Jack didn't let Forrest go quite that easily. He tried to bribe him. He tried to threaten. One way or the other, if Forrest were capable of doing what Jack asked, he would have agreed. He didn't.
On to Louis Stanton, which meant a change of both clothes and persona. Wash out the temporary black and add more gray. Hawaiian shirt. Chino shorts. Sandals . . . with socks, of course. Sunglasses. No scars, but a hint of a tattoo showing below his neckline. Scars and tattoos provided "distinguishing features" that people remembered for the cops. "I have no idea what the guy looked like, but he had a Mickey Mouse tattoo on his hand--that's gotta help, right?" Not if that tattoo washed off with soap and water . . .
Stanton was easy to get in touch with. He wanted to be in touch. He'd splashed his name across the Internet and invited men to join his crusade against the "tyranny" of the family law system and its "bias" toward women. Men were encouraged to contact him and share their stories. So Jack called and offered to buy him a coffee. Stanton readily accepted, which might have had something to do with Jack name-dropping a few leaders of national men's rights organizations. To be honest, Jack hadn't known there were men's rights organizations--and he was still a little fuzzy on the concept--but twenty minutes on the Internet had given him what he needed to know.
He picked up Stanton in a rented Jaguar.
Stanton whistled as he climbed in. "Nice ride."
Jack shrugged. "It'll do. They didn't have much selection."
The coffee shop was within easy walking distance, but Jack hadn't suggested they do that. In his current persona, he was not the kind of man who walked.
Stanton filled the five-minute drive with meaningless chatter, growing increasingly nervous when Jack remained silent. Stanton waited until they were seated in the shop, coffees in hand, before he said, "So, tell me about your situation."
"My ex is a bitch."
Stanton laughed, relaxing into his booth seat. "Aren't they all?"
"Not until you serve the divorce papers." Jack paused. "Nah, it starts with the wedding. You get little hints of it after that, but the sweet's still mixed with the sour. That's how they keep you on your toes. One minute, it's all about how you're traveling too much, and she's tired from looking after the kids, and who's that woman calling all the time. Then the next minute, she's making your favorite meal and running out to buy you beer and showing off her new lingerie."
Stanton chuckled. "That's not just how they keep you on your toes. It's how they keep you. At least until they've locked you in with kids."
Jack nodded. "And then they're a lot more worried about that woman's number on your phone, and the next thing you know, here's a private eye's report, proving you've been screwing around, and oh, yeah, she wants a divorce and the kids and half of everything you made. Worst fucking thing? Whose money do you think paid for the goddamn private eye?"
"I hear ya."
Jack let this go on for a while. It was easy enough to pull it off. In the old days, he'd met plenty of guys like Stanton, guys who wanted their wives killed for no reason other than these petty outrages. Guys who mistook their marriages for ones from the nineteenth century, where they could do as they pleased, so long as they paid the bills.
Jack wished that he could say he'd never taken one of those contracts. There were many contracts he wished he could say that about. Sometimes, he'd only taken one, and it bothered him too much to take another like it, but even one was an indelible smudge on his conscience.
That's why he'd insisted Nadia research every job. Clients lied, and it only took one hit to lose the high ground of saying, "I've never done that." So, yeah, he'd pulled a few spousal hits back in the earliest days when he was too numb, too dead inside to give a shit. Then came the one where he'd found his mark in a playground, swinging alongside her kids, laughing and teasing, and he'd looked at her and seen his mother, and he'd thrown up in the bushes.
That marked the first time he actually stopped to think about what he was doing. Actually allowed himself to think about it. There'd been no spousal jobs after that, but it didn't keep him from wishing there'd never even been one.
Listening to Stanton, all he could think was "I'm glad your wife got away, asshole." That, however, was not the role he needed to inhabit today. So he played along and whined about his own imaginary ex, and then he got down to business.
"I like your platform," Jack said.
"Plat . . . ? Oh, uh, right."
