Nine Lives (21 page)

“So she called and—”

“She called to tell me that they'd moved him to a private room on the second floor. Then, just as she was getting ready to go off shift, she called again to say she'd heard that Presley was waking up.”

“Oh my God! You're kidding,” Cat mumbled, remembering what she'd thought as she was leaving the ICU. She'd been right about him all along, and she would bet anything that someone, either a nurse or a doctor, had seen through his masquerade, too.

“Maybe we'll see justice yet,” he said.

Wilson knew Cat well enough by now to know she wasn't the type to sit and wait and hope someone made all the right moves.

“Cat, I want you to promise me something, okay?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

“Don't go and do something stupid. Let the police do their job.”

Cat bristled. “There are two things you need to know about me.”

Wilson frowned. He could tell he'd made her mad, even though it wasn't his intention.

“And those two things would be…?”

“I don't like to be told what to do.”

“That's one,” he counted.

Cat turned abruptly to stare out her kitchen window, as if trying to focus on something besides the condescending tone of his voice.

“I don't do stupid. And that's two. Thank you for letting me know about Presley.”

She hung up in his ear before he could accept her thanks or offer an apology.

He replaced the receiver with a sigh and then crawled back between the covers. He'd been up most of the night and was too tired to care if he'd ticked her off. Either she would get over it or she wouldn't. Right now, he was going back to sleep.

 

Cat called Pete Yokum from the car as she was driving to the hospital. He answered on the first ring.

“Pete, it's Cat. This is a heads up for you. I heard Presley is waking up. I'm on the way to the hospital to find out the truth for myself.”

“Stay cool, honey. Don't alert anyone that you're on to him in any way. I still have the office to do, and then we're good to go.”

“You be careful, too,” she said, then disconnected.

It did occur to her that Pete had offered almost the same advice that Wilson had, but Wilson's had made her mad. It was, she supposed, all in the delivery. She took the next exit off the freeway, straight to the hospital.

 

Joe Flannery showed up at Presley's hospital room about thirty minutes after Penny Presley's arrival. After finding out that Presley still wasn't talking, he left his name at the desk, asking to be notified when he could see the man, and moved to a small waiting room on the same floor.

Within fifteen minutes, Mrs. Presley came to meet him.

Flannery saw the attractive young woman entering the waiting room, then frowned as he saw the black eyes and bandaged nose. When he realized it was Penny Presley, he stood up.

“Mrs. Presley, I'm Detective Flannery. Captain Henry said you called.”

Penny's hair was less than perfect, and her clothing was slightly awry, as if she'd dressed in the dark. She hadn't, but choosing an outfit at four o'clock in the morning wasn't something she'd done before, and she would be the first to admit she had failed.

“Yes. Thank you for coming, Detective. As you can imagine, I am extremely upset about this entire affair. I would like to feel confident enough in my husband's faithfulness to our marriage vows to vehemently deny these claims against him, but I fear I cannot. I've known for years about his…dalliances, but to my knowledge, this is the first time there has been a child involved.”

“And that child is dead…murdered along with the mother,” Flannery said.

Penny's expression stilled as her face turned pale.

“Yes. I'm also aware of that.”

“So what's your take on all this?” Flannery asked. “Do you think your husband is capable of murder?”

Without thinking, Penny put a hand to her throat, remembering the sensation of not being able to breathe.

“I don't know what to think,” she said, and looked away.

Flannery frowned. She knew more than she was letting on.

“You do realize that if you're covering up for your husband, you can be charged as an accessory to murder?”

Penny gasped.

“Good Lord! I am most certainly
not
covering up anything. I've been more than courteous to your department. I didn't have to call you about anything, and yet I've volunteered DNA from his hairbrush and toothbrush, as well as given my permission for blood to be taken for testing. How dare you accuse me?”

Flannery backtracked. He didn't want to piss off his only witness to Presley's whereabouts.

