Lydia wondered how Cameron dealt with the darker side her former fiancé. His Wikipedia biography said Bradley Wells was born in Tacoma. His mother tended bar during his childhood while his father served stints in various county lock-ups. At thirteen, Bradley took a job cleaning lockers at Tacoma Golf and Racket Club. He’d caught the eye of Santo Carrerra, owner of a chain of grocery stores and three “Gentlemen Clubs” on South Tacoma Way. Soon Bradley was Carrerra’s shadow. He was arrested at fifteen for dealing cocaine and ecstasy out of a Section Eight apartment complex Carrerra owned. He did six months in juvenile detention and was re-arrested a year later when police found forty thousand dollars worth of stolen cigarettes in the back of a van he was driving. Bradley remained in juvenile custody until his eighteenth birthday.
Wells’ official biography described “an epiphany” he experienced while a “student at a state run boarding school”. He wrote that he realized the path he was on led nowhere and decided to better himself, his family, and his community. The biography said that when Wells “graduated” he cut all ties to his “old friends” and enlisted in the Marines. Military records document him serving with commendation. He used the GI Bill at the University of Washington and graduated with a business degree. His first job was at a lumber brokerage firm. Twenty-five years later he owned 63% of the privately held timber land in Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. Wells Enterprises owned commercial high rises, shopping malls, and restaurants around the world and had recently purchased controlling interest in the largest motion picture studio in Hollywood.
Lydia scanned through dozens of photographs of Cameron and Bradley taken at exotic locations. More of the couple at the dedication of food banks and free clinics, many with major political figures standing next to them. Lydia looked at the picture of Cameron dancing with the President of the United States while Bradley waltzed with the First Lady and wondered what the billionaire thought when his fiancé came home and announced she was in love with a college professor.
She turned from her computer and re-read a sheet she’d printed earlier. Bradley would have been eighteen at the time the particular news item was filed. Just out of juvenile hall. His father was arrested for using a tire iron to put Bradley’s mother in intensive care. The story reported Bradley’s father was released after two days, his bail paid in cash. He was found dead on Pier 37 the next day. His throat sliced. A Coho salmon shoved in the gaping maw.
His killer was never found.
Lydia knew she couldn’t risk approaching Wells, even disguised. Whoever was behind the synthesized voice knew who she was. If Wells was the link to Private Number, she couldn’t afford to let him know she was closing in. She glanced at the clock and reached for the phone.
Her call was answered immediately. “ICU, Nurse Streckert.”
“This is Dr. Lydia Corriger. I’m checking on a patient, Savannah Samuels. Is she awake?”
“I can’t give you any information without a release, Doctor.” Lydia was impressed with Streckert’s adherence to protocol. “I can put you through to her bay, however.”
Childress answered on the third ring. He sounded exhausted.
“There’s been no change. I thought I saw her eyes flutter this afternoon. But the doctors say it’s just a reflex.” Lydia heard his voice catch. “I just want her to come back to me.”
“How are you holding up, Dr. Childress?”
“You’re kind to ask. You know, you’re the only one who’s stopped by or called to check on her. I appreciate that.”
Lydia assumed Savannah hadn’t told him about their childhood connection. “Do you mind if I ask you a rather personal question, Dr. Childress?”
He assured her he didn’t. Lydia hoped his fatigue and grief would keep him vulnerable enough to give her the information she needed.
“I assume you know Cameron Williams.”
Childress sounded confused. As though his mind was shifting gears. “You mean Bastian’s caterer?”
Lydia caught the judgment in his voice. “I was led to believe she was far more than his caterer.”
He sighed. “That whole business of Bastian proposing? Running off to Paris at the end of the semester?” His voice hardened. “I’m afraid I know all about it. I was Bastian’s right hand man, remember? Cameron meant nothing to Bastian. Oh, he acted as though he was in love, but trust me. She was a means to an end. Like everything and everyone who crossed Bastian’s path.”
Lydia thought of the devastated young woman she’d met that morning, lost in her grief. “I’m not following you.”
“Do you remember me telling you Bastian had one goal only? The enhancement of his reputation? Well, in academic circles reputations are built on how much money you bring to the university. Endowed chairs. Buildings. Research funds. It’s all about the money, Dr. Corriger. And Bastian thought he’d stumbled onto his own personal mint. Do you know who Cameron was engaged to marry before Bastian set his sights on her?”
