Lifeguard

Chapter 78

THEY FED ME a meal. They gave me blankets and a sheet. I sat down on the cot and passed a lonely night in a cell. I figured this would be the first of many. There was a lot of noise down the hall – the clang of cell doors, someone throwing up.

It wasn’t until the next morning that somebody finally came for me. A heavyset black cop from the day before. With two others.

“Free to go, I guess?” I said with a fatalistic smile.

“Oh, yeah, right,” he chuckled. “They’re waiting for you up in the spa. Don’t forget your robe.”

They took me upstairs to a small interview room. Just a table and three chairs, a mirror on the wall that I figured was two-way. I waited alone for about ten minutes. The nerves were starting to go. Finally the door opened and two cops stepped in.

One was the tall white-haired detective who was there when I surrendered at Stratton’s. Lawson. Palm Beach PD. The other was a short, barrel-chested guy in a blue shirt and tan suit. He flicked me his card as if I were supposed to be impressed by the initials.

Special Agent in Charge George Moretti. FBI.

Ellie’s boss.

“So, Mr. Kelly,” Lawson said, squeezing into a wooden chair across from me. “What are we going to do with you?”

“What am I being charged with?” I asked.

He spoke in a slow, relaxed drawl. “What do you think we should charge you with? You left us about the whole criminal statutes book to choose from. The murder of Tess McAuliffe? Or your friends?” He consulted a sheet. “Michael Kelly, Robert O’ Reilly, Barnabas Flint. Diane Lynch?”

“I didn’t do any of that…”

“Okay, plan B, then,” Lawson said. “Burglary. Interstate traffic of stolen goods, resisting arrest… The death of one Earl Anson, up in Brockton…”

“He killed my brother,” I shot back. “And he was trying to kill me. What would you have done?”

“Me, I wouldn’t have gotten into this mess in the first place, Mr. Kelly,” the cop replied. ”And just for the record, it was your prints off that knife, not his…”

“You’re in a shitload of trouble,” the FBI man said, pulling up a chair. “You got two things that can save your ass. One, where are the paintings? Two, how was Tess McAuliffe connected to any of this?”

“I don’t have the paintings,” I said. “And Tess wasn’t connected. I met her on the beach.”

“Oh, she was connected,” the FBI man said, and nodded knowingly, leaning close, “and, son, you don’t come straight with us now, your whole life as you knew it is going to be a memory from this point on. You know what it’s like in a federal prison, Ned. No beaches there, son, no pools to tend.”

“I am being straight with you,” I interrupted. “You see a lawyer here? Did I ask for one? Yes, I got involved to steal those paintings. I set off alarms around Palm Beach. Check. You got reports of several break-ins around town prior to the theft that night, didn’t you? I can give you the addresses. And I didn’t kill my friends. I think you know that by now. I got a call from Dee that the art wasn’t there. That someone had set them up. Someone named Dr. Gachet. She told me to meet them back at the house in Lake Worth, and by the time I got there they were dead. So I freaked. I fled. Maybe that was wrong. I’d just seen my lifelong friends carried out in bags. What the hell would anyone do?”

The FBI man blinked. He sort of narrowed his eyes at me, like, Enough of the yuks, kid. You don’t even know the trouble I could cause you.

“Besides,” I said, turning to Lawson, “you’re not even asking the right questions.”

Chapter 79

“OKAY,” THE COP SAID with a shrug, “so tell me the right questions.”

“Like, who else knew the art was going to be stolen?” I said. “And who was in Tess McAuliffe’s suite after me? Who sent that punk up to Boston to kill my brother. And who is Gachet?”

They looked at each other for a second, then the FBI man smiled. “You ever stop to think that’s because we know the answers to those questions, Ned?”

My gaze hardened on him. I waited for him to blink. They knew. They knew I didn’t kill anybody. They had me in there, grilling me, and they knew I didn’t kill Tess or Dave. They even knew who Gachet was. The longer he waited to answer, the more I was sure he was going to say, Your father is Dr. Gachet.

“The ballistics matched,” the Palm Beach detective said, grinning. “The gun we found at Stratton’s. Just like we suspected. It belonged to Paul Angelos, the Strattons’ bodyguard. Same gun was involved in the Lake Worth murders. He was sexually involved with Liz Stratton. Another of Stratton’s men confirmed it. He was doing her dirty work. She was setting up her husband. Seems pretty clear to us. She wanted the money; she wanted to get away from Dennis Stratton. She was linked to Tess McAuliffe. You want to know who Gachet is, Ned? You want to know who sent that guy to Boston? It was Liz. Special Agent Shurtleff said she basically admitted as much at the restaurant.”

Liz… Gachet? I looked at them incredulously. Waiting, as though they were going to crack big smiles.

