SURVIVORS: a gripping thriller full of suspense (Titan Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

“Did your parents call him?”

“No. They never really knew him. I mean, they knew of him, who he was, but they were anonymous to him. My adoption was kept confidential, that sort of thing. I mean, they were grateful for what he did, but it wasn’t like they thought they’d introduce themselves and keep him around in case I went psycho or something. They had no reason to think he could do anything about what I was going through. He was just some cop. But then he popped me for DUI a couple years ago.”

“He knew who you were?”

“Yeah, when he saw my ID.”

Brendan sat back and frowned. Argon would have had no way of knowing the girl’s name, let alone what she would look like as a young adult – she’d been an infant when he’d last seen her.

“How? No offense, but I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Well for one thing, he recognized my first name.” Sloane’s expression indicated that this was the one part of her story that perhaps gave her some pleasure.

“He knew it because he was the one who gave it to me.”

When she read the incredulity on Brendan’s face, she elaborated.

“Well, he suggested it. There were a couple of days when he was still around, while they were doing all of the paper work with child services and all of that. I guess he didn’t just want to keep calling me ‘the baby,’ or ‘the rescued abortion’ or something. So he nicknamed me Sloane. It’s a Scots-Irish name that means fighter.”

Brendan felt something wash through him that was mildly pleasant. It was a feeling he had only recently experienced; the sense that his chest was expanding, the base of his head tingling a little.

“And so it goes,” she said, now twirling some spaghetti again into her spoon. “I guess someone liked it and put it on the forms as my name. And when my parents adopted me, they kept it.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “And then, he kept tabs on me. Secretly. He knew my address, too. He wouldn’t tell me how, because I think he didn’t want to get anyone in any trouble, anyone who had helped him to find out.”

Sloane set the utensils down without taking a bite. “After my DUI, Argon encouraged me to get into meetings. And after a few meetings, he had me over here for coffee. And we would just hang out, you know, and talk. I recently had a relapse, and he saw me through it.”

And just like that, this girl who was both light on her feet and tough as nails showed the first bit of emotion, and she started to cry.

Brendan stayed where he was for a moment, not sure of the right thing to do. Then he pulled his chair around to get closer to her, and placed a hand gently on the back of her neck.

They sat like that for about a minute until there was a scratching at the door, and a muffled meowing.

Sloane lifted her head up.

“We should let the cat back in.”

CHAPTER TWELVE / Sunday, 8:20 PM

Jennifer Aiken ate dinner alone at a restaurant in a suburb called Pleasantville. She wanted to put some distance between herself and the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women, but hadn’t wanted to lose the pieces of information jockeying for attention in her head.

Had Olivia Jane rattled her? Maybe. Maybe Jennifer, who had a plan to keep control of the situation, had realized that there was no such possibility when it came to interviewing a murderer like Jane – the conversation took on a life of its own. She needed to capture as much of it as she could, and so seated herself at a table-for-one in the quiet downtown area of Pleasantville, as night draped itself over the city. She ordered an herbal tea and chicken with penne and wrote from memory into one of her notebooks.

Jane was well-versed in her rights and had been advised by her attorney not to allow any recording devices during the interview. Jennifer could have gone above the lawyer’s head – a very capable, tuned-up sort – but she’d opted not to get into the yard of paperwork over it. And she hadn’t wanted to waste any time, either. The assembly of the task force case had stalled several times in the last two years.

Olivia Jane had some interesting things to say about Brendan Healy. Healy had been the way Jennifer planned to break into Olivia Jane’s mind, and it had worked – in a fashion. In researching Jane’s case, Jennifer had gotten the impression that Olivia Jane and Brendan Healy had spent significant time together, and that, despite everything, there may have been feelings between them.

If that was true, Olivia showed no signs of regret, and betrayed no lingering affection for the detective. Instead, she had repeatedly cut him down. Olivia Jane had painted a vivid picture of Brendan Healy as a broken, haunted addict with no business in the police force. She related what she called her professional opinion of Brendan Healy as an obsessive and volatile man who had no earthly place as a police detective.

“He wasn’t even a cop to begin with,” Jane had said in disparagement. “He went to school for neuroscience. Why is it always that the most educated types seem to lack basic common sense?”

Jennifer had gotten the impression that Jane was playing a game, more to find out what information Jennifer herself might have, than to condemn Healy; probing for pressure points, triggers, anything which might make the agent give something away.

