Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 14

“You remember the drill?”

Raine leaned across the seat and kissed him. “Don't worry, Seth.”

She meant the smile to be reassuring, but it had the opposite effect. It made him uncomfortably aware that she wasn't taking him seriously enough. If she knew the whole truth, she'd be scared to death.

“I didn't ask if I should worry. I asked if you remember the drill.”

The hard edge in his voice made her pull away, eyes wide and wary. He took a deep breath and tried to soften his tone. “Not one foot out the door of that place without contacting me. Got it?”

“Yes. You have a lovely day, too, Seth. Have fun inspecting the warehouses.” She smiled over her shoulder at him, and was promptly swallowed into the revolving glass doors of the building.

He fought down the urge to run in after her, and distracted himself by keying her transmitter codes into the handheld monitor. He adjusted it until the cluster of signals were showing in the grid, spatial data streaming in a continuous flow of changing coordinates alongside the flashing icons. He punched up McCloud's number.

Connor answered on the first ring. “Yeah?”

“I need to know everything you can find out about a guy named Peter Marat,” Seth said. “Get Davy to run a check. He worked for Lazar about seventeen years ago until he mysteriously drowned.”

“What's the connection?”

“He's Raine's dad. She wants to prove that Lazar snuffed him. An apparent sailboat accident when she was a kid.”

There was a brief silence. “The plot thickens,” Connor said, in a mock ominous tone.

“Just get on it. One of you guys has to cover her while I'm in Renton. I'm heading out there now. She's at the office. I planted five Colbits on her yesterday. Here are the codes. Got a pen?”

“Hold on a sec ... yes. Go”

Seth read out the transmitter code sequences. “Key up one of the monitors and get your ass over here, fast. I don't want her uncovered. Get Sean to tail Lazar this morning “

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Hup, hup. You know, Seth, when all this is over, you and I are going to have a serious talk about your social skills.”

“No, we're not”

Seth broke the connection and edged the car back into the dense morning traffic. A window dresser was putting up Thanksgiving decorations in a shop, and he stared at him idly while he was waiting for the light A wicker cornucopia with squashes and corncobs spilling out, a papier-maché turkey, mannequins dressed in pilgrim garb. His stomach clenched. Jesse had been killed in January. The winter holidays without Jesse were staring him in the face. He wasn't ready.

Not that holidays had been any big deal to them when they were kids, on the contrary; but they had taken on more significance once they started hanging out with Hank. The holidays had been important to Hank, like some kind of emotional link to his long-dead wife, so he and Jesse had played along, grumbling all the way. Every year they'd buy a pre-roasted Safeway turkey, pumpkin pies, stuffing, all the rest of that holiday slop. They'd scarf the stuff off of paper plates and spend the night listening to Hank's old Julie Andrews and Perry Como Christmas albums, knocking back shots of Jack Daniels until Hank started getting maudlin about his lost Gladys. That was their cue to take him by the armpits and haul him off to bed. It had gotten messy and sad towards the end, when Hank was so sick, but it was as much of a family as any of them had, and they were all three of them grateful for it

For some reason, in the last few years after Hank died, he and Jesse had kept up the habit of hanging together on the holidays. They usually opted for Mexican or Thai rather than the insipid traditional stuff, but the shots of Jack deep into the night were a memorial to Hank. The first Christmas after his death had been depressing, but they'd gotten through it. They'd cracked a lot of lame jokes, clenched their teeth, tossed back the whiskey, and faced it down together.

He had no idea how he was going to face it down alone.

The swishy guy in the store window was arranging the pilgrim maiden's long yellow hair. Seth was comparing the Dynel floss to the warm gold of Raine's hair when the idea came to him. The perfect way to get through Christmas unscathed.

He could kidnap Raine and take her away to the coast with him. Find a hotel room with an ocean view and a Jacuzzi tub and spend the whole holiday in an endorphin-induced haze. Ply her with champagne, hand-feed her oysters on the half shell in between bouts of hot, juicy sex while rain pounded against the window, and surf pounded on the shore. White foam surging across the sand in sensual, rhythmic pulses.

