The Dead Man

Chapter Forty-two

I watched Kent trudge up the circle drive toward the cars, his head bent into the wind, winter having caught its breath, blowing again, affirming Kansas City's weather reputation-if you don't like it, don't worry; wait fifteen minutes and it will change. I zipped my jacket against my throat and stuck my hands in my pockets, the last thing he said hitting me harder than the fresh blast of cold air.

It was all about me, the punch line to a lame joke turned into probable cause for an indictment. I knew that people in the Bureau were both angry and skeptical about my movement disorder, furious that I hadn't come clean sooner while doubting that it was real or disabling, ignoring that I hadn't quit, that I was forced out, shit-canned instead of sent to Sitka, untroubled by their contradictory complaints.

What I didn't understand until now was how deep the institutional need was for me to take the fall for what had happened on my watch and how deep the resentment was that I had skated on a cluster fuck that would have torpedoed anyone else's career, taking their pension down with it. I thought back to Wendy's funeral and the stiff condolences that I had received. In my grief I had failed to hear what they were really saying, that she had gotten what she deserved. They were singing from Connie Nichols's hymnal.

And here I was, living what to them was the good life, collecting disability and a paycheck. Sure, I had the shakes, whatever that was. But I had stayed on the job and on the case when I should have put myself on the disabled list, getting away with the unforgivable sin of letting a dirty, rogue agent operate under my nose, aided and abetted by my daughter, without paying the price they would impose.

That I might now profit to the tune of five million dollars was, for them, both unacceptable and unspeakable. That they might be wrong was unthinkable. Facts may be stubborn things but hate, anger, and disbelief are deaf, dumb, and blind.

Ammara had negotiated a forty-eight-hour cease-fire, her tagline that it was my last best chance to do the right thing telling me she stood farther away from me than I had hoped. It also told me that Kent and Dolan were nowhere on Enoch's murder. If they had enough to arrest me or anyone else, they would have done it. This latest tactic was a desperation squeeze. Either I'd go belly up, giving them the money and my head, or I'd do their job and find Enoch's killer, Wendy's letter, and the money to save my skin. It was an all-in, throw-down bet, the Bureau's honor for my life.

"Jack Davis?"

I turned around. Jason Bolt was looking up at me. I hadn't heard him get out of his car. He was short behind the wheel and shorter on his feet, the close-trimmed brown beard running from his jaw line to his chin and his medicine ball belly making him more Keebler elf than courtroom giant.

"Yeah."

"I'm Jason Bolt," he said, keeping his hands in his pockets. "I saw you on TV today. Milo Harper called you a hero for chasing down the guy that murdered Anne Kendall."

I had seen the television cameras but hadn't paid attention to whether they were filming me and I hadn't heard what Harper had said.

"If I was a hero, I would have caught him before he got to the intersection and, as far as I know, the police haven't said whether he killed anyone."

Bolt nodded. "Spoken like a wise man."

"What can I do for you?"

"I assume you know that I represent the families of Tom Delaney and Regina Blair. I'm going to sue your boss and at least four of his people."

"So I hear. Why not leave the staff out of it? If you're entitled to any money, the institute will pay it."

"Accountability," Bolt said. "People have to be held accountable. They can't hide behind their employer's insurance policy. That's why I'm suing Corliss, Brennan, Casey, and Kaufman for punitive damages. Insurance doesn't cover that and an employer can't indemnify for it. I'm going to serve the papers on them myself. I stopped by to get a good look at this monument Milo Harper built to himself since I might end up with the keys."

"Look all you want."

"Just so you know, I'll win no matter what you come up with."

"No matter what I come up with?"

"I do my homework, Jack. When I heard your name on the news, I checked you out. Try doing a Google search on yourself. You had a lot of press coverage last year. Given your background, I assume that Harper hired you to dig up dirt on Tom and Regina so he can blame their deaths on anything but the lucid dreaming project."

"You expect me to respond to that?"

"Not until I take your deposition. But I do have some advice for you. When you're done digging around in Tom's and Regina's past, you might want to take a close look at Harper and company before all the mud starts to fly."

"Why the heads-up?"

"I represent two families who lost their loved ones. We can make the case about why and how they died or we can make it about a lot of other things."

"Like what?"

"For starters, like Anthony Corliss's adventures in dream land at the University of Wisconsin. Hiring someone with his track record is grounds for punitive damages."

Bolt was baiting me again, hoping I'd give him something he didn't already have. When I didn't respond, he threw more chum in the water.

"And then there's Peggy Murray."

"Is that name supposed to mean anything to me?"

"I don't care but it will mean everything to Milo Harper. You tell him that. Remind him what happened the last time he took me on. He'll get a settlement offer from me tomorrow. It will be on the table until the end of the week. Tell him to take it because he'll never have a better chance to put this behind him."

"That's the second ultimatum I've been given in the last five minutes. Must be a special on them today."

"Luck comes in bunches."

"In that case, I can do with a little less luck."

Ammara drove past us, glancing my way, looking past me for oncoming traffic, making me invisible. Kent stared straight ahead. Dolan aimed a finger gun at me, pulling the trigger. The traffic cleared and they were gone.

"Car has government tags and the guy in front has a shitty sense of humor. Must be friends of yours," Bolt said.

"In another life."

"That's what I like about what I do. I only have one life. It's a simple one, dedicated to my clients. I know that sounds like a self-serving, sanctimonious bunch of crap but it's true. They depend on me and I depend on them to depend on me. There's no ambiguity, no shades of gray. We're loyal to one another. I don't have friends from another life taking real or imaginary shots at me and I don't need anyone to watch my back."

"You sleep at night?"

"Like a dead man."

"No worries? No nightmares?"

"Just one. Letting my people down."

"That doesn't sound so simple, all those people counting on you."

"The cases are complicated and the stakes are high but it's a simple life as long as I follow one rule."

"What's that?"

"Do whatever it takes."