“I'm sorry. I didn't intend to insult you, but I felt it was my duty to make sure you understood the consequences of withholding evidence.”

Penny's chin went up as her eyes flashed angrily.

“Well, you did insult me. As for consequences, as you put it, I'm well aware of my legal standing, including the fact that you can't
make
me testify against my husband, although if I knew for a fact that he'd committed such a horrible crime, I would most certainly do so…and by my own choice.”

Flannery decided to go straight to the heart of the matter. “Has your husband truly come out of his coma?”

“The doctor says he has, although he has yet to open his eyes and speak to me.”

“Do you think he's been faking?” Flannery asked.

Penny's eyes narrowed angrily. “I'm not a doctor. I don't know what to think!”

“Do you have a problem with me asking him some questions?”

“Not if I can be a witness to your interrogation.”

Flannery frowned. He knew for a fact that Presley might tell him something that he wouldn't want his wife to hear. Still, she'd said he wasn't talking, so it might all be moot.

“I don't have a problem with that, but I would ask you not to let on that you're in the room,” Flannery said.

Penny nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

“Can I see him now?”

She shrugged. “I don't see why not. Follow me.”

 

Mark was sick to his stomach with fear. The doctor had as good as told Penny that he was awake. He didn't know what to do now except open his eyes. But what then? He needed time to make his getaway, time to delay the police from questioning or filing charges against him. If that happened, it would be twice as difficult to escape.

He knew that a nurse was still in the room. He could hear her walking around with her rubber-soled shoes, and once in a while heard the scratching of her pen on paper as she made notes.

Penny had been here, too, but he'd heard her walk out when the doctor left. They'd talked about him as if he wasn't even there, which was a little disconcerting. Still, he'd had no choice but to remain silent.

The tape holding his IV in place was itching. He wanted to scratch it in the very worst way, but didn't dare move. Then he heard voices out in the hallway and willed himself to be still. Soon he heard more than one set of footsteps coming into his room.

 

Penny nodded her okay at Flannery, who promptly moved to the side of the bed. He stood without talking, watching the monitors registering Presley's blood pressure and heart rate, as well as the steady rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was steady and deep, and there was the slightest flutter to his eyelids, which Flannery knew didn't necessarily signify cognizance. Still, there was something about Presley that seemed off. Flannery couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him. Maybe it would come to him later. Now it was time to see what reaction he got from identifying himself.

“Mr. Presley, I'm Detective Flannery from the Homicide Division. I have a few questions I want to ask you.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. The cops? They shouldn't be here already. Who the hell had tipped them off that he was waking up?

Flannery thought he saw a muscle jerk near Presley's mouth, which gave him the impetus to continue.

“A few days ago, some detectives from Missing Persons interviewed you regarding an ex-employee of yours…Marsha Benton? I believe she was, at one time, your personal assistant. At any rate, she's been found. She was murdered. Do you know anything about that?”

Presley's stomach was in knots. If there was a God in heaven, he would surely put him out of his misery and just take him now. He didn't think he was going to be able to bear this inquisition.

When Flannery saw Presley's fingers trembling, he knew the bastard could hear, but how could he break down the wall of silence behind which the man was hiding and drag his sorry ass out into the truth?

“I believe that would constitute a ‘no comment,' right? Well, I have another little fact you can't deny. The baby that Miss Benton was carrying, the one that was murdered along with her, was yours. It's an undeniable fact. Do you have anything to say to that?”

Presley felt the contents of his stomach coming up and could do nothing to stop it. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to scream at the world to get out and leave him alone, but all he did was choke and then gag. Before Flannery could step back, Presley had thrown up all over the front of his sport coat and slacks.

“Oh crap!” Flannery yelled, as he stared down at himself in disbelief.

The nurse in the room hit the call button and then ran to Presley's side as Flannery moved toward the bathroom in the corner of the room.

“I'm so sorry,” Penny said, as she grabbed a handful of paper towels and handed them to the detective.

