Nothing to Fear (50 page)

Ethan took Mitchell’s chair, his arm throbbing, but his thoughts were on the slime the police had caught breaking into Randi’s hotel. “What has Marsden told you?”

“Not much,” Reagan said. “He’s got a hotel passkey and won’t say how he got it.”

“Sue gave it to him,” Ethan exploded.

“Of course she did,” Mitchell snapped back. “But he isn’t admitting it.” She softened marginally. “I know you’re frustrated, Ethan. But we’re doing all we can.”

“Marsden’s lawyered up,” Reagan added glumly. “We can’t touch him now.”

Fury seethed and with it sharp panic. “Dammit. He knows something. He must. Give me five minutes with him and you’ll have everything you want to know.”

Mitchell pinned him with a glare. “Control yourself or you go back to the hospital.”

“Easy, E,” Clay murmured behind him. “These guys are on your side. We all are.”

Shaking, his heart thundering, Ethan tried to control himself. “I’m sorry.” He flattened his left hand on his pants’ leg, smeared with blood and grass stains. He refused to close his eyes, because every time he did he saw Dana being dragged away, wide-eyed and terrified. He swallowed hard and grimaced when Clay put a steadying hand on his uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I . . .” He looked up, met Mitchell’s round blue eyes. “I keep seeing her . . . She was so scared.”

Mitchell flinched. “I understand, but we have to stay calm. If we don’t, we won’t find her.”

“All right. I’m calm.” He wasn’t, but that wouldn’t change until Dana was safe. “This guy, Donnie Marsden. He was one of the guys who got arrested with Conway all those years ago, right? So his breaking into Randi’s hotel room is not a coincidence, right?”

Mitchell nodded. “Right.”

“So he’s part of whatever Sue planned.”

“Maybe. If he is, he’s not saying. Right now, all we can charge him with in relation to this crime is B and E.”

“Unless you can tie him to Sue in the last week,” Clay said. “Then it’s conspiracy.”

“She must have called him,” Ethan said. “Have you checked his phone records?”

“His LUDs from this week,” Reagan said flatly, lifting an inch-thick printout. “Turns out Mr. Marsden is a bookie. Takes hundreds of calls every week. More during basketball season. We’re lucky he’s only running numbers for baseball and the ponies this week. We’re checking his incoming calls to separate out any ‘legitimate’ gamblers from Sue.”

“The old case files show Conway was hiding for two days before they caught her,” Mia added. “We’re trying to figure out where. Dana was sure this would be symbolic, so the hiding place might pan out.”

“And finally,” Reagan sighed, “we asked Sheriff Moore to visit Bryce Lewis in jail once more, to see if there’s anything else she can get out of him. Beyond that, we’ll take any and all ideas that don’t get us in trouble with Internal Affairs.”

Ethan slumped in Mitchell’s chair. “I’m sorry. I know you’re doing all you can.”

“Ethan, I’ve been in your place before,” Reagan said, his eyes intent. “It was hard as hell knowing someone had taken somebody I loved. We want Dana back as much as you do and we understand what you’re going through. But you need to let us do our jobs.”

“Go back to your hotel, Ethan,” Mitchell said softly. “I promise I’ll call you the minute we know something.”

Ethan pushed himself to his feet. “All right.” He let his eyes take one last sweep of Mitchell’s desk, the folder that lay open on her blotter. Then he stopped dead, his heart in his throat. “Clay, look at this.”

Clay looked down at the pictures. “Marsden’s mug shots?”

“Look at the face, the chin.”

“My God,” Clay muttered.

Wincing, Ethan reached to his back pocket for his wallet and fumbled it open, one-handed. “Clay, help me get out the pictures.” Clay did and Ethan flipped through his photos, stopping when he got to a picture of Alec taken last year. Clay pulled the picture out of the plastic casing and put it next to Marsden’s mugs.

Reagan gave a low whistle. “Looks like Sue and Donnie did more than run drugs.”

Mia shuffled the papers in the case file. “Marsden’s statement at the time of his arrest has him swearing the baby Sue used belonged to her friend. He thought the baby was Randi’s because she took care of Alec, even then.” She met Reagan’s eyes with a satisfied little smile. “I bet he doesn’t know he’s a daddy.”

Reagan picked up Alec’s photo. “It might not make a bit of difference if he does, but I say let’s go give the man a cigar.”

Mitchell paused on her way out the door. Frowned. “You guys can’t stay here alone.”

“Then we’re coming,” Ethan said.

