First kill the lawyers, p.25
First, Kill the Lawyers, page 25
“Probably tomorrow. I’ll call.”
“In the meantime, Maura,” Guernsey said, “what’s the name of that young policeman you’ve been spending time with?”
“Robert Paul, you don’t think…”
“Now, now, honey. I know all about him, know how you hired him to watch out for Hayley. If things went beyond that, I’m just too old to care. But I need to talk to him. Now, honey.” Guernsey stared at the entrance to his house. “There’s something I need for him to do, unless … Mr. Taylor? Are you for hire?”
“I have way too many clients already,” I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“So what we got here is a rich supervillain like in them James Bond movies,” Freddie said. “And he’s doin’ what? Turning on his trusted henchman? You know that’s not going to end well.”
“The thing is, I believed him. When Fisk said he never threatened Hayley, I believed him. I believed the old man, too. I don’t think either of them had anything to do with the attempts on Hayley’s life.”
“Who did?”
I went to the bulletin board and unpinned the stack of index cards comprising the names of the five lawyers and their cases. I spread them apart and reconnected them to both GUERNSEY and HAYLEY. I sat behind my desk and stared at them.
“What are we missing?” I asked.
“You said Fisk all but confessed to offing Cowgill, Siegle, and O’Neill.”
“Yes.”
“But not Sean or Chad.”
“No, but he didn’t deny it, either.”
“Did you ask?”
“No, I didn’t ask.”
“Motive, means, and opportunity—I bet he had ’em all.”
“I appreciate you coming over to my way of thinking, Freddie, I really do. Still…” I stared at the bulletin board some more. “Something the old man told me that made me go ‘Hmm.’ He said that when he’s gone Hayley will have more money than God. But Brooke St. Vincent told me that Guernsey doesn’t have a will.”
“Guy like him, ’course Guernsey has a will. How else can he cut people out of it?”
“If he does, it’s a secret between him and his lawyer.”
“Which lawyer?”
My cell phone rang as if it had the answer. The caller ID listed Claire Wedemeyer.
“Hi,” I said.
“Taylor, you told me to call you if someone—”
“What is it?”
“That man who was at the apartment, he’s back.”
“Clark Peterson? Where?”
“At Mandy’s soccer game.”
* * *
I quickly got directions and told Claire that I was on my way but it might take me some time before I reached her. I told her not to wait, told her that if Peterson threatened her or Amanda in any way she should call the police.
I hung up the phone. Before I left, I went to the office safe.
“You’re not seeing this, Freddie,” I said.
“Seeing what?”
I opened the safe and swapped my Beretta for a different gun and a suppressor.
Freddie didn’t speak a word as I left the office.
* * *
The sports fields at Linwood Community Recreation Center in St. Paul were built into the side of a steep hill and pretty much hidden from view on three sides. They also had a parking problem. There was a lot, but it was too small to be of much use. Patrons were forced to park on St. Clair Avenue, a busy thoroughfare set above the fields, or on one of the narrow adjoining side streets. I found Clark Peterson’s purple Bentley Continental GT convertible at the end of a long line of cars where Deubener Place met Benhill Road, which made me question Peterson’s judgment. The streets were lined with thick trees and shrubs. The luxury car could easily have been messed with, even stolen, with no one around to see. One the other hand, the isolated location was perfect for me.
I parked my own car one block over and walked to Linwood. I entered through the trees and hovered at the edge of the park behind the cyclone fence, well out of sight of the families that had gathered to watch their daughters play soccer. Night had fallen, and the huge lights lining the field were turned on. It was one of my favorite things when I was a kid, playing baseball under the lights, and I wondered if the girls enjoyed it as much as I had. It took me a minute to locate Amanda on the field. For someone who seemed to find the game to be burdensome, she was flying around at a reckless clip. It was much easier to spot Claire, but then I could have picked her out of a group of ten thousand.
Peterson was standing along the sidelines away from the families. He had his hands behind his back and was rocking back and forth on his heels. His expression suggested that the entire event was being staged for his benefit and he was pleased.
I called Claire with my cell phone.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m still in Minneapolis. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Peterson is just standing there with a smug look on his face and watching the game.”
“Stay close to your friends.”
“Taylor, what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll explain later. I’m trying to get to the park. Don’t wait for me, though. When the game is over, leave with everyone else.”
“I will.”
I hung up the phone and waited. There was something about watching the kids playing with such fervor that made me feel good about the world, although, the way the two teams reacted when the game was concluded, I realized with a twinge of disappointment that Amanda had lost another one. After slapping hands with the other team, something else that made me confident about the future, she walked to her mother, her shoulders slumped, and I thought, get over it kid, you can’t win ’em all.
