Bagmen (A Victor Carl Novel) (27 page)

CHAPTER 46

AIR FORCE NONE

I
had gotten it wrong. Spectacularly. No surprise there. To put down everything I had gotten wrong during my miserable descent into the mire of politics, I’d have to write a book.

I was standing between Melanie and McDeiss, newly clued in to the truth of what was actually happening, when the door to the plane disengaged from the body and dropped down, slowly down, revealing a set of bright-green stairs. The girl was still in the car, McDeiss was getting antsy, killers were still on the loose, push was coming to shove, and climbing down these stairs now was the Congressman’s wife.

“Victor?” said Mrs. DeMathis. “I didn’t expect to see you here. The situation must be more dire than I imagined.”

I stepped forward so that we could talk privately. “Melanie explained the situation to me,” I said. “I’m just a little surprised that you’re the one who has come for her.”

“I don’t strike you as the maternal type?”

“No, actually, you don’t. And certainly not with a child born of your husband’s illicit affair. I would think you’d want her as far away from you as possible.”

“What must you think of me.”

“Yes,” I said. “What must I.”

“And you brought that insistent detective all the way from Philadelphia just to be sure my intentions were honorable.”

“I wasn’t willing to let it go.”

She smiled. “My goodness, Victor, are you ever in the wrong game.”

“So what exactly are your intentions?”

“At first, when I learned of the child during a drunken spat—where he sweetly used her existence to prove I was the barren one in our family—I contacted the agency just to see if there was anything I could do to help in difficult times. But after two murders, I realized the danger she was in from that insane woman, and my intentions changed. I intend now to take the girl away, to take her somewhere safe, until your detective neutralizes the threat. And then afterward, for as long as she needs it, to take care of her.”

“As if she were your own.”

“And isn’t she? What else do any of us have in this world other than an obligation to her?”

“And your husband will be okay with that?”

“I’ve made clear to him that he has no choice. Whatever his objections, he’ll give way and be grateful for it in the end. I’ve given my life over to the man still on the plane, and all he has proven over and again is that he is unworthy of it. And you wonder why I drink. But now fate and Ossana’s insanity have given me another chance.”

“So now you’ll use the girl to find some sort of meaning in your meaningless existence.”

“And is that so terrible? If I clutch her like a ring buoy in a salt sea, is that so terrible? All she’ll know is my warm arms and beating heart, all she’ll know is my strength and my love. I’ve so much to give and now I get to give it to her. Is that so terrible?”

There was steel within her that I had never seen before. Maybe because it was the first time I had seen her when she wasn’t drunk.

“No,” I said. “That’s not so terrible. She’s a lucky girl.”

“One of us is,” she said as she walked past me.

She said something to Melanie before opening the door and climbing into the backseat next to the girl. Melanie had convinced the Orphans’ Court to award custody of the child to the Congressman. Now Mrs. DeMathis was going to spirit the girl away and raise her as her own, and it was all legal as sin. I gestured to McDeiss to wait on the tarmac before I climbed the stairs onto the plane.

The cabin of the small jet was tiny, pale and plush, with two narrow seats facing each other on either side of the aisle and another seat facing the door. Congressman DeMathis was sitting toward the rear, his body stiff, his tie tight, his glass three-quarters empty. He didn’t react when he saw me. He looked like a guy holding on for dear life as his plane headed nose-first into the ground. His chief of staff, Tom Mitchum, was standing beside him, wringing his hands.

“Dammit, Victor, how did you let it get this far?” said Mitchum. “How could you shovel our money to Ossana? Why would you finance her?”

“You’re looking at the wrong bagman,” I said. “I haven’t given her a cent. Someone else is serving up her salad.”

“Who?”

“That’s not the question. The question is for whom. Any ideas, Tom?”

Mitchum worked his lips as if trying to pull a hair out of his teeth.

“That’s right,” I said. “No matter the crime or the cost, let’s all swallow our cocks for the Big Butter. Good idea, too, because the way things are shaping up, you’ll be looking for a private-sector job in November. Now crawl off the plane and give me a moment with the Congressman.”

Mitchum stared at me with something like hate in his eyes, self-hate maybe, before the Congressman gave a little wave of his hand. After Mitchum left, I sat across from the Congressman and leaned forward.

