The Last Justice (15 page)

The vehicle stopped, and McKenna and Kate were dragged out and stood clumsily in their hobbles.

"On your knees," a voice said.

When he didn't follow the order, McKenna felt a foot slam into the back of his knee, collapsing him to the ground. He gritted his teeth at the sharp pain when his other knee slammed down onto the gravel. Beside him he could hear Kate's muffled screams. He could not make out the words, though even gagged, her terror was unmistakable.

From just behind his head, he heard the dry metallic click of a gun hammer being cocked. Then the only remaining sound was the loud thumping of his heart as the wave of terror washed over him. Then, unexpectedly, a sense of rage crowded out his fear, replaced a moment later by profound remorse at having gotten Kate involved.

Forgive me, Kate. Please forgive me.

New Jersey Turnpike

etective Milstein sat upright after dozing off in the backseat of Frank Pacini's Volvo, en route to Washington, D.C. It was dark, and the soft beat of the windshield wipers had a hypnotic effect. She listened to Assad and Pacini natter on about nothing. Assad's sister, seventeen years his junior, his parents' miracle baby, was the same age as Pacini's daughter, and both girls were going off to college. That led to a conversation about their own undergrad years and their shared love of college football.

"Deputy Director Pacini?" Milstein said from the backseat, interrupting in the hope of changing the subject.

"Please, just `Frank."'

"Okay, Frank. I was just wondering, do you always drive rather than fly to D.C.?"

"I'll be honest-most people think I'm crazy to drive. But I find that by the time you get through airport security, deal with canceled flights and weather delays, get your bags, and get in line to rent a car, this is just as fast. And I thought it would give us time to talk in private. We're making good time, so it should only be another couple of hours or so. We'll cross our fingers for light traffic on the Beltway-that's the only wild card."

"So can you tell us where we're going yet?" Milstein replied, taking Pacini up on the invitation to discuss business.

"The West Wing."

It took a moment to register.

"the White House?" Assad said. He seemed to sit up a little straighter at the mere thought.

Pacini nodded. "The chief of staff requested a meeting to discuss Griffin Nash's murder and the solicitor general situation," he said. "We're gonna stop off at the FBI building, which we're using as the law enforcement command center for the commission; then we'll go to the White House. I'll introduce you to the team first. You left your firearms at home, right?"

"No worries. We both are unarmed," Assad said. "Thanks for including us in all this, Frank."

"Actually, the White House liaison said they also want to talk about Parker Sinclair, and we thought you two were the most up to speed-particularly since you've had a chance to interview Judge Petrov and some of Sinclair's coworkers."

For the next hour, Pacini set out the principal leads that had not yet been made public. He told them about the Hassan brothers, suspicions about the chief justice's widow, and progress on tips pertaining to the "CB" on the assassin's neck. He then explained McKenna's report on the Nevel Industries case, and its connection to Nash and the bribery allegation against McKenna.

"Do you really think McKenna had some part in the assassinations?" Assad asked. "Bribery is a long way from murder."

"I agree," Pacini said. "But he's running. And right now it is the best lead we've got."

Milstein's cell phone rang. She answered quickly. A call this early rarely brought good news, and she was concerned it was about her ailing father.

"Detective," a woman said timidly on the other end.

"Yes," Milstein said trying to place the voice.

"This is Mary Sinclair, Parker's mom. I'm sorry to call this early, but I couldn't sleep and I just couldn't wait. . ."

"It's no problem at all, Mrs. Sinclair. I'm actually on duty."

"You said if I thought of anything, I should call you."

"Absolutely," Milstein replied. "You have something that may help the investigation?"

"I think so. When we got home from New York after speaking with you I checked my e-mail. I got some e-mails from Parker while we were on vacation that I thought you should know about." Mary Sinclair sounded exhausted.

"Thank you so much for calling. Could you forward me the e-mails?"

"Yes. I'm at the computer and can send them right now."