"You aren't like some of those pussies, think they can change things by talking. Wimps who expect the system to work. It never works for guys like us. Not anymore. It's all about the women and the gays and the 'minorities.'" Jack's gaze swept over the brown faces in the coffee shop. "Well, you know what? I'm starting to feel like we are the minority."
"I hear ya," Stanton said, though he was careful to keep his voice lowered.
"It's time to take back what's ours. To fight for our birthright."
"It is."
"So what I'm proposing--" Jack leaned forward and lowered his own voice--"is that you help me turn your efforts here into a national campaign."
"Campaign? Oh, you mean politically."
"You could say that. The politics of force." Jack met and held his gaze. "The politics of terror."
"Terror . . . ?"
"What you're doing here. Fighting your own private war."
Stanton only blinked.
Jack sighed, leaning forward again. "With the court system. Blowing it to hell, if you know what I mean."
The lightbulb flicked on, and Stanton pulled back, hands wrapping around his mug.
"I can't really discuss--" he began.
"You don't need to. I'm just here to say I'm all in, and I have others who are, too. We're talking serious financial support. Whatever you need to take the next step."
"Next step?"
"Two words." Jack leaned forward and dropped his voice. "Courthouse. Bomb."
Stanton jerked back, whiplash-fast. "I don't--"
"Just tell me what you need. All eyes are on you now, Louis."
"Wh-what?"
"Big eyes. Big names. The biggest. They're watching, and they're waiting. You can stop worrying about how much your wife will get. You won't need that money anyway. You'll get your kids, too, and if your wife tries to interfere?" He shrugged. "Either she can be convinced or she can't. Her choice."
"No. No." Stanton moved back. "You've got the wrong guy. What happened to those people? I didn't do any of it."
"Sure, you did. You admitted to it."
"I lied, okay?"
Jack frowned. "Is that cold feet I'm hearing? Look, you don't need to worry about being caught. You won't be. I'm taking care of all that. Just tell me what you need for the device--"
"I have no idea how to set up a device."
"You're an engineer."
"A mechanical engineer. I know nothing about . . . those. Whatever I've said, whatever I've hinted, it's bullshit. It's . . ." He waved. "Grandstanding. Promotion for the cause."
Jack leaned back. "Yeah? Well, you're not going to have a cause if you go to jail."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm just saying--"
"If I'm arrested, I have an alibi. For the night that judge died and the night someone shot at the lawyer chick. I was at a club. A private club. With lots of people who can tell you, beyond any doubt, that I was there, and I was . . . busy. Very busy."
"Name?"
"I can't give you names of people--"
"The club."
Stanton hesitated. Then he gave it, saying, "You're not going to find it in the Yellow Pages. But if you search online, you'll see it's real. It's very, very exclusive. And that's where I was. If the police arrest me, I have an alibi."
Chapter Eleven
Nadia
Sheila Walling was abrasive, assertive, arrogant and angry. Add up those a's, and people started using a word that started with the next letter of the alphabet.
Yes, as I listened to her thr
ough that wall, she sounded like a world-class bitch, but in an honest way, one that was tough and forthright, and I saw nothing wrong with that.
Sheila Walling wanted a divorce. She just wanted the damn thing done and over with. Forget alimony, forget child support, forget the fact that she'd brought their family home into the marriage. She'd happily agree to an equal division of assets. The only thing she wanted? Joint custody of their two kids.
Two doctors had confirmed she'd kicked the prescription drug habit. She'd been clean for months. So I didn't see what the issue was.
That was when they mentioned Cherise Hale.
When the Wallings left the office, I followed, as if I'd just happened to be departing at the same time. Sheila got onto the elevator. Victor and his lawyer busied themselves in conversation, as if they were too busy talking to notice that the elevator had arrived. I got on with Sheila, and the doors closed behind me.
"Bodyguard, huh?" she said as the elevator began its descent.
I looked over at her.
"I have ears," she said. "If you're here to threaten me, go ahead and get it out of your system. I need to get back to work."
"Should I threaten you?" I asked.
She gave a harsh laugh and then shook her head. "No, I'm not the bitch you're looking for."