Flannery took them without comment and began wiping himself off as best he could. But the scent was with him, no matter how much he tried to clean up.

“Obviously this wasn't a good time,” he said. “I'll be back.”

Without waiting for anyone to say otherwise, he stalked out of the room and down the hall to the elevator. Because of the hour, he rode it down alone and made it across the parking lot to his car without being noticed.

All the way home, he cursed Presley and his captain for sending him out on this wild goose chase in the middle of the night. His wife was in the bathroom getting ready for work by the time he strode into the house. He was taking off his clothes as he went through the house. By the time he got to the bathroom, intending to clean up, he found her in the act of getting out of the shower.

Mistaking his nudity for something else, his wife took one look at her naked husband as he entered the bathroom and then wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, for God's sake, Joe. Not now. I'm going to be late for work.”

As she swept past him with her nose in the air, she paused long enough to offer a comment.

“You need to shower. You stink!”

“Do you think?” he asked sarcastically, and turned loose of the last bit of guilt for leaving a trail of tainted clothes all through the house.

By the time she figured out that she'd misread the situation, he was in a fresh set of clothes and on his way out the door.

I
t was fifteen minutes after nine in the morning. Presley's corporate offices were just opening up when Pete Yokum walked into the lobby and presented himself at the front desk.

He had dusted off one of his uniforms from when he was still on the job and written out a fake work order to replace some electrical outlets in Mark Presley's private office from 110 voltage to 220. He carried his work bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Texas Electric,” Pete said, and flashed the work order to the guard as he calmly took a sip of coffee.

“Just a minute,” the guard said, and picked up a phone, then punched in a couple of numbers. “This is Warren. I have a man from Texas Electric with a work order to do some repair in Mr. Presley's office.”

Pete watched the guard frown and knew he was going to have to play it cool to get by.

The guard looked up at him, still frowning.

“They say they don't know anything about this.”

Pete shrugged. “That's not my problem,” he said. “If you don't want me to do it, then I'm outta here. However, keep in mind that it's taken more than three weeks to get to this work order, and with the holidays and all, I'm backed up even more, which means if somebody gets their head out of their ass and realizes I came and went without doing the work, it's gonna be your problem, not mine. I showed up like I told them I would.”

The guard looked a little nervous.

“Wait a minute,” he said, then spoke into the phone again, relaying Pete's message without mincing words. “What? Yeah…oh, okay,” the guard said. “Just a minute. I'll ask him.”

“So…when did you get the call to come do this?” the guard asked.

Pete pulled a notebook out of his pocket and pretended to leaf through the pages.

“Oh. Yeah, here it is. It was the first Monday in December. A real nice lady called me. Said her name was Benton.”

The guard was well aware that Marsha Benton would have been the one to make this kind of appointment for the boss, and even though she was no longer here, that didn't mean Presley's plans for his office would change. He relayed that information to whoever he was talking to, then nodded when he got a reply.

“Will do,” he said, then hung up the phone before looking back at Pete. “Okay, buddy. You can go on up. Take the elevator to the top floor. Someone will be there to show you to the right office.”

“Thanks,” Pete said, then drained the last of his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash as he headed for the elevator.

He had already located all the video cameras in place around the lobby, so he kept the bill of his cap pulled low across his face and pretended to check out the lace on a shoe as he rode the elevator up. At no time did he allow a full view of his face to appear on camera.

As promised, there was a woman waiting for him at the elevator. He showed her the work order. She eyed it briefly, then told him to follow her and led him straight into Mark Presley's inner sanctum.

“How long do you think this will take?” she asked.

Pete shrugged. “I don't know, lady. Is it comin' out of your pocket?”

The woman frowned, eyed the stains on Pete's coveralls and sniffed disapprovingly.

“Of course not. Just don't make a mess in here,” she said. “Mr. Presley wouldn't like it.”

“I always clean up after myself,” Pete muttered, then set down his bag and turned his back on her.

She was gone before he had it unzipped.