It made sense. The one thing Jennifer was able to confirm from the interview was that Olivia Jane was scared about what might happen to her. Given her co-conspirator, Reginald Forrester, had been poisoned in County, that wasn’t surprising. Olivia Jane was as cold-blooded as they came, but she was still human enough that she had survival instincts. If Healy was the sleight of hand Jennifer had used, the main trick was to exploit this fear in Olivia Jane. But how to do so within the limits of the law? The Justice Department had the power to move all sorts of mountains, but threatening the safety of anyone – even a convicted murderer – was not on the list of legitimate procedures. Not outright, anyway. So, Jennifer had played coy, let Olivia Jane come to her.

“Here’s what I know,” Jennifer had said, uncrossing her shiny legs and leaning forward, gripping the phone, “A girl was murdered who does not fit the usual profile of a sex worker. She was an educated, upwardly mobile, born-and-bred citizen of the United States. Yet you – allegedly – got her into a black market operation called XList. Why? Well, something compelled her. And I’ve asked myself, I’ve gone over and over this:
What
? I wonder: did you do such a head shrink on her, was that it? And she gets pregnant while she’s in this . . . service. That’s another thing. And
still
she is compelled. Because now there is leverage. She has a child. Her second. Because her first, I’m thinking, is living with the parents. With Alexander and Greta Heilshorn.

“What an interesting role he played, Mr. Heilshorn. Right? He rides in on his jet and he sort of takes over the investigation. We know he spoke with Brendan Healy. We know he warned Mr. Healy about the dangers of pursuing his daughter’s killers. Precisely because the infant was being held. Ostensibly because of
other
children being used to keep women in this servitude.”

Jennifer tapped a pen thoughtfully against her lower lip and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. There were dark brown water stains on the textured tiles.

“But that just never quite sat right with me: Heilshorn, and how he was involved, and how he tried to micromanage the investigation. A grieving father, I can understand. A grieving father with money and an ego, I can understand that, too. But there’s just something missing. And then there’s this thing you say to Brendan Healy when you’re first locked up in Oneida County: ‘Titan is so entwined with the government that you’ll never get it free.’ I can only assume that Titan is muscle for XList. But to say something like that. That’s . . . I don’t know – what do you think?” And she returned her gaze to Olivia.

Olivia’s eyes were sharp and intelligent. “I never met Heilshorn.”

“Me neither. But don’t you think it’s curious? I mean, I know you can’t be indiscreet, and talk about a patient, but I’m sure Rebecca Heilshorn had all sorts of things to say about him. Who paid for her therapy, did she, or did her father?”

“Why?”

Olivia Jane was just going to stonewall, Jennifer thought. Fine. She leaned forward, dropping her shoulders, taking a different tack.

“How about this? Let me share with you a little theory I’ve got cooking. Okay?”

“This should be good.”

“Heilshorn is involved with XList, Titan, whatever you want to call it. He’s a major investor in several medical technology and pharmaceutical companies. And he’s politically involved; he made a large donation to a recent gubernatorial campaign. Nothing too incriminating right there, other than the usual money-buys-influence. But, I think there’s more. Why don’t you help me out?”

She looked through the bulletproof glass at Olivia Jane. Jane’s face was unreadable.

Jennifer pressed further. “Let’s just go with it, okay? Let’s say that Alexander Heilshorn, a wealthy doctor, with major connections to big business, to congress, and from what my research has shown, even to the military, let’s say that he’s got something to do with XList, or its muscle, Titan, with its tentacles reaching into legit businesses where it can launder money. And he’s lending support to key officeholders. But the politicians have to march to his beat once the money is there. And they’ll take it, sure; the government is
broke
.” She was really hamming it up now. “All that money borrowed from China, all that interest to repay, all those bonds issued which offer a rate of return to investors, and people can’t turn over their income fast enough – oh, and the people with the big bucks, they avoid capital gains like the plague and hide two thirds of the money they’ve got offshore.”

“You work for the Department of Justice?”

“That’s right.”

“They must love you.”

“They do.” Jennifer affected a smile. The truth was, these ideas scared her a little. The idea that her own Justice Department felt inadequate to handle certain prosecutions, it kept her up nights. But for the moment she needed a role to play, a way to keep the dialogue going.

“Let’s say crime, bad as it is and all of that – boo, hiss – crime feeds the economy. Just like anything else. It’s a revenue stream for those who know how to work it. Right? You’ve got to keep criminals in play, though – they’re an important part of what’s keeping this country afloat in a sea of debt. And let’s just say that – don’t tell anyone I’m going on like this – that America is not so much a popular democracy anymore as it is a corporate-controlled plutocracy. Like Russia and its oligarchs, but with better PR. With me? You’re a big company, and you’re legally bound to make money for your shareholders, you support politicians that dance to your tune. Maybe this guy favors cap & trade, maybe this other guy loves tort reform. So, we have our lobbying industry. Politician X gets a boatload of money, provided he endorses those bills and legislation favoring corporate interests. But, that’s the rub, they have to follow through. If they don’t . . .”

