Playing Dead

TWENTY-FIVE

Mitch’s cell phone woke him. 1:00 a.m. Good news never came after midnight.

It was a blocked number. “Bianchi.”

“This is Tom O’Brien.”

Mitch swung his legs over his bed, wide awake, and grabbed a pencil from the nightstand. Where was the paper? He’d put it there. . he picked the pad off the floor.

“Where are you?”

“I’m surrendering tomorrow. I have a new attorney and she’s going to meet with the Sacramento district attorney in the morning. I was hoping you might be able to help.”

“I’ll do what I can. I can pick you up now-”

“No. I need a few things before I come in.”

“I can help-”

“I saw you watching Claire’s house the other morning.”

Shit. Tom O’Brien had been that close and Mitch hadn’t seen him! Hadn’t even felt him. Was he losing his touch? Or maybe he was just too preoccupied with Claire.

“It’s my job. To find you.”

“You almost had me a couple times. After the warehouse shoot-out you were right on my heels most of the way north. Sheer luck had you looking the wrong way in Salt Lake City.”

“Why didn’t you tell me where Doherty and Chapman were?”

“I didn’t know exactly where they would be, and if they thought the Feds were on their tail, they would have gone under. I had to find them first, then it all went to hell. Believe me, Bianchi, if I could have changed things I would have. I wish people didn’t have to die.”

“I wish you’d let me pick you up right now. There’s a lot of new information we’re trying to get a handle on. Oliver Maddox was murdered-”

“I know. That’s the reason I’m calling you. I made a huge mistake. I wrote to my daughter and told her everything I knew about Maddox’s investigation. I didn’t know he was dead. I was transferred from North Seg the day after he was supposed to meet me, and I couldn’t get phone access to find out why. Then the earthquake hit, and I didn’t try to approach Maddox, fearing he’d be under surveillance. If I’d thought for a minute he was dead, I’d never have given Claire the information I did.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Oliver believed that Taverton was the target and a man named Frank Lowe was the key. I asked her to find Maddox so he could convince her he had something to prove I was innocent. I thought with her knowledge and resources at Rogan-Caruso she could help him, then I could come in free and clear. But Claire told me-through my attorney,” he quickly added, “that Lowe was dead, killed in a fire the night after Taverton and Lydia. And their coroner’s reports are missing. There’s more, but I don’t have time.”

Mitch wrote it all down. “Of course you have time, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bianchi, we’re on opposite sides right now.”

“I believe you’re innocent.”

O’Brien continued, “My attorney told Claire that I plan to surrender tomorrow after we make arrangements with the D.A. I told Claire-my attorney told her-to leave it alone. If Maddox’s killer knows Claire is retracing his footsteps, she’s in danger. Protect her, Bianchi. You have to keep her safe. She’s not going to let this go.”

Mitch’s heart pounded in rhythm with his growing headache. “I’ll try, but-”

“You have to do better than try! Put her in protective custody. Arrest her for, for-hell, you can come up with something! Tell her to back off. Anything to keep her safe.”

Mitch wasn’t surprised that Claire had made progress on the investigation. She had additional information that could help them track Maddox’s killer. “I’ll bring her in for questioning. Find out what she knows and go from there.”

“Thank you. I’m counting on you to keep Claire safe.”

Click.

Jeffrey Riordan woke up before dawn in the San Francisco hotel room he’d been living out of for the last three days while he met with every major donor in the area. He hadn’t planned on returning to Sacramento until Sunday, but his meetings were over and the situation at home was dire.

Damn Hamilton and Richie. Hamilton was supposed to have made sure that Tom O’Brien died in prison so no one would be interested in pursuing his cause. If he didn’t die, there was always the possibility that someone would dig into the files. Between appeals and do-gooders like the Western Innocence Project, they couldn’t be certain that the case was dead unless O’Brien himself was dead. They’d done a damn good job of covering their tracks, but nothing was foolproof.

Too many people were involved. Someone was going to talk. It was just a matter of time. And it wasn’t like they could kill everyone who had a piece of the puzzle.

Jeffrey didn’t think the authorities could trace Taverton’s murder-or any of the others-to him. That bastard law student had been too close, knew too much. But he was dead and he should have stayed buried.

Less than four weeks! Three weeks from Tuesday was the primary, and then he could focus on the general election, where he was a shoo-in. No Republican had won a U.S. Senate seat in California in more than twenty years, so Jeffrey wasn’t worried about his right-wing competition. All Jeffrey had to do was win this primary and it was smooth sailing.

He slid out of bed and started packing, fuming that the primary wasn’t in the bag. Everyone had some skeletons in their closet. Sheryl Browne couldn’t possibly be as squeaky clean as she came off. She had been in college during the sixties, for shit’s sake. While long-ago drug use wouldn’t damage her, if she had hit someone while drunk driving or high. . or had an affair with a married man. . and what about her ex-husband? What had happened there? And if not that, what about her current husband? He’d made his money in the dot-com boom and sold out before it fell apart. He was ten years younger than the bitch. What was up with that? If Harper found out he was cheating on the bitch. . no, that might generate sympathy for her. What about her public record? She’d been on the board of supervisors of some small central valley county, and Jeffrey knew there were many opportunities to put your hand in the wrong pies. He’d done it. It was just a matter of being careful and finding the right people. .

Dammit. He’d paid for an opposition report and nothing juicy was in it. They hadn’t looked deep enough. Everyone had a scandal in the past. Even that perfect bitch.

Barring that, there was always the October Surprise technique. Or, in this case, the May Surprise.

He would have someone come forward against Sheryl Browne. Tell the voters she was a two-faced corrupt bitch. It didn’t have to be true, it would only need to generate enough doubt about her. It would leak late on the Friday before election day so Browne didn’t have time to respond. It would be all over the Sunday papers, the Internet, the news.