He straightened up, then quickly checked out the room for hidden cameras. There were none, which didn't surprise him. A man like Mark Presley would have to have a place where he could be certain he was unobserved. Where better than his office?

He began looking through the desk and the closets, as well as a small dressing area off an elegant bathroom. There were a weight machine and an exercise bike in another alcove, and several changes of clothes in the closet, as well as a half dozen pairs of shoes. Several of the outfits were gym clothes, and there was a large gym bag in the back of the closet, which Pete promptly bugged, along with all the shoes.

With a quick glance toward the door, he began a thorough check of the desk, and as he was running his fingers along the bottom of each drawer, he felt a piece of paper that had been taped to one. When he checked it out, he saw an odd set of numbers and realized it was most likely the combination to a safe.

He hadn't see a safe anywhere in the room, though. He made quick note of the numbers and then stood. Just because he hadn't seen a safe, that didn't mean there wasn't one.

He started to search seriously and within a minute found it behind a painting of a farmer plowing around a field of pump jacks. The safe was unusually large for a wall safe, and using the numbers that he'd found, he quickly opened it.

He'd expected money, but not such a staggering amount.

Without taking time to count, he would venture a wild guess as to more than a million. The bills were all hundreds, and there were stacks and stacks of them. Almost immediately, he realized that if Presley
was
going to make a run for it, he wouldn't leave this behind.

Afraid that he would be caught, he quickly pushed a chair in front of the door and then dumped all of his tools right beneath an electrical outlet nearby. If anyone tried to come in, the chair would stop their immediate entry, giving him time to get back in place.

Once that was done, he grabbed a couple of the small electronic bugs and slipped them into bundles of bills he pulled from the middle of the stack. As soon as he'd finished, he quickly shut the door and spun the lock, then put the painting back in place.

He was down on his knees with the electrical socket out of the wall when the door swung inward. It did, as he'd expected, thump loudly against the chair.

“What the hell?” he yelped, then pulled the chair aside.

The woman who'd led him into the room entered with an accusing look on her face.

“Why did you block this door?” she snapped.

Pete frowned. “Dang, lady. You scared the shit out of me. And I didn't block the door…at least not intentionally. I just moved that chair to get to this outlet here.”

The woman glanced down, saw the tools on the floor and the wires dangling from the wall and relaxed.

“Oh. Well. I'm sorry I startled you. I was just checking on your progress.”

“I'm about done. This is my last one,” he said. “If you want to wait around a bit, you can walk me back to the elevator. I wouldn't mind some pretty company.”

To add insult to injury, Pete winked at her.

The young woman, properly horrified at being hit on by a man older than her father, quickly disappeared.

Pete chuckled as he screwed the plate back into the wall, then left the same way he'd come in. He nodded to the guard, who was talking to a FedEx delivery man, and disappeared out to the street.

As soon as he got in his van, he gave Cat a call.

“Hey, honey, it's me. I've got you taken care of.”

“Any problems?” she asked.

“Not a one.”

She sighed. “I hope this works.”

Pete chuckled, thinking of all that money in the safe. “If he's a runner, we've got him nailed,” Pete said.

“I hope so.” Cat said.

“Trust me,” Pete said. “Are you home?”

“No. I'm lurking around the hospital, trying to get some updates without outing myself.”

“Do you know how to run the tracking programs on these bugs?” he asked.

“Do they register on a laptop?”

“Yes. I have one programmed to the stuff I used, and I'll lend it to you. I'll write up the instructions. If you have any problems, you know my number.”

“Where should I meet you to pick it up?”

“I'll bring it over and get the manager to let me into your apartment.”

“I'll call her right now and tell her that I sent my laptop out for repair and it's going to be delivered today. I'll tell her to let you in.”

“That'll do it,” Pete said.

“Thank you so much,” Cat said.

“You're welcome, honey,” he said softly. “And once again, I'm real sorry about Shortcake. I'll be missin' her, too.”

