The Betrayed (27 page)

Jack and Sydney walked down along the line of doors until they came to one with the number that matched the one on their key. Jack opened the door and stepped into the room, walking through it slowly, looking into corners and checking behind doors to put Sydney at ease. He opened the closet and walked into the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain back to reveal an empty tub. Then he walked back into the bedroom, where Sydney was standing in front of the bed, looking around the room with a combination of fear and disgust at her surroundings.

“All clear,” he said.

She nodded, and her knees seemed to buckle slightly. She leaned to her side and sat at the edge of the bed, her head falling toward her chest and into her hands. It took a moment for Jack to realize she was crying.

He pulled a chair over, up close to where she sat, her shoulders shaking slightly as she rocked back and forth. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.” He reached over and touched her chin, pulling her head up gently until he was able to see her. He was startled by what he saw. Her face had largely been hidden in darkness since she first ran to him outside the Mobil station.

Her cheeks and forehead were badly scratched and bleeding in a few places. On the sides of her throat there were dark purple bruises that were already turning black at the edges. Jack felt a rage growing within him.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“I don’t know,” she began. “It’s all such a blur. I came out here to visit the Virginia Juvenile Institute for Mental Health. Liz was out here two weeks before she died. I thought—” She paused and took a breath, trying to regain some of her composure. “I thought there might somehow be a connection with her murder.”

“Why would you have thought that?”

Her tears were still flowing freely. “The last person she saw before she was killed was a professor at the law school where I work, Professor Barneton, and he said she asked him some questions about the Institute. A couple of hours later she was dead. When you and your partner told me there was a possibility that the drug dealer you’ve arrested didn’t actually kill Liz, I started wondering if there was a connection, and I decided to check the place out.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because it seemed so silly. I mean, what could it possibly have to do with anything, right?” Her voice was filled with irony. “I didn’t want to waste your time; and I didn’t want you to think I was crazy—like some deranged female Oliver Stone seeing conspiracies wherever I looked. So I decided to come out here myself, just to make myself feel better.”

“Did you find anything?”

“I didn’t think so.” She frowned through her tears as she continued. “I’ve been over and over every conversation I had with the people out there in my mind, and none of it leads anywhere. It’s all a bunch of ancient history. So when I left, I was satisfied that it had nothing to do with Liz’s murder.”

“But now you’re not so sure,” Cassian said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face.

“No, now I’m not so sure,” she said. “When I was driving home, I got a flat tire. It didn’t make any sense, because I didn’t have a blowout, and the air in the tire wasn’t low to begin with. Somehow, though, the air in the tire seemed to disappear. I didn’t think that much about it at the time, and a minute later this guy pulled up behind me and offered to change the tire. I was sitting in the car after I popped the trunk for him, and the next thing I knew, he was on top of me—choking me through the car window.” She pointed to the bruises on her neck.

“Let me see,” Jack said, pulling her hands away and leaning in for a closer look. The bruises, he saw, were deep. “What happened next?”

“I managed to grab my pepper spray and squirted him right in the face.”

“Pepper spray? You know that’s illegal?” It was a reflex, but he regretted saying it as soon as it came out.

“You wanna arrest me?” she demanded in frustration.

He shook his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I’m glad you’re okay.” He tried to smile. “I bet it had an effect, at least.”

She nodded. “It did. I can see why it’s illegal. He was rolling around on the ground screaming, and I was so scared I got the tire iron out of my car and hit him in the head. I thought I’d killed him.”

“You were wrong, I take it?”

“I was. He attacked me again a couple of minutes later, but I got away and ran into the woods.” She pointed to the scratches on her face. “That’s where I got these. I hiked through the darkness for a mile or so, until I got to a road that ran parallel to the highway and found that gas station.”

“And you’d never seen this guy before? You have no idea who he was?”

“I’d never seen him before,” she said. “And I wouldn’t have any idea who he was if I hadn’t taken this.” She held up the wallet she’d taken out of the man’s pocket.