Liz wasn’t Gachet. Stratton had twisted this, set her up. He had maneuvered the whole thing. And they were buying it!

“Actually, there’s only one question we still have for you,” Lawson said, leaning in close.

“What the hell happened to the art?”

Chapter 80

I WAS BROUGHT BEFORE a judge and charged with burglary, resisting arrest, and interstate flight.

For once, they got the charges right. I was guilty of all three.

The public defender they assigned me advised me to plead not guilty, which I did, until I figured I could call Uncle George in Watertown and have him get me one of his fancy lawyers, as he had offered. I sure needed one now.

They set my bail at $500,000.

“Can the defendant post bail?” The judge looked down from the bench.

“No, Your Honor, I can’t.” So they took me back to my cell.

I stared at the cold, concrete walls, thinking this was going to be the first day of many like it.

“Ned.”

I heard a familiar voice from outside. I shot up on my cot.

It was Ellie.

She looked so good, in a cute print skirt and a short linen jacket. I ran over to the bars. I just wanted to touch her. But I felt so ashamed in my orange jumpsuit, on the wrong side of the bars. I don’t know, but that might have been the most depressing moment of all.

“It’s going to be all right, Ned.” Ellie tried to look upbeat. “You’re going to answer all their questions. Tell them everything, Ned. I promise, I’ll see what we can do.”

“They think it was Liz, Ellie,” I said, shaking my head. “They think she was Gachet. That she set everything up, with her bodyguard. The art… They got it all wrong.”

“I know.” Ellie swallowed hard, clenching her jaw.

“He’s gonna get away with murder,” I said.

“No – ” she shook her head – “he’s not. Listen, though. Cooperate. Be smart, okay?”

“That would be a shift.” I gave her my best self-effacing smile. I searched her eyes. “So, hey, how’s it going for you?”

Ellie shrugged. “You made me a big hero, Ned. The press is all over me.”

She put her hand next to mine on the bar and glanced down the hall to see if anyone was watching. Then she wrapped her little finger around mine.

“I feel pretty ashamed, in here like this. Just like my father. I guess everything’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed, Ned.” Ellie shook her head.

I nodded. I was a felon, about to plead guilty and go to prison. And she was an agent for the FBI. Nothing’s changed…

“I want you to know something…” Her eyes were glistening.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to get him for you, Ned. I promise. For your friends. For your brother. You can count on it, Ned.”

“Thanks,” I whispered. “They put my bail at five hundred thousand dollars. Guess I’m gonna be in here for a while.”

“At least there’s one good thing that can come out of this…”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

She smiled coyly. “You can go back to being blond.” That got me to smile, too. I looked in Ellie’s eyes. God, I wanted to hug her. She squeezed my hand once more and gave me a wink. “So, I’ll have Champ crash through the wall at, say, 10:05?”

I laughed.

“Take it easy, Ned.” Ellie brushed her thumb tenderly against my hand. She started to back away. “I’ll see you. Before you even know.”

“You know where to find me.”

She stopped. “I meant what I said, Ned.” She looked me in the eye.

“About Stratton?”

“About all those things, Ned. About you.”

She gave a one-fingered wave and backed down the corridor. I sat back and took a look around at the small, cramped place that was going to be my home for a while. A cot. A metal toilet, bolted to the floor. I was psyching myself up to spend some quality time.

Ellie had been gone for only a couple of minutes when the heavy black cop appeared in front of the cell again. He inserted a key.

“The spa, right?” I pulled myself up. Guess they weren’t done with me yet.

“Not this time,” he laughed. “You just made bail.”

Chapter 81

THEY LED ME to the Intake Center and handed back my clothes and my wallet. I signed a couple of forms and looked beyond the desk to the outer room. They hadn’t told me who had bailed me out.

Standing on the other side of the glass, outside the Intake area, was Sollie Roth.

The door buzzed open, and clutching my bundle, I stepped through. I put out my hand.

Sollie took it, smiling. “Like I said, kid, about your friends… the highest, kid, the highest.”

He put his arm around me and led me down the stairs into the garage. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I said. And I meant it.

Sol’s latest car pulled up – a Caddie. The driver hopped out.

“Don’t thank me so much,” he said as the driver opened the rear door, “as her.”

Ellie was sitting in the backseat.

“Oh God, you’re great,” I said. I jumped in beside her and gave her a hug. Best hug of my entire life. Then I looked at those deep blue eyes and kissed her on the lips. I didn’t care whether anybody saw, whether it was wrong or right.

“If you two lovebirds don’t mind,” Sol said, clearing his throat in the front seat, “it’s late, I’m a few thousand poorer on account of you, and we have work to do.”

“Work?”

