US Marshall 01 - Cold Ridge (6 page)

"The police don't tell me what they think. One step at a time, Carine. Keep your focus on the here and now. Don't think back, don't think ahead. It's the best advice I can give you. Mr. Carrera is perfectly capable of taking care of himself." Turner stood back a moment, then frowned at her in a way she found faintly patronizing. "You aren't thinking of playing amateur detective, are you?"

"No! It's just that Manny's a friend. Do you know where he's staying?"

"If I did, I wouldn't tell you. "There was no hint of condemnation in Turner's tone. "Take yourself out to lunch, Carine.Treat yourself to dessert. Browse the galleries on Newbury Street. Do you have a friend who can join you?"

"Most of my friends are working, but-"

"Your sister?"

"She's in Washington. She'd come if I called her."

He looked at her. "But you won't. You're a strong woman, Carine. Stronger, I think, than people often realize at first."

Hey, Ms. Photographer.

Poor Louis. Dead. She still could see the blood on his fingers.

Louis Sanborn was not a nice man.

Manny, clear-eyed and uncompromising. What did he know about Louis?

Carine swallowed hard, pushing back the memories of yesterday. Turner was right-she needed to stay focused on the present. "To be honest, I don't worry about whether or not people think I'm strong. Louis stopped me on my way back from lunch and asked if I wanted a ride. If-"

"Don't. No ifs. They'll drive you crazy." Turner squeezed her upper arm. "Take it easy on yourself, okay? Go take some pretty pictures. You didn't do anything wrong yesterday. Remember that."

She blinked back sudden tears, feeling light-headed, her stomach not so much nauseated as hurting. "Thanks." Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat, annoyed with herself. "I just need some time, I guess."

" Newbury Street. Art galleries." He started across Commonwealth, pausing halfway into the lane of oncoming traffic and shaking his head at her. "You might want to hold off on the dessert. You're looking a little green."

She managed a smile. "It wouldn't be a good idea to get sick on Newbury Street, would it?"

He chuckled. "You'd be banned for life."

Sterling Rancourt stared into the library, its wood floor still marred by crime-scene chalk and dried blood. The police forensics team had done its work, and a cleaning crew that specialized in ridding all trace of this sort of mess was due in that afternoon. Gary Turner had arranged for it. He'd been incredibly helpful- steady, knowledgeable, even kind.

Gary was in his office in the Rancourt building in Copley Square at the time of the shooting, while Sterling was enduring an interminable business lunch a few blocks over at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Afterward, he'd planned to meet his wife at a designer showroom on Newbury Street, so she could model an evening gown she wanted to wear to a charity ball over the holidays. She liked having his approval. Ten years ago, she'd bought a dress he didn't like, and he'd been stupid enough to say so-now she insisted on these modeling sessions for anything that cost more than a thousand dollars.

But he'd received the news about Louis at lunch and excused himself, heading straight over to Commonwealth Avenue, calling first Jodie, who was on Newbury Street, then Turner. They all met at the house, where police and reporters were already swarming. Detectives quickly pulled aside Carine Winter, white-faced but functioning, and Manny Carrera, as stalwart as ever. Sterling was unable to speak to either of them alone.

Jodie had remained at their South Shore home this morning. She said she didn't want to see or speak to anyone unless she had to-as far as she was concerned, if the police wanted to interview her again, they could drive down to Hingham and find her.

She knew nothing, Sterling thought. None of them did. Louis Sanborn had been in their lives for two weeks. That was it.

Manny Carrera couldn't have killed him. Manny saved lives. He only took a life when he came under enemy fire and had no other choice. Sterling had read up on PJs and their heroic work, although Manny and Tyler North would be the last to call what they did heroic. It wasn't false humility- Sterling would have recognized it if it were.

He and Jodie owed Manny Carrera
their
lives. But if the police wanted to waste their time pursuing him, that was their choice. There was nothing Sterling or anyone else could do.

"Mr. Rancourt?"

