The Witness (56 page)

The everyday, Abigail called it. It surprised him how much he’d learned to value the everyday.

He stepped out of his office. There was Alma at dispatch, a pencil behind her ear, a pink tumbler of sweet tea at her elbow. Ash at his desk, brows knitted as he pecked away at the keyboard, Boyd’s voice over the radio reporting a minor traffic accident off Rabbit Run at Mill’s Head.

He’d take this, Brooks realized. Yeah, he’d take just this. Every day.

Abigail walked in.

He knew her, so he saw the tension, though she kept her face impassive.

Alma spotted her. “Well, hey, there. I heard the news. I want to say best wishes to you, Abigail, as you’re family now. You’ve got yourself a good man there.”

“Thank you. Yes, I do. A very good man. Hello, Deputy Hyderman.”

“Aw, it’s Ash, ma’am. Nice to see you.”

“It’s Abigail. It’s Abigail now. I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you have a moment?” she asked Brooks.

“Or two. Come on in.”

He took her hand, kept it after he closed the door to his office. “What happened?”

“It’s good, what happened.” The good made her a little breathless. “Garrison contacted me. Her report was very brief, considering, but inclusive.”

“Abigail, spill it.”

“I’m—oh. Yes. They’ve picked up Cosgrove and Keegan. They’re interrogating, and that may take some time. She didn’t mention the blackmail, but I’ve followed some of the communications in-house, so to
speak. Naturally, they believe Keegan blackmailed Cosgrove, and they’ll use that to pressure each of them. More. More important. They’ve arrested Korotkii and Ilya Volkov. They’ve arrested Korotkii for the murders of Julie and Alexi, and Ilya as accessory after the fact.”

“Sit down, honey.”

“I can’t. It’s happening. It’s actually happening. They’ve asked me to meet with the federal prosecutor and his team to prepare me for testifying.”

“When?”

“Right away. I have a plan.” She took both his hands now, held tight. “I need you to trust me.”

“Tell me.”

O
N A BRIGHT
J
ULY MORNING
, one month and twelve years from the day she’d witnessed the murders, Elizabeth Fitch entered the courtroom. She wore a simple black suit and white shirt, and what appeared to be minimal makeup. A pair of pretty dangling earrings were her only jewelry.

She took the stand, swore to tell the truth. And looked directly into Ilya Volkov’s eyes.

How little he’d changed, really, she thought. A bit fuller in face and body, his hair more expertly styled. But still so handsome, so smooth.

And so cold under it all. She could see that now, what the young girl hadn’t. The ice under the polish.

He smiled at her, and the years dropped away.

He thought the smile intimidating, she decided. Instead, it made her remember, and helped her forgive herself for being so dazzled that night, for kissing a man complicit in the murder of her friend.

“Please state your name.”

“My name is Elizabeth Fitch.”

She told the story she’d recounted now almost too many times to bear. She skipped no detail and, as instructed, allowed her emotions to show.

“These events happened twelve years ago,” the federal prosecutor reminded her. “Why has it taken you so long to come forward?”

“I came forward that night. I spoke with Detectives Brenda Griffith and Sean Riley of the Chicago Police Department.”

They were in the courtroom, too. She looked at them, both of them, saw the faint nods of acknowledgment.

“I was taken to a safe house, then transferred into the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service and transferred to another location, where I remained under the protection of Marshals John Barrow, Theresa Norton, William Cosgrove and Lynda Peski for three months as there were delays in the trial. Until the evening of my seventeenth birthday.”

“What happened on that date?”

“Marshals Barrow and Norton were killed protecting me when Marshal Cosgrove, and a Marshal Keegan who had arranged to replace Marshal Peski, attempted to kill me.”

Hands tightly clenched in her lap, she sat through the objections, the jockeying.

“How do you know this?” the prosecutor demanded.

She talked, and continued to talk, of a pretty sweater and a pair of earrings, of a birthday cake. Of shouts and gunshots, of her last moments with John Barrow and his last words to her.

“He had a wife and two sons whom he loved very much. He was a good man, a kind one and a brave one. He gave his life to save mine. And when he knew he was dying, when he knew he couldn’t protect me, he told me to run, because two men he trusted, two men who’d taken the same oaths he had, betrayed their oath. He couldn’t know if there were others, or whom I could trust other than myself. He spent his last moments doing everything he could to keep me safe. So I ran.”