“Where is your sister?” I said.

“I still can’t believe it’s over.”

“We need to find her.”

“I’m lost, Victor, drifting in space, and it is brutally cold. What am I going to do now?”

“Take care of your daughter.”

“My niece.”

Niece? Did that make any sense? The little girl certainly looked enough like Ossana to be her daughter, but then why would Ossana DeMathis work so hard to hide her existence? Who was she really protecting?

“Where’s Ossana?”

“I don’t know. Who the hell knows? All I know is I’m out in the cold and I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t expect tears. That’s just the way it is with political careers. Like relationships, they all end badly.”

He shook his head, as if he were shaking himself out of a trance. “I’m not talking about my career. Why would I be talking about my career? My fund-raising is strong, my positions test well, the people will support me no matter what. It’s my seat as long as I want it. And I still want it.”

“Where is Ossana, Congressman?”

“I don’t know.”

“We need to find her before she hurts your niece.”

“My daughter.”

“I thought you said—”

“How do I get over something like this? You knew her, you understood.”

“What are we talking about?”

“Amanda. What else would I be talking about?”

“You’re right,” I said, incredulous at my own incredulity. “What else.”

“I loved her, I saw a future with her.”

“As long as you didn’t have to divorce your wife.”

“Amanda understood my circumstances.”

“Whose plane is this?”

“A supporter’s.”

“Which?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters. It matters very much.”

“I can still feel her touch, the silk of her skin, the very smell of her. She smelled young and earthy, like fresh lilacs. I can’t let go of the way she made me feel.”

“Like a politician?”

“Like the man I wanted to be. When I was young, the mother of one of my friends called me “The Senator,” because even as a boy I was so accomplished. And I liked it. It fit the vision I had of myself. And so did Amanda. The way she laughed, the way she stroked my chest.”

“Where are you taking the girl?”

“It’s my wife who has insisted on taking care of her. I suppose it will give her something to do. A friend has a house in North Carolina. We’re going to stay there for a bit. Hide from the press, plot the future. I need to gear up for the campaign. It would all be no problem if only I didn’t feel so cold.”

“This should heat you up. She was betraying you.”

“Who?”

“Duddleman. She was murdered in Philadelphia, but she spent the day here, in Lancaster, investigating the Shoeless Joan murder. She was trying to find the key to it all, trying to find the girl.”

“My niece.”

“Right. Of course. Why do I have the urge to slap you silly? We’re talking about the little girl with the liver disease who your sister gave to some adoption agency, who then gave her to Jessica Barnes. The little girl you were so desperate to keep a secret that you hired me to buy Jessica’s silence. Duddleman wanted to rise in the journalism game and she was going to do it on the carcass of your career. I admired the hell out of that. I wished her well.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s why she died. Your sister—”

“It doesn’t change the way I feel.”

“Men like you, it’s never about the truth of things. It’s only about your own precious sense of self. She was trying to be nice, that mother of your friend, calling you The Senator. But she sure as hell did a job on you. Where’s your sister?”

“I don’t know, I told you.”

“Well, you better find out fast. And tie your shoes tight, because I get a sense, Congressman, that she’s coming for you next, jilted heart and all.”

I left the plane feeling disoriented and disgusted, with myself as much as anything. I couldn’t get down the stairs of that tiny plane fast enough.

Mrs. DeMathis was talking to McDeiss and Mitchum and Melanie while holding the little girl’s hand. Her name was Calynne; I got it off the legal documents Melanie showed me. Little Calynne, carrying her own little suitcase, was eyeing the plane with a child’s wariness. When she looked at me, I could see the fear in her tense smile. I walked over and kneeled down next to her, letting the conversation between the adults twitter back and forth above my head.

“Are you scared?” I said.

“I’ve never been on a plane before.”

“It’s fun. Did you ever go to Dutch Wonderland?”

She nodded.

“What’s your favorite ride?”

“The Turtle Whirl.”

“It’s just like that but without all the spinning. And they let you drink soda.”

“Really?”

“Make sure you ask for the soda. Mrs. DeMathis is going to take care of you now.”