Milstein gave Mrs. Sinclair her e-mail address, then said, "I'll check the e-mails once they arrive, but what was it about them that made you want to call me?"

"Well, all last week they were like always: he's busy at work, doing fine-the usual. But three days ago he sent me a strange one."

"Can you read it to me?"

Mrs. Sinclair spoke slowly, and her voice sounded hoarse from crying. "The first e-mail says, `Something troubling has come up. I'm going to need to have an uncomfortable conversation with someone. I won't trouble you with the details unless I need to.'Then there were no more e-mails until one came the day he was killed." Mary Sinclair started sobbing quietly.

Milstein gave her a moment, then said, "What did that e-mail say, Mary?"

"It doesn't make any sense," she answered. "It says `McKenna,' then an equal sign, and the letters `C-B."'

Hamilton Heights housing projects, Washington,

cKenna awoke in darkness, his eyes still covered with tape. He lay on his side, hands and feet bound, gravel and rocks beneath him. He was cold, and the only sounds he could hear were cars passing in the distance.

The two men had settled for scaring rather than killing him. After dry firing a gun in his ear, they had warned him and Kate that if they kept poking their noses into the Hassan brothers' business, next time there would be a bullet in the chamber. He didn't remember, but they must have also knocked him out again.

Hands secured behind his back, McKenna tried to stand but lurched sideways, only to fall against what felt like a cinder-block wall. He was dizzy and nauseated. After taking a moment to orient himself, he felt his way along to the corner of the wall, where he began sawing up and down with his taped wrists.

As the tape binding his wrists started to give, he froze at the sound of approaching voices.

He winced when a bottle suddenly exploded on the wall near his head, cutting his cheek and his chin, enveloping him in the smell of cheap, sweet wine. Drunken laughter followed.

When another bottle smashed even closer to his head, he dropped to a crouch and waited for the approaching footsteps crunching on gravel. He sawed faster at the tape, ignoring the pain as the rough concrete scraped into his wrists.

"Looks like you pissed somebody off, homes."

the speaker hauled him to his feet. The man stood close, and reeked of the same cheap wine in the exploded bottle.

"My friends and I are gonna have a little fun with your girlfriend. I thought you may want to watch."

The tape came ripping away from McKenna's face. The man standing in front of him gave a dark smile, revealing two missing teeth. His hair was greasy and dangled at his shoulders and his clothes were stained and ill-fitting. A half-dozen paces beyond him, two similarly unkempt men were groping at Kate, who lay on the ground in the dimly lit alley, kicking and screaming muffled oaths into the tape that covered her mouth. McKenna's heart sank. They were going to sexually assault her.

"Don't do this," McKenna said. But the toothless man just smiled as he watched one of his friends hit Kate on the side of the head after her bound feet caught him in the groin. Now she was curled up in a fetal position on the garbage-strewn ground, while one man worked at peeling the duct tape off her ankles and the other tried to unbuckle her jeans.

While the toothless man watched his friends, McKenna dug his wrists deep into the jagged corner of the wall trying to get the tape to give. Yanking outward from his shoulders, he felt the tape part and continued the motion, bringing his left hand around in an uppercut to his captor's groin. As the man doubled over, McKenna grabbed his greasy hair and pulled forward, smacking him facedown onto the ground, where he lay whimpering.

The other two men saw this and ran towards McKenna. Glancing around him, McKenna spied the neck of the smashed wine bottle and snatched it up.

The two men paused and were weighing the odds when a woman's voice boomed from a window above them. They all looked up to a brightly lit window in the public housing tower overlooking the alley.

"You leave or I'm calling the police!"

The men did not react at first. But then they helped their fallen companion to his feet, and all three staggered away, yelling obscenities.

McKenna peeled the tape from around his ankles and rushed over to Kate, who kicked viciously.

"Kate, it's me," he said.

She quit fighting, though her body stayed rigid as he gently peeled the tape back from her eyes and gathered her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he said. "I'm so sorry."