Razor Sharp (13 page)

Jack opened the door and didn’t seem surprised to see Maggie standing on his doorstep with her shoes in her hands. “Come on in.”

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

“You got that right. I was just making some hot tea. You want some?”

“Sure. You got anything to eat?”

“A deli rotisserie chicken. Help yourself.”

Maggie helped herself. “How come you can’t sleep, Jack?”

“For the same reason you’ve been working all night and are sitting here in my kitchen eating cold chicken. How the hell is this going to end, Maggie?”

“Badly, Jack. People have to take responsibility for their actions. There’s a right way to do things and a wrong way. You go after the bad guys and hope to hell you did it right. I print the news to inform the reading public and try to keep people honest. The
Post
is going to go with the story. I have total control. What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Maggie dropped the chicken leg she’d been chewing onto a paper plate, then wiped her hands on a length of paper towel that Jack handed to her.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Me either, Jack, but it’s news. Big news! Actually, it’s the biggest I ever came across. Don’t even think about asking me to back off,” Maggie snarled. No one told her how to run with a story, not even Ted. Certainly not Jack.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to back off. But I think you need to talk to the girls. For Christ’s sake, they don’t even know what Lizzie just told us yet. Since no one knows but us, you can wait to print it for a few days—hell, for a week—unless something else crops up. Is something wrong with the chicken? There’s still half of it left.”

Maggie looked down at the exquisitely bronzed bird on the platter. Lemon pepper. She loved lemon pepper chicken. She wrapped the remainder of the chicken and put it back in the refrigerator. When she returned to take her seat at the table, she had a bottle of Yoo-hoo in hand.

“I’m full. It was good, just what I needed. You can drink the tea. Tea will keep you awake.”

“You must have a tapeworm. I never saw anyone eat like you and not gain an ounce of weight,” Jack grumbled. “Well?”

“It’s all legit. Lizzie wouldn’t have shared with us what she had if she were afraid of the content. It’s for real, Jack, and, yes, I can hold off. That’s not a problem. I just don’t want to get scooped. This town leaks like a sieve; you know that as well as I do.”

“Maggie, you make one mistake, and it’s all over. I just want us all to be on the same page and everyone’s ass covered nine ways to Sunday. They’re going to go after you, you know that, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Maggie said, the light of battle in her eye. “They can try. I have the power of the written word. I have contacts at other papers. I can be global within seconds, you know that. You just have to prepare. I know how to do that, Jack. And before you can ask my opinion, let me voice it. There is no delicate way to put this other than to say the shit is going to hit the fan, and there is no way you can contain it. I, personally, do not feel sorry for any of the people involved, and that includes the president. My gut will tell me when to go with the story even if it doesn’t fit your timetable. So, what’s your opinion?”

Jack flapped his hands one way, then the other. “Actually, this may surprise you, but I agree with you. I’ll do my best to watch your back, and so will Harry. When is Ted getting back?”

“He was supposed to come back with Lizzie, or Lizzie was supposed to come with him, but the Gulfstream needed some kind of servicing. He’s airborne as we speak. He used the waiting time to do some more sniffing around. He said we’d talk in the morning, and that’s good enough for me. I need to go home now. Call me if anything changes or if something goes down that I should know about.”

Jack walked Maggie to the door and waited on the stoop until he saw her enter her house and the lights go on inside. He looked up and down the silent street with its sodium vapor lamps that had an aura around them. Across the street an elderly gentleman was walking a tiny dog that looked to weigh about two pounds. He knew the man’s name was Thomas Ryder, and the dog’s name was Priscilla. Ryder looked over at Jack and waved. Jack waved back.
Just another normal night in Georgetown? I wish,
Jack thought.

B
ert Navarro knew he couldn’t stall any longer. It was time to show his face at the Las Vegas Field Office to exert his authority if need be. He looked at the clock on the dashboard of the Bureau car and winced. It was ten thirty
AM.
Kathryn or someone on the mountain should have called him already. His stomach muscles crunched into a hard knot.

