“He had a homeless man keep the carryall for him,” Elena said.
A black eyebrow shot up, matching his dramatic widow’s peak perfectly.
Liam shrugged. “You have your box. I wish you luck with your blackmail. It’s past time I leave now. I’ll be taking Elena with me again. I’ll send her back with Ralph once we land where I tell him to.”
Petrov frowned. “You have your money; you have the helicopter. There is no reason to take Elena.”
Liam shrugged again. “I’ve always believed in redundancies, Mr. Petrov. One never knows what might happen to a helicopter or what might happen on the way to a helicopter. I know you have more affection for Elena than you do for Ralph and me, so it’s safer that way.”
Abram gave a low growl, took a step forward.
“Control your dog, Mr. Petrov.”
Petrov shook his head at Abram, and Liam gave them both the same salute Major Hummer had given Elena.
“No need to worry. Elena will come back to you safe.” Liam laughed. “If she wants to come back to you, of course.”
* * *
It wasn’t long before Liam was staring out the helicopter window at the Potomac below. He would miss the city, particularly the lights at night, and all the countless marble monuments, a beautiful sight really. But still, it wasn’t Belfast. Liam remembered the pounding excitement of besting an enemy or a mark. Thinking about it still made his blood pump fast and hard. No, there was nothing like Belfast in the bad old days.
Elena said, “All I want is to get back home and take a shower.”
Liam looked at her, smiled. “Maybe where we’re going we can shower together.”
She turned to look at him. “In your dreams. You look like a clown in Abram’s white shoes.”
He leaned over, lightly rubbed the Walther’s muzzle over her smooth cheek. She didn’t move. He admired that. He drew back, smiled at her. “You have guts, moy golub,” he said.
“I wonder if I will have time to kill you and exactly how I’ll do it.”
Liam laughed.
Ralph’s voice came over Liam’s headphones, “Where do you want me to go, Mr. Hennessey?”
“Do you have a full tank of gas, Ralph?”
“Nearly.”
“Fly north, mate, I’ll tell you when to drop me off.”
44
DR. HICKS’S OFFICE
JEFFERSON DORMITORY, QUANTICO
WEDNESDAY MORNING
Dr. Emanuel Hicks, FBI psychologist and huge Beatles fan, stood when Savich and Sherlock walked into his office behind a pale-faced young man. He had dark smudges beneath pale blue eyes that held no hope. He looked ready to climb in a coffin and pull the lid down. Dr. Hicks had seen the same look in the terminally ill. He wore jeans, a white shirt, and an old dark-brown hoodie. So this was Saxon Hainny, the twenty-four-year-old brilliant young grad student in computer science at George Washington and the son of the eminent Eric Hainny, the president’s chief of staff. Dr. Hicks thought the young man would have looked quite handsome if the life hadn’t been leached out of him.
“Mr. Hainny,” Dr. Hicks said and shook the young man’s limp hand. It felt nearly boneless. “Thank you for coming.”
Saxon slowly nodded. “Agent Savich told me you could help me remember.” He looked down at his sneakers. “I don’t understand how, since everything is a blank.”
Dr. Hicks waved to a comfortable armchair. “Please sit down, Mr. Hainny, and I’ll explain to you what we’re going to do.”
Saxon Hainny shot a look at Savich, who smiled and said easily, “Saxon, I would trust Dr. Hicks with my life. You told us you wanted to know the truth. None of us believes what happened to you the night of Mia Prevost’s murder has been simply wiped out of your memory.” He lightly laid his hand on Saxon’s arm. “It’s time to have some faith.”
Saxon studied Dr. Hicks, a man his father’s age, but unlike his father, Dr. Hicks was thin as a pole, his wire-rimmed glasses set over intense dark eyes. “I can’t see how that’s possible, sir. I mean, I told the police and I told Agent Savich I’ve tried to remember, but there’s nothing at all. I don’t think your waving a silver coin in front of my eyes will make any difference.” His voice caught; his eyes went blank. Savich knew he was thinking about Mia Prevost.