“You keep quiet,” Mia warned. “One peep and you’re gone. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said grimly. “I got it.”

Gary, Indiana, Friday, August 6, 4:55 P.M.

He was gone. Sue clenched her teeth as she drove by the ratty little roadside motel, now strung with yellow crime scene tape. The kid was gone. He’d been found this morning when, according to the guy who’d sold her cigarettes in the convenience store half a mile away, at least ten police cars converged on the motel, dressed in SWAT gear. They’d come out with the kid and airlifted him to County General in Chicago.

Sue stopped at a pay phone, dialed County General, and chose “Patient information.”

“I’d like to get information on an Alec Vaughn, please.”

There was a short pause. “The computer says he’s in stable condition.”

“Thank you.” Slowly Sue hung it up, every dream in her head crashing around her ears. There would be no luring Randi Vaughn from her hotel. There would be no revenge. There would be no watching Donnie and the boys pound Miranda Cook into hamburger. There would be no Sophie’s choice. There would be no cutting and crushing.

Ten years. She’d waited ten fucking years.

For nothing. Nothing. She had nothing.

With a small roar of frustration, Sue turned her car back to Chicago. She had only one more thing. She had Dupinsky. Donnie and the boys would have to make do with her.

Ocean City, Maryland, Friday, August 6, 6:00 P.M. Eastern (5:00 P.M. Central)

Bryce Lewis’s lawyer smacked his briefcase on the table impatiently. “If you don’t have any more deals, Sheriff, we have nothing more to say. You’re wasting my time and yours.”

Lou Moore bit back the urge to tell the public defender to . . . Restraining herself, she leaned forward to snag Bryce Lewis’s gaze. “Bryce, I need your help. Your sister left that little boy for dead this morning. Forced him to take half a bottle of his epilepsy medicine.”

“My client can’t help what his sister has done in the time since they’ve separated.”

“Of course not. But, Bryce, there’s something you need to know about this boy.” She pulled a copy of the Clark County birth certificate proclaiming Erik Conway to have been a live birth to mother Susan Conway. Father unknown. She slid the birth certificate across the table. “The boy is your sister’s son, Bryce.”

Bryce’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowed as he read the birth certificate. He looked over at his attorney. “Is this legit?”

The defender picked it up. “It’s a faxed copy. I can’t tell.”

“It is,” Lou said. “Bryce, please listen to me. I saw the way you reacted when I told you about Paul McMillan’s body the first time we talked. You aren’t cold like her. A woman tried to help this child. This morning Sue shot the woman’s boyfriend and kidnapped her. We know she intends to kill this woman. She didn’t succeed in killing your nephew. Thanks to this woman and others, we found him in time. But our time is running out.”

“What kind of deal are you offering?” the defender asked.

Lou sighed. “Bryce, you’re involved in a murder and a kidnapping.”

“Wait,” the defender interrupted. “If the kid was his sister’s it wasn’t a kidnapping.”

Lou didn’t take her eyes off Bryce Lewis. “But Miss Rickman was kidnapped, transported over state lines, and murdered, Bryce. You participated in this felony. I can only make recommendations for leniency. The DA makes the final call. But helping us find this woman would go an awful long way.”

Bryce stood up, stiffly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. We think this woman will be dead in a matter of hours.”

Bryce’s stare was cold. A week of jail had hardened this boy. “I said, I’ll think about it.”

Chicago, Friday, August 6, 5:10 P.M.

Ethan frowned at the two-way glass. Reagan and Mitchell had been in with Marsden for twenty-five minutes and not once had they shown the damn picture of Alec or mentioned Alec.

“Why aren’t they telling him about Alec?” Ethan muttered.

“Sshh,” Clay murmured. “Because they’re damn good cops. Hell of an interrogation.”

“Glad you approve,” their lieutenant said dryly. Spinnelli had arrived a minute before they’d started the interrogation. To Spinnelli’s left stood the assistant state’s attorney that Abe Reagan had called to expedite any deal making they’d need to do.

Clay shot Spinnelli an even look. “I meant it.”

Spinnelli lifted a brow, not taking his eyes from the glass. “So did I, Mr. Maynard.”

“Clay,” Clay said.

“Clay. But I’m still Lieutenant Spinnelli to you,” Spinnelli said, his mustache twitching.

“Understood. Sir,” Clay added with an intentional hesitation. “Look, Ethan,” he said quietly. “Mitchell plops Marsden’s AZT on the table, he’s got AIDS, and he doesn’t want to die in prison, right? Reagan pounds him with the bookmaking charges, lots of years. He’s about to spill Sue on his own. They’re saving the picture in case he needs one last push.”