 

Cat lurked around the waiting room on the second floor of the hospital long enough to see Detective Flannery leave. From what she'd learned, he'd been in and out, then back in again, since early this morning. A short while later Presley's wife also exited his room and took the elevator down. A nurse went into his room with a tray of medicines, then came out. Cat knew she needed to get out of there, too, before someone accused her of stalking, but she wanted to look at Presley one more time, just to reassure herself that she hadn't misread the situation.

She sat in the waiting room until it became obvious the shift was changing. There would be some confusion with all the coming and going, which should provide her with a fair chance of getting into his room unobserved. Still, she knew there were surveillance cameras in every hall and she knew where they were located. She took down her hair, shaking it out until it was hanging around her face, buttoned up her long coat in order to disguise her shape as best she could, and started down the hall.

Her shoulders were hunched a bit, as if from the cold outside, and she kept her gaze down just enough that her hair automatically fell forward. When she got to Presley's room, she paused as if checking room numbers, then very quietly slipped inside. There was no sound from her entrance, or from the door slowly swinging shut.

Then it was only Cat and the killer, alone in the dark.

She stood there until her eyes adjusted to the lack of artificial light and slowed her breathing to the point that she could barely hear herself. As she waited for him to make a move, her skin grew clammy with anticipation. A trickle of sweat ran down the middle of her back from the weight of the heavy coat she was wearing, but still she didn't move.

 

Mark knew Penny was gone, as was the detective. Even his nurse had left. Only then was he able to relax. He kept his eyes shut and his breathing steady, not wanting another incident with the doctors like before. Sounds came and went in the hall. He heard a call over the hospital intercom for a Dr. Fraser to call ICU.

The quiet in the room seemed to swell around him until every sound he heard was magnified to absurdity. He hiccupped once, and the sound was startling. There was a spot on the back of his neck that was itching, but he didn't dare scratch. The minutes passed as he continued his charade. Finally, when he was absolutely certain he was alone and there were no sounds of activity anywhere near his door, he dared a small peek, and saw nothing but the darkened room and the shades that had been pulled over the windows. Without thinking, he took a slow, deep breath and let himself relax. As he did, he passed gas and thought nothing of it. No one was there, and anyway, it was a natural body function. A nurse would have thought nothing of it.

He rolled his neck just the least little bit, and started to raise up and plump his pillow. As he did, he turned his head toward the door.

She stepped out of the shadows without warning and moved three steps toward his bed.

“Jesus,” he said weakly, then shrank back against the pillows, his eyes wide with shock.

He tried to see past the long thick mane of hair hanging around her face but could make out only shadowy features. When her shoulders squared up and her hands doubled into fists, he flinched. He didn't know who she was, but she was damn sure the enemy.

For several long, silent seconds she stood motionless, her gaze fixed and staring at him. Then he saw her lips part, and he found himself holding his breath for a hint of her voice.

“Know this, you double-crossing, lying, son-of-a-bitch. You will never be able to run far enough or hide well enough to get away from me. Before this is over, I will watch you die.”

The soft, raspy voice seemed like a whisper from hell. He felt sick from his head to his toes. He'd battled plenty of powerful people in his time, even bankrupting several, and always without a sliver of conscience complaining. But this was different. He didn't know who she was or why she kept showing up like this, but he knew there was a connection between her and Marsha Benton.

“Who are you?”

Suddenly he knew she was smiling, because he could see the white of her teeth.

“Your worst nightmare,” she said softly, and without waiting for him to answer, she turned around and slipped out the door.

He wanted to ring for a nurse—or for security. But doing that meant he would have to admit that he'd not only seen someone come into his room, but he'd heard and understood her threat. Cursing the mess he was caught up in, he leaned back and closed his eyes, willing his heart rate to a calm rhythm he didn't feel.

As he lay there, it became apparent that he had no time left to waste. He had to get out of here—and fast—but how? For now, there was nothing to do but lie and wait for the opportune moment to present itself.