Hell, yes. He almost shouted with glee. That would be one righteous mother of a distraction. Jesse would have been proud of him. He could persuade her. He could play her like an instrument. She was so sweet, so affectionate. It would be awesome. He could hardly wait. He got so excited, thinking about it, that for a minute or two, he completely forgot what the hell he was here for.

Jesse, Lazar, Novak. Bloody retribution. Christ, what was he thinking. Everything was subject to this investigation. Everything.

Still, a part of his mind clung stubbornly to the idea of himself and Raine, the hot tub, the pounding surf. Maybe he could get this fucking nightmare wrapped up by then, and Christmas at the coast with her could be his reward. Assuming he lived through it.

Horns blared. Someone howled an obscenity. The light was green, and he was still staring at the pilgrim maiden's vacuous smile. He laid his foot on the gas and forced himself to remember what Jesse's body had looked like when Novak was done with him.

Just the image to shake a guy's priorities right back into place.

“Can you wait for me?” Raine asked the cabbie. “I won't be long “

The cabbie slumped down in his seat and rummaged for a paperback book. 'The meter's gonna be running “ he informed her.

“That'll be fine,” she assured him.

She rechecked the Lynnwood address on the scrap of paper and walked slowly up to the bungalow. She rang the bell. The door opened and a white-haired woman peered out from behind the chain. “Yes?”

“Dr. Fischer?”

That would be me.”

“I’m Raine Cameron. I called you this morning regarding the autopsy report of Peter Lazar.”

The older woman hesitated, and unhooked the chain. “Come in.”

The doctor seated her in a little parlor, and brought out coffee and a plate of sugar cookies. She sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“So, Ms. Cameron,” she said briskly. “How can I help you? I would have been happy to answer your questions on the phone.”

“I didn't have the privacy I needed, unfortunately. I want to ask a few questions about this report.” She fished out the manila envelope that the Severin Bay Coroner's office had sent her.

The doctor's eyebrows snapped together as she scanned the sheets of paper inside. “This was pretty clear and straightforward, as I recall. It was ruled an accident. I remember it quite well. I was the only doctor in the area who had a specialization in pathology, so I was called upon to do autopsies in surrounding communities fairly often. We didn't have many incidents of suspicious death in a place as small as Severin Bay, though. They tended to stick in one’s memory.”

“Do you remember actually doing the autopsy?” Raine asked.

“Yes. It was all just as the report states. Toxicology samples indicate that he'd been drinking heavily. There was a blow to the back of the head, presumably from the boom of the sailboat There was a nasty storm that afternoon, and we've all seen that happen. There was water and air mixed in the lungs, and water in the stomach. Indicating that he did indeed drown, if that’s what you're wondering.”

Raine searched for words. “Was there any reason to think that the death could have been ... anything other than an accident?”

The doctor's lips thinned. “If there was, I certainly would have indicated it in the report.”

“I'm not questioning your professionalism,” Raine assured her. “I'm just, well—is it conceivable that someone could have hit him? Was there a mark on the boom that corresponded to the head wound?”

“I suppose theoretically that someone could have hit him,” the doctor said grudgingly. “But several eyewitnesses saw him leave Stone Island alone, and the blow didn't break the skin. I can't imagine that there would be any corresponding mark on an aluminum boom. Particularly since the boat was capsized for hours afterwards.”

Raine placed her barely nibbled cookie on the saucer, fighting down the clench and roll of impending nausea. She rose to her feet, hanging on to her control. If she were going to have a panic attack, she certainly didn't want an audience. “I appreciate you giving me your time like this, Dr. Fischer,” she said faintly. “I'm sorry if my questions seemed out of place.”

“Quite all right.” Dr. Fischer followed Raine back to the foyer and took her coat out of the closet. She handed the coat to Raine, and started to speak. She stopped herself, shaking her head.