Claire gave her daughter a hug while the families gathered up their belongings and made to leave. Claire and Amanda departed with them, heading for the long concrete staircase that led to the top of the hill. Peterson stopped them. Once again Claire draped her arms over Amanda in a defensive embrace. Peterson said something to them, waving his arms for emphasis. Claire shook her head and started following the families. Peterson grabbed her arm. Claire shook it free. Peterson put up his hands as if saying no to a second helping of pie. He was smiling. I could almost hear him say, “What? Me lay hands on you? I didn’t do that. Why would I do that?”
Claire and Amanda climbed the stairs toward St. Clair Avenue with the others. Peterson watched them. After a few moments, he spun around and walked across the park toward the entrance off Deubener Place. I left my spot at the edge of the trees and moved down toward his car and waited. A couple of families had also parked there. I willed them to hurry, willed them to enter their vehicles and drive away before Peterson arrived, and they did.
Peterson was alone when he reached the Bentley. He was bathed in the light of a streetlamp; I remained hidden in shadow. I spoke his name and emerged from the trees. He smiled when he saw me. It was the same smile he had when he had lied to me in his lawyer’s office. He circled the Bentley until it was behind him.
“Taylor.” He spoke as if we were old friends and he was glad to see me. “I knew she’d call you. What’s her name? Claire? I knew she’d call and you’d come running.”
“I was told that it wasn’t just your wife. I was told that you made other women disappear, too. How many?”
“If you know that it’s because you found the hacker and he told you. Who was it? Make it easy on yourself and tell me, Taylor, or your women might be next. Her or the little girl. Amanda—she’s juicy for a girl her age.”
I brought the gun up. It was the semiautomatic that I had taken off Chad in the Library parking lot, untraceable to me. I had attached the suppressor to the barrel. They used to be illegal in Minnesota, but now you can buy them over the counter.
Peterson laughed at me.
“Who are you kidding?” he said. “Threatening me with a gun. You’re not going to use that. Guys like you have a code.” He quoted the word with both hands. “It’s like those old Wild West movies. You never draw first. You never shoot an unarmed man. You never shoot anyone in the back. And when you catch the bad guy, you always turn him over to the sheriff. Only what are you going to tell the cops? That I watched some little girls play soccer? That I said hello to one of the moms? What’s the crime in that?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “How many other women did you kill? Three? Or four?”
“Who keeps count?”
“You’re right. I do have a code. A line in the sand that I won’t cross. You’re on the wrong side of it.”
“Taylor, don’t be an ass.”
“There are things I will do and there are things I won’t do. One of the things I won’t do—”
“Taylor—”
“I won’t let anyone hurt the people I love if I can help it.”
Peterson finally caught on. By then it was too late, though. I shot him three times in the chest. The gun didn’t go poof, poof, like you hear in the movies. Instead, there was a clicking sound like the snapping of fingers.
The bullets flung Peterson against the Bentley. He slowly slid down until he was in a seated position against the passenger door, out of sight of the street. He died sometime during the journey.
I glanced up Deubener Place and I glanced down. I saw no one. I heard no one. I dropped the gun at my feet and walked out of the shadow into the street. I made my way to my Camry, moving slowly yet not too slowly. Along the way, I stripped off the rubber surgical gloves I was wearing and stuffed them into my pocket.
I unlocked the car with my key fob, climbed inside, started it up, and drove off, using side streets to maneuver myself across town. Along with its story on the three hundred and ninety video cameras used by the Minneapolis and St. Paul Police departments, NIMN had published an interactive map showing their exact locations. They were easy to avoid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I had a restless night. It must have shown in my face, because the next morning Alexandra Campbell told me, “You look terrible.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I said. “Where’s Hayley?”
Alex called the girl’s name, and a moment later she bounded down the staircase.
“Good morning,” Hayley said.
I had to admit she looked a helluva lot better than I did in her tight jeans and pink pullover. She was smiling, but I wasn’t.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Time to go home,” I said.
“To Axis Mundi?” Hayley shook her head as if she couldn’t think of anything more distasteful.
“You don’t have to stay there,” I told her. “You’re over eighteen. An adult. But you need to at least make an appearance. Too much has happened.”
“They’ll never forgive me.”
“They already have.”
“How could they?”
“Your family knows that you had nothing to do with the blackmail attempts, that it was all on Sean and Chad. They also know that when you discovered what they were doing you stopped them. That scored a lot of points.”
“I’m the one who started it all because I wanted the world to know what they were doing.”
“Your stepfather and the others don’t know that part. They think that you might have spoken out of turn about family business with your friends, and your friends acted on their own. My advice, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“I won’t live a lie.”
“Hayley, how did you think this was going to end? What did you think was going to happen when you threw your family’s secrets up on the World Wide Web? Did you think you would be regarded as a hero? Did you think society would rise up as one to applaud your honorable intentions? Edward Snowden is still living in exile. Julian Assange is in virtual prison in the Ecuadorian embassy in London.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
“Go home, Hayley. Despite what you think, the people there love you. At least they’re trying to. If nothing else, you’ll soon have more money than God. Your stepfather told me so himself. Think of what you can do with all that cash, the good you can do. Change the world.”
