Simply Lies

Chapter 73

Through her new friends at the FBI, Gibson got them to run the print she’d taken from Wilson Sullivan.

“His real name is Mark Gosling,” Gibson told Francine as they sat at an outdoor café having coffee in Williamsburg.

“Why would he change it to Wilson Sullivan?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t in WITSEC; they confirmed that. And it’s not illegal to change your name. And he has no criminal record under that name. That would have made it problematic to become a cop.”

“Wait a minute. Gosling?”

“Yeah, why?”

Francine pulled her laptop out of her bag and opened it. Then she slid a thumb drive into the dongle port and brought up the information on it.

“This is the stuff I got from Beckett’s computer.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Okay, here it is. I thought I recognized that last name, and not because of Ryan Gosling.”

Gibson shifted her chair next to Francine so she could read off the screen. “Helen Gosling was in WITSEC years ago. She’d fallen in with a guy who was a member of a militia group that did some really bad stuff. People got killed and a federal building was bombed. She turned state’s evidence and was put in WITSEC.”

“And she was moved to Alabama where she was under the protection of Earl Beckett, among others,” added Francine.

“And she killed herself. They found her hanging in her bedroom.”

Francine hit some more keys. “Here’s a photo of her.”

“Wow, she was gorgeous,” noted Gibson.

“Yes, she was,” said Francine, eyeing Gibson steadily. “Maybe too gorgeous.”

Gibson shot her a glance. “Wait, you think—”

“—that Beckett tried it on with her? Oh hell yes, I do. This was right after we left New Mexico. He must have gotten transferred.”

“Do you think he had something to do with her death?”

“Well, let’s say she was brave enough to threaten to out the man for his shit. Is that a motive for murder?”

“You bet it is. And Sullivan — or Mark Gosling, rather — is her...?”

Francine pulled a notebook out of her purse. Gibson saw that it was labeled TAKING DOWN EARL FUCKING BECKETT.

“Do you have a notebook for everything?” Gibson asked.

Francine gave her a knowing smile. “Oh, you have no idea.” She skimmed through some pages and then pointed at some written notes. “This is what I found out. Mark was her younger brother. I didn’t know at the time that he was also Wilson Sullivan.”

“You think she might have confided in him? So he might have known what was happening to his sister?”

“And he became a cop to bring justice to his sister?” said Francine. “It’s certainly plausible.”

Gibson had a sudden idea. “I thought Gosling might have been following Langhorne and then killed him. But can you see where Beckett was assigned over the years?”

She turned some more pages in the notebook. “After Alabama he was in El Paso. Then Arkansas, South Carolina, North Carolina, and now Virginia.”

“That’s it.”

“What?” said Francine.

“Starting with El Paso those are the same places that Mark Gosling has been a cop as Wilson Sullivan.”

“So he’s been following Beckett?”

“Sure as hell seems that way,” noted Gibson.

“But you said you thought they were working together.”

“And I was clearly wrong about that. It’s probably the only way Gosling could see of taking this guy down. He might have jumped at the chance when he found out Pottinger was Langhorne. With his cop connections he could easily have found out that Beckett knew Langhorne back then. He could use that as a plausible basis to ask for his help on this case. And that way get closer to the guy and hope something dropped and he could nail him.”

“So he’s not a bad guy, then. But why was he at Stormfield that night?” asked Francine.

“He lied and said the last time he was there was when he and I were at the place together. And he asked me about the treasure when I met with him.”

“So maybe he really does want a piece of it?”

“Hell, who doesn’t?”

Francine stared at her. “Does that include you, Mickey?”

Gibson looked uncomfortable. “I need money as much as the next person, especially now with no job. But it’s all dirty money, Francine. It would be like stealing.”

The other woman nodded and slowly closed her notebook. “I used to think that.”

“Used to?”

“There are haves and have-nots. I was in the latter group for most of my life. I’m not saying the world owes me anything, but it does owe me the right to make my own way. And if we recover the treasure, shouldn’t we be due a finder’s fee? I mean, isn’t that how those things work? Even Trask offered you and me one.”

“Well, yeah, that makes sense. But I hope it’s a better percentage than ProEye pays. I found them two hundred mill and they gave me a lousy five grand.”

“Oh, honey, we can do so much better than that.”

“How do you know? We’d have to negotiate.”

“Oh, we will. After we find the treasure so our leverage is at its maximum.” Francine rose. “So let’s get working. You on the treasure, and me on finding my mother. We’re clearly going to need one for the other because Rochelle is not leaving empty-handed. And despite all the shit she let happen to me, I would actually like my mother back.”