“Why am I under the impression there was someone you wanted to nail for murder?”

I couldn’t contain the grin spreading across my face. I squeezed Sol’s arm. It was hard to explain how warm I felt inside – these two people standing up for me.

“I figure we can beat the press by going out the back way,” Sol said, nudging his driver. “You mind your old room back at the house?”

“You mean I can just go back to the house?”

“You’re free to go where you want, Ned,” Ellie said. “At least, until your trial. Mr. Roth here took responsibility for you.”

“So, don’t get any ideas.” He shot a stern look back at me. “Besides, you still owe me two hundred bucks. And I aim to collect.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was numb. I’d felt hunted for so long. Now I had people who believed in me, who would fight for me.

We got back to Sol’s house in a few minutes. The gates to his estate swung open and the Caddie pulled into the bricked courtyard in front. Sol turned to me. “I think you’ll find the place like when you left. In the morning, we’ll see about hooking you up with a good lawyer. That sound okay?”

“Yeah, Sol, that sounds great.”

“In that case, I’m going to bed,” he sighed. He said good night with a wink, and I was left with Ellie, staring up at my old place above the garage, realizing that for a few amazing moments, nobody was chasing me.

Ellie stood there, staring at me. There was an ocean breeze warming us through the swaying palms. For a second I drew her close and cupped her face in my hands. I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated what she’d done, but no words came out.

I bent and gave her another kiss. Her mouth was warm and moist, and this time there was nothing hesitant about it. When I was out of breath I pulled away. I let my hand linger on her breast. “So, Agent Shurtleff, what happens now?”

“Now,” Ellie said, “maybe we go upstairs, go over a few details about the case.”

“I thought that was wrong,” I said, taking her gently by the hand. I drew her close, felt her heart beating, felt her tight little body fit into mine.

“Way wrong,” Ellie said, looking up at me, “but who’s counting now?”

Chapter 82

THERE WAS NO holding back this time. It was a struggle just to drag ourselves up the stairs. Our mouths were locked and we were pawing at each other’s clothing the second we stumbled through the door.

“What was it you wanted to discuss?” I said, and grinned, undoing the buttons on Ellie’s jacket.

“I don’t know…” she said. She wiggled out of her blouse. She had a wonderful body. I had seen it the day I caught her kayaking. This time I wanted all of it. I pulled her close to me.

“I want you to know,” she said, pulling at my belt, then tunneling her hand down my jeans. I was as hard as granite. “You’re still going to jail. No matter how good this is.”

“That’s not much incentive,” I said. My hands traveled down her spine and into her skirt. I eased the zipper down and helped her slink out of the skirt, until it fell to the floor.

“Try me,” Ellie said.

I picked her up in my arms and laid her softly on the bed. I kicked off my pants. She arched her back, slithered gracefully out of her panties, and smiled.

I held myself over her, our eyes locked. Every muscle in my body, every cell, was exploding with desire for this incredible girl. Her skin was smooth and soft; mine was sweaty and on fire. She was taut, cut; small, tight muscles in her arms and thighs rocked against me with willowy restraint. She arched her spine.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” I said.

“Tell me about it,” Ellie said.

I eased inside her. Ellie let out a whimper, a beautiful sound, and held on tight to my arms. She was so small and light, I could almost lift her. We rocked like the steady rhythm of the surf outside. I couldn’t help thinking, This is what it’s about, you lucky SOB. It’s about this wonderful gal who risked everything for you, who looked inside and saw what no one else was willing to see.

Now what are you going to do about it? How are you going to hold on to Ellie Shurtleff?

Chapter 83

THE WINDOW WAS OPEN, the moon was bright, and a breeze coming off the ocean was softly brushing us like a fan. We curled up against the pillows, too exhausted to move.

Not just from each other, from the three times Ellie and I had made love, but from the stress of all that had happened. And now, being there with Ellie. For a moment, feeling a million miles away from the case, I leaned my head against her shoulder.

“So, what do we do now?” I asked, Ellie balled up in my arms.

“You do what Sol said,” she answered. “You get yourself a great lawyer. You stay out of trouble for a change. Tend to your case. With what they have on you, Ned, with a clean record, you’re looking at maybe a year – eighteen months, max.”

“You’ll wait for me, Ellie?” I tickled her, teasing her with pillow talk.

She shrugged. “Unless another case turns up and I meet someone else. This kind of thing, you just never know.”

We laughed, and I drew her in to me. But I guess it was dawning on me that I was thinking about something else. I was going to jail. And Stratton had manipulated everything. Perfectly.

“Answer me something – you trust the Palm Beach cops to see this through? Lawson? What about your own outfit, Ellie? Moretti?”

