Too Far Gone (35 page)

“Casey and Grace. That's a dark and sticky web. Grace thought she and Casey were friends, maybe much more than friends. I'd wager Casey told Grace that Gary was a mere necessity—a baby maker. Casey probably intended that Gary and I both would die in that hellish hovel, but she didn't count on Decell being there. I imagine Tinsdale was supposed to kill me and be gone long before you arrived. Instead, you rush in. You're suddenly in peril, so Casey comes in, gun blazing, fills old Andy full of lead, snipping
that
loose end. The other loose end was her assistant, Grace Smythe.”

“Grace committed suicide.”

“Sure she did.” LePointe shrugged. “I'm only a psychiatrist, not an FBI agent, but is a woman who is about to live happily ever after with a very wealthy woman a prime candidate for suicide? Maybe times have changed and people kill themselves because their wildest and wettest dreams are about to come to fruition. I know Casey had that idiotic little thing in her thrall, but I never suspected…” LePointe's focus dulled. “That's the beauty of planning things out five moves ahead, something we LePointes have mastered. Well, some of us obviously better than others. Casey makes sure she never leaves loose ends.”

“Casey doesn't need your family's money,” Alexa offered. “She has her own fortune. She told me she has more personal money than you do.”

“Four times as much. Personal money is one thing, but that amount pales in comparison to the trusts. When is too much ever enough?” LePointe asked. “Casey's my own flesh and blood. And oddly, despite everything she has done, I am proud of her. I lost a game I wasn't aware I was playing, but I know I would have still lost even if I had known. Now she's one of the wealthiest and most powerful women alive. Shoot all the holes in it you want, but she's made sure believing her is the easiest course. The one thing I know is, she's played you like a flute and there's not one thing you or anybody else can do about it. She's not done with me yet. That's why I'm telling you this. Catch her if you can, and stop her. It's in my best interests.”

“I don't believe a word you've said.”

“I bet you didn't know that Casey can revoke the prenuptial she signed with Gary West. There is an escape clause in the fine print that if he were to be incapacitated at any point before the magical anniversary, it is null and void.”

“Nobody is that good an actor,” Alexa argued.

“Is she that talented? You tell me. Never mind. You just have.” LePointe laughed loudly. He stood. “Now, please leave my house. I have an impending hurricane to flee from.”

Alexa left the house, feeling sick to her stomach. She didn't want to believe that Casey was a sociopathic liar and cold-blooded killer. LePointe had surely twisted things around to make Casey look bad, to punish her because he was that sort of bastard. Casting the blame onto his daughter was the logical act of a twisted sociopathic mind seeking redemption. What he had told Alexa was a trial balloon, one he would no doubt spread to the public to clear his reputation.

Alexa prided herself on knowing a lie when she heard one, and she had never sensed the slightest deception in Casey West.

In the car, Alexa removed the picture from her pocket of the children at play and studied it under the map light. She knew who had taken it—the boy's proud mother, an ambitious nurse who had hopes in her heart that the children would be together for years to come. The girl's father would not have known his mistress had recorded it. Alexa's heart sank and she clenched her teeth, the anger rising so close to the surface, she could taste it.

The idea that William LePointe was being honest in his accusations was totally preposterous. If it was the truth, Alexa had never been so completely taken in by anyone in her life.

Am I being objective?

Alexa had a more troubling thought. If Casey West was indeed the cold-blooded, plotting monster her father claimed she was who was responsible for all those deaths, there probably wasn't anything she could do about it. And if that was the case, Casey West was laughing at her along with everybody else.

100

The wind buffeted the car mercilessly. The rain was being driven horizontally and the trees and bushes seemed to be trying their best to get their roots out of the earth and fly. It was impossible for her wipers—as often lifted by the wind as not—to do their job.

Alexa had gotten lost on several occasions because the GPS lady was no longer functioning, but since her cell phone was, she finally called Casey to get directions to her house. She wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the GPS satellite had been knocked out of the sky, but it was just as likely faulty FBI equipment.