Lizzie had texted him earlier in the morning saying she was on a six o’clock flight, and with the forty-minute drive to the base of the mountain from the airport, she would be on top of Big Pine Mountain no later than 10:30 EST unless the flight was late. By his watch, the girls were three hours late in calling. On the other hand, maybe the women had things to catch up on, girl things, before they got down to business. So, okay, two hours. Maybe they didn’t think this was as important as he thought it was. The third possibility, since he was being so generous in giving them leeway, was they were having lunch, and Kathryn always said that the rule on the mountain was no business was ever discussed until after a meal, be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Despite these thoughts, his stomach muscles refused to relax.

“Screw it!” he mumbled as he pulled out of a Burger King parking lot.

Bert admitted to himself that he felt jittery, an alien feeling, something no good agent ever admitted to. Technically, he wasn’t an agent anymore, he was the director of the FBI, which was even more reason not to admit to feeling jittery. Nothing good was going to happen that day, he could feel it in his bones.

The BlackBerry in his breast pocket chirped a cheery sound. He winced when he saw the caller was Cosmo Cricket and not Kathryn or one of the other girls on the mountain. He let loose with a mighty sigh as he tried to keep his eyes on the busy traffic and at the same time watch for the turnoff that would take him to the local field office.

The amenities took all of three seconds before Cosmo jumped right to the core of his call. “How do you want me to play this, Bert?”

“What are you talking about, Cosmo? I’m on my way to the office right now. I’ll be there momentarily. Did something happen I don’t know about?” Stupid question for the director of the FBI to be asking. He realized it the moment the words were out of his mouth.

“I have it on good authority that your people are on the way to see me sometime this morning. I think they found out about that little accident on the Cajon Pass. So I’m asking you how you want me to play this. I haven’t heard from Elizabeth since she left this morning. She should be on the mountain by now. It’s not like her to go silent. Have you heard anything?”

“No, not a word. I feel the same way you do at this moment. Okay, listen, Cosmo, I’m pulling into the parking lot. Let’s do this. If I don’t call you, give me ten minutes and call me again. Take my cues whatever they may be, and we’ll go from there. We wing it.”

Bert scrambled out of the car and made his way across the lot to the field office. He walked in unannounced and proceeded down a short hallway to Duncan Wright’s office. He stood in the doorway and waited for the Special Agent in Charge to end his telephone call. A moment later another agent shoved a cup of coffee in Bert’s hand. Bureau hospitality at its finest.

Wright motioned to one of the three chairs in the room. Bert shook his head. He never sat with an agent. Elias Cummings had told him power came from those standing. “Talk to me,” was all Bert said.

“I wish there was something to talk about, Director. Nothing really has changed since yesterday. It’s a dry hole all around. But one of my guys has been running the accident chart and checking all the hospitals within a hundred-mile radius. He came up with an accident on the Cajon Pass that probably means absolutely nothing, but he’s been checking it out. The profile of the victim could, I say
could,
match the woman we’re looking for. Right age, according to her driver’s license, but that’s it. I just got off the phone with him. My guy has been talking with the troopers who investigated the accident. Tire blowout, driver killed on impact. Pretty cut-and-dried at first blush.”

Bert could feel the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle in alarm. “What? Don’t make me pull it out of you. What happened after the first look?”

“My guy checked with the ME and was told that Cosmo Cricket claimed the body. The ME said there was no reason not to release the body. My guy was told there was no next of kin and that was why Cricket claimed the body. ‘She was a client’ is what Cricket told the ME. Digging even deeper, my guy was told Cricket had the body cremated and picked up the ashes of the deceased around four yesterday afternoon.”

“And you want me to believe, because you believe, that the accident victim on the Cajon Pass was possibly our madam. Is that what you’re saying? That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think, Agent Wright?”

“No, Director, that’s not what I’m saying. But, it is a possibility, a stretch, as you say. Since we have nothing else, we might as well check it out. Sometimes the most unlikely events turn into major events.”

“What was the victim’s name?” Bert pretended to look bored. If anything, he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin.

“Lily Flowers.”