“There may be someone I can trust,” she said. “A Palm Beach detective. I don’t think he’s under Lawson’s thumb. Or Stratton’s.”

“I still have a chip to play,” I said. She looked at me, eyes wide. “My father…”

“Your father? You didn’t give him up to the police?”

I shook my head. “Nope. You?”

Ellie stared blankly. She didn’t answer, but I could see in her still face that she hadn’t.

She stared into my eyes. “I’m thinking we’re missing something. What Liz said in the car. Only one painting was stolen. And, ‘You’re the art expert. Why do you think he calls himself Gachet?’”

“What is it about this Gachet? What’s so special?”

“It was one of the last paintings van Gogh ever did. In June 1890, only a month before he killed himself. Gachet was a doctor who used to stop in on him, in Auvers. You saw the picture. He’s sitting at a table, in his cap, head resting in his hand. The focus of the painting in those sad, blue eyes…”

“I remember,” I said. “Dave left me a picture of the painting.”

“His eyes are so remote and haunting,” Ellie went on. “Full of pain and recognition. The painter’s eyes. It’s always been assumed it foretold van Gogh’s suicide. It was bought at auction by the Japanese in 1990. Over eighty million. It was the highest price ever paid for a work of art at the time.”

“I still don’t get it. Stratton didn’t have any van Goghs.”

“No,” Ellie said, “he didn’t.” Then I saw this ray of awareness. “Unless…”

“Unless what, Ellie?” I sat up and faced her.

She chewed on her lip. “Only one painting was stolen.”

“You gonna let me in on what you’re thinking, Ellie?”

Ellie smiled at me. “He hasn’t won yet, Ned. Not entirely. He still doesn’t have his painting.” She threw the sheets off her. Her eyes brightened into a smile. “Like Sollie said, Ned. We have work to do.”

Chapter 84

TWO DAYS LATER I got permission to fly to Boston. But not for the reason I had hoped. Dave’s body had finally been released by the police. We were burying him, at our local church, St. Ann ’s, in Brockton.

A federal marshal had to accompany me on the trip. A young guy just out of training named Hector Rodriguez. The funeral was out of state, therefore, out of my bail agreement. And I was a flight risk, of course. I already had. Hector was stapled to my side the whole way up.

We buried Dave in the plot next to my brother, John Michael. Everyone was huddled there, cheeks streaming with tears. I held my mom by the arm. It’s what they say about the Irish, right? We know how to bury people. We know how to hold up. We got used to losing people early in the Bush.

The priest asked if anyone had any last words. To my surprise, my father stepped forward. He asked for a moment alone.

He stepped up to the polished cherry casket and placed his hand on the lid. He muttered something softly. What could he be saying? I never wanted this to happen to you, son? Ned shouldn’t have gotten you involved?

I glanced at Father Donlan. He nodded. I stepped down to the gravesite and stood next to Frank. The rain started to pick up. A cold breeze blew in my face. We stood there for a moment. Frank ran his hand along the casket, never even glancing at me. He took a deep swallow.

“They needed a go-between, Ned,” my father said, and gritted his teeth. “They needed someone to organize a crew, to do the heist.”

I turned to him, but he kept staring straight ahead. “Who, Pop?”

“Not the wife, if that’s what you mean. Or that other chump they killed.”

I nodded. “I already knew that, Pop.”

He shut his eyes. “It was supposed to be a layup, Ned. No one was supposed to get hurt. You think I would put Mickey onto anything that was dirty? Bobby, Dee… Jesus, Ned, I’ve known her dad for thirty years…”

He turned to me, and in the thinness of his face, I could see tears. I had never seen my father cry. He looked at me, almost angry. “You think for a second, son, I would’ve ever let them take you?”

Something cracked in me at that moment. In the pit of my chest. In the rain. With my brother lying there. Call it the loathing that had been building up. My resolve to see him as I did. I felt this powerful salty surge in my eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I reached out and wrapped my hand gently over his, on the casket. I could feel his bony fingers tremble, the terror in his heart. In that moment I felt what it must be like to be scared to die.

“I know what I’ve done,” he said, straightening, “and I’ll have to live with it. However long that is. Anyway, Neddie” – I saw a hint of a smile – “I’m glad you ended up okay.”

My voice cracked. “I’m not okay, Pop. Dave’s dead. I’m going to prison. Jesus, Dad, who?”

He tightened his fist into a hard ball. A breath slowly leaked out, as if he were fighting some oath or vow he’d kept for many years. “I knew him from years ago in Boston. He moved away, though. The move did him good. They needed a crew from out of town.”

“Who?”

My father told me the name.

I stood there for a moment, my chest tight. In a second, everything was clear to me.