When Alexa finally turned onto Casey's street, she was sure the Bucar would overturn. It was impossible to see twenty feet ahead of the car, but Casey's house was as easy to find as an Easter egg on white carpeting.

As Alexa fought her way to Casey's gate, the rain stung her skin like BB's. She was drenched before she even rang the bell, and was let inside the house by the guard.

Casey was standing at the entrance to the hallway, wearing a robe, holding Deana on her hip like an ornament. “I'm glad you called me,” she said. “You'll be safe here with us until this passes. Here, you need a towel. I meant to call you as soon as I heard about your ordeal in the swamps, but as you might imagine, I've been…” She left the rest unsaid and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I'm glad you missed your flight, Alexa. Is that selfish of me?”

“Thanks for letting me come. It's a far more attractive refuge than the Superdome.”

“You must stay with us. We missed our window to fly out. I suppose you're here because you've heard about Gary? My poor Gary.”

“Gary?”

“Stroke during the flight to Mayo. We have to have faith that he will regain everything the assault and this stroke have taken from him. It will take years of rehabilitation, but it's obvious he'll never be the same. I'll fly to be with him tomorrow, if the plane is still in the hangar. Hell, if the hangar is still standing tomorrow.”

“Dr. LePointe told me you were riding out the storm,” Alexa said, not sure if she should call him Casey's uncle or her father.

Casey frowned. “Unko hates storms. I'm sure they bring back unpleasant memories. What took you by Unko's?”

“I went by to let him know I'll be doing everything I can to put him in prison. He deserves to be in prison for life.”

“I wish you all the success in the world. That's a terrible thing to say. But I mean it.”

“Are you alone, Casey?”

“At the moment, except for the kitchen help and Edgar, my remaining security guard, we're alone. It will be nice having a friend here to huddle with.”

Casey led Alexa to the kitchen. “Ahm not you fren,” Deana said, sticking out her bottom lip at Alexa.

“Shouldn't you have gotten Deana out?”

“She's perfectly safe with me here. So are you. Deana, Alexa is your friend. She saved your father's life. She's Mommy's very best friend ever. Aren't you, Alexa?”

“I hope so,” Alexa said.

Casey put her daughter in her high chair and handed the child three cookies to keep her occupied. Retrieving her abandoned martini, she turned to Alexa and asked, “Coffee? Or a stiff one?”

“Nothing for me,” Alexa told her.

“Just a sec,” Casey said, and went to the laundry room, returning with a pair of dry jeans. “These may be a bit large, but you can roll the cuffs.”

“I'll change in a few minutes.”

A maid entered the room, and busied herself preparing coffee.

“So tell me everything that happened,” Casey urged. “I heard some of it from Chief Evans. It's terrible about those two detectives. I'm going to hire the very best doctors for them and we'll send them wherever they need to go to be made whole. After all they did for us, it's the least I can do. And I want to do something for you. Name something, Alexa, anything.”

“You don't have anything I need.”

Casey's smile vanished and she gave Alexa a hurt look. “Is it an insult to offer? It isn't like I'm trying to buy you, really. You've done so much for me….”

“There is one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Talk to me. Now.”

“I know we have a lot to talk about, but is now a good time?” She waved her hand absently at the storm outside. “We have all night.”

“I'd feel better getting it out of the way now.”

“You want me to hear what that woman had to say?”

“I think you should. Alone,” Alexa said, turning her eyes toward the maid.

Casey tilted her head and studied Alexa thoughtfully. “Mary, watch Deana. Please, follow me,” Casey told Alexa.

Alexa followed Casey down a long, glassed-in corridor with a view of a garden on either side. The limbs of the trees rocked violently. Leaves had long since flown from the branches, the flowers were all stripped of their petals. The corridor ended in a pool house, which would have made a wonderful home for a family of five. There, Alexa played the tape of Sibby's interview while Casey listened intently. After it was over, Alexa turned it off.