“No, I don’t.” Lydia hoped her lie sounded convincing.
“Bradley Wells. The man God calls when He’s short on cash.”
“Tell me more.”
“Bastian learned about Cameron’s connection when his usual caterer cancelled a few days before a party. Dropped Wells’ name to assure him she’d secured a reputable replacement. Bastian came to me as soon as he got off the phone. He was as excited as a toddler with a new toy. He originally hoped Cameron would simply introduce him to her wealthy fiancé and that he’d be able to charm him out of a few hundred million for his research.” Childress’ voice was cold steel. “But once he met her Bastian changed his plan on the spot.”
“How so?”
“He seduced her. Bastian could be anything he needed to be at any given moment. His plan was to lure her away from Wells. Secure the ability to publicly humiliate one of the richest men in the world.”
“What would he gain by that? Wells had the money, not Cameron.” Lydia needed to keep him talking.
“Bastian had no plans of marrying the poor girl. Not for one minute. You can imagine Wells’ reaction. He confronted Fred the day after Cameron broke it off with him. Threatened to ruin him if he continued his romance with her. Fred suggested they work something out. He offered to end things with Cameron if Wells agreed to become his personal patron.”
“You can’t be serious.” She knew he wanted to tell more.
“Fred Bastian was always serious when it came to his reputation. Having access to the personal vault of Bradley Wells would propel him into a scholastic stratosphere unheard of since the Renaissance. He’d never have to beg for federal grants again. He’d be an academic god.”
“What did Wells say?”
“He was furious. Bastian let me listen to a few conversations on speaker phone. Wells said he’d see him in hell first.” Childress let out a small chuckle. “Turns out he did. Funny how things work out.”
“Yes, it is,” Lydia said. “If Wells rejected him, why did Bastian continue his charade with Cameron?”
“Cameron told Bastian about some land deal Wells was trying to put together with the university. Bastian didn’t share the details with me, but I know he thought there might be enough dirt there that Wells might be willing to cut a deal. Bastian told me he was going to see how the whole thing played out. Until that time, he continued using Cameron, hoping to get more information. All the while leading her to believe they had a future together.”
“I’m beginning to understand your hatred for the man.” Lydia sensed Childress had no more to add. “I won’t keep you. Do give my regards to Savannah when she wakes up, will you? Tell her I’ll be by to see her soon.”
Her hand hadn’t left the receiver when her phone rang. An icy mixture of anger and fear stabbed behind her heart. She breathed deep and willed herself calm when the caller ID revealed that the Seattle Police Department was calling. She answered with a pleasant voice.
“Lydia, it’s Mort Grant calling.” His voice was warm but professional. “I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“Not at all, Detective.” Lydia was surprised that she enjoyed hearing his voice. “Have you thought about my offer?”
“I’ve given you a lot of thought since our last meeting. I need to be down in Olympia tomorrow. Could we have lunch?”
She felt a spark of promise. “I have patients all day, but I could open an hour at noon, if that works.”
“I’ll make it work, Lydia. I’ll be at your office then.” He wished her a good evening and ended the call.
She needed a plan. Mort provided access to resources she’d need to unmask Private Number’s true identity. But she couldn’t allow his investigation into Buchner’s murder to lead him to Bastian. She had a sense of Mort’s skills as a detective. If he came to view Bastian’s death as anything other than the heart attack it was assumed to be, she ran the risk of spending the rest of her life in prison.
Lydia’s panic climbed. She was losing her edge. Savannah’s suicide attempt drained her. Her inability to help the woman she’d once sacrificed so much to save stripped away the confidence and sense of power she may have tricked herself into believing she possessed. She had to reinvigorate herself. The thought of exercising raced across her mind, but her legs were jelly. She’d not make it downstairs to her gym. She looked at her bonsai and knew she her hands were too unsteady for that intricate work. Her left eye began to twitch.
She didn’t try to fight what she knew would calm her. Lydia closed her eyes and the image of a double-edged razor exploded into her consciousness. A flicker of hope stuttered within her.
Lydia headed toward her bathroom.
“It’s nearly midnight, Dad.” Robbie sounded half asleep. “This about Allie?”