“And?” Bert asked through clenched teeth.

“And, she checks out. But, she’s like some enigma. We can’t find anyone who actually knows her. There’s no one to verify she is Lily Flowers. By the same token, there is no reason to think the woman was traveling under an alias. I was planning on paying Cosmo Cricket a visit this morning. Since she was his client, he should be able to give us a description of her. There are no medical or dental records to compare. It’s probably another dry hole, but it’s all we have at the moment. I might be wasting manpower, but, like I said, it’s all we have.”

“Cricket isn’t going to help you. Attorney-client privilege. Doesn’t matter if the client is dead.”

“Mr. Las Vegas himself,” Agent Wright said, his tone flat. “If we try to put the squeeze on that guy, this town will shut down tight, but I want to give it a shot. He’s the go-to guy. He’s a legend around these parts. Having said that, I’ve never heard a bad word about him. All I’ve heard is he’s a stand-up guy, and you don’t mess with him.”

Bert allowed himself a snort of disgust. “We’re the fucking FBI. We mess with people; it’s what we do. We’re our own legend. A man of his stature will cooperate. This town won’t want the entire resources of the Bureau swooping down on it.” Bert hoped he sounded vicious enough to satisfy Wright.

“You aren’t getting it, Director. We won’t get a chance to
swoop
into town. They’ll chop us off at the knees before that can happen. In these parts, FBI stands for ‘Fools Bastards Idiots.’ We tread lightly. People simply disappear. With people like Cricket and a crazy son of a bitch called Little Fish out there in the desert, we don’t have a prayer, FBI or not. What I’m trying to say here is Vegas takes care of its own. And it’s true what they say, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ I’m just waiting for those damn Vigilantes to come back out here to make fools of us again. Just thinking about them makes my blood boil.”

Bert wanted to say that one of the Vigilantes in particular made his blood boil, but he didn’t. “Let’s go see Mr. Cricket, Agent Wright.”

The sharp-eyed agent stared at Bert, who held his gaze. “You want a rundown on Cricket before we head out? We can do it in the car, or do you plan on driving your own vehicle?”

“I’ll follow behind you. I know all about Cosmo Cricket. Did you know he just got married? Actually, to a friend of mine. I missed the nuptials, but I did have a drink with him last night. He appeared to be a stand-up guy. Big man.”

“Are you telling me some woman actually married that guy?” Agent Wright asked, his face registering disbelief.

“Well, yes, that’s usually the way it works. Cricket’s new wife is a high-profile lawyer back in D.C. Lizzie Fox. She’s a personal friend.”

“Jesus H. Christ!
She
married Cosmo Cricket! Why?”

Bert decided to add a little fuel to the fire. “Agent Wright, did you just fall off the turnip truck? Either they got married because they’re in love, because usually that’s the way it works, or it was a merger of legal minds and the two of them will own this town before long. Take your pick.”

“Oh, shit!”

Then Bert added a little more fuel to the already raging inferno he’d just started. “Cricket told me the town is planning some big wingding to celebrate his marriage. They’re actually going to shut down for six hours and it will be wall-to-wall parties. Stock options for gifts. Bonuses for gifts. Gifts, gifts, gifts! Lizzie Fox will be one happy bride. Women do love gifts!”

“Oh, shit!”

“You need to expand your vocabulary, Agent Wright. I’ll follow behind you.” Without another word, Bert turned on his heel and left the office, Wright trailing behind him.

Bert waited until the Special Agent in Charge peeled out ahead of him. He swung in right behind him and immediately pressed the number on his BlackBerry that would connect him with Cosmo Cricket. He didn’t bother with a greeting. “We’re on our way. Any word from the mountain?”

“I’m calling now, no one is responding. I’m sure nothing is wrong, the girls are probably weighing their options. Women, even the Vigilantes, have to talk things to death before they make a decision. Like I said, you know women.”