“And for twelve years you’ve lived under an assumed name and remained hidden from the authorities.”

“Yes, and from the Volkovs, and from those within the authorities who work with the Volkovs.”

“What changed, Ms. Fitch? Why are you testifying here and now?”

“As long as I ran, the life both John and Terry died for was safe. But as long as I ran, there could be no justice for them, or for Julie Masters. And the life they saved could only be half a life. I want people to know what was done, and I want to make the life they saved worthwhile. I’m finished running.”

She didn’t waver through the cross. She’d assumed it would pain her to be called a liar, a coward, to have her veracity, her motives, her actions, twisted and warped.

But it didn’t. It only made her dig in deeper, speak more concisely. She kept her eyes level, her voice strong.

Testimony completed, she walked out under escort and into a conference room.

“You were perfect,” Garrison told her.

“I hope so.”

“You held tough, gave clear answers. The jury believed you. They saw you at sixteen, Liz, and at seventeen, just as they saw you now. You made them see you.”

“If they did, they’ll convict. I have to believe they will.”

“Believe me, you turned the key. Are you ready for the rest?”

“I hope I am.”

Garrison took her arm a moment, spoke quietly. “Be sure. We can get you out safe. We can protect you.”

“Thank you.” She held out a hand to Garrison. “For everything. I’m ready to go.”

Garrison nodded, turned away to signal the go. She put the flash drive Abigail had palmed to her in her pocket, wondered what she’d find on it.

They surrounded her, hustling her through the building, toward a rear entrance where a car waited. They’d taken every precaution. Only a select team of agents knew her route, the timing of her exit.

Her knees trembled a little, and a hand took her arm when she stumbled.

“Easy now, miss. We’ve got you.”

She turned her head. “Thank you. Agent Pickto, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.” He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll keep you safe.”

She stepped outside, flanked, moving quickly toward the waiting car.

Brooks, she thought.

The shot sounded like hammer on stone. Her body jerked, and blood bloomed on her white shirt. For an instant she watched the spread of it. Red over white, red over white.

She went down under Garrison’s shielding body, heard the shouts, the chaos, felt herself being lifted, pressure on her chest.

She thought again, Brooks, then let it all go.

Garrison sprawled over Abigail’s body in the backseat. “Go! Go! Go!” she shouted at the driver. “Get her out of here. I can’t get a pulse, can’t get a pulse. Come on, Liz. Jesus Christ!”

Brooks, she thought again. Brooks. Bert. Her pretty butterfly garden, her spot where the world opened to the hills.

Her life.

She closed her eyes and let it go.

Elizabeth Fitch was pronounced dead on arrival at three-sixteen p.m.

A
T FIVE P.M. SHARP
, Abigail Lowery boarded a private jet bound for Little Rock.

“God. God.” Brooks framed her face, kissed her. “There you are.”

“You keep saying that.”

Dropping his brow to hers, he held her so tightly that she couldn’t get her breath. “There you are,” he repeated. “I may say it for the rest of my life.”

“It was a good plan. I told you it was a good plan.”

“You weren’t the one pulling the trigger.”

“Who else would I trust to kill me—to kill Elizabeth?”

“Shooting a blank, and still my hand shook.”

“I barely felt the impact through the vest.”

And still the moment had shocked her. Red over white, she thought again. Even knowing the blood capsules had released on her command, that spreading stain had shocked.

“Garrison was very good, and the assistant director. He drove like a crazy person.” She laughed, a little giddily. “Having Pickto right there, on the scene, knowing he’ll report to the Volkovs Elizabeth is dead, there’s no reason to doubt it.”

“And since you picked up the chatter about the bounty on your head, someone will probably take credit for it. And even if no one does, it’s official. Elizabeth Fitch was shot and killed this afternoon after testifying in federal court.”

“The federal prosecutor was very kind to Elizabeth.” Now Elizabeth was gone, she thought. She’d let Elizabeth go. “I’m sorry he doesn’t know about me.”