“Fucker man,” Casey said, exhaling loudly. “So he…”

“He killed your parents. I believe Sibby. She's fought to remember it all these years.”

“But she can't testify, can she?”

“No, not any time soon. There's some areas to explore, along the lines of corroboration from witnesses and sources, but I'm not sure about the fine points of law.” Alexa told Casey about finding the missing diary pages. Taking the plastic-sleeved pages from her purse, she handed them to her to read.

“I don't want fingerprints on them, other than those that may be on them already.”

After reading the pages twice, Casey handed them back to Alexa. “That's horrible. Beyond horrible. Did you play the tape for my uncle?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You showed him these pages?”

“No. But he knows they exist.”

“Did he admit anything?”

“He is under the illusion that Sibby's words are not going to hurt him.”

“There's no justice,” Casey said sadly.

“There is only setting things right. A lack of justice could work to your advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your uncle told me some disturbing things. I didn't want to believe them, but I've been doing a lot of thinking, and what he said makes a great deal of sense. Too much sense.”

“Do explain.”

Alexa felt the chill gathering in the room. “It's about an actress who's been playing a very challenging part—victim, sensitive artist, bereaved and loving wife. Perfect mother.”

Casey stared at her, her expression unreadable.

“You really had me going, Casey. You really did. Trouble is, things don't really add up.”

“You've been talking to Uncle William. He's a cagey and a professional-quality liar. He hates me.”

“You told the press the diary was authentic. Is it true that the prenuptial you told me all about is void now because Gary is incapacitated? Did you force William out of his position and take his place today? I'm getting a disturbing picture, a nasty interpretation of events that looks like motive.”

“Let's continue this talk in the sauna.”

“The sauna?”

“It's more private.”

“You think I'm wired?”

“Don't be silly, Alexa. We're dear friends. Leave your purse on the table.” Casey opened a door, and Alexa could see into a room where a blond-wood bench held a neat stack of linens. Across the room, a tiled enclosure area had two showerheads and a drain in the floor. A wooden door with an opaque glass panel obviously led to the sauna.

“It helps me relax. Take off your clothes, wrap up in a bath sheet, and we'll talk. Unless we've talked enough.”

Alexa said, “I'm here because I want to talk this out. Because you matter to me, and I think after all I've been through that I deserve to know.”

“Fine. Why does it matter where we are when we talk?”

While Alexa undressed, Casey watched her with a serious expression, studying her bruises.

“You've had a rough couple of days.”

“Comes with the job.” Alexa took the top sheet and wrapped her body, tucking it above her breasts. Casey slipped out of her robe and Alexa was somewhat surprised to see that her hostess hadn't been wearing anything else.

Casey opened the door to the sauna. The walls, ceiling, and floor were tiled in limestone. A wide stone slab ran along three walls, forming a bench. Casey poured a dipper of water on the kiosk filled with heated stones, sat across from the door, pulled her feet up so her heels rested against her buttocks, and leaned back against the wall.

The light went out.

“We just lost power,” Casey said in the pitch-blackness.

The light came back on before she'd finished saying it.

“We have a generator that runs on natural gas. Let's talk.” She patted the bench beside her.

Alexa sat close enough to give the impression of intimacy, but far enough away so someone could have fit between them. If LePointe was right about Casey, Alexa felt she might talk about it because she had won, and there was nothing Alexa could present as evidence that could tie her into anything. Once Casey walked out the door, the conversation was her word against Alexa's, and Alexa knew she couldn't win in a battle against Casey West and her lawyers.

Alexa began, “Before I went to your uncle's earlier, everything fit neatly, but after I listened to his vitriolic diatribe, I had a problem. Until I learned about the covenant and your prenuptial escape clause, you were without any motive.”