Bert said, “Uh-huh,” even though he didn’t know if what Cricket was saying was true or not. For some crazy reason he thought Cricket knew less about women than he did. And what he
didn’t
know about women would fill a bushel basket. Based solely on his size, Cricket would have ten bushel baskets of things he didn’t know. What didn’t he know about Kathryn? She was pretty outspoken. With Kathryn it was black or white. And she never beat a dead horse. Kathryn was all action. His face and neck grew warm at the thought of his new love.

Bert did his best to shift his thoughts to the problems at hand, but his mind stayed on the girls, Kathryn in particular. Why wasn’t anyone calling him? What the hell was going on up there on the mountain?

Ten minutes later, Bert turned over his car to a valet and followed Agent Wright into the casino that housed Cosmo Cricket’s offices. They rode up in the elevator in silence. When they exited, Bert looked around and marveled at the money that poured in and out of the very place he was standing in. He tried to stifle the grin he felt building. Lizzie had done all right for herself.

Cosmo’s secretary smiled at both men, and said, “Mr. Cricket is expecting you. Go right on in.”

“See! See! He
knew
we were coming. He
knows
everything. Before it happens,” Agent Wright hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Cosmo was standing next to the portable bar at the far corner of his luxurious office, which was bigger than the entire field office building. He turned and lumbered over to where the two men were standing inside the inner sanctum. “Gentlemen, please, come in. Can I offer you coffee, tea, or perhaps a light breakfast? I have a chef who can whip up whatever you’re in the mood for.” He motioned to the huge plate glass window, beyond which a table was set for four. A squat cut-crystal bowl held a dozen delicate pink roses. Both men declined his generous offer.

Bert held out his hand, then introduced Agent Wright.

The brief amenity over, Cosmo waved his hands, which were bigger than a grizzly’s head, to show that the men should take a seat across from his desk. Cosmo walked around to his rocking chair and sat down. Bert thought the floor shook momentarily.

Cosmo took the initiative, and said, “I assume you are here on business that you somehow think involves a client of mine who is now deceased.”

Agent Wright bristled. Bert felt amused as Cricket leaned back in his rocker, a smile on his face.

Still bristling, Wright asked in a surly tone, “So you admit that Lily Flowers was a client of yours?”

“Agent Wright, why would you think I would deny it?”

“Because lawyers are big on denial from the git-go,” the FBI man said in the same surly tone. “What can you tell us about her?”

“Why?” Cosmo asked.

“Because we think she might be part of an ongoing investigation.”

“What investigation?” Cosmo asked.

“That’s need to know, Counselor. Just answer the question.”

“I don’t answer questions about my clients until I know why you’re asking them. Since you seem reluctant to inform me, I will assume it’s because you don’t have anything to go on in your investigation of the madam out there at the Happy Day Camp. Which brings me back to my original question,
why?”

“Cut the crap, Cricket. I’m not in the mood to dance around on this. It was a legitimate question, so answer it.”

“My response was a legitimate response. In fact, I answered the question for you as a show of good faith. By the way”—Cosmo pointed to a weird-looking machine on the corner of his massive desk—“this conversation is being recorded.”

“What? That’s illegal. You didn’t…”

“I don’t have to inform you of anything. I didn’t invite you here. There’s a sign right there by the machine and another one on the door saying all conversations are recorded unless otherwise stated. If you didn’t see it, that’s your problem, not mine. My employers insisted. If you don’t like it, take it up with Judge Orenstein. Next question.”

Agent Wright was beet red from the neck up. He looked at Bert, who was staring at a colorful painting on the wall behind Cosmo’s desk.

“What can you tell us about Lily Flowers?”

“She was a client, and now she’s deceased,” was Cosmo’s response.

“I know that. What I want to know is what you can tell us about her. We can’t find any next of kin or anyone who knows her. The ME told us you claimed the body, then had it cremated. Why did you do that? I don’t see that being part of attorney-client privilege.”

“My client had no next of kin. I personally don’t know if she had friends or not. No one claimed the body. Because she was my client, I claimed her and had her cremated and her ashes scattered. I felt it was the right thing to do. As my client’s personal representative or executor of her will, I stepped up to the plate. End of story.”