Raine froze, halfway into her coat. “What?”

The doctor twisted her hands in the pockets of her cardigan. “I don't know if this is relevant, or useful to you. But you're not the only one who was interested in the results of that report.”

Raine froze into place, forgetting that her arms were twisted behind her into the sleeves of her coat. Dr. Fischer reached out and took the coat lapels, pulling until the coat sat straight upon Raine's shoulders. She gave Raine a little pat, as if she were a child. “Two FBI agents came to me, asking very much the same questions as you did. They seemed frustrated that Peter Lazar had gotten himself drowned. Convinced that I didn't know my job. Arrogant jerks, both of them.”

Raine tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. “What did they want from Peter Lazar?”

“Well, they weren't sharing any details with me, but there was a good bit of rumor and speculation at the time.”

“About what?”

The doctor's face tightened, as if she regretted opening up the can of worms. “Oh, the wild goings-on out at Stone Island, among other things. The place was aptly named, they say, for the quantity of drugs that went through the place. There were some truly legendary parties out there. Very few local people were ever invited, but everyone loved to tell tales. Most of it sheer nonsense, I'm sure, but you know how people are. And Alix made a splash, with her glamorous wardrobe and her celebrity attitude. Everyone loved to gossip about her.”

“Did you know her?” Raine asked cautiously.

“By sight,” the doctor said with a shrug. “She got her medical care in the city.”

Raine hesitated. “Those agents,” she ventured. “Do you remember their names?”

Dr. Fischer's eyes crinkled up. “You're in luck. The card they gave me got sucked into the void years ago, but I remember one of the names just because it was similar to that of an old college boyfriend of mine. Haley was the older one. Bill Haley.”

Raine reached out and clasped the other woman's hand. “Thank you. You've been very kind.”

The doctor squeezed her hand, but did not let go of it. She held on, staring at Raine's face with focused concentration until Raine began to fidget. “I take it your identity is a deep, dark secret?”

Raine opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

The doctor touched the heavy blond braid that lay on Raine's shoulder. “You really should have cut and dyed your hair, dear.”

“How did you—how—”

“Oh, come now. Who else would take such an interest in Peter Lazar, at this late date?” the doctor said gently. “Besides, you’re the image of your mother. Though you strike me as... warmer, somehow.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Would anyone who knew her notice the resemblance?” “It would depend upon their powers of observation.”

Raine shook her head, appalled at her own idiocy. She had tried a brown wig, at first, but the effect of dark hair with her pale face had been so obviously fake that she'd concluded that it would draw more attention than it would deflect. Besides, the shaggy, layered bronze mane of hair her mother had worn back in '86 was nothing like her own plain twist or simple braid. And her mother had said so often that Raine was so dowdy, no one would ever guess she was Alix’s daughter. With her big horn-rimmed glasses, she'd felt safe enough.

What a cretin. Victor's powers of observation were colossal.

“I examined you once, you know,” Dr. Fischer commented

Raine gaped at her. “You did?”

“The school nurse at Severin Elementary School was a friend of mine. You were always in the infirmary in the afternoons with bad headaches, telling her wild tales about ghosts and goblins and dreams. She was worried about you. She thought you needed to see a psychiatrist, or a neurologist. Or both.”

“Oh,” Raine murmured, struggling to remember the incident.

“She'd already contacted your mother, and had evidently hit a blank wall.” The older woman's eyebrows furrowed at the memory. “So she asked me to drop by and take a look at you.”

Raine waited. “And?”

“My diagnosis was that you were an intelligent, sensitive ten-year-old with a lively imagination and a very high-stress family situation.” Dr. Fischer patted Raine's shoulder and let her hand rest upon it “I was so sorry about your father. And all my sorry was for you. Not for the rest of that rabble out on the island. If you'll excuse my saying so.”

“It's all right.” Raine blinked back a rush of tears. “I would appreciate it if you would not tell anyone about me.”