“I’d like to give him one last push,” Ethan growled. “Randi betrayed him as much as she did Sue. If he got that AIDS while he was in prison, he’s got even more of a grudge. He was breaking into that hotel room to pay Randi back.” And the very thought sickened him.

“Yeah, but why now?” Clay murmured. “Why does Marsden try to grab Randi this afternoon? If Sue had been orchestrating it, she would have had him wait until after five.”

“When the five million would have been deposited.” Ethan blew out a breath. “You’re right.”

“Yes, he is.” Spinnelli looked at Clay with critical eyes. “You quit DCPD. Why?”

Clay’s face hardened. “That’s my business. Sir.”

Spinnelli considered him another moment more, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

Marsden slumped in his chair sullenly, his lawyer whispering in his ear. Marsden nodded and the lawyer looked up. “What kind of deal are we talking?”

“That’s up to the state’s attorney’s office,” Mia replied smoothly. “We don’t make deals, we make recommendations.”

The lawyer frowned. “What kind of recommendation?”

Reagan leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Marsden, we know why you were going in that hotel room. You and Conway planned some kind of revenge. But you’re not charged with that. Yet. You go down with Conway and that’s going to be a conspiracy charge, because we know what she has in mind. We want Conway more than we want you. Right now. But if we find her first . . .” Reagan shrugged. “Recommendations are out the window. Tell us where she is and we recommend the SA stick with the bookmaking charges.”

Marsden shifted guiltily and said nothing.

Mitchell shoved a chair against the table making both Marsden and his attorney jump. “You know, I’ve had about enough from the two of you. If you don’t start talking in thirty seconds, I’ll recommend the SA add kidnapping charges and murder.”

Marsden jerked. “I didn’t do any kidnapping or murder. I never touched the lady.”

Mitchell leaned in close. “Because you didn’t get the chance. But we’re not talking about Mrs. Vaughn, we’re talking about the kid.”

Marsden jolted to his feet. “Whoa. I don’t know anything about any kid.”

Mitchell and Reagan shared a long look. Mitchell shrugged. “Okay, so you don’t.” And with great drama she looked at her watch. “Fifteen seconds, Mr. Marsden.”

“Dammit, I don’t know nothin’ about no kid!”

“Five seconds.” Mitchell shrugged again. “We’re done. Hope you find a prison doctor you like, Mr. Marsden. You’ll be spending a great deal of time together in the foreseeable future.” Her hand was on the door when Marsden threw himself back in the chair.

“It must be the Vaughns’ kid,” he snapped. “Sue said she was getting Miranda Cook back to Chicago because she had something Miranda wanted. I didn’t know she was Randi Vaughn until I checked the hotel register. But I haven’t seen any kid.”

Reagan leaned forward, perplexed. “Why do you continue to protect this woman?”

Marsden sighed. “Because she’s going to get it from somebody else besides you guys. And I’d rather see her dead than have to go back to prison.”

Reagan nodded. “Lorenzano?” Marsden’s eyes widened. Reagan chuckled. “We know lots of things, Donnie-boy. So Lorenzano got to you? How much was it worth?”

“Fifteen thousand,” Marsden mumbled.

Mitchell sat on the edge of the table. “Fifteen Gs’ll buy a lot of AZT. I might have done the same. So you sell Sue to Lorenzano. I take it he knows where she is right now.”

“He knows where she’ll be at ten tonight.”

“And what happens at ten tonight, Donnie-boy?” Reagan asked.

Marsden stared up at the ceiling. “Me and the guys Miranda sent up get thirty minutes apiece to do whatever we want.”

Ethan covered his mouth with his hand, and managed to muffle the gagging he couldn’t stop. “She won’t have Randi,” Ethan whispered, horrified. “She has Dana.”

Mitchell’s face was a stony mask. “Well, that’s about as disgusting as I’ve heard in a while. What was in it for Sue?”

“She got to finish her off.”

Reagan raised a brow. “And you took that to mean?”

“Kill her.”

Marsden’s lawyer held up his hand. “I want an SA in here now.”

“That’s my cue.” The prosecutor nodded to Ethan and Clay. “Gentlemen.” A half minute later the interview room door opened and the prosecutor walked in. “You rang?”

Marsden’s lawyer gave him a dirty look. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The prosecutor slapped his briefcase on the table. “If he tells us where she is and agrees to swear to everything we just heard, we stick to the bookmaking charges.”

“You’re offering what?” the lawyer sneered.