“He wanted a crew from out of town,” my father said again, “and I had one, right?” He finally looked at me. “It was just a payout, Ned. Like going to the bank and they hand you a mil. Split aces, Ned. You know what I mean?”

He massaged his hand across the polished casket lid, slick with rain. “Even Davey would’ve understood.”

I moved close and put my hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, Pop, I know what you mean.”

Chapter 85

PALM BEACH Detective Carl Breen was sipping a Starbucks on a bench facing the marina across the bridge off Flagler Drive. Ellie turned to him. “I need you to help me, Carl.”

They stared at the fancy white yachts across the lake, beauties, crews in white uniforms hosing them down.

“Why me?” Breen asked. “Why not go to Lawson? You and he seem to be buddies.”

“Great friends, Carl. Stratton, too. That’s why I’m here.”

“Slip’s okay,” the Palm Beach detective said, and smiled, speaking of Lawson. “He’s just been here a long time.”

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Ellie said. “It’s who he works for I don’t trust.”

A gull cawed from a mooring a few feet away. Breen shook his head.

“You’ve sure come a ways in a couple of weeks since you stumbled into my crime scene. The most sought after suspect in America falls in your lap. Now you’re making accusations against one of the most important people in town.”

“Art’s booming, Carl. What can I say? And I wouldn’t have exactly called it ‘falling into my lap.’ I was abducted, remember.”

Breen raised his palms. “Hey, I actually meant it as a compliment. So, what’s in all this for me?”

“Biggest bust of your career,” Ellie said.

Breen let out an amused laugh. He took a last gulp of the coffee and crumpled the cup into a ball. “Okay, I’m listening…”

“Stratton had Tess McAuliffe killed,” Ellie said, eyes fixed on him.

“Knew you were going to say that,” Breen sniffed.

“Yeah? Well, what you probably didn’t know was that Tess McAuliffe wasn’t her real name. It was Marty Miller. And the reason you haven’t been able to find out a thing about her is that she’s from Australia. She was a hooker down there. She was hired to do a job. Stratton.”

“And where did you get this?” Breen faced her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ellie said. “You can have it, too. What does matter is that Dennis Stratton was having an affair with her, and that your own department knows about this and hasn’t done shit. And that he killed his wife in retaliation and pinned the whole mess on her and the bodyguard.”

“Killed her?” Breen’s eyes shone. “In retaliation for what?”

“In retaliation for conspiring with Tess. Liz wanted out.

She was coming clean with us. Stratton did it. To get rid of her and get the heat off himself.”

“One thing I still don’t get,” Breen said, nodding cautiously. “You said my department already knew about this relationship, between Tess and Stratton? You want to explain?”

“Dennis Stratton was seen there, at the Brazilian Court, with Tess on several occasions. I saw a golf tee in his home that matched one found at the murder scene. I ran his picture by the staff of the hotel myself. The PBPD has all this.”

Breen’s blank expression took Ellie by surprise.

“This shouldn’t come as a surprise, Carl. You didn’t get this information passed along?”

“You think if we had, we wouldn’t have followed up on something like that? You don’t think we would’ve been all over Stratton? Lawson, too. I assure you, he hates the arrogant SOB as much as you do.” Breen screwed his eyes into her. “Just who was it that supposedly passed along this information?”

Ellie didn’t answer. She stared back at him just as blankly. A hollow, sick feeling had swelled in her chest. Everything changed. She had the sensation she was sliding, slowly at first, then faster, against her will.

“Forget it, Carl,” she muttered, rewinding everything she knew about this case, back to its very first moments.

Everything had just changed.

Chapter 86

IT WAS A LONG, quiet flight back to Florida. Agent Rodriguez and I barely exchanged a word. I had buried my brother. I’d maybe seen my father for the last time. And I was bringing something back with me as well. Something pretty earthshaking.

The name of the person who’d killed my brother and my closest friends.

As I came through the Jetway at the Palm Beach airport, I spotted Ellie waiting for me. She was standing apart from the usual crowd of giddy family members welcoming their relatives to the Florida sunshine. She was still on duty, I guess, dressed in a black pantsuit, her hair tied back in a ponytail. She smiled as she saw me, but she looked as though it were the end of a stressful day.

Hector Rodriguez bent down and took off the monitoring device strapped to my ankle. He shook my hand and wished me luck. “You’re back to being the FBI’s problem now.”

For a second, Ellie and I just stood there. I could see her reading the stress in my eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” I lied. I checked around to see if anyone was watching, then I folded her into her arms. “I have some news.”

I could feel her face brushing against my chest. For a second, I wasn’t sure who was holding whom. “I have news, too, Ned.”

“I know who Gachet is, Ellie.”

Her eyes grew moist and she nodded. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

I guess I expected her to be completely stunned when on the way back to Sollie’s I told her the name my father had given me. But she just seemed to nod, turning onto Okeechobee.