“He’ll work harder for the convictions not knowing.”

“Besides you, only Captain Anson, Garrison and the assistant director, and the FBI doctor who pronounced Elizabeth dead know how it was done. It’s enough to trust. It’s more than I’ve trusted most of my life.”

Because he needed to touch her, keep touching her, he brought her hand to his lips. “Are you sorry she’s gone?”

“No. She did what she needed to do, and could leave content with that. Now I have one last thing to do for her.”

Abigail opened her laptop. “I passed Garrison a flash drive with copies of everything on the Volkovs. Their financials, their communications, addresses, names, operations. Now, for Elizabeth, for Julie, for Terry, for John, I’m going to take it all away from them.”

She sent the e-mail to Ilya, using his current mistress’s address, with a sexy little text mirroring those Abigail had accessed from the past.

The attachment wouldn’t register. That, she thought with considerable pride, was only part of its beauty.

“How long will it take to work?”

“It’ll start the minute he opens the e-mail. I estimate about seventy-two hours before everything’s corrupted, but that corruption will begin immediately.”

She sighed. “Do you know what I’d like? I’d like to open a bottle of champagne when we get home. I have one, and this feels like exactly the right occasion.”

“We’ll do that, and I’ve got something to add to it.”

“What?”

“A surprise.”

“What sort of surprise?”

“The kind that’s a surprise.”

“I don’t know if I like surprises. I’d rather … Oh, look. He’s opened the e-mail already.” Satisfied, she closed the laptop. “A surprise, then.”

H
E WANTED TO TAKE THE CHAMPAGNE UP TO HER SPOT OVER
looking the hills.

“Like a picnic? Should I pack some food?”

“Champagne’s enough. Come on, Bert.”

“He listens to you, follows you. I think he likes to because you sneak him food from the table when you think I’m not looking.”

“Busted.”

She laughed and took his hand. “I like holding your hand when we walk. I like so many things. I like being free. I’m free because of you.”

“No, not because of me.”

“You’re right, that’s not accurate. I’m free because of us. That’s better.”

“You’re still wearing a gun.”

“It may take a little time for that.”

“It may take me a while to aim one again.”

“Brooks.”

“It’s done. It worked, so I can tell you, putting you in those crosshairs was the hardest thing I ever did. Even knowing the why, the how, it was like dying.”

“You did the hardest thing because you love me.”

“I do.” He brought her hand to his lips again. “You need to know I would’ve loved Elizabeth or Liz or whoever you were.”

“I do know. It’s the best thing I know, and I know a great deal.”

“Smartypants.”

She laughed, realized she could spend hours just laughing. “I’ve been thinking.”

“As smartypants are inclined to do.”

“Global Network is going to close—the head of the company is going into seclusion. I want to start fresh.”

“Doing?”

“I want to go back to developing software. And games. I really enjoyed that. I don’t want my whole world revolving around security and safety now.” She grinned, and this time brought his hand to her lips. “I have you for that.”

“Damn right you do. I’m chief of police.”

“And maybe, one day, the Bickford Police Department will need or want a cyber-crimes unit. I’m very qualified, and I can forge all the necessary documents and degrees. I was kidding about the last part,” she said, when he gave her a long look.

“No more forging.”

“None.”

“Or hacking.”

Her eyes widened. “At all? Ever? Can I qualify that? I’ll want to know how the virus is working over the next couple days, and after that … no more hacking unless we discuss and agree.”

“We can talk about it.”

“It’s compromise. Couples discuss and compromise. I want to discuss having your friends and family to dinner, and wedding plans, and learning how to …”

She trailed off, stopped. “There’s a bench,” she murmured. “There’s a beautiful bench exactly where I wanted one.”

“That’s your surprise. Welcome home, Abigail.”

Her vision blurred as she stepped forward to run her hands over the smooth curve of the back, the arms. It looked like a log, hollowed out, polished to a satiny gleam, and on the middle of the back was a carved heart with the initials A.L. and B.G. in the center.

“Oh. Brooks.”

“Corny, I know, but—”

“No, it’s not! That’s a stupid word. I prefer romantic.”

“So do I.”

“It’s a beautiful surprise. Thank you. Thank you.” She threw her arms around him.