Dr. Hicks gently pushed him down onto the chair. “Mr. Hainny, have you ever been hypnotized before?”
“No, sir. I’ve always thought it was fake.”
Dr. Hicks smiled. “We’ll see.” He pulled an old-fashioned round gold watch from his pocket. “This was my father’s watch, given to him by his father. It’s an old friend, nothing more really than something for you to look at. All I ask you to do is sit back and relax.”
A slight smile lit up that haggard face for a moment. “If you’re going to try to dig into my subconscious, you can call me Saxon.”
“Thank you. I want you to relax, Saxon, simply look at the watch, focus on it. Very good. Now empty your active mind as much as you can, and pay attention only to the watch. Think about how many daylight savings times this old watch has seen, never knew when we lost an hour, not like the new ones that do it all for you. Look at the shine on that old gold finish, how it picks up the light. You can see yourself in the gold, if you try. That’s right, Saxon, look at it and think about time melting away, an hour here, an hour there, until time means nothing.”
He continued speaking, more nonsense than not, then lowered the watch and slipped it back into his pocket. He nodded to Savich and Sherlock, rose. “He’s a very intelligent young man, focused enough to go under like a dream. He’s ready for you to question him now.”
Savich sat down in a chair, pulled it closer, and lightly laid his hand on Saxon’s arm. “Saxon, tell me about Mia Prevost. How did you meet?”
A real smile appeared at a memory all of them knew would stay with the young man until he died. “I was in a graduate seminar when a beautiful girl wandered into the room. There were six of us guys in the class and every eye was fastened on her. She blushed, apologized, and left. After class, she was sitting outside in the hallway reading. I’ll never forget what she said, ‘Here I thought that was a class on deviant behavior. To me gigabytes sound like a vampire with huge teeth. Who knew?’ She laughed and asked me if she could buy me a cup of coffee. She was so pretty, so kind, she made everything easy for me. I didn’t feel clumsy around her, and when I couldn’t think of anything to say or stumbled around, she’d laugh and pat my hand and tell me I was so good-looking I didn’t have to talk, girls wouldn’t care. My mom always called me her beautiful boy, but who believes their mom?” He paused, then his face lit up again. “Our first dinner together was at McDonald’s. We had so much fun. We talked and talked. She told me one night she couldn’t believe how she felt that first time she saw me. She told me she was falling in love with me.” His voice caught. A tear slowly slid down his cheek.
“And you, Saxon?”
“I told her it was the first time in my life I knew what it was like to have another person make me so happy my skin felt too tight. I told her I loved her from the start, the way she laughed and teased me about my white socks, the way she listened to me. I told her I wanted to give her the world.” He paused, said with such sadness it broke your heart, “I had so little time with her, and then some monster killed her.”
“Saxon, what did your father think of Mia?”
“He told me she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and he wanted my secret.” Saxon gave a small smile before his face went slack. “My dad and I have had dinner together twice a week since I was thirteen and my mom left. He’s used to people fawning all over him because of who he is, but Mia didn’t fawn. She was herself, showed interest in him like she did with everybody.” Again, he paused. “I don’t know what my father really thought of her. I guess I was afraid to ask him. More than that, I really didn’t care, Mia was all that was important to me, no matter what anyone else thought.”
“Did you ever me
et her parents?”
“Mia said they lived in Oregon, but she was planning on seeing them in the fall. We were planning to go together.”
“Did you sleep together?”
Saxon nodded, gulped. “I was sort of scared in the beginning. I didn’t want to be a klutz, but again, she made it so easy, so natural, told me to relax and we’d learn everything together. And we did.”
“Did she ask you questions about your dad?”
“Well, yes, everybody does. And Mia was interested in him, sure.”
“Do you remember telling her anything your dad had told you, say about policy issues the president had discussed with him, how he felt about it, things like that?”
“Yes, of course. My dad is President Gilbert’s right hand, but he’s still my dad. We exchange opinions; he likes that. But he has an ironclad rule: if I ask him about anything classified or maybe embarrassing to the president, he laughs it off, shakes his head. That means I shouldn’t go there.
