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“Far-fetched? What do you mean far-fetched?”

“That he wasn’t the guy who robbed that bank.”

“How can you say that? With all of those people claiming they saw him at the golf course? And that picture?”

“The guy’s mafia. I’m sure he knows how to buy witnesses.”

“A judge?”

“Why not? They can be bought like anyone else.”

“What about the picture?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Patiently, as if talking to a child, he explained how with digital cameras any picture can be faked.

“Why are you so interested in this?”

Dan had asked the question with such naivety that it stunned Carol. She stepped back like she’d been slapped, her jaw dropping open.

“D-Do you think Gordon was involved?” she asked.

“Involved in what?”

“What happened in that bank.”

“
Gordon?
Come on.”

“Why else would he be there?” She looked away from him, almost as if she were afraid he would answer. Or worse, that she’d see the answer in his face. She said, “Maybe he made someone up to look like that mafia person.”

She was so damned intuitive
.
Why’d she have to be so fucking intuitive?

He rolled his eyes to emphasise that she was talking nonsense. It took every ounce of control he had to sit there and act as if this were a joke. As if she were pulling his leg or something. Inside he was dying.

“If Gordon was that good he would’ve been working on Broadway,” he said, praying that his tone sounded as unconcerned as he wanted it to.

Yeah, you’re right, darling, Gordon should’ve been doing makeup at the Schubert and I should be up there right now on the same fucking stage doing Hamlet with the performance I’m giving.

Jesus, is she buying it?

*

“Dan, if there’s anything you need to...”

The question died in her throat. Her mouth moved silently as if she were chewing gum, but she couldn’t finish the question. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t ask whether he was involved. Oh God, he was grateful for that. He knew she was desperately trying to convince herself that she was being crazy. His insides felt like they’d been turned into an icy sludge, but he sat there trying to give the impression that he had no idea what she was really asking, all the while feeling he’d go insane if he had to sit there another minute.

Susie wandered into the kitchen. She seemed to sense something was wrong. As she looked from Carol to Dan, her features became pinched.

“Hi, Princess,” Dan said.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice flattening into a monotone.

“Nothing, Princess. Your mom saw something in the paper that she found interesting, that’s all.”

The look Carol gave him was damning, but she didn’t say anything. She walked over to Susie and kissed her on the forehead.

“Darling, what can I make you for breakfast? French toast? Pancakes? Eggs?” she asked while using her daughter to shield her eyes from her husband. How he ever managed to just sit there smiling and pretending nothing was wrong was beyond him. Somehow he did it, but God only knew how.

“I just want cereal,” Susie said, peeking suspiciously at her father as she tried to figure out what was going on.

“I better get some work done,” Dan said, excusing himself.

When he got to his study he collapsed into his chair. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding as if it were going to break. He had an image of all the lies he had been telling Carol, one piled on top of another, each larger than the one before, each making the tower more and more unstable as it leaned on the verge of collapse. If any more were added, they would come crashing down on him. Somehow he had to get out from under their shadow. He had to stop the lies.

How?

In a couple of days this would blow over. Carol would bury her suspicions and sooner or later forget about them. The cops had no real reason to suspect him. Or Gordon for that matter. There was no reason for this to change anything. He just had to stay calm. Focus on his articles, his book proposal, his business idea...

But how was he going to survive the next couple of days?

Sitting there realizing the futility of the situation, he lowered his face into his hands and wept like a baby.

Kenneth Hadley sat upright behind his desk with his doughy hands folded in front of him, his pale blue eyes looking miserable. Agent Donald Spitzer sat to his side and for once his long face looked more grim than dour. Resnick pulled up a chair.

Hadley said, “The district attorney wants us to drop all charges against Raymond Lombardo and release him.”

“That’s about what I would’ve expected—”

“That son of a bitch manufactured those witnesses,” Spitzer interrupted through clenched teeth. “Same with that picture.”

“I don’t think so,” Resnick said.

“You don’t think so? What kind of bullshit is that? Of course he did!”

“Alex, we’re still going with the theory that Lombardo is behind the bank robbery,” Hadley said. “Today’s newspaper article hasn’t changed that. Agent Spitzer, along with Stillwall and Hollings, are going to look into Lombardo’s witnesses, also that photographer, and see what type of connection they might have with him. If we can get the court’s assistance, we’ll also check their bank accounts and see if we can spot any unexplained transfers.”

“What did you have me come in for?”

Hadley’s round face seemed to deflate as he stared at his detective. Sighing, he said, “I was wondering if you have any other theories?”

“Possibly one.”

Hadley’s face tinged pink. “Would you care to share it?” he asked, barely keeping his annoyance in check.

“Not without a chance to dig into it more.”

“Do you have anything to make it more than a theory?”

“Not at this point.”

“Was your following of Viktor Petrenko at all productive?”

“Not really.”