Gary Turner walked down the hall, his nearly colorless eyes and extremely pale skin disconcerting, off-putting even before anyone had gotten to the point of noticing the missing fingers. But he was quiet and supremely competent, and Sterling knew better than to underestimate him because of his strange appearance. Jodie said she found him fascinating, even sexy in a weird way. He wasn't ex-military or ex-law enforcement- Sterling suspected he was ex-CIA. Whatever the case, his credentials in private and corporate security had checked out. He hadn't said a word when Sterling hired Manny Carrera as a consultant. Either he was too self-disciplined to criticize his employer's decision, or he approved. Sterling hadn't asked him his opinion.

"Carine's on her way?"

Turner nodded. "She doesn't know what to do with herself."

"A shock reaction. She'll rally. It just might take a little more time than she wants it to. I've met her brother and sister-and her uncle-and they're all strong, resilient people."

But he could tell concern over Carine Winter wasn't why Turner was here. The man shifted slightly, lowering his voice although there was no one within earshot. "There's been a new development. Tyler North is in town. I just saw his truck on Comm. Ave. "

" Tyler? Interesting." Sterling didn't share Turner's sense of drama over this news. Of course Tyler would be here if was able to. He'd known Carine since childhood and had almost married her in February, and Manny was a friend. They'd gone on missions together. "He must be on leave-he'll have heard about Manny's predicament. Word like that travels like wildfire."

"I don't think he's here because of Mr. Carrera. Not directly."

Sterling nodded, sighing. "Of course. Carine." He pictured Tyler North, a compact, rugged man, incredibly loyal despite being something of a loner himself. "Well, she won't like it, but I suppose having him here will be a distraction for her."

"What do you want me to do?" Turner asked.

"About Tyler?"

Sterling thought a moment. He hated the situation he was in, how out of control it felt. Boston 's best homicide detectives were on the case, but he wasn't involved-they didn't answer to him. A man, an employee, had been found murdered in a house he owned. Everything about him and his life was fair game. Yet the murderer was probably a drifter, a petty thief or a drug addict, who'd wandered in after Louis stupidly left the door open and, for reasons that might never be known, decided to shoot him.

The police had no motive, no murder weapon, no suspect in custody. Until they did, Sterling thought, he and Jodie, Gary Turner, Carine Winter, Manny Carrera- none of them would have much room to maneuver.

" Tyler 's a friend," he told Turner. "Do nothing."

Boston Public Garden, which dated back to 1859, was one of Carine's favorite places in the city. Its curving Victorian paths, lawns, gardens, statues, benches and more than six hundred trees were enclosed within arched, wrought-iron fences, making it feel like a retreat, as if she'd stepped back in time.

If only she could step back to yesterday morning, she thought. She could warn Louis not to go back to the Rancourt house alone-delay him, get in the car with him, talk him into watching the pigeons with her.

She crossed the small bridge over the shallow pond where the famed Swan Boats, a century-plus tradition, would cruise during warmer months. They were put away for the season, and now just fallen leaves floated on the water. But she didn't linger, instead took a walkway over to Tremont Street and the Four Seasons Hotel. When the Rancourts had people in town on business, they tended to put them up at the Four Seasons. Manny Carrera couldn't afford it on his own. Neither could she, but if she wasn't paying the tab, she'd stay there. Maybe Manny would, too.

She entered the elegant lobby and wandered over to a seating area that looked across Tremont to the Public Garden, its soft sofas and high-backed chairs occupied by a handful of well-dressed men and women in business attire. Carine felt out of place in her barn coat but didn't worry about it-she didn't plan to stay.

She spotted Manny on a love seat in front of a window as he drank coffee from a delicate china cup. He wore a dark suit with a blue tie and motioned for her to join him, shaking his head as she sat on a chair opposite him. "I saw you beating a path across the park. Got a brainstorm I was here?"

"It's not a park. You're not supposed to walk on the grass."

"Then what is it?"

"A public botanical garden. It was designed by Frederick Olmsted. He did Central Park, too, which
is
a park."

"Ah."

She leaned forward. "Manny-"

"I'm stuck here, Carine. You're not. Why don't you go home?"