He took it from her and flipped through it. The first thing he saw was an identification card in a plastic window that had an FBI seal on it, as well as a picture and the name John Marine. He continued flipping through the wallet and found several other pieces of identification, each bearing a picture of the same man, but each with a different name. One of the cards was a private investigator’s license with the name Lee Salvage—a name that was also on the driver’s license and several credit cards. He put the wallet on the bed next to Sydney.

“Is that it?”

“No,” she replied. “After I called you from the gas station, I was waiting for you inside, but the guy at the counter was giving me the creeps, so I went outside and waited for you around back. After a little while—about twenty minutes before you got there—I saw the guy who attacked me go in and make a call. Then he came out and drove away.”

Jack sat back in his chair, trying to absorb everything she’d told him. None of it made sense.

“What do you think?” she asked nervously.

“I think you need some antiseptic for those scratches,” he said after a moment. “I also think I need to digest all of this for a little while. There’s a convenience store at the gas station across the road; I’m going to go get something you can put on your cuts. When I get back, we can talk through this all again and try to come up with a plan.” She looked crestfallen. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly, “we’re going to get to the bottom of all of this.”

“I’m not sure I want to be alone,” Sydney admitted.

“I won’t be gone for more than five or ten minutes,” he assured her. “The door to this room will be in my sight the entire time, and I’ll make sure no one comes near the place.”

She seemed comforted by the thought. “Okay,” she said. “I need to call my mother, anyway. I was supposed to be back in time for dinner.” She looked at her watch. “I don’t want her to worry.” As she continued staring at her wrist, she noticed the grime with which she was covered and seemed to realize how she must appear. She gave Cassian an embarrassed smile. “I think I have to take a shower, too.” A final tear traced a line through the dirt and grime on her cheek. “It’s been a really crappy day.”

Jack leaned forward and took her hands in his. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, “but I promise I’m not going to let it drop until I do.”

L
YDIA
C
HAPIN SAT
on the divan in the opulent living room of her palatial house in the nation’s capital staring off into space. Water beaded on the side of the glass of chilled vodka that had remained untouched on the coffee table since she’d placed it carefully on the coaster in front of her nearly a half hour earlier. The house was silent and she absentmindedly fingered the pearls on the long strand that hung from her neck. Her eyes were glassy as she ran through the milestones of her life in her mind, scrutinizing them for the misstep that had led her here—to this moment of loneliness, fear, and despair.

The sharp cry of the telephone, electronic and cruel, shat
tered the silence, and she rose with efficiency and crossed the room to the receiver that hung from the wall near the bar. “Hello?” she said with strength and assuredness she didn’t actually feel.

“Hello, Mother, it’s Sydney.”

“Good God, Sydney, do you know what time it is? I’ve been worried sick about you! Where are you? You were sup

posed to be home for dinner. It’s as though you don’t even care about Amanda. She was distraught, in case you care. I had to give her a sedative and tell her it was aspirin to even get her to sleep. I suppose I really shouldn’t be surprised, though. After all, you’ve always—” The words came firing out of her like water out of a fire hose, pounding relentlessly until Sydney cut her off.

“Mother, please listen! I was attacked!” It sounded as though she’d shouted the words more in self-defense than in explanation.

“Attacked? What are you talking about? Don’t be silly.” Lydia tried to sound calm, but her pulse was racing.

“Mother, listen to me! I was attacked. I’m in Virginia now, and I’m not going to be home until tomorrow.”

Lydia was silent, and it took her a moment to realize she wasn’t breathing. She forced her lungs to expand. “Are you all right?” she asked finally. “Are you hurt? And what are you doing in Virginia?”

“I’m okay,” Sydney replied. “I’ll be fine. Detective Cassian is here now, so I’m safe. I don’t have time to explain this all, but I wanted you to know I’m okay, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” Lydia said, regaining her composure. “I’ll send someone to get you. Where in Virginia are you?”

