Playing Dead

THIRTY-SEVEN

Mitch was waiting outside the hangar for the military cargo plane to land with his prisoner, Professor Donald Eugene Collier. Grant was with him, and while Mitch had a lot of respect for the young agent, he wished Steve were here.

Meg phoned. “Collier land yet?”

“The control tower says fifteen minutes.”

“Judge Hamilton Drake fell from his balcony this morning. He’s dead.”

“Drake? He’s the judge Oliver Maddox had all those articles on.”

“Right. I turned a copy over to Matt, and that’s why he called me when the judge hit the pavement. Twenty-four stories in downtown Sacramento.”

“Suicide?”

“They don’t know. Sacramento PD is working the case. I’ve asked to be kept in the loop, but the PD isn’t as cooperative as the sheriff’s department. Matt’s trying to smooth things over. If nothing else, he’ll let me know if there’s something we need to look at. However, I ran a background check on Drake and something interesting popped up. He was at Stanford when Jessica White disappeared.”

“Shit. How did Oliver Maddox stumble on that connection?” The kid should have been training to be a cop, not a lawyer.

“We don’t know that Judge Drake had anything to do with White’s disappearance,” Meg warned, “so keep a lid on it until I get those files from Palo Alto. I sent Lexie down this morning to retrieve them in person.”

“Why not call the San Francisco field office?”

“First, I’d have to get them up to speed on this, which would take time, and then there’s the issue that I didn’t bring them in when we agreed to O’Brien’s terms of surrender. They technically have jurisdiction over the San Quentin fugitives and should have been consulted. Second, Lexie’s beating herself up over Claire skipping out yesterday, blaming herself that Claire nearly got killed.”

“It’s not her fault,” Mitch said. He shouldn’t have ridden her so hard last night about watching Claire.

“We know that, but you know Lexie.”

“You mean ‘failure is not an option’ Lexie?”

“Right. Now I have Matt and the U.S. attorney on board with the plan, and Matt will sit in on Collier’s interview. The information Claire gave you about his background is accurate-he not only worked for the same law firm as O’Brien’s attorney, but he was involved in the case.”

“Then why wasn’t his name on any of the files? Wait-Claire said many were missing.”

“Matt is pulling together as much as he can from the courthouse and O’Brien’s law firm. We’ll be able to recreate the case files, it’ll just take some time.”

“Claire said the director of the Western Innocence Project had a complete set in his storage. Sizemore, I think his name is.”

“We’ll get in contact with him.” Mitch heard her typing on her computer. “I also have an analyst working on comparing Collier’s background with all the names that have popped up in this investigation, see if there’s anything else that connects him to Drake or O’Brien or anyone else.”

“Good thinking.”

“I’ve been known to think on occasion.”

“Meg-”

“I have to go.”

“Thanks. For everything.”

She sighed, but it wasn’t her exasperated sound. “Be careful.”

Mitch hung up, watched as the plane with Collier on board descended.

Grant said, “I have the list of S550s in the greater Sacramento area. There are 210, half of which are black or dark blue or green.”

In a regular investigation, narrowing the list that much would be a major lead. But researching over two hundred owners would still take time and right now they didn’t have that luxury.

“I just e-mailed Meg and asked for as many people as possible to start weeding through the list, starting with Sacramento County and working out.”

“Good work, Grant.”

After the plane landed, Mitch walked over to the tarmac and waited. The side door opened and two armed Marines stepped out. Next came Collier, handcuffed, followed by a familiar face.

Mitch smiled. “Hans Vigo! Meg didn’t tell me you were bringing Collier back.”

“She didn’t know,” he said. “I volunteered when I heard about the case.”

Agent Hans Vigo, closing in on forty-five and on the stout side, was one of the top behavioral scientists at Quantico, though he’d opted to stay in the field rather than join the elite BSU. He’d been a longtime friend of both Mitch and Meg. Most recently, Mitch had worked with him in Montana tracking two of the San Quentin fugitives through a harsh blizzard.

“I’m glad you came. I’ll put you to work. I’m still trying to figure out what motives are at play.”

Hans said, “My specialty.”

Mitch glared at Don Collier. “And I think this man will be instrumental to putting the pieces together.”

Jeffrey knew something was wrong as soon as he couldn’t reach either Chad Harper or Richie Mancini on any of their phones.

He was sitting in his car outside the gates of Richie’s tacky mansion. Hamilton was in a panic earlier when Jeffrey had talked to him, and then an hour later Jeffrey heard the news that his longtime friend and partner had jumped or fallen from the balcony of his penthouse.

Fell, my ass, Jeffrey thought.

Hamilton was gutless. How could he have killed himself over this bump in the fucking road?

Hamilton had caused far more problems by killing himself than they had with the Feds and that bitchy little investigator from Rogan-Caruso. The police would be all over his penthouse and the courthouse. And no matter how careful Hamilton had been with the records, something was going to leak out.

Which meant damage control.

Jeffrey needed a good plan. When the police came calling, he and Richie would of course be shocked and dismayed over Judge Drake’s secret life. They had no idea he was involved with anything illegal. The cops might not believe them, but they’d need proof. And right now, there was proof of nothing.

“Dammit, Richie, where are you?”

Jeffrey got out of his car and typed in the code to the gate. It swung open and he drove his car through. The gate closed behind him, and he circled around to the front door, stopping behind Richie’s Escalade.

Damn them all, Richie was panicking, too. Was he going to skip town and leave Jeffrey alone to answer all the questions? They’d agreed last night that as long as they stuck together and gave the same story, they’d be able to ride out the storm. Jeffrey couldn’t just walk out. He was a public figure. A congressman, and he was going to win the U.S. Senate seat. These problems were deterring him from his responsibilities and his job. He was a winner. This crap wasn’t going to touch him.

Jeffrey jumped out of his car. He looked in the Escalade. Dammit, packed bags were in the back. Bastard.

He stormed up the front steps and pounded on the door.

It swung open.

Jeffrey stared at the bodies in the foyer. Richie was dead. Shot multiple times in the head and torso. His wife was lying in the living room, dead. And Harper. Harper had taken out his gun, had seen a threat, but he hadn’t reacted fast enough.

Jeffrey knew only one person who had the ability to kill in cold blood like this. Ability, and a reason to do it.

Hamilton hadn’t killed himself. He was pushed.

Jeffrey was next.

“Not on your life, fucking asshole. I’ll nail your tough hide to the wall.”

He needed to watch his back, because Jeffrey was certain that he was next on Bruce’s hit list. But what if Jeffrey surprised him instead?

Jeffrey’s entire life, his future, was in jeopardy. Everything he’d worked for, all the bribes, the lies, the manipulation, the hours he’d put into obtaining power and control. He was so close! The United States Senate! He’d had plans. Senate pro tem, and then who knew? President? He would have been the greatest of the twenty-first century.

His dreams shattered in front of him.

He would kill the bastard assassin Bruce and then Jeffrey would disappear. As much as he didn’t want to give up everything he’d earned, everything he’d worked so hard for, self-preservation was the most important thing. He would have to change his name and alter his appearance and create a power base in some pathetic third-world country.

After all, he still had plenty of money. And with Richie and Hamilton dead, he now controlled it all.