“Good heavens, no,” Dr. Fischer said emphatically. “I'm pleased to have the opportunity to help you, since I couldn't back then. Good luck, Ms. Cameron. Let me know how things go. And, ah ... do be careful.”

Raine hurried for the taxi. “I will” she called.

She got into the cab, embarrassed. Some pirate queen she was, blubbering at the slightest act of kindness. It didn't mean she was weak, she reminded herself. Just stressed. She swallowed, calming her shaking, vibrating throat.

“Where to?” the cabbie demanded.

“I'll know in a minute,” she told him.

She used the cell phone Seth had given her to call directory assistance, and began the search for Bill Haley. They drove around the residential neighborhood in big circles, waiting on hold, transferred from here to there. At great length, she was informed that he was heading up a task force at a different location. She dialed the number the receptionist gave her, asked the switchboard operator for Bill Haley, and sat back to wait, clenching her stomach against the butterflies.

Her luck was changing. She could feel it. This morning, she had looked Harriet in the face and told a barefaced lie without blinking; she was leaving for a doctor's appointment, so sorry for the inconvenience, bye bye. The scary part was, she'd actually enjoyed the look on Harriet's face. Maybe it was the delicious breakfast Seth had insisted on cooking for her. He had dosed her eggs with pixie dust.

Thinking of Seth brought on an uneasy pang of guilt. She'd promised to tell him every move she made, but the request was bossy and paranoid. He was tied up inspecting the inventory system today anyway, so why distress him? She couldn't afford to waste her energy in a dispute over being accompanied or not. Besides, her errands were innocuous enough. It wasn't like she was meeting a stranger at midnight under a bridge.

Seth's protective instincts made her feel cuddled and cherished, but he had a life, and far better things to do with his time than tag around after her. She had to be bold, to catch this new wave of courage and momentum and ride it for as far as it would take her.

The Muzak version of “Silver Bells” abruptly clicked off. “This is Bill Haley's office “ a woman said. “How can I help you?”

“My name is Raine Cameron. I'm calling with some questions about a case that Mr. Haley was working on some years ago, involving Peter Marat Lazar, in August of 1985.”

“And what is the nature of your interest in the case?”

Raine floundered for a second, and then followed her instincts, as she had last night with Seth. “I'm Peter Lazar's daughter.”

“Hold on,” the woman instructed.

Raine clutched the phone, her head spinning. She had spoken the truth, for the first time in seventeen years, to a faceless woman on the telephone. Now three people on earth, including her mother and Dr. Fischer, knew her true identity. When Bill Haley knew, it would be four.

The Muzak version of “White Christmas” clicked off. “Mr. Haley would be glad to talk to you. When can you come?”

“Right now?”

“That's doable. Hurry, though. He has a meeting at twelve-thirty.”

Her hands shook as she scribbled down the directions. She was electrified by the thought that there might come a day when she would no longer have to lie to anyone about anything.

Oh, God, it was going to feel wonderful.

He would never have thought that angel face capable of lying. The painful, exposed honesty trembling in her voice last night; he'd bought it completely. This was the kind of stuff that happened to a guy when he started thinking with his dick. Other men were used to it, maybe. For him, it was an unpleasant novelty.

He dialed McCloud, staring at the cluster of signals on the beacon display screen. Raine was not safely ensconced in the Lazar Import & Export corporate office. She was on southbound 1-5, moving through Shoreline. He'd stopped at Oak Terrace to grab some fresh clothes and equipment, and punched up the beacon display to check on her. So he could relax. Hah.

McCloud picked up on the third ring. “Why didn't you call me when she skipped out?” Seth snarled.

“Because you were busy, and I had the situation under control,” Connor said calmly. “At least until just now.”

“Yeah? What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Rained been holding out on you, buddy. I just talked to Davy. Nobody by the name of Peter Marat has ever worked for Victor Lazar.” Connor clucked his tongue. “I'd hold off on the wedding invitations until you figure out what she's up to.”

“You are annoying the shit out of me, McCloud.”

