he rounded the back of the library. “We’re only a few minutes late.”

He stopped suddenly, holding her back with one arm, every inch of his body alert. She looked past him, but saw nothing out of place. Black on shades of gray. A pool of light from a security fixture near the door, dimmed by the fog, swirled like dry ice.

“I want you to go back to the car and wait,” Lucas said. “If I’m not out in five minutes, call for help.”

She shook her head. “I’m going with you.”

“I’ll signal an all clear.”

“You will not. You’ll just leave me out there like you’ve done all day.”

He gripped both her arms and backed her against the brick wall. Her sweater stuck to the masonry, trapping her. His voice rumbled, low and menacing. “Stay. I’ll check things out.”

She hung on to his arms, looked around and could not have said what made her uneasy, but something did. “I’m scared.”

His mouth tightened and he scowled at her. “Hang tight, then.”

He slipped along the wall, traveling its borders like a shadow. She followed him, hanging on to the back of his navy jacket as if she were in a tightly-packed crowd afraid to lose him. He hesitated before the door, stood by its side while he tested the knob. It turned.

He disappeared inside. She followed close behind.

The children’s reading room sat in black as thick as paste. Not a noise broke the eerie silence. Her whisper sounded like a shout, “Maybe she’s not here yet.”

“The door was unlocked.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right.” The hair on her scalp raised like porcupine quills. “Maybe she left.”

“Stay.” He touched her arm, and the touch offered reassurance. “Keep the door ajar. I’m going to find the lights.”

“Okay.” This time she felt no urge to follow him, bumping into the small tables and chairs. She did as he’d asked and held the door open, allowing misty light inside.

The lights came on suddenly, blinding her. Then like a scene from a flash-lit Halloween haunted house peep show, her vision came back, showing her a macabre posed portrait.