“The Palm Beach police never followed up the lead on Stratton,” she said, pulling over and putting the car in park.

“I thought you informed them,” I said, a little dazed.

“I did,” Ellie said. “Or I thought so.”

It took me a second to see where she was going.

I think until that moment, hiding from the law, trying to prove my innocence, I’d never focused on just how angry I felt. But now I felt it coming on like some storm I couldn’t hold back. Stratton always had someone on the inside. He held all the cards.

“How do we handle this?” I asked Ellie, cars shooting by.

“We can get a deposition from your father, but these are law enforcement people, Ned. It’s going to take more than an accusation from a guy who’s got a grudge and whose history isn’t exactly unimpeachable. That’s not exactly proof.”

“But you got proof.”

“No, all I got was that someone covered up on the Tess McAuliffe case. If I brought that to my boss, it would barely raise an eyebrow.”

“I just buried my brother, Ellie. You don’t expect me to just sit here and let Stratton and these bastards get away with it.”

“No, I don’t expect that, Ned.”

I saw a look of resolve in her soft blue eyes. The look said, I need you to help me prove this, Ned.

And all I said was “I’m in.”

Chapter 87

IT TOOK ELLIE two days to get the proof.

It was like looking at a painting from a different angle, the prism turned upside down. Every image, every piece of light refracted differently. She knew that whatever she came up with, everything depended on this. She’d better be sure.

First, she went into the PBPD file on the murder-suicide involving Liz Stratton. There was a NIBIN search in there, tracing the history of the gun. As Lawson had suspected, it matched up positively as one of the weapons used in the massacre of Ned’s friends in Lake Worth. It also made the case against Liz and the bodyguard appear pretty airtight.

She flipped the page.

The Beretta.32 had been confiscated in a drug bust two years before by a joint operation of the Miami-Dade County Police Department and the FBI. It had been held in a police evidence bin in Miami and had been part of a weapons cache that had mysteriously disappeared a year before.

Paul Angelos, the murdered bodyguard, was a former Miami cop. Why would someone on Stratton’s payroll be carrying a dirty gun?

Ellie looked back for the officers who had been assigned to the Miami case. She figured Angelos’s name would be there, but it was the name at the bottom of the page that made her freeze.

This could be happenstance, she told herself. What she needed was solid proof.

Next, she started digging into the background of Earl Anson, the guy who had killed Ned’s brother up in Brockton. How would he find his way to Stratton?

Anson had been a longtime criminal from down in Florida. Armed robbery, extortion, trafficking in drugs. He’d spent time in Tampa and Glades prisons. But what puzzled her was that for both prison stints, despite a spotty record, he was bumped up for early parole. A four-to-six for robbery bargained down to fourteen months. A second-offense felony tossed to time served.

Anson knew someone on the inside.

Ellie called up the warden’s office at Glades, a max to medium institution about forty miles west of Palm Beach. She managed to get Assistant Warden Kevin Fletcher on the line. She asked him how Earl Anson had qualified twice for early release.

“Anson,” Fletcher said, punching up his record, “didn’t I read he just get waxed up in Boston?”

“You won’t be seeing him a third time, if that’s what you mean,” Ellie confirmed.

“No loss there,” the assistant warden sighed, “but someone seemed to be pretty tight with him. He had a sugar daddy.”

“Sugar daddy?” Ellie said.

“Someone who was protecting him, Agent Shurtleff. And not for what he was giving up in here. My guess? He was someone’s CI.”

Someone’s informant.

Ellie thanked Fletcher, but now she felt stymied. Finding out who was handling a CI would be impossible without running up a bright red flag.

So she tried another tack. She called a friend, Gail Silver, in the Miami District Attorney’s Office.

“I’m looking into an ex-con named Earl Anson. He was a hit man in this art heist I’m working on. I was hoping you could get me a list of trials he was a testifying witness at?”

“What is he, some kind of rent-a-witness?” Gail kidded her.

“CI,” Ellie said. “I’m trying to see if he had any connections to fences or art rings that I could track these paintings through.” Not entirely a lie.

“What are you looking for?” the ADA replied, seeming to treat her request as routine.

“Defendants, convictions…” Ellie said casually. She held her breath. “Case agents, Gail… if you’re able to provide that, too.”

Chapter 88

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Ellie knocked on Moretti’s office door. She caught her boss leafing through a file, and he grudgingly waved her in. “Something to report?”

Things had gone from bad to worse with Special Agent in Charge Moretti. Clearly, he felt upstaged, shown up after Ned’s arrest, by the little art agent who was suddenly getting all the publicity.