The doors opened, and we stepped off. I walked alongside Sheila as she kept talking.
"I'm no threat to Angela Kamaka," she said. "I'd never poison a dog. That's just wrong."
She rounded the corner. "I probably wouldn't kill a person, either. Not unless I had to, and certainly not over a divorce. I'll get joint custody. I'm clean, and there's no other reason to deny me."
I said nothing, just kept walking alongside her heading for the parking lot.
"I didn't kill Cherise," she said. "I know that's the real reason for the custody concern, and the only reason I'm a suspect in the rest. But I was never charged, and by point of law, they can't use 'suspicion' against me."
"True."
"Do you know why they investigated me? Because I'm a chemist, so I know how to make explosions. That's it. Oh, and because clearly if a man's young new girlfriend dies, it was the nasty old wife who did it."
She turned to face me. "Let's just get this out of the way. My husband left me because of my addiction. I suspect he'd already been seeing Cherise. Did he use the addiction as an excuse? Or was my addiction what drove him to an affair? Frankly, I don't give a damn. When Victor said he was leaving, I threw every plate in the kitchen. At the walls--not at him. Then I flushed out my pills, checked into rehab, and realized he'd done me a favor. I allowed myself to get addicted to pain meds because I was miserable. The oxy made me feel good. You know what makes me feel even better? Getting out of a shitty marriage."
She resumed walking, still talking. "I had no strong feelings about Cherise one way or the other. I thought she played the silly innocent, but there was a cunning there, too, and I had to admire that. I used my brains to get where I am. She used her pretty face. I didn't particularly want her playing Mommy to my kids, but only because she wasn't much more than a kid herself. Victor is a good dad, though, and he'd more than balance a less competent stepmom. So I didn't have any reason to kill Cherise. But no one sees that. They just see the ball-busting ex-wife and the sweet young girlfriend."
We reached a dark blue BMW. She unlocked the door. Then she turned to face me.
"Whoever sent that device to Cherise could have killed my kids. I would never have risked that. Ever."
She reached into her pocket and took out a card.
"If you have questions, call me. I'm happy to answer. But I'm not your killer."
I met with Jillian Lee--the detective in charge of the case, and I got exactly the response I expected, the same one I would have given in her situation.
I explained that my primary role was as Angela's bodyguard, but that I had private investigating experience and would be delving into the case from that perspective. I would not--however--be approaching any of the suspects or witnesses. I had spoken to Sheila, but she'd been the one talking to me. In no way would I interfere with the investigation, and if Detective Lee had any concerns, she could contact me at any time, and if I had new information, I'd contact her.
Yes. That was what Detective Lee said: yes to all of that.
Yes, she was fine with Angela having a bodyguard. She wasn't thrilled that the bodyguard would also play private investigator, but she accepted it on my other conditions: that I wouldn't approach suspects or witnesses, and that any new leads would get back to her, promptly.
So we knew where we stood. She did, however, impart one last warning.
"Stay out of Howard's way."
"Howard Lang, right? Former police officer. Now private security. He's investigating, too. I'm having coffee with him in an hour."
"Good. Normally, I don't encourage private citizens to help on cases, but Howie is an exception. He's a good guy, and he's been through a lot. He loved Mindy. He's taking this hard. We all are--she was an amazing person. For Howie, dealing with her death means investigating her murder. He's turned up solid leads. I would prefer it if you two worked together. That's up to him, of course."
"If he's game, I am. He's lead investigator, though. I understand that."
"Good."
Chapter Twelve
Nadia
Coffee with Howard Lang. I suspected he'd been in touch with Detective Lee after I left her, and by the time I arrived, he was relaxed, friendly, ready to talk. Which I hoped meant I'd gotten a thumbs-up from Lee.
For me, making contact with those in charge of the case was an odd way of going about an investigation but . . . well, to be honest, I wasn't sure Cypher would get what he was hoping for here. He wanted the death sentence. Yet this was an active case. Usually, I was the person called in when the police gave up or when justice failed or, sometimes, when the police just weren't convinced there was a case.