“I miss my mommy.”

“Yes, I know. Do you have a picture?”

“My grammom gave me one.”

“Good.” I took out a business card and gave it to her. It was stupid, I know, it embarrasses me now, but I did it. “Put it with the picture. If you ever need anything, have someone call me. Anytime. And I’ll come running. Even if only to get you off the Turtle Whirl.”

“Okay.”

“Bye-bye, Calynne. Take your medicine.”

“I will,” she said.

I looked up. McDeiss was staring at me, like I was an ambulance chaser sticking his card in a dead man’s mouth. I stood and stepped back. Mrs. DeMathis smiled at me before slowly leading Calynne toward the plane, Melanie and Mitchum following behind.

I watched them all enter, watched as the hydraulic piston slowly pulled the door up, watched until it sealed shut. Then I took out my phone and snapped a picture of the plane before its engines started and the thing pulled away to the end of the runway. The plane turned and paused, began to shake, and, with a shout, up it went.

Damn.

I thought of the man barreling through the sky, the man who would now be acting as Calynne’s father. How could I ever have ended up an errand boy for such a creature? I wondered if they were all like him, self-absorbed twits who cared for nothing so much as their own power and privilege, careening off one another, like pinballs in the granite-cloaked corridors, blindly pursuing their little prizes while the country burned.

CHAPTER 47

NIETZSCHE’S SISTER

W
ith the girl safe for the moment, it was time to find a killer, and I was no longer in the mood to chase.

The man behind the airport counter hadn’t shaved today, or yesterday, for that matter, and I had the distinct impression he had no intention of shaving tomorrow. The mismatched files on his desk were covered by an unfolded Wawa wrapper holding half a hoagie. When he saw us come through the door, he clicked something off the computer screen, something pornographic and baldly fetishistic, no doubt, and made a backhanded swipe of his greasy maw, loosing slivers of lettuce onto the wrapper.

“What can I do you for?” he said, mouth still full.

“The plane that just left,” I said. “Do you know where it’s headed?”

“Sure, hold on a sec.” He slapped his hands clean. “The HondaJet, right?” He pushed the edge of the wrapper from his keyboard and started tap-tapping. “That’s a sweeter bird than we normally have landing here. Usually the jets, even the small ones, end up at LNS. But we’re big enough if they’re small enough, and that one surely was. I got the flight plan somewhere in here.”

“We can wait,” I said.

He looked up, annoyed at being rushed, before he started searching through the files on his desk.

McDeiss leaned on the counter, took out his badge, clicked it a couple times on the counter. It took a moment for the guy to notice the clicking and what was causing it. When he did, he stopped his search and looked at the badge, up at McDeiss’s face, back down at the badge.

“You’re not local,” he said.

“Philadelphia,” said McDeiss. “Homicide.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“A little out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

“That’s why we’re asking and not telling,” said McDeiss. “You want telling, I can make a call.”

“No,” he said, with a glance at the door as if a horde of Lancaster cops were about to burst through. “Asking is fine. Just give me another minute and I’ll get this stuff for you.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I know where the plane is going. I just wanted to know if the jet’s destination has been logged into the system.”

“It will be as soon as I put in the flight plan.”

“Then let’s say you don’t. There’s a kid on that plane who is trying to get away from a stalker. We need to keep her whereabouts as private as possible until the detective here can ensure her safety. I’m a lawyer and I represent the man on the plane, who happens to be the girl’s father. He hired the jet to get her out of harm’s way. We should help him, don’t you think?”

He looked at McDeiss when he said, “I suppose.”

McDeiss simply nodded.

“Anything to help the police.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Anything. So here’s the play. Let’s keep the flight plan out of the computer for a couple of days. And if anyone comes in asking for the information, you can send them right to me.”

I took a card from my jacket pocket, slapped it onto the counter along with two of Mrs. Devereaux’s hundreds, pushed the bundle forward.

The man turned his head to McDeiss. “Is that what you want, Detective?”

“Like you said, it’s out of my jurisdiction.”

“I got you.” He pocketed the bills and gave the card a quick look. “Victor Carl.”

“You think you can remember that?” I said.

“Sure.”