“I’ve been looking into something,” Ellie said at the door. “Something’s come up I’m not sure what to do with. On the art.”

“Okay,” Moretti leaned back, shifting a file.

“Ned Kelly mentioned something,” Ellie said, sitting down, a file on her lap. “You know, he went to Boston for his brother’s funeral.”

“Right, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about him.” Moretti crossed his legs.

“He talked to his father up there. It’s a little out of the blue, sir, but he indicated he knew who this Dr. Gachet is.”

“Who did?” Her boss sat up.

“Kelly’s father,” Ellie said. “More so, he seemed to imply it was someone in law enforcement. Someone down here.”

Moretti narrowed his gaze. “How would Ned Kelly’s father have any idea who was behind the heist?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Ellie said, “that’s what I want to find out. But I started wondering why the Palm Beach police had never acted on that Stratton thing with Tess McAuliffe I laid out for you. You did pass it along?”

Moretti nodded. “Of course…”

“You know Lawson, who heads the detectives unit up there? I’ve always had some doubts about him.”

“Lawson?”

“I’ve seen him at Stratton’s house all three times I’ve been there,” Ellie went on.

“You don’t stop trying to put two and two together, do you, Special Agent Shurtleff?”

“So I checked into the.32 that Liz Stratton used,” she said, ignoring him. “You know where it came from? It was stolen from a police evidence bin.”

“You don’t think I know where you’re headed with this? You get to take a big bow to the press for bringing in Ned Kelly, then you say so long to playing Mrs. Kojak. Wasn’t that our agreement? As far as the Bureau is concerned, these murders are solved. Ballistics. Motive. Airtight.”

“I’m talking about the art,” Ellie said, looking right back at him. “I thought I might go up there and hear the old man out. If that’s okay?”

Moretti shrugged. “I could send a local team…”

“A local team’s not familiar with fences, or what to ask about the art,” Ellie countered.

Moretti didn’t answer. He hid his face behind a steeple of his hands. “Just when do you plan to go?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Ellie said. “Six A.M. If the guy’s as sick as I’ve heard, it might be good to get up there now.”

“Tomorrow morning.” Moretti nodded sort of glumly, as if he were thinking something over. Then, a second later he shrugged, as if he had made up his mind.

“Try to be careful this time,” he said, and smiled. “You remember what happened the last time you went up there?”

“Don’t worry,” Ellie said. “What are the chances of something like that happening two times in a row?”

Chapter 89

THAT NIGHT Ellie put on an old wrinkled T-shirt, cleaned her face, and slid into bed about eleven.

She was tired, but also wired. She didn’t turn on the TV. For a while she leafed through a book on van der Heyden, a Dutch painter from the seventeenth century, but mostly found herself staring off into space.

She’d found out what she needed to know; now it was just a question of what to do next. She finally flicked off the lights and lay in the dark. No way she could sleep.

Ellie pulled the covers up over her shoulders. She glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes had passed. She listened to the silence in the house.

Suddenly she heard a creaking sound from out in the living room. Ellie froze. The floor groaning, or maybe someone sliding through the window. She usually left it open for the breeze.

She listened some more, eyes stretched wide, not moving a muscle. She waited for a second sound.

Nothing.

Then she heard the creaking sound again.

This time Ellie lay completely silent for a full twenty seconds. She wasn’t imagining anything. It was unmistakable.

Someone was in the house.

Jesus Christ. Ellie sucked in a breath. Her heart was racing. She reached under the pillow and wrapped her fingers around the gun that she usually kept on the coatrack but tonight, just to be sure, had by her side. Ellie carefully switched off the safety and eased the pistol out from under her pillow. She told herself to be calm, but her mouth was completely dry.

She hadn’t read it wrong. This was happening tonight!

The creaking sounds came closer. Ellie could feel someone advancing in the dark toward her bedroom. She wrapped her fingers around the gun.

You can do this, a voice said inside. You knew it was going to happen. Just wait a little longer. C’mon, Ellie.

She peeked above the covers at the door as a shape slipped through.

Then the sound that sent a tremor down her spine. The click of a gun.

Oh shit. Ellie’s heart nearly stopped. The bastard’s going to shoot me.

Ned… now!

The bedroom lights shot on. Ned was standing on the other side of the room with a gun pointed at the intruder. “Put it down, you sonuvabitch. Now!”

Ellie bolted upright with her own gun, leveling it, two-handed, at the man’s chest.

He stood there, blinded by the sudden light, his gun suspended somewhere between Ellie and Ned.

Moretti.

“Put it down,” Ellie said again. “Or if he won’t shoot, I will.”

Chapter 90

I HAD NO IDEA what was going to happen next. What would Moretti do? We were in some kind of standoff. I’d never shot anyone before. Neither had Ellie.