“That's my specialty. Back to your blonde. I've been chasing her around all morning. Her first visit was to a retired doctor named Serena Fischer. Davy checked her out, tells me that Fischer is a GP who used to practice in Severin Bay. She was there for about twenty minutes.”

“Now what is she doing?”

'This is the interesting part I tuned in to her cell phone. She's going to see my boss. She's on her way to Bill Haley’s office right now.”

Seth's mouth fell open.

“She's that good, huh?” Connor's voice was coolly speculative. “Been spilling tales while you've been boning Blondie, Seth?”

“Fuck, no.” He was too stupefied to be angered by the accusation.

“Hmm. You're never going to guess what else she said to Donna, when she called the Cave. You sitting down?”

“Don't be coy,” Seth snarled.

“She said she was Peter Lazar's daughter. Peter.. .Marat... Lazar. Congratulations, Mackey. You've been giving the high hard one to Victor Lazar's niece.”

An icy claw gripped Seth's gut, and squeezed. He sat down. Hard.

Connor's voice was relentlessly matter of fact. “Davy ran another check. It all happened pretty much like Raine said, except for the trifling detail of the last name. Victor's younger brother Peter drowned in ‘85. He had a daughter, name of Katerina. The kid and her mom skipped the country and haven't been heard from since.”

Connor paused, expectant, but Seth was struck speechless.

He grunted and went on. 'That's not all. Sean tailed Lazar’s Mercedes around all morning, listening to his cell phone. There's going to be one of those depraved VIP shindigs out at Stone Island tonight. Victor's been calling members of his club of illicit collectors, plus his favorite exclusive escort service, for the late-night entertainment. Sounds like a big deal. It'll be interesting to see who comes “

Seth struggled to follow him. “Uh, yeah. Real interesting.”

“And the most interesting tidbit of all was a phone call to Lazar's supposedly secure private line in his office. Love that little drop-in bug you slipped into his phone. Davy monitored a twenty-five second phone call from an unidentified person who simply said that the meeting for the 'heart of darkness' would be on Monday morning.”

Seth rubbed his hands over his stinging eyes. “No location?”

“Nope. Bummer. Mystery caller said more details would be forthcoming.”

“Shit” Seth muttered.

“Yeah. We're going to have to improvise, like I always figured. Anyhow, back to Blondie. I can't follow her to the Cave. I'm no good for covert surveillance down there. I've asked Sean to cover—”

“I'm on my way,” he cut in. “Don't let her out of your sight.”

“But she knows you,” Connor objected. “She doesn't know Sean. Come on, Seth—”

“She won't see me.” He cut the connection and shoved the phone into his pocket with trembling hands. He had to play it cool. No red haze. It would run him off the rails, and he would be fucked.

Victor Lazar's niece. Holy shit.

Right now would be a good time for his inner cyborg to take over and run the show, but there was nothing left of him but a pile of parts. Circuits blown, wires smoking, all tangled together with flesh and bone and pulsing blood. Raine Cameron Lazar had taken him to pieces.

“Lucky that you came when you did,” Bill Haley told her. “I'm retiring, you see. This time next week, I'll be salmon fishing up in the Inside Passage. Please, sit down.”

'Congratulations on your retirement. I'm glad I caught you,” Raine said. Bill Haley was a twinkling-eyed man in his sixties, with chubby, Santa Claus cheeks, bushy brows and curly iron-gray hair.

“No need to prove that you are who you say you are,” he said. “Damn, but you look a lot like your mom,”

“I've been hearing that a lot lately” Raine said.

He steepled his fingers together and gave her an affable smile. “So, Ms. Cameron. What is it that you think I can do for you?”

I heard that you took an interest in my father's death,” she said. “I'd like to know why.”

Haley's smile faded quickly. “You don't remember much of that time, huh? How old were you? Nine, ten?”

“Almost eleven,” Raine said. “And I remember just enough to make me really nervous.”