Sydney hesitated. “I’m about two hundred miles southwest of D.C.”

Lydia carefully considered what to say next. “Tell me where.”

Sydney sighed heavily back into the phone. “I can’t tell you, I’m not even sure myself. I have to go.”

“I don’t even know what to say, Sydney,” Lydia responded in a voice tinged with anger.

“Then don’t say anything, please.”

“What are you doing so far away? Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Lydia demanded, the desperation in her voice growing more evident.

“I mean I don’t know!” There was silence as they both tried to figure out what to say. “Like I said, I don’t have time to try to explain this all. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a better idea of what’s going on. Please tell Amanda I love her, and I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

The line went dead and the silence engulfed Lydia again. She stood at the bar, cradling the receiver to her ear, reluctant to let it go. “Sydney?” She spoke quietly into the receiver, knowing already that the connection had been broken. A moment later there came a chime, and the dial tone returned. Lydia looked at the phone as if confused, holding it up and examining it before replacing it on its cradle on the wall.

How has it come to this?
she wondered again. Then she returned to the divan and sat down, her legs crossed at the ankles, her back rigid as she reached for the drink on the table.

z

Sydney stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom exam
ining her face. The shower had helped her appearance significantly, though there were still angry lines in the flesh covering her forehead and chin. The bruises on her throat, she suspected, would take weeks to fade.

She stepped back to examine the rest of her body. She was standing naked on the worn terrycloth bath mat, her hair still wet and hanging in clumps at her shoulders. She had several pronounced scratches on her forearms and hands, and there was a bruise and a cut on her shin where she’d collided with a low-hanging branch in the woods.

She reached over to the pile of clothes she had, slipping on her panties and bra. Then she picked up her pants and shirt. The pants were okay. They had a few mud stains on them, but a brief soaking in the sink and they’d be wearable again. The shirt, however, was a total loss. It was stained through with dirt and sweat, and had several lengthy tears that would be difficult to hide in the sunlight. She looked around for a robe to put on, but quickly realized that this was not the sort of place that would offer such amenities. She frowned as she considered putting on the same clothes once again without even giving them a rinse. Just then there was a knock at the bathroom door.

“Jack?” she called out hesitantly.

“Yeah, it’s me,” came Jack’s voice. “I thought you might want these,” he said. The door opened a crack, and Jack’s arm reached into the bathroom. Clutched in his hand was what looked like a bundle of fabric.

Sydney took the material out of his hand and looked at it. There were two T-shirts that proudly proclaimed
I
.
Jack Daniel’s
, and a pair of nondescript sweatpants.

“The fashion section at the convenience mart was a little lacking,” Jack called out, “but I did my best.”

She smiled as she pulled on the sweatpants and one of the T-shirts. “No, I appreciate it,” she said through the door. “I was just trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to wear. These will be fine, at least for the moment.”

“I also got you these,” he said, his arm reaching into the bathroom again, holding out a small spray can of antiseptic, a toothbrush, and a small tube of toothpaste. “I thought they might make you a little more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She finished cleaning up and then looked at herself in the mirror quickly again before walking back out. The scratches were still evident, but the antiseptic seemed to have helped. And though her hair was still wet and matted, at least the dirt was gone from her face.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Jack was on the phone. The wallet she’d taken off her attacker was open on the bed in front of him. “Thanks, Deter,” he was saying. “Yeah, the faster we can find out the better.” He hung up.

“Who was that?”

“One of the forensics guys at the office,” Jack replied. “I gave him a detailed description of the FBI identification card and asked him to run a search to see if the name John Marine checks out.”

“You think it may be a fake?”

“It’s possible. Looking through this wallet, there are a few identification cards with different names on them. If it is a fake, the quality is spectacular. On the other hand, usually ID cards like this are kept with the badge, not separately. There’s enough that’s odd here to check it out.”