Jack and I were still being careful here. Nothing we provided could be traced back to anyone. I wore a disguise. I used a burner phone and a fake name. All the numbers I gave as references were untraceable and would go dead after this investigation. I wasn't averse to ending the life of this multiple murderer. I just wasn't sure that was where this would lead. Where it could or should lead.
I was outside my comfort zone but making the best of it. This was a real case with a truly innocent person in serious jeopardy, and while I knew the police were doing all they could, they acted under restrictions that didn't apply to me.
I chatted with Howard Lang for a while. We circled each other, assessing in the most friendly way possible, which was what I preferred. Leave the stiff-legged, growling-dog approach to the guys.
Howard liked Sheila Walling for the murders, and I had to struggle not to leap to her defense. I wasn't as impartial here as I wanted to be. I saw how others reacted to Sheila, and I couldn't help feeling that her demeanor was the key strike against her. They saw a tough, blunt, assertive woman and said, "Sure, she could kill somebody." Those very people would probably never think the same about me. So I got my back up in Sheila's defense, and I had to be aware of that. My sympathy was as blinding as their prejudice.
"What was your impression of her?" Lang asked.
"Intimidating."
He laughed as he eased back in his chair. "That's a nice way of putting it. Sheila Walling scares the ever-loving shit out of me. I don't know how she ever got together with a sweet guy like Victor. Proof that opposites do attract. Thing is . . . ," he said, straightening, "I like Sheila. She's honest, and she's tough, and she reminds me of some of the best women I worked with on the force. Take no prisoners, and take no bullshit. I wish . . ."
He pulled at his lower lip and then shook his head. "I wish she wasn't such a damned good suspect for this."
"Is she? I got the feeling the two men were better ones."
"Between us?" He lowered his voice. "That's only because they're men. Okay, yes, it's also
because they're idiotic enough to hint that they're responsible. But they're both blowhards. They don't have the brains to pull this off. Certainly not to build that device."
"Forrest runs an electronics business, doesn't he?"
"Yeah, so the theory is that he had an employee build the bomb, but then I'd expect that guy to blab to someone. No one has. Stanton, on the other hand, is an engineer. Sure, this isn't his exact area of interest, but I can see him making a bomb. Problem is that he's even more full of hot air than Forrest. Stanton's a loser who wants people to think he's a tough guy, and how does he prove it? By whining about his rights . . . his right to take his kids along to his new job, and to hell with his wife's career."
He shook his head. "Both guys are all talk, which is what they're doing now. Talking."
"And Sheila isn't saying anything."
"Because for her, it's not about showing how tough she is. We know she's tough. This is about fixing problems."
"Like getting rid of Victor's new girlfriend, so he'll come back to her."
Howard laughed. "Hell, no. That was totally between Cherise and Sheila. Cherise saw an opportunity in Victor. Nice guy with some money and a wife who's not exactly a sweet-natured cover model. So Cherise swoops in. Only problem? The money isn't Victor's. Sheila is the one with the high-powered job. So Cherise hit Sheila in the only place she's vulnerable: her kids. She pushed Victor to take full custody, which would mean Sheila would pay child support. Sheila doesn't give a shit about the money, but you don't come between a mama bear and her cubs. So she took care of the problem."
"Sounds like you don't blame Sheila too much for that."
Howard made a face and sipped his coffee. "Killing Cherise was wrong. Especially . . . that way." Another face, more serious. "But I don't think Sheila meant to kill her. Did you hear how it happened?"
I did--I looked it up--but I shook my head.
"The IED was in a gift, delivered to the condo Cherise shared with Victor. An anonymous gift, complete with wrapping paper and a bow. Now, anybody in their right mind would call the bomb squad. Cherise wasn't that bright. Still, the experts said it was a miracle the IED went off. Well, I guess miracle is the wrong word, but you know what I mean. The device was flawed."
"You think it was a warning."
He jabbed a finger at me. "Exactly. Sheila was warning her. Instead . . ." He exhaled. "It was bad."