“One last time,” Ellie said, straightening up on her bed.

“Put it down. I will shoot you!”

“Okay,” Moretti said, eyeing both of us. He was acting calm, as though he’d been in this situation before. He slowly lowered the gun to a nonthreatening angle, then placed it gently on Ellie’s bed.

“We’ve had the house under surveillance, Ellie. We spotted Kelly coming in. Thought he might be up to something. We were worried. I know what this looks like, but I thought it would be best if I -”

“It doesn’t wash, Moretti.” Ellie shook her head, climbing out of bed. “I told you, I traced Liz’s gun. I know where it came from. A bust you were an agent on. What about this one? Was it stolen out of the Miami office, too?”

“Jesus,” the FBI man said, “you’re not actually thinking -”

“I’m totally thinking that, you slimy son of a bitch. I know! I know about you and Earl Anson. I know you ran him as a CI. It’s too late to bullshit your way out of this. I don’t have to go to Boston. Ned’s father – he already talked. He told Ned he knew you from your days up in Boston.” Moretti swallowed hard. “You had me under surveillance? So, where’s your backup, Moretti? Be my guest. Call them in.”

Tightness crept onto the FBI agent’s face. Then a shrug of resignation.

“Is this how you killed Tess McAuliffe?” Ellie picked up his gun. “Sneaking up on her in the bath, stuffing her head under?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Moretti said. “I didn’t kill Tess Mc-Auliffe. Stratton’s man did that.”

I tightened my fist on the gun. “But my friends, in Lake Worth…You did that, you sonuvabitch.”

“Anson did.” Moretti shrugged coolly. “Sorry, Neddie-boy, didn’t your mother ever tell you what happens when you take something that doesn’t belong to you?”

I started to move toward Moretti. Nothing would’ve made me happier than to break his jaw.

Ellie held me back. “You don’t get off that easily, Moretti. There were two guns used in Lake Worth. The.32 and a shotgun. One person didn’t do that killing.”

“Why?” I stared at him, my hand tightening on the gun. “Why did you have to kill them? We didn’t take the art.”

“No, you didn’t take the art. Stratton did that himself. In fact, he had the art sold before you ever heard of the job.”

“Sold?” I looked at Ellie. I was hoping she could make some sense of this.

Moretti smiled. “You had it pegged all the time, didn’t you, Ellie? Ned’s big score, it was just a cover. How does it feel, your buddies ending up getting killed for a scam?”

Moretti was grinning at me as if he knew the answer to the next question would hurt even more. “A scam for what? Why did you need to come after us – if the art was already sold? Why Dave?”

“You still don’t know, do you?” Moretti shook his head.

Tears were burning in my eyes.

“Something else got taken,” Moretti said. “Something that wasn’t part of the original deal.”

Ellie was staring at me now. “The Gaume,” she said.

Chapter 91

“CONGRATULATIONS,” Moretti clapped. “I knew if we stayed here long enough, somebody would say something smart.”

Ellie’s eyes drifted from Moretti to me. “The Gaume’s barely collectible. Nobody would kill for that.”

Moretti shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s lawyer time now, Ellie.” The FBI man’s haughty grin returned. “Nothing I said will be admissible. You’ll have to prove it all, if you can, which I doubt. The gun, Anson… everything you brought up before is circumstantial. Stratton will protect me. Sorry to ruin the bust, but I’ll be drinking margaritas and you’ll still be filling out case sheets for your pension.”

“How’s this for circumstantial, Moretti?” I nailed him as hard as I could in the mouth. He almost went down, blood flowing from his lip.

“That’s for Mickey and my friends,” I said. I hit Moretti again, and this time he did go down. “That one was for Dave.”

It took about five minutes for two police cars responding to the 911 to screech to a halt in front of the house. Four officers rushed in as Ellie explained who it was and what had happened. She was already on the phone to the FBI. Lights were whirling everywhere. The policemen led Moretti down the front steps. Such a sweet moment.

“Hey, Moretti,” Ellie called. He turned on the lawn. “Not half bad,” she said with a wink, “for an art agent, huh?”

I watched them take him away and I was thinking that the whole thing had to break now. It couldn’t hold together. Moretti would talk. He’d have to.

That’s when a whole new picture of horror began to unfold for me.

A man with a hand inside his jacket stepped out of a car down the street, walking onto Ellie’s lawn.

I saw what was happening. The man just walked past the flashing police cars; his hand came out of his sports jacket. He got close to Moretti, in the arms of the cops.

Two loud shots into the FBI man’s chest.

“No!” I screamed, starting to run. Then my voice got softer as I came to a horrified halt. “Pop, no…”

I had watched my father kill Special Agent in Charge George Moretti.