Jane’s face remained inscrutable.

“If they don’t,” Jennifer continued to lead her, “then maybe they need a little extra coercion? Maybe an indiscrete
rendez-vous
? What do you think? You think Heilshorn had his own daughter in his employ, Miss Jane? Getting information from the enemy? Or was she just a troubled girl from a well-to-do family, educated, who decided, just for the hell of it, to become a prostitute? Were her parents keeping her little baby Leah safe – or were they using the child to, shall we say, motivate her?”

“You don’t believe anything that you’re saying,” Olivia Jane said. But for the first time Jennifer thought she saw a giveaway in the woman’s eyes, a faint glimmer of fear. And Jennifer finally pounced. Protocol be damned – she had the madam of a politically-enmeshed harem on the ropes.

“I can help you. I can help to make sure that you stay here, in a max facility, instead having your sentence commuted to a medium security prison, Olivia. Where they can get you. Just like they got to Reginald Forrester.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. Offering my help. You open up at last and tell me that you were paid by Heilshorn, or indirectly through Titan, XList, or any other black-market front. That your purpose was to recruit women into the business so they could be used to blackmail and influence their patrons.”

Nothing from Jane but a bemused look.

“You’re wearing that smile on your face right now, Olivia, because in here, even they can’t get to you. You don’t care whether you ever make parole – you’re alive. You don’t want to go anywhere. Because you want to
stay
alive.”

Olivia blinked, reverting to a cold, expressionless gaze. “Sexual repression affects women from all backgrounds – especially those from uptight, upper class families. You should know – you’re repressed, too, aren’t you Agent Aiken?”

“What I believe, Olivia, is that you didn’t just go into your operation with Forrester blindly. He may have had some sway over you – from what I have read, he was charismatic type, a David Koresh, a Jim Jones – but you made your own choices. You may not have known everything that was going on behind the scenes, no, maybe you’re not as bright as you like to think, but you knew it was more than just handing your girls over to Forrester. You knew he wasn’t running anything by himself.”

Jennifer paused, waiting to see if Jane would take the pride bait. She could see the shackled convict calculating a response. It only took a few seconds, but during that short span of time a random and vivid image from her memory sprang to mind – it was of sitting at the laptop during college, taking breaks from her studies and playing chess with the computer. At the higher levels, the computer took a little longer to go through all of the permutations before making its move. A little hourglass, with sand trickling from one chamber to another, would appear while it did the math.

“Did you know Brendan Healy lost his wife and daughter?”

Interesting move. “I did.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes slightly, as if the lights had brightened in the already garishly-lit visiting room. “Do you know how they died?”

“More or less.” The FBI profiler, Petrino, had told her the story, of course, but Jennifer was sure this wasn’t what Jane was hinting at, and wanted to see where the former therapist went with it.

“Neglect,” she said. An eyebrow arched. “He never told me exactly how, but he carried it with him constantly. I’m sure he still does. He let them die by being utterly self-serving.”

Now Jane pushed back from the table, as if she was going to stand up. “You come here with your little bag of tricks. First you work a pathetic ploy that you’re evaluating Brendan Healy, to see if I think he’s credible. And you lay into me with your shtick about government conspiracies. Did they teach you these tactics over your little two-month field training? People are stupid, Agent Aiken. They have to have someone or something to blame. They’re easily led to believe that there’s some secret body out there, some evil hegemony running things, some antichrist who is filling the world with this poison, when the truth is, it’s just smoke – you can’t find it, you can’t touch it. You know how many people I treated? And for how long? You know what every one of them had in common? Whether they believed in God or didn’t believe in God, they were each blind to their own evil. Either someone thinks God will save them, or some higher morals will save them, a kind of intuitive secular humanism, or we condemn them as mentally deficient, or mentally disturbed.”

“Like I said, let me help you.”

“Help me? How can you help me?”

“I can keep you alive.”

Be careful,
Jennifer thought. But the cards were all out on the table now.

“No one can guarantee me that. If I’m marked, I’m as dead as Seamus Argon, or anyone else.”

“Seamus Argon?” The name rang a bell. He was a beat cop who had died in a traffic collision in the early morning hours the day before – she had at least a dozen Google alerts active, and one scanned for line-of-duty deaths. She searched Olivia Jane’s face. Jane looked like she wanted to backpedal on the admission.

“I’m dead already,” Olivia Jane said, and flashed such a sinister smile, it changed the entire physiognomy of her face for a second, making her look inhuman. Then it was gone. “So you have nothing to bargain with.”