Bill Haley studied her face. “You should be nervous,” he said bluntly. “It was very convenient for Victor Lazar that his brother had that accident Victor had his fingers in all sorts of pies back then. Peter had finally agreed to testify against him.” Haley tapped his pen against the desk, studying her reaction. His eyes no longer seemed to twinkle. They had taken on a sharp, metallic glint.

Nausea clutched at her belly again. She willed it to subside. “Please go on,” she said resolutely.

“There's not much more to tell. With Peter's testimony, we could have nailed the bastard in ‘85, but Victor ran off to Greece, and before we knew it, Peter was floating facedown in the Sound. Uh... sorry, miss.”

“It's OK.” She waited.

Haley shrugged. “After that, Victor got smart. He cleaned up his act, went mostly legit. We haven't been able to get a hold on him since. He's very slick. Very careful. And very connected.”

She clenched her hands together in her lap and braced herself. “Do you believe that Victor had my father killed?” she asked bluntly.

Haley's face lost all expression. 'There was no proof that Peter's death was anything other than a boating accident That’s just the way it is sometimes. Nothing we could do. Particularly since Peter's wife and daughter vanished. We never got to question them.” His eyes fixed on her in a cold, probing gaze. “But here you are. Did you see or hear anything on that day, miss?”

There it was again, the swirling, nauseous panic, the blur of green. Screams, echoing. She swallowed hard and fought it down. “I... don't remember,” she faltered. “My mother insists that we weren't there “

“I see.” He tapped his pen against the desktop, a rapid tattoo. “Your uncle, does he know you're asking around about Peter?”

She shook her head.

Haley shrugged. “Be a hell of a lot better for you if he never found out, if you ask me.”

“I know that,” she said stiffly.

“You watch your back, miss. People who take too much of an interest in Victor Lazar's business have a bad habit of dying young. And being closely related to him isn't much of a safeguard. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she repeated softly.

The grim silence that followed signaled a close to the conversation. A faraway, mechanical part of her brain dealt with the business of shaking hands and thanking Bill Haley for his time. The same part kept her from walking into the people in the corridor outside.

She finally had something concrete to corroborate her dreams. That was progress. But if trained agents of the federal government, with all their experience and all their vast resources had thrown up their hands in defeat, what could she possibly hope to accomplish?

Raine bumped into someone, and veered away, mumbling an apology. She had to keep on as she was. Infiltrating. At least she wasn't crazy or delusional. She was on the track of something horribly real, no matter how elusive. That was something to cling to. A man was turning to stare at her as she walked past. She shot him a brief glance, just long enough to register information without seeming interested. A split second after she looked away, her stomach began to roll.

There was no reason for it. She'd never seen him before. She reviewed everything she had caught in the swift, photographic glance. Tall, protruding belly. Thinning dark hair, clean-shaven, bifocals. Nothing particular about him, other than his expression. Not one of masculine appreciation. He'd looked horrified.

She turned to look again. He was striding down the hall away from her, very fast Almost running. Ducking into a doorway, the same one she had just exited. Bill Haley's office.

She turned around and kept walking, shivering with the rising panic. It was like a whirlpool inside her, a sick, out of control feeling. The green blur, the screaming. This was sense- less. Why was she having a panic attack after catching a glimpse of an innocuous middle-aged man? Maybe she really was going nuts.

The best option was the simplest and most direct one, she told herself. She could go back to Haley's office, knock, and ask the man if they knew each other from somewhere. Either they would or they wouldn't. Raine turned, and took a slow, reluctant step in that direction.

There was a loud snap. She felt a stabbing pain in her hand. She pulled it out of her coat pocket She'd been clutching the frog glasses so tightly that one of the earpieces had broken off. The metal joint had dug into her palm, hard enough to draw blood.

Trust your instincts, Victor had said. With trust, they grow stronger. She shoved the glasses back in her pocket and hurried towards the stairwell. As soon as her legs got moving, it was all she could do not to draw attention to herself by breaking into a dead run.