Casey sipped her martini. “I'm listening.”

“I know you killed Grace, I just don't know how.”

Casey raised her eyebrows. “But you said the coroner ruled she killed herself.”

“So it appears.”

“Take off your sheet,” Casey said.

“You know I'm not wired, Casey.”

“You want your pores to open, to get the full benefit.”

“My pores are fine semiclosed,” Alexa said.

“Humor me, Alexa. Don't tell me you're shy. I've already seen your body. It's a very nice one. You take very good care of yourself.”

Why not?
Alexa stood, undid the tuck above her breasts, and let the sheet slip to the floor.

“You have a very nice body,” Casey repeated. “You hide it in those silly, off-the-rack business suits. The right tailoring would do wonders for you. I'll take you shopping soon. Just the two of us.”

“Thanks. I have to stay in shape,” Alexa said, sitting and raising her feet to mirror Casey's pose. “I like the suits I wear.” The heat was making her drowsy because she hadn't slept in a very long time. “I guess I am guilty of liking you too much, of feeling we were close based on common experience. I wanted too much to believe you were what you seemed. It blinded me.”

“We're a lot alike,” Casey said. “Possibly more than either of us imagines.”

Because you imagine that what I did to my sister was comparable to what you did to your father? That was different, very different.

“Do you have any illusions that this talk will lead to my arrest?”

Alexa shrugged. “Bringing charges would be very difficult, if not impossible. You were very smart. The witnesses are either dead or uninformed as to your involvement. There's no one left to testify against you. William won't because of the remote possibility you'll forgive him in the future.”

“So he can destroy me,” Casey said. “That will
never
happen.”

“I doubt he has anything he can blackmail you with. Not yet anyway. He has a lot of possible directions. He thinks he's playing a chess game.”

“You have old Willie Boy pegged. Can you make a case against him for what he did to my mother and father? What he did to Sibby?”

“I'm going to try. And if I do, he'll try to take you down with him. Anyway, you said it yourself—there is no justice.”

“I really do like talking to you,” Casey said, taking a sip and putting down the glass. “You have this way of making me want to be honest with you.”

Alexa said, “Honesty is probably all but impossible for you, Casey. I do understand why, and my heart goes out to you. I think what you did is cold and horrible, and I hate what you did, but…”

“You empathize.” Casey put her open hands to her chest. “Dahlin', that all means a lot more to little ole me than you can imagine. I've been alone all my life and you know better than anybody what my uncle did to my parents. You are the one who found the missing pages at Andy's.”

“I didn't say I found the pages at Andy's apartment,” Alexa said, leaning back casually.

“Of course you did. How else would I have known?”

“Beats me, since we haven't discussed Andy Tinsdale, or should I say Andy Fugate. You looked at his picture and said you only knew him as an orderly, which ensured I would find his apartment and the pages. It was a needless lie, Casey. You could have told me who he was and slammed that door closed, the way you did so many others. I would have found out you knew him anyway, which would have been worse.”

“You can't plan everything perfectly.” Casey took another sip of her martini. “Obviously I'm too tired to talk candidly. Or without an attorney present. I had a thought today. Decell's gone. It occurs to me that the LePointe trusts could use a security director with FBI experience. At a salary commensurate with the responsibility.”

“You offering me a bribe?”

“Goodness, no. A job. You'd be perfect.”

“That's tempting. But wouldn't I be under your thumb? Like Grace was?”

“That's not nice,” Casey said. “The money would simply be commensurate with your law enforcement experience.”

“I make all I need.”

“Eighty-nine thousand, six hundred, and forty-one dollars last year before taxes. And you have almost a hundred thousand in your retirement accounts, another fifty in stocks and bonds. You live in a rented apartment all by your lonesome in Washington. You have no family to speak of, and workaholics make few friends. It must be awful. I could pay you five hundred thousand a year on a twenty-year contract. And you could have whatever perks and private entanglements you liked.”