“Then that’s that.” I gestured to the computer screen. “Sorry about disturbing your . . . hoagie.”

Outside the office, we stood for a moment and stared at the empty runway. The sun was shining, a light breeze was caressing our cheeks. One could imagine that all was right with the world, but then one would be a fool.

“You might as well have tied yourself onto a Mayan altar,” said McDeiss, “and sent her a card offering up your heart.”

“That almost sounds romantic.”

“Sure, until she comes after you with a knife the size of a marlin.”

“My guess is you have Armbruster looking for her.”

“Maybe.”

“And I know you’ve been looking for Colin Frost.”

“Yes.”

“How’s the search going?”

“Poorly.”

“We need to stop looking for them and get them looking for me. If I spread my card enough places, they’ll take the bait.”

“And then what?”

“And then I’ll string her along long enough to get the goods before you swoop in with your legions of coppers and save the day.”

“I might be busy eating lunch when she makes her appearance.”

“Eat fast,” I said. I looked along the length of the runway and thought about what had happened inside that plane. “Let’s take a ride.”

We drove the same streets through which we had chased Melanie’s car: the antiquing congestion of Bird-in-Hand, the rural byways leading to Irishtown Road. I didn’t hide behind the mighty oak this time, just pulled up right to the edge of the property and put the car in park. For a moment I eyed the tree that young Calynne had swung on, so innocent and free.

“Did the technicians give you any details about the DNA they found on the blood and the hair?”

“Just that it was a match, close enough that it was almost from the same person.”

“I bet. Do you have a sister, Detective?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I wonder what that’s like. Because I was an only child, so I missed out on all the sibling stuff. The big brother teaching you the ways of the world. The little brother you can take under your wing and show how to throw a curve. The sister whose room you can slip into in the middle of the night and—”

“Say what?”

“Doesn’t every young boy try out his sexual tricks on his sister before taking them out into the big bad world?”

“No they do not,” said McDeiss, his voice suddenly aggrieved, like I had just shat on his shoe.

“Well, some do.”

“Who the hell?”

“Our friend Nietzsche, for one.”

“Well, he had a mustache the size of a rodent, what could you expect? Who else?”

“Think about it. Remember when you said the motive for Jessica Barnes’s murder wasn’t right? How you wondered why Ossana would be so desperate to hide any evidence of the child?”

“You’re not saying—”

“He’s a United States congressman,” I said. “Who wouldn’t he screw?”

McDeiss sat in silence for a long moment before saying, “Every time I think I can no longer be shocked by a politician, I get proven wrong.”

“You want to know the funny thing? For a brief, naive moment I thought I’d be the barracuda in the cesspool.” I looked off at the house. “Let me go in alone. The grandmother knows me. It should go smoother without your hulking presence.”

“Hulking?”

“I just want to tell them that the plane has taken off and the girl is safe, and then drop off my card for when Ossana comes a-calling.”

I slammed the door shut behind me and walked up the front path. At the front door I rapped on the wood with my knuckles.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Gaughan as if she had opened the door to find a flaming bag of dog crap on her front step. “It’s you.”

“Do you have a minute, Mrs. Gaughan?”

“No, actually. Carl, was it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Go away, Carl, now, and leave us be.”

“I just wanted to tell you that Calynne has been taken someplace safe.”

“Thank God,” she said. “Now go away.”

“I know you’ve been concerned and I just wanted to give you an update on her care and to let you know that I’ll do—”

I stopped my yabbering when I heard a screen door bang in the back of the house, like someone was running somewhere, running from me. But who could ever want to run away from the mild likes of me? Unsure, I took a step forward, until I was no longer on the doorstep, until I was one step farther into the house. And I saw, on the floor in front of the couch, Jessica Barnes’s husband, or the corpse of Jessica Barnes’s husband—it was hard to tell—sprawled and still.

That was when I looked to my right and saw a gun aimed at my face.

“Close the door behind you,” said Colin Frost, staring at me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.

I turned and glanced at McDeiss in the car before I closed the door. Mrs. Gaughan took a step back and bowed her head. Colin Frost smiled. They had found me all right, the bastards, just like I had expected, but a good bit sooner than I had expected, which, terrifyingly, made all the difference.