"I am home. I live in Boston now."

"
For
now, you mean."

"Why are you stuck here? Did the police say you can't leave? You're not under arrest or you wouldn't be here."

He shrugged, not answering. He had broad shoulders, a thick neck-his suit was tight around his upper arms and thighs. He was six feet tall and strongly built. Carine doubted the PJ Physical Abilities and Stamina Test had given him any trouble. He and Ty both insisted a pararescueman didn't have to be big, but Manny was one who was.

"Manny, I'm not trying to interfere in your business. I just-" She sighed, uncertain how she could explain why she was here. "We both were there yesterday. I guess I just wanted to see you. I'm not having an easy time of it, and I thought-I don't know what I thought."

His dark eyes warmed slightly. "The police want to talk to me again today. I'm cooperating. If I don't, they'll probably find a reason to throw me in jail sooner rather than later."

"Why at all?"

"They have to do their thing." He leaned over to refill his coffee cup from a silver service set on the low table in front of him. "You know what's good about staying at a fancy place? You can pick out the cops. They fit in about as well as I do."

"There's a police officer here?"

"I'm under surveillance. I think it's supposed to be covert."

"Manny!" Carine found herself glancing around at the occupied seats, noticing an older couple, a middle-aged man reading a
Wall Street Journal,
a young woman tapping at a PalmPilot. "The woman?"

"Uh-huh."

"Manny, doesn't this bother you? Having the police waste their time on you, when you know you had nothing to do with Louis's death?"

He sipped his coffee. "Getting bothered isn't going to change anything."

"So, what're you going to do, sit here and do
nothing?
"

"Sure, why not? Enjoy the fancy digs while I can. Rancourt hasn't told me to clear out yet. So long as he's footing the bill, I can-"

"You can what, drink coffee out of a silver pot?"

His eyes didn't leave her. "I have to tell you, drinking coffee out of a silver pot suits me just fine."

She immediately regretted her words. Manny wouldn't bring it up, but he and North had been in Afghanistan and Iraq. Manny's last mission before he retired was to recover an aircrew killed in a training accident. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Actually," he added with a hint of a smile, lifting his pinkie finger from the too-small handle of his cup, "I'm drinking out of a china cup, not a silver pot."

Carine didn't know what to say. She could feel tension and frustration eating away at any calm she'd found during her walk in the Public Garden. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. Go back to Cold Ridge." He looked at her over the rim of his cup, his dark eyes unrelenting. "For all you know, I could be guilty. I could have killed Louis Sanborn."

"You had no motive."

He was motionless for a split second. "I had motive."

"What?" She lowered her voice, aware of the cop and her PalmPilot. "Manny, what are you talking about?"

"Why do you suppose the police have me under surveillance but not you? Come on, Carine. You don't know what I was doing at the Rancourt house yesterday."

She sat back, irritated with him for playing games with her. "I don't care. I don't care if you didn't think Louis was a nice guy or what you're doing in Boston, it's impossible-Manny, I'm your friend. I know you didn't kill him."

"You're my friend's ex-fiancée. That's a little different."

Carine's mouth snapped shut, and she stared at him. He'd obviously meant to sting her, and he'd succeeded. "All right. Why tell me Louis wasn't a nice man?"

"Because he wasn't."

"That's not an answer."

"I thought it'd be enough to scare you into going home. A minute ago I thought telling you I'm under police surveillance would scare you into going home. Now I'm telling you I had a motive-"

"Stop saying that!"

"Listen to me, Carine." He set down his cup again. "I don't need your help."

"You're being an ass just to get rid of me."

He smiled faintly. "It's not working very well, is it?"

"What about Ty? Have you talked to him? He'd help you. You know he would."

"Ty's on a mission, not that I'd ask him for his help. He's still on active duty. He doesn't need to get mixed up in a murder investigation." Manny sat back, studying her for a moment. "That's what this is, Carine. A murder investigation. A man was killed yesterday. You need to back off."

"Yes," she said, "I'm well aware a man was killed."

His expression softened. "I'm sorry. I haven't forgotten you were the one who found him. How're you doing?"