“Why don’t you spend the next few days exploring your theory then.”

“A complete waste of time,” Spitzer offered, his mouth settling into something bitter.

“What about Walt?” Resnick asked, ignoring the FBI agent.

“I was just about to suggest he help you with this.”

Resnick nodded, told Hadley he’d let him know if his theory developed into anything more substantive and left. Without Hadley mentioning it, he understood that the district attorney must be pressuring him to investigate other alternatives to the bank robbery.

If Spitzer hadn’t been sitting there, Resnick might have let on that he had Carmichael made as the shooter. Before going to Hadley’s office, he had stopped off at the evidence room and examined Carmichael’s sneakers. Sure enough, there were spots of green paint on the bottom of them. If he checked Carmichael’s apartment he’d probably find that one of the rooms had been painted the same shade of green.

The problem was he didn’t trust Spitzer. He had no doubt the guy would screw things up with Dan Wilson. There was more to it than that, though. He didn’t even have a circumstantial case yet against Wilson. No real evidence of any kind. He had to find something concrete first, something he could use to force Wilson to hand over the items that were stolen. He couldn’t risk Wilson’s name showing up in the papers before that. Resnick knew full well what Petrenko would do to Wilson’s family if that happened. He pictured the way Wilson’s wife looked at the cemetery. At the time he sensed that she suspected something, but that was about it. She wasn’t involved in this, and shit, they probably had kids. Petrenko would take care of all of them. No, he had to try to nail Petrenko first.

He thought over what his next steps were going to be. All he knew for sure was that tomorrow was going to be one hell of a day.

28

Craig Brown called at nine fifteen to ask Dan whether he had made any progress.

“It’s only been a few days, but yeah, I was going to call you later. I have it figured out—”

“Can you be at the bank at ten thirty?”

“Sure.”

Brown hung up. Dan couldn’t help feeling taken aback by the bank manager’s abruptness. He sat for a moment wondering about it before giving up. His mind was just too fuzzy to think properly right then.

He hadn’t slept the night before. That made two nights now. Physically he felt like crap, almost as if his head were filled with sawdust. Even after four cups of coffee he could barely focus on anything.

Carol was still in bed. He had waited until three in the morning the other night to join her knowing she’d be too groggy and out of it to want to talk about anything, let alone Gordon being involved in a bank robbery.

From three until six thirty he lay wide awake. The whole time his mind raced with different images, some making sense, some completely crazy.

God, he just needed to get through this. A few more days maybe and he’d be able to put this mess behind him. Pretend the robbery had never happened and then just focus on starting over fresh. Just a few days...

He gathered up his papers and headed over to the bank. Traffic was lighter than normal, even for the summer. What normally would’ve been an hour’s drive took forty minutes. Still, it was a tough ride for him. He had trouble keeping his eyes open, both from being bone-tired and also the way the morning sun hit him. By the time he got to Lynn he felt wiped out. He used the extra twenty minutes to stop off for a couple of donuts and a fifth cup of coffee. All the liquid in him made him slosh when he moved, but the sugar and extra caffeine helped to clear his thinking. He had even been able to work out what he was going to say to Brown.

Craig Brown met him in the bank’s lobby and escorted him quickly back to his office. From the way the bank manager acted Dan knew something was up and it came as no surprise that the detective from the other day was waiting in the office. Next to him sat another cop, at least that was Dan’s guess based on the cheap suit the guy wore and his short, almost military-style haircut. He was younger than Resnick, bigger, but not in good shape. Kind of flabby. Dan nodded to Resnick and then held out his hand to the other cop.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Dan said.

That seemed to catch the cop by surprise. He glanced over at Resnick who sat stony-faced. “Detective Maguire, Lynn Police,” he murmured.

After shaking hands with Maguire, Dan spread out computer listings on Brown’s desk and explained why the security software had failed. As he talked, Resnick took out a sheet of paper from a folder he was carrying and held it up so he could look at Dan and the paper at the same time. He didn’t say anything, but kept looking back and forth between Dan and the paper. Maguire got up and stood behind Resnick so he could do the same. While Dan found it distracting, he was just too damned tired to think much of it.

“You’re right,” Maguire said to his partner, interrupting Dan’s explanation.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Resnick said. “Craig, why don’t you come over here. I’d like your opinion on this. Mr. Wilson, if you could, move your head a little to the right.”

Dan stood frozen while the bank manager got up and walked over to the two cops. “What do you think,” Resnick asked. “Is that Mr. Wilson or not?”

Brown gave Dan an icy stare. “I believe it is,” he said.

Resnick nodded. “Mr. Wilson, let me show you what we’ve been looking at.”

He turned the paper around so that Dan could see it was the same photograph from the newspaper. The one that was supposed to look like Raymond Lombardo after taking off his ski mask.

“That’s you under all that fake hair and makeup,” Resnick said.

