Mortal Faults

54

After finishing her breakfast, Abby hiked from Westwood Village to the Wilshire Royal, where she found Vince and Gerry on duty at the front desk. They were both properly outraged by the search of her condo last night. She told them not to worry about it. “Just a minor misunderstanding,” she said lightly. They pretended to believe her, the same way they pretended to believe she was a sales rep. Denial could be a beautiful thing.

She checked the garage and found her Hyundai still in its reserved space. Later she could bum a ride off Wyatt and pick up her Mazda. At least for now she had her backup car.

The elevator took her to the tenth floor. She opened up her condo after stripping off the crime scene ribbon festooned on the door.

The place was a mess, of course. The feds had not been gentle when searching the premises. Every drawer had been opened, the contents strewn on the floor. For some unaccountable reason her sizable collection of CDs had been scattered. The clothes formerly hanging in her bedroom closet had been cast around like rags. Her computer was gone, taken to a crime lab for analysis, though she’d been given assurances that it would be speedily returned.

The search had never posed any threat to her. She wasn’t careless enough to leave incriminating information in her home. Sensitive material-ID kits, client lists, illegal weapons and eavesdropping devices-was kept in Santa Monica in a storage locker she’d registered under an assumed name. Electronic data of a private nature were stored on a secure Internet site. No one could find the site by examining her PC; a sophisticated program permanently erased all record of her online activity with every shutdown.

She’d worked too many cases where a stalker had stashed incriminating photos under his bed or left damaging emails on his computer’s hard drive. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

Still, the impossibility of finding anything to use against her hadn’t stopped the federales from trying.

With a sigh, she set to work cleaning up the mess. She had succeeded in reorganizing her music collection when the intercom buzzed.

“Yes?” she said.

Gerry answered. “An agent from the FBI is here to speak with you.” He made no effort to conceal his disapproval of the visitor.

Abby frowned. Just what she needed. Another feeb to make her life hell.

“Send him up,” she said in resignation.

She placed the last few CDs back on the shelf before the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, Tess was there.

“Oh,” Abby said. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“You’re looking well.”

“Cut the crap, Abby. May I come in or not?”

“Make yourself at home.” She gestured at the disaster that was her living room. “Your fellow jackbooted thugs already have.”

Tess entered and stood awkwardly amid the disorder. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re real broken up. It wasn’t too long ago that you thought I was good for Dylan Garrick’s murder.” Abby knelt and began gathering up her smaller but still considerable collection of DVDs.

Tess spread her hands helplessly. “What else was I supposed to think? Everything pointed to you.”

“Tess, if you would watch more TV, you’d know it’s never the most obvious suspect.”

“Well, forgive me for taking the evidence at face value.”

“You could have tried taking me at face value.”

“You were lying.”

Abby started putting the DVDs in alphabetical order. “Not about anything important. I told you I didn’t kill Garrick. That part was true.”

“You should have told me the rest.”

“Couldn’t risk it. You might not have believed me.”

“Maybe I would have. I never wanted to think you were capable of murder.”

“And yet you thought it, anyway. You’re always underestimating me. But I can’t entirely blame you. Sometimes I underestimate myself.”

“Now, that I don’t believe.”

“You should.” Abby arranged the first third of her DVD library, from A to H, on the shelf. “Remember how, in the Boiler Room, you asked whether my conscience was enough to keep me in line?”

“I remember.”

“Well, it was a fair question. In fact, I started wondering the same thing after Friday night. Wondering if maybe I’d become too much of a desperado. Whether I need somebody to ride herd on me. Whether I’m getting out of control.” She put titles I through P on the shelf. “I came pretty close to shooting Dylan Garrick. Closer than I admitted to you.”

Tess took a step forward. “How close?”

“I wasn’t sure. What I knew was that something he said changed my mind. It was just a little thing. He said we were both pros. He said the hit on Andrea was just a job for him-a job like mine.”

Tess nodded, understanding. “He said you were the same.”

“Right.” The videos from Q through Z were added to the shelf. She really did have a Z. Two of them, in fact- Zoolander and Zulu. “He said we were the same. And suddenly I… well, I didn’t want it to be true.”

“If he hadn’t said those words…”

“Would I have gone through with it?” She turned to face Tess. “That’s the question I kept asking myself the next day. And I didn’t know the answer. And it scared me. It made me doubt if I could really go on-or if I even ought to go on. You know the old Nietzsche thing, about how when you fight monsters you risk becoming a monster yourself? That’s what worried me. I thought maybe I’d crossed the line. But I didn’t. And I won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because last night I had the opportunity to shoot Jack Reynolds in the head. I wanted to. I mean, I really wanted to. But I didn’t do it. I’m still in control. I’m still me.”

“Then you’re okay with yourself?”

“Yeah. But I’m not okay with you.” Abby knelt and started stacking books in neat piles. “I’m not blaming you. Your response was predictable. But that’s the problem. I know you. I know you’ll put what you see as your duty above any personal loyalty.”

Tess took a moment before asking, “Is that wrong?”

“I don’t know. It’s not my way. And it complicated my life a lot, and nearly got me killed.”

She went on stacking books, not trying to organize them, just needing something to do.

“So what are you saying?” Tess asked. “You can’t trust me?”

“Yes. And no. I can trust you to always do the right thing-as you see it. I can’t trust you to see eye to eye with me on what the right thing is.” She looked up from the fourth pile of books. “Which means we’re not going to be working together anymore.”

“I hadn’t expected us to.”

“And it means-we’re not friends, Tess.”

“What are we, then? Enemies?”

“Not yet. But if you ever come back to my town and get mixed up in my business again-we will be.”

“I hope that day never comes.”

“Me, too.” Abby let the words settle into the silence of the room. Then more brightly she added, “So are you flying back to your nest in the Rockies?”

Tess hesitated, then knelt beside her and started stacking books herself. “On my way to the airport. Michaelson even arranged a driver.”

Abby wrinkled her nose at the mention of Michaelson. “He’s a piece of work, huh?”

Tess grunted. “There’s definitely something to be said for working alone.”

“You’ve gotta watch that guy. He’s still gunning for you. Probably now more than ever. He’ll sink your career if he gets half a chance.”

“I know.” Tess paused to examine one of the books, which was, Abby noticed, a sex manual, and a darn good one. Tess added it to the pile without comment. “And he’s still rising in the ranks. Could be the director someday.”

“Remind me to move to Mexico if that happens.”

Tess smiled. “I might be moving there with you.”

Abby found herself smiling, too. “I have to say, I’ve enjoyed our two little outings.”

“I can’t say I have. Sorry to put it that way, but-”

Abby waved off the apology. “I’d be disappointed if you said anything else. It would be disturbingly out of character.”

Tess sighed. “Well, as much fun as this is, I’d better get to the airport.”

They rose together. Tess walked to the door and stepped into the hall, then turned, her face serious again.

“I don’t plan on coming back to L.A. But I don’t always have a choice about where I go-or the cases I work. You know that.”

“I know.”

“It’s not impossible we’ll cross paths again. And Abby, if that day ever comes-I’ll be ready.”

Abby met her gaze. “So will I,” she said, and slowly she closed the door.