"Okay."

"Sleep last night?"

"Not much."

He winked at her. "Now you're looking for trouble to distract yourself, aren't you? I know it's hard to figure what to do after something like yesterday."

"It was hard enough getting shot at last year. This-"

"Give yourself some time. And don't worry about me, will you? I'll be fine. If I need help…" He shrugged, deliberately not finishing.

"If you need help, you won't turn to a nature photographer, not with all the tough types you know." She gave him a quick smile and got to her feet. "Just stating the facts, not putting myself down. You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

"The police asked me not to talk to anyone."

"Right. Like you needed their say-so to keep your mouth shut."

He rose, and she could see the lines at the corners of his eyes, the strain. He'd just gotten his son back on his feet, and now he was in the wrong place at the wrong time when a murder was committed-but he didn't let any of that show. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and admonished her one more time. "You don't have a dog in this fight, Carine. Stay out of it."

When she got back out onto the street, she made herself take three deep cleansing breaths before she decided what to do next. Her hands were shaking. Her stomach muscles were tight to the point of soreness, but at least she didn't feel as if she'd throw up-minor progress, but progress nonetheless.

She fished out her cell phone and dialed Gus's number. "Gus? It's me. The police have Manny under surveillance. Can you believe it? They think he killed Louis. Why don't they think
I
killed him?"

"What the hell were you doing talking to Manny Carrera?"

"Relax. He's at the Four Seasons having coffee." She sighed, starting down Tremont Street toward the intersection of Arlington Street, the Public Garden across from her, people passing her on their normal routines. "Manny's in trouble, Gus. He won't admit it, of course. He's going to have ulcers and heart disease in a few years from keeping it all under such tight control."

"Carine-"

"I'm thinking about calling Ty. Do you know where he is?"

"Why do you want to call him? Manny can take care of himself."

"Manny's
not
taking care of himself. You should see him. Maybe Ty can talk to him. He must have heard about what happened."

Gus hesitated. "He heard."

Carine stopped abruptly, a man in a suit nearly crashing into her as he rushed past. Gus was being evasive, and that wasn't his nature. He'd been evasive earlier, and she'd let it go. Normally he was the most straightforward person she'd ever encountered. "Gus?"

"What, honey? You sound stressed out-"

"Gus, where is Tyler? Is he on leave? Manny said he was on a mission."

"You haven't seen the news, have you? Well, you'll find out sooner or later-North and I pulled three prep school seniors off the ridge yesterday."

"So, he's there. I'll call him at home."

"Try his cell phone."

She frowned. "Gus? Gus, what is it you're not telling me?"

"Ah, shit, honey, I'm losing the connection. I can't hear you. Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you fine."

"What? Carine? Are you there? These goddamn cell phones."

"Gus-"

He disconnected.

And she knew. Ty was en route to Boston or already there. The fact that Gus didn't want to tell her meant North had come because of her. Gus wouldn't like it either way-Ty in Boston, her there on her own.

" Mission, my ass."

Manny had to know. He must have contacted Ty and put him up to keeping an eye on her-probably to take her back to Cold Ridge, since that seemed to be the general consensus of what she should do with herself. Go home. Stay out of trouble. Don't
cause
any trouble.

She didn't feel warm and safe and less isolated, less vulnerable, as if her family and friends were trying to do right by her after she'd had a shock.

"Ha," she muttered. "I know better."

She'd been conspired against by her own uncle, by Manny Carrera-and North. They'd obviously believed she couldn't resist meddling.

She could see herself standing in the library door yesterday and relived the jolt of awareness that had warned her something was wrong. She saw the blood. Louis's hand. She felt herself running in panic out of the house, into Manny Carrera's arms.

If she hadn't been there, would Manny have slipped away before the police arrived?

Was it her fault he was under suspicion?

Louis Sanborn was not a nice man.

Maybe not. But Manny hadn't shot him in cold blood.

She dialed Gus's number. "When did Ty leave for Boston?" she asked him.

"Can't hear you," her uncle said, and hung up.