Wake the Devil (31 page)

B
eth was waiting for him in the car. The temperature had dropped and a sharp breeze was blowing piles of yellow and red leaves along the street, occasionally tossing them around and up into the air in circles. Some businesses had placed carved pumpkins and Christmas trees in their windows. Women who worked at the federal building and the Fulton County Justice Center wore gloves and light coats on their way to lunch. Beth had put on a white turtleneck sweater and a black pair of pants. She smiled as Jack got in and asked how the meeting went.

“Fine. He’d like to partner with me as soon as he gets out.”

Beth blinked. “You really think he will?”

“It’s hard to say. Group psychology is funny. Everyone is so eager to nail Sergei Borov, they probably don’t see what’s going on in front of their faces. The Sandman’s manipulating them.”

“It’s like you told your class the first time we met?”

Jack frowned and tried to recall what he had said.

“You have very little chance of finding out the truth if you know in advance what the truth ought to be,” Beth prompted.

“Did I say that?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, I must be a clever fellow.”

“Brilliant,” Beth said. “Are you going to take him up on his offer?”

Jack leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I already have a partner.”

Beth smiled and handed him a manila envelope that had been resting on the back seat. “Dan Pappas picked it up from the bank yesterday afternoon.”

Jack opened the package, removed the records, and studied them for a minute. Two of the pages had paper clips attached. He slid his finger down the columns until he found the transfers he was looking for, nodding slowly.

“Let’s go,” he said.

*

Dr. Stuart Patterson flicked on the light to his office and was startled to see four people waiting for him.

“Jesus, Rachel, you scared the crap out of me. What are you doing in here?”

“Waiting for you, Stuart. Tell me why.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why did you do it?”

Patterson looked from one person to the other, then at Dan Pappas, standing next to the door. He said nothing.

“Key man insurance,” Beth explained. “With your partners dead, two and half million dollars would go to the medical practice, of which you would have been the sole officer and stockholder. It was all about money, wasn’t it, Doctor?”

“You’re crazy,” Patterson said. “I want all of you out of here now.”

Rachel shook her head as though she couldn’t process what she was hearing. The expression on Patterson’s face was enough to tell her Jack had guessed right.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Rachel asked. “We’d have helped you.”

“You’re accusing me of hiring an assassin? That’s ridiculous. Where’s your proof?”

Beth tapped the package in her lap. “You’re in debt up to your eyebrows. Particularly with the people in Las Vegas. Six months ago, you managed to pull enough cash together to wire $150,000 to a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. That account belongs to the Sandman. We contacted the Cayman government and they’ve agreed to cooperate. The bank sent us their records yesterday. Considering
that Rachel, George, and Will only saw Borov’s transfer four weeks ago, he couldn’t have been the one to hire the hit man since he wasn’t in the picture when the Sandman was hired. And finally, as the medical practice’s managing partner, you took it on yourself to increase your company’s insurance policy a month before the cable car event took place.”

“Bullshit.”

“No,” Beth said. “For the last year, you’ve been borrowing money from a loan shark named Eddie Marks to pay off your casino markers, which are a matter of public record under Nevada and New Jersey state law. You’re also spending about fifteen thousand dollars a month to maintain your lifestyle. Those, and your monthly trips to Las Vegas and Atlantic City, are the marks of a degenerate gambler, Doctor.”

“You’re not hanging this on me,” Patterson said. “You people are just looking for a scapegoat.”

Beth removed yet another paper from the envelope and read through it for several seconds, shaking her head.

“Hard to see you as a scapegoat. The Sandman signed an affidavit acknowledging you’re his client and that he received the hundred and fifty thousand dollars from you. Months later when you found out your partners had to testify in front of the grand jury, you saw an opportunity to deflect suspicion away from you and took advantage of it. Convenient, but it didn’t work.”

Patterson was silent for a moment, then without warning he turned and bolted for the door. He got as far as Detective Dan Pappas, who spun him into the wall face-first and snapped a pair of handcuffs on him. When he was through, the detective read him his rights. Beth nodded for Pappas to take him away.