“You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of joke?”

Resnick ignored him, turned to the bank manager and asked if he could give them some privacy.

“Craig, this is crazy. That’s not me,” Dan said.

Brown gave Dan one last icy stare before looking away and leaving the office.

Resnick stared dispassionately at Dan. “Before you say a word, we know your friend, Gordon Carmichael, was involved in the bank robbery. We have physical evidence identifying him as the man who shot Margaret Williams and Mary O’Donnell.”

“Gordon did what? Jesus Christ, I don’t believe—”

“Your act’s not going to work with me,” Resnick said. “You might as well skip it and just sit still and listen to what I have to say.”

“Go ahead, ’cause I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Resnick turned to Maguire and shook his head sadly. “He doesn’t listen, does he?” Then to Wilson, “If you insist on playing this game, go right ahead. It doesn’t change anything. We both know what happened. You came up with a way to sabotage the bank’s security software.”

“How could I have done that? I never had access to the software—”

Resnick turned again to Maguire. “There he goes again. He actually thinks he’s going to convince us we’re wrong.”

“Pathetic,” Maguire said.

This was the very moment Dan had been terrified of for months. The fear of this happening had been gnawing at him ever since he came up with the idea of robbing the bank. All the worry and stress he’d put himself under and now that the moment had arrived he felt none of the panic he would’ve expected. Instead only a calmness. He had a clarity of thought that he hadn’t had in a long time. None of the fuzziness he’d been suffering. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe he just didn’t care any more. Whatever the reason, nothing the cops were saying affected him.

“Fine. I’ll just keep my mouth shut then,” he said.

“Probably a good idea,” Maguire agreed.

“I have to hand it to you,” Resnick said. “The robbery was clever. You’re obviously a bright guy. Just as you figured out how to rig that software, you also broke into the bank’s records and found out who owned the safety deposit boxes. Somehow you figured out who Petrenko was. It was pure genius ripping him off and framing Raymond Lombardo. But where you screwed up was shooting Carmichael and leaving his body at the scene. If you hadn’t done that I never would’ve suspected you.”

“No question, you would’ve gotten away scot-free,” Maguire added.

“My guess, you weren’t the one to actually shoot him,” Resnick said. “One of your buddies leveled an assault rifle on Carmichael right before he shot those two women. I’d have to think he was the guy who shot your friend. Anything to say yet?”

Dan shook his head.

“You might like to know what really happened with Carmichael,” Resnick went on. “The best I can tell he was only talking harmless nonsense to Margaret Williams. Stuff about Brazil and Asbury Park Beach in New Jersey. The problem was one of your buddies molested her a few minutes before Carmichael wandered over.”

“Your fat buddy,” Maguire said. “The short little fucker wearing the running suit.”

“You know who we’re talking about, right?” Resnick asked. He waited patiently for Dan to answer him. When he didn’t, Resnick continued. “Ms. Williams probably thought Carmichael was the guy who shoved his hand up her skirt. The whole thing was just bad luck. You still have nothing to say?”

Dan shook his head, shrugging.

Resnick breathed in deeply and let it out through his mouth.

He hadn’t expected Wilson to have the nerve to sit there as calmly as he was. He had been betting that this would crack him and was beginning to wonder how badly he had misjudged the guy.

“Here’s the deal,” Resnick said. “I don’t think you’re a bad guy. I saw the way you reacted after the shootings.”

Maguire added, “It’s on videotape, buddy. We can show it to you if you’d like.”

Resnick waited, got no reaction. He continued, “To me, it looked like you were in shock when you ran into the lobby and saw those two women. My guess, you never expected anyone to get hurt. You thought you’d just rip off a very bad guy and frame another bad guy. The problem is people did get hurt. Because of that I can’t let you get away with this.”

Resnick took two photos from his folder and flung them in front of Dan. They were both crime-scene photos. One of them showed Margaret Williams lying dead in a pool of blood. The other showed Mary O’Donnell with her stomach blown out and her intestines showing through a gaping hole in her middle. Dan looked at them and then back up at Resnick.

“Why don’t we get this over with,” Resnick said. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”

“There’s nothing to get over,” Dan said, his voice flat. “First you try to frame one person with a fake videotape and when that doesn’t work you try this.”

Maguire’s mouth opened into a bare-fanged grin. “Can you believe the balls on this guy?” he asked Resnick.

“Go ahead if you’d like, arrest me,” Dan offered. “You can’t prove any of this because none of it happened.”

Maguire stood up, his hand reaching for his cuffs. “What do you say, we bring this asshole in?”

Dan held both hands out so he could be cuffed. “I’m not saying another word without a lawyer.”

Resnick stopped his partner. “Let’s give the guy a chance,” he said. Then to Dan, “You don’t have anything to hide, right?”

“Not a thing.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we searched your house?”

“Knock yourself out,” Dan said.