Hayley pivoted toward Alex.
“What should I do?” she asked.
“Taylor’s right, you don’t have to stay at Axis Mundi. If things get intense, you can always come back here to me.”
Hayley smiled as if she couldn’t think of anything more wonderful. She moved toward Alex and fell into her arms. They kissed, but not as friends kiss. They kissed like lovers, with passion and hunger, their bodies pressed hard against each other. I wish I could say I found the scene heartwarming. Or even erotic. Instead, I was appalled, my brain screaming, “Alex, what are you doing?”
I tried mightily not to let it show, though, especially when they broke the kiss and Hayley pivoted toward me. She held out her hand. A flash drive was resting in the palm.
“Here,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Why didn’t you take it from me when we were at the Library, or later when we came here?”
“It doesn’t belong to me.”
“You could have taken it. I wouldn’t have been able to stop you.”
“That’s a poor reason to steal, because you can get away with it.”
“It was your job to take these files.”
“I like it better that you’re giving them to me.”
I took the flash drive from her hand and slipped it into my jacket pocket without looking at it. I told myself that Freddie would be so pleased.
“I don’t get you at all,” Hayley said.
“That’s okay. Sometimes I don’t get me, either.”
“Hayley,” Alex said, “don’t forget your backpack.”
Hayley squeezed her hand and headed upstairs. As soon as she was out of earshot I spoke up.
“Jesus, Alex, what are you thinking?” I said.
“About what?”
“You know about what.”
“The girl is over eighteen, Taylor. She’s not one of my students. She doesn’t even go to the U.”
“That’s your threshold? That’s where you draw the line?”
“Did it ever occur to you that she was the instigator? That Hayley crawled into my bed looking for comfort and not the other way around? For God’s sake, she saw two men killed in front of her, men she knew personally.”
“That doesn’t make any difference. She’s a child.”
“She’s a woman with needs just like the rest of us.”
I heard Hayley at the top of the stairs.
“You and I are going to have a talk later,” I said.
“Funny, Taylor,” Alex said. “You never struck me as the jealous type.”
“That’s not what the talk will be about.”
“I’m ready,” Hayley said. She descended the steps, the backpack slung over her shoulder. It didn’t get in the way as she and Alex hugged again.
“I already miss you,” Hayley said.
“You know where I live.”
“I do.”
They kissed again, this time with affection. I opened the door, and Hayley stepped out. I glanced at Alex before following her. Alex gave me a shrug as if to say, “What’s a girl to do?”
* * *
I maneuvered my Camry to I-94 and eventually to I-394, heading west toward Lake Minnetonka, with neither of us I having much to say until we were in the suburbs.
“I’m sorry,” Hayley said.
“For what?”
“For putting you to so much trouble.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“No, your job was to get the files, and you could have done that without helping me.”
“I like you, Hayley.”
“Even though I stole your girlfriend?”
“Is that what you did?”
“Alex and I slept together.”
“I got that impression.”
“She wasn’t the first woman I’ve had sex with, but she is the only one that I actually cared about. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Sight is what most people use to avoid bumping into the furniture, but Alex, she sees things, you know?”
Hayley didn’t speak again until we were passing through Wayzata. “She’s not the one, though, is she? Alex. She’s not the one.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“If you really cared about her, you’d be angrier than you are.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. The truth is, I wasn’t even thinking about Alexandra Campbell. I was thinking about Claire Wedemeyer and the fact that I had put her and her daughter in danger simply by knowing them. It made me feel gloomy. Possibly Hayley could see the gloom in my face.
“I wish you’d say something,” she said.
“The devil is inside all of us. With some he resides very near the surface and can be easily released by alcohol, drugs, politics, even bad traffic. With others it requires more powerful motivations like fear, hate, loneliness, ambition, greed. Love.”
“The devil made me do it. Isn’t that a seventies thing?”
“Are you calling me old again?”
Eventually we reached Orono and turned south toward the City of Mound.
“Taylor,” Hayley said, “I like you, too.”
* * *
The first time I had driven to Axis Mundi I had followed Melissa and Fisk. We had paused at an iron gate that they opened and closed with a remote control. This time there were armed guards outside the gate with the patch of a private security firm stitched to their shoulders. One of the guards approached my car while two others watched, their automatic weapons held with the muzzles pointing downward. I opened my window.
“What’s your business here?” he asked.
“Holland Taylor and Hayley O’Brien. We’re expected.”
The guard looked at both of us and then into the backseat. Hayley leaned forward to look at him.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Pop the trunk,” the guard said.
I did, using the latch on the floor between my seat and the door. He looked inside and slammed it shut again. He returned to the window.