Now that Jeffrey had a plan, he felt much better.

He also needed a plan to deal with the crap going on back home in Sacramento.

Jeffrey had been the one to come up with the blackmail plan so that he, Hamilton, and Richie wouldn’t get their hands dirty. It had also been his idea to take Chase Taverton out, and who had thought about the court archives? Jeffrey, of course. Not that there was anything incriminating in the transcripts. But if someone dug deep enough, they might connect Hamilton to the mole in O’Brien’s legal team, which would open up scrutiny regarding the pretrial motions. And if the case was under serious investigation, the falsified coroner’s report would be discovered, and the lab tech Harper blackmailed might decide the fact that he solicited underage prostitutes wasn’t worth keeping secret any longer.

Maddox was settled, and now Claire O’Brien needed to be dealt with. Just like Jeffrey had dealt with Rose Van Alden, which had unfortunately led to Chase Taverton needing to die ten years later.

Jeffrey had been to her house before, using his charm to entice her to sell. Richie called her the psycho cat lady. Hamilton was disgusted by the clutter and stacks of newspapers and magazines along every wall. Jeffrey just wanted the deal to go through. They needed the money from this development, and the old bitch wouldn’t sell.

Without the Van Alden property, the entire deal would fall apart and they’d be out millions. They wouldn’t recover for years. And some of the investors would take it out on them. But with the property, they were set for good. The money they’d make would launch their careers.

He’d attempted to charm, plead with, cajole Van Alden into selling. He hadn’t wanted to kill her. He’d always gotten what he wanted when he wanted it because of his charisma and good looks. None of it worked on the old lady. Jeffrey hated to fail. Failure was, simply, never an option.

So she had to die.

Rose Van Alden was a small woman. She looked like a gray, wrinkled child when she slept. Her mouth was open and she snored lightly. She slept on her back, which made the job easier. They didn’t want a struggle that could potentially leave suspicious marks on the body.

Jeffrey had the clear plastic garbage bag in his hands. Hamilton had come with him to hold the blankets down in case she tried to fight. Fighting would leave marks that might lead the police down the wrong path.

Jeffrey leaned over the body and placed the plastic over her face, holding it tight on both sides by pressing into the pillow, not her body.

Her eyes flashed open and in the black gloom of the bedroom her white pupils seemed to glow. Swallowing uneasily, he didn’t flinch as Rose Van Alden’s body twitched. He didn’t flinch when she reached up and hit his arm, her pitiful attempts unsuccessful. When she tried to grab his hand, Hamilton reached over to stop her, but Jeffrey whispered, “Don’t! You’ll leave a bruise.”

She never got ahold of any part of him. Just flailed about. Her eyes rolled oddly, and then closed. They briefly opened and he stared at death. His heart thudded, his blood pumped hot, but he saw everything with shocking clarity. The moisture on the plastic where her mouth and nose couldn’t draw breath; the knowledge of death in her blue eyes. Her skin, flattened by the plastic, distorted. In the moment of his first kill, he had never felt more alive.

Jeffrey had never told Hamilton and Richie how he felt killing Rose Van Alden. For them, it was a necessary evil. It was about money, not murder.

For Jeffrey, it was about both.

Hamilton was in private practice then. A new attorney with a new law firm, given a handful of clients, including Rose Van Alden. It wasn’t difficult to create a fake will that indicated that upon her death, she intended to sell her property for fair market value and give the proceeds to the Delta Conservancy.

It had been Richie’s idea to create the Delta Conservancy. It was a great place to launder money. Their investor group, solely controlled by himself, Hamilton, and Richie, bought the Van Alden property. The money that went to the estate was then turned over to the Delta Conservancy-secretly controlled by the three of them. They were able to build a sizable war chest, which then catapulted Jeffrey onto the Board of Supervisors. After that, the state house, then Congress. And now his chance at the U.S. Senate.

Brilliant.

His rise had been temporarily endangered when Chase Taverton made a plea agreement with Frank Lowe. How were any of them to know someone had seen them that night?

They’d taken care of those two.

And then came Oliver Maddox.

Also dealt with.

Now Claire O’Brien.

Jeffrey was not going to lose this election, his money, his stature, everything he’d built. He was on the brink of greatness. It was his turn!

Flushed, he leaned forward and put his hands on the dresser.

“Jeffrey?”

He’d almost forgotten that Julie was in his hotel bed. He didn’t make it a habit of keeping his women in bed all night. But they’d dropped Ecstasy last night and fucked like rabbits.

“I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“But first things first.”

“I’m kind of sore this morning.”

“I really don’t care. You want the room all weekend? It’s yours. Spread your legs or I’ll do it for you.”

She complied, because she was a good slut. The drugs messed with his performance. He was hard as a rock but couldn’t get relief. He pummeled her over and over. She begged him through tears to stop, that it hurt. Finally, he withdrew.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I want to, but-”

He flipped her over and held her mouth shut with one hand. He took her from behind, sweat pouring off his body, wanting, needing, release. He knew better than to fuck around with drugs. This had happened before. But the high had been so good. .

She bit his hand and he pulled her ear, growling, “Don’t. Or the only job you’ll get is on your back.”

Women should do what they’re told. He remembered Niki in the middle of the woods. The one who tried to screw him over. He remembered taking her against her will. The thrill, power flooding his senses.

When it was over, Julie was crying. Jeffrey rose. He was surprised to see blood on his cock and between her legs.

“Don’t say a word, Julie, or not only will you be out of a job, I’ll send the disk of you sucking my cock to your dad.”

He went into the bathroom and showered. He wanted to be on the road before the sun rose.

Time to take care of another bitch.