Jack sat there observing the exchange. Once they were gone, Rachel asked to see the Sandman’s affidavit.

“This?” Beth asked, holding up the paper. “It’s my Christmas shopping list.”

Rachel’s mouth opened. “You made it up?”

Beth’s eyebrows lifted and she pointed at Jack with her chin.

B
eth and Jack walked hand in hand along the street, browsing the shop windows. For the first time anyone could remember, Atlanta was experiencing a November snowfall. Large flakes the size of dimes were coming down and sticking to the pavement. Cars were driving with their lights on. Windshield wipers were going. No one seemed to mind. It was part of the season and shared adversity made everyone friends.

Earlier that morning she informed him she’d accepted her parents’ invitation to spend Thanksgiving with them and had called his mother to invite her as well. Morgan would be there, too, as would Jack’s brother, Stephen, who was flying in from London. He liked her mom and dad and thought his family would too.

Combining families. A tradition that had been going on for millennia, probably longer. His mind turned to the three skeletons at the Carlos Museum who had passed from this earth fifty thousand years ago. He thought then of George Lawrence, Will Landry, Dwayne Stafford, and Ed Mundas and hoped all their souls were at peace. Rachel was a strong woman who would heal and go on. Of that he was certain.

A few days earlier, she had sent them a holiday greeting card of a horse-drawn sleigh pulling up to a house. Yellow light streamed from the living room window onto the snow and smoke came from the chimney. The inside was blank. All it said was “Thank you” followed by her name.

“You’re welcome,” Jack whispered.

Now that the case was over, he decided the FBI was not the place for him any longer. He turned in his resignation. His teaching position at Georgia Tech also didn’t seem quite right. Time would tell where he’d end up.

At the mall, workers were putting up a large Christmas tree on top of Macy’s department store. In a few weeks, the lights would come on and a different feel would be in the air. Children would stare open mouthed at the sight and the memory would stay with them over the years to come. He remembered looking at just such a tree when he was a boy and eating hot chestnuts his father had bought from a street vendor. The world he’d grown up in was not a dangerous place, or if it was, he hadn’t known it. Certainly it was less complicated.

At an art gallery, they paused a few moments to look at a John Stobart painting of an old sailing vessel, then resumed their stroll. The sidewalk was sparsely crowded and filled with people like himself—not demons, not gargoyles, and not killers stalking the innocent. It was a fine time to be with family and friends. A time to sit in front of a fire and watch the University of Georgia or Georgia Tech play in a bowl game. It was a time to be on dry land with someone you loved and not in the bow of a ship on a stormy sea. He felt at peace with himself for the first time in a long while.

After another block, Jack paused to brush some snow off Beth’s hair and kissed her.

“What was that for?” she asked, looking up at him.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

She took a contented breath, smiled, and slipped an arm around his waist, holding him tighter. And together they continued up Peachtree Road as the snow came down.

I
would like to acknowledge the advice and wisdom imparted to me by my agent, Jane Dystel, and all the fine people at Dystel Goderich Literary Management. Any new author, though I suppose I can no longer claim to be new as this is my second book, should be willing to walk across hot coals for such a dedicated team.

Also, a large nod of thanks to Matt Martz for all his help and encouragement and to editors, Natasha Simons and Heather Boak, who contributed greatly to the book and offered suggestions and insight that opened my eyes and pushed me to see things in ways I couldn’t. Crooked Lane Books is a wonderful company that has brought my two stories to life and offered support in every possible way.

A special note of thanks goes to my publicist Dana Kaye with Kaye Publicity and Julia Borcherts who worked tirelessly to bring the books to the public’s attention, and to the amazing Sarah Poppe, who was always there to help.

As always, none of this would have been possible without the contributions of my dearest friend, Jane Mashburn. God got it right when he made her. And my thanks to Gary Peel, who acted as my first reader and offered his advice and encouragement. My appreciation also goes out to the many readers who have taken the time to write and share their thoughts with me. You may believe I listened to every one of them.