Mort could hear Claire’s dusky French accent in the background, asking her husband what was wrong.
“Oh, for crying out loud. I’m sorry, Robbie.” Mort tossed his pen in disgust. “I didn’t even think. Go back to bed. It’s nothing to do with Allie. It’s about that shooter your guy tried to hire. Listen, tell Claire I’m sorry. Call me when you get a chance.”
Robbie coughed the sleep out of his throat. “You home? Let me get downstairs.” Robbie hung up. Mort had time to pour himself a glass of milk before the phone rang.
“Robbie?” he answered. “You sure you want to do this now?”
“I’m fine, Dad.” His son sounded wide awake. “Claire and the girls are all tucked in. What do you have for me?”
Mort opened the file he brought home. “I checked into Martin’s story about the good-looking shooter who turned him in. I got nothing from Miami. Nothing anywhere in South Florida. Nobody down there has any case involving a gorgeous contract gun.”
“So it was just a coincidence, then?” Robbie’s disappointment came through loud and clear. “Halloway’s hooker had nothing in common with Martin’s assassin. Man, I thought I was on to something.”
“Hold on a minute.” Mort smiled. “I’m not calling you empty handed.”
“I knew it.” Robbie let out a war whoop. “Let me have it.”
“I widened my search. Beyond Florida. Beyond hookers and shooters. I put the word out for unaccounted-for female witnesses to deaths. Like your mystery woman in Halloway’s case. I mean, where the hell is she? I looked for cases where someone dies and folks swear they saw the deceased with some woman right before they ended up dead, but…”
“Nobody can find the missing female.” Robbie interrupted. “That’s brilliant, Dad.”
“I got several hits, no pun intended. Three of them might interest you.” Mort referred to the notes in his file. “Dahlia Fianelli? Name ring a bell?”
“You bet,” Robbie said. “California. About two years ago. Arrested for human smuggling. Her attorney got her out on bail and she went right back into business. But a shipment goes bad and ninety-one Chinese, mostly women, die in a closed container truck left in some desert canyon. Man, I salivated over that story. That was some top-notch crime reporting. Didn’t the police track her down in Sicily?”
“You got it. Said she was visiting family but decided to extend her stay when she realized Sicilian extradition laws forbid sending anyone back if capital punishment is an option. California authorities’ hands were tied.”
“She turned up dead, though.” Robbie asked. “I remember the stories about Divine Intervention.”
“Maybe not so divine,” Mort said. “Dahlia drowned when her fishing boat hit a reef and sank. At least seven people who saw Dahlia charter that fishing boat swear the captain was a woman.”
“Let me guess. The captain’s body’s never been found.”
“Bingo,” Mort said. “And they describe that captain as having a large scar across her face. Not something anyone would miss on a Jane Doe floating to shore.”
“You said you had two more?” Mort could hear his son clicking the keys of a computer.
“Nine months before Dahlia’s boat went down. You remember Jeremiah Valshon’s suicide?”
“The CEO of that chemical company with the plant down in Brazil? The one that exploded and killed, what was it, three thousand villagers?”
“That’s the guy. The government wanted to indict him on criminal charges, saying he deliberately placed the plant in Brazil to avoid safety measures that would cost his company a bundle if he built it in the U.S.”
“I also recall the Senate backpedalling. Saying U.S. investments would be hampered if they set the precedent of a CEO being held criminally responsible for activities outside the country. Valshon got a pass. But maybe his conscious got the better of him. Didn’t he hang himself?”
“He did. I remember thinking at the time a guy who’s got stones big enough to become top exec in a company that size doesn’t off himself. It turns out our guy Vashon went to dinner that night with a woman. Took her to his favorite restaurant in Boston. The staff described her as a “can’t miss”. A real good-looking redhead with a tattoo of an angel wrapping her right arm from wrist to shoulder.”
“Never found?” Robbie asked.
“Bingo again. The third was Ritchie Ortega.”
“The movie star? Drowned in his hot tub, right?” Robbie drew in a deep breath of recognition. “After he’d been acquitted of raping those two teenagers. I remember speculation that someone had paid off enough jurors to hang it. Judge declared a mistrial and the prosecutor decided not to re-file despite other young women swearing Richie’d pulled the same thing with them. What did you find?”