“I remember that happened with Mia once. She asked my dad what he thought of Putin’s invasion of the Ukraine. He smiled, said he couldn’t talk about it. She took no offense. I remember she apologized.”
“Mia told you she was raised in Oregon?”
“A small town near Ashland. Something like Bolton. Her dad was a Baptist preacher, her mom a housewife. She was an only child.” His throat seemed to clog and he swallowed, tears sheened his eyes. “She said her folks were great, that they always encouraged her, paid attention to her. Maybe that’s why she was so sweet and such a beautiful person.”
“Think back to the night Mia died, Saxon.”
Saxon began shaking his head, back and forth, his breathing came faster.
“No, it’s all right, Saxon. Breathe slowly, relax, that’s right. Tell me about that night.”
“It was our six-week anniversary and I wanted everything to be perfect.”
“When you picked up Mia at her apartment, what was she wearing?”
“An amazing black dress, short and elegant. It had almost no back. She had a beautiful back. And high heels. She came to my nose. I remember she laughed and kissed me right outside the restaurant with a half-dozen people around, said it was hard to compete with me I was so handsome.”
He swallowed. “She fixed my tie before we went in.”
“Where did you go?”
“Luigi’s in Alexandria. My dad loves their risotto, told me if I ever wanted to impress someone, it was the place to go. He and I went there sometimes. I ordered spaghetti and meatballs.”
“What did Mia order?”
“Some sort of weird salad and a small antipasto we shared. She wasn’t a big eater.”
“What did you order to drink?”
He frowned. “I think Mia asked me if I’d ever had a cosmopolitan and I said no, I’m not much of a drinker—she knew that—except for a little wine sometimes. She told me she wanted me to try one, said it would make our time later more fun.” He blushed, actually blushed. “She meant sex, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Savich said. “You ordered a cosmopolitan.”
“Yes. I liked the taste, and she was right. It loosened everything up, made what I wanted to say come out easier. I laughed a lot, with the second one. And then she wanted to leave, go to her apartment, said we were going to have a fantastic time.” He stopped, ran his tongue over his lips. “And then it simply stops, I don’t remember anything more. I woke up the next morning in my own bed in my apartment.”
“I want you to picture you and Mia leaving the restaurant, asking the valet to fetch your Toyota.”
He slowly nodded. “Yes, I see him, a really young kid, with acne scars. He stared at Mia, but I was used to that, all the guys did. He brought the car around, and I helped Mia into it. We were laughing. I don’t know why, everything seemed so funny. I was driving, and she put her hand on my leg and started talking about what we were going to do in her bedroom.”
“You drove to her apartment in Carlan Heights.”
He nodded. “She lives”—he swallowed—“lived, on the third floor. Usually we take the elevator, but that night she wanted to climb the stairs, and we kissed all the way to her apartment door.” He paused, his face lighting with the memories. Then his face tightened, and he swallowed hard.
Savich squeezed his arm. “It’s okay, Saxon. You’re walking down the hall, kissing, laughing, and then you’re facing her front door. What color is it?”
“It’s red.”
“Did you unlock the door?”
“No, she did. She did it while she was kissing me, and the door opened, and she grabbed my tie and pulled me into the apartment. I nearly stumbled. I remember now. I was getting woozy and I guessed it was the cosmopolitans, but I was so happy. Well, tired, too, I guess.”
“Did you tell Mia you were woozy?”
“Yes. She laughed, said that was part of the fun, it didn’t matter. And she started taking off my shirt and pulled me to her bedroom.”
“Did you make love?”
45
Saxon licked his lips again, frowned, and slowly shook his head. “No, I felt weird, not drunk weird, I know what that feels like, but her bedroom was spinning and there were three of her and her laughter was too loud and I wanted to throw up and sleep at the same time. I don’t remember anything after that, really, it’s all gone—”
Sherlock lightly laid her hand on Savich’s shoulder, and he moved back. She leaned in close, took a leap. “Saxon, do you remember me?”
“Yes, you’re Agent Sherlock. You have beautiful hair.”
“Thank you. Now, Saxon, I want you to look at Mia. Really look at her. You feel rotten, you’re dizzy, but you still see her clearly. Do you see anyone else?”
He blinked, shook his head. “I don’t know—wait, yes, there is someone. I don’t know where he came from, but he’s there, in her bedroom, standing behind her. He has his hand on her arm and he’s turning her around to face him.”
“What does he look like?”
“I can’t see him clearly. All I can think about is throwing up.”
“Forget your nausea, your dizziness, Saxon. You aren’t feeling that now. You feel fine. Picture the man. Focus on him. Do you see him?”
“Yes, I can see him, but he’s blurry.”
“Describe him to me.”
“He’s older, in his forties, I guess. And he has this weird widow’s peak, you know, his hair sort of spears forward, then he’s bald on either side of it.”
Sherlock took a shot. “That’s good. Saxon, don’t look away from him. Watch him. Is he talking? What is he saying? No, don’t shake your head. Focus. Listen. Can you hear him now?”
“Okay, yes.”
“Good. What is he saying to Mia?”
“He’s asking her why I’m not under, asking her how she could screw it up. Why she hadn’t done what she was told.”
“Does he sound angry?”
“Yes, but not screaming anger, more like ice-cold anger, the kind my dad used on my mom that makes you shrivel up. That’s why she left, I think.”
“Okay, I understand. What did Mia say?”
“She said to give her a minute and I’d be out and he could take all the photos he wanted.” He frowned. “I don’t understand. Why was this man there? Why was Mia talking about photos?”
“Don’t worry about that now. Think back. What happened next?”
Saxon fell silent. Sherlock knew he was trying to remember but she wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. After a few more questions and rephrasings, Sherlock guessed he’d fallen unconscious then, too deep for memories or impressions.
“When you woke up the next morning, you were in your own bed?”
“Yes.”
“What were you wearing?”
“I still had my pants on, even my shoes and socks, but my tie and shirt and my undershirt were gone. I couldn’t find them. I felt really bad, a killer headache. I tried to remember how I got home from Mia’s, what h
appened, but everything was—blank.”
“Did you call Mia?”
“I did, half a dozen times, but her cell phone went to message. Then a friend came over—Ollie Ash. He was my roommate in college. He wanted to go to breakfast, tell me about the AI program he was working on, but I didn’t want to, I felt too bad.
“Ollie said I should go take a shower and some aspirin. I felt a little bit better after that, but I was worried. I knew something was wrong. While I was dressing, I heard the news on the TV from the living room.” He stopped dead, then whispered, “The newslady was talking about a woman’s murder, and she gave the address, Mia’s address. I remember thinking, how can she possibly be saying those things?”
“I came running out of the bedroom. I’d told Ollie I was seeing an amazing girl, but I hadn’t told him her name. I stood there, not wanting to believe it, but that newslady went on about her, kept showing her picture.”
“You said Ollie didn’t know about Mia. What do you mean?”
“Only my dad knew about her.”
“Why was that? Was keeping secret her decision?”
“Yes, I wanted to shout it to the world, to all my friends, but she said there was an ex-boyfriend and she didn’t want him to know she’d found someone she really liked so quickly after she’d booted him out. She said she didn’t trust him, he had a bad temper and was still mad at her. I offered to speak to him, but she wouldn’t tell me his name. So I agreed, and we kept it quiet, except for meeting my dad. She was really happy to meet my dad. I remember she said meeting people high up in politics would help her with her deviant-personality course. I laughed.”
“Go back now, Saxon. Your dad called you that morning, right? Before you could do anything?”
“No, he showed up at my apartment, told Ollie we were leaving, and took me home with him. I couldn’t process it—that Mia was dead. It made no sense. Dad held me, and I cried, but Mia was still dead. I told him I couldn’t remember anything and my shirt and undershirt were missing, and for all I knew I was the one who killed her, but he said no, that wasn’t possible. I could never kill anyone. It sounded to him like I’d passed out from drinking too much. Someone else must have murdered her. But who? Why?”