Six weeks later
“You sound surprised, Mr. Hamilton. Didn’t Tom ever mention to you that I’m brilliant? No? Well, I am. Most people don’t know that before Lanny was born and I became a virtual prisoner in my own house, I had a bright future as a business consultant and financial planner. All my career plans had to be abandoned. Then, a few years ago, when I’d had my fill of living a shadow life, I decided to apply my know-how to another, uh, field of endeavor.
“And I was in a perfect position to do so. Who would suspect poor Janice VanAllen, mother of a severely disabled child and wife to a man totally lacking in self-confidence and ambition, to initiate and orchestrate an organization as successful as mine?”
Here she laughed.
“Ironically, it was Tom who actually planted the idea. He talked a lot about illegal trafficking, the unlimited profits to be made, the government’s futile attempts to stop the ongoing tide. Mostly he talked about the ‘middleman,’ whose risk of capture is limited because usually he’s hidden behind a screen of respectability. That sounded very smart and attractive to me.
“Tom was an unchecked and guileless source of information. I asked questions, he gave me answers. He explained to me how criminals got caught. All I had to do was get to the men who caught them and, through men like Doral and Fred Hawkins, offer them a handsome bonus for slacking.
“The smugglers paid me for providing the protection. And those who didn’t lived to regret it. Most are serving time. They couldn’t rat me out as part of a plea bargain or deal for leniency because none knew who I was. There were always human buffers between us.
“Suffice to say, Mr. Hamilton, my little cottage industry expanded and became extremely lucrative. I had virtually no overhead except for my cell phones. Doral or Fred would deliver disposables every other week or so when Tom was at work.
“I paid my employees well, but even so, profits surpassed my expectations. That was important. You see, I had to save up for the day when Lanny would no longer be an impediment. After he died, I wasn’t about to stick around. I’d had it with that house, with Tom, with my life. I’d earned an easy and luxurious retirement. I never resented Lanny, but I resented the diapers I had to change, the meals I had to pump into his stomach, the catheters…
“Well, you don’t need to hear all that. You want to know about The Bookkeeper. Clever name, don’t you think? Anyway, millions of dollars were waiting for me in banks all over the world. It’s amazing what you can do over the Internet.
“But then Lee Coburn came along, and I had to accelerate my plan to skip the country. Lanny…” Here her voice turned thick. “Lanny would never have known the difference. It’s not like he would have missed me, is it? In exchange for a guilty plea, you swear to me that he’ll be placed in the very best facility in the country?”
“You have my personal word on it.”
“And he’ll get Tom’s pension?”
“Every cent will go toward his son’s care.”
“Tom would want that. He was devoted to Lanny. Often I envied his capacity to love Lanny in ways I couldn’t. I tried, but…”
After a short pause, she said, “That sexting… that isn’t me. I want you to know that I think that’s disgusting. It was simply a means of coded communication. I wouldn’t have sent Doral or Fred Hawkins a dirty text. God. Please. No, that was just a way to explain all the telephone activity in case Tom became suspicious. You understand?”
“I understand,” Hamilton replied blandly. “Didn’t you have any misgivings about killing Tom?”
“Of course! It was the hardest thing I had to do as The Bookkeeper. Doral tried to talk me out of it, but there simply was no other way. Besides, I did Tom a favor. He was miserable. Possibly even more so than I. He was in bondage at work just as I was at home. He wasn’t good at his job. You of all people should know that, Mr. Hamilton. You contributed to his misery. He knew he could never live up to your expectations.”
“I thought Tom had potential and only lacked the confidence to realize it. I thought that with my guidance and encouragement-”
“Those are really moot points, aren’t they, Mr. Hamilton?”
“I suppose so.”
“It pains me to talk about him. I grieved him. Honestly, I did. But this way, Tom died with honor. Even with a bit of heroism. I think he would have preferred that to dying in obscurity.”
After another pause, she said, “I guess that’s everything. Do you want me to sign something?”
Hamilton reached across his desk and punched the button to stop the playback.
Honor and Stan, who’d been invited to the district office in New Orleans to listen to Janice VanAllen’s recorded confession, had sat motionless for the duration of it, astonished by the casualness with which she had confessed her crimes to Hamilton several days earlier.
“She had Eddie killed,” Honor said quietly.
“As well as a lot of other people,” Hamilton said. “Based on the information on that USB key, we’re making definite progress. But,” he said around a sigh, “as she said, it’s almost futile. The criminals are multiplying at a rate much faster than we can catch them. But we stay at it.”
“There’s nothing in that file that implicates Eddie,” Stan averred. “And no one was more taken in than I was by the Hawkins twins. Yes, I used Doral to get information, knowing that he had ears in the police department, but I never had an inkling of what they were doing. I stand by my record. You can check it.”
“I did,” Hamilton said, giving him a congenial smile. “You’re as clean as a whistle, Mr. Gillette. And nothing in that file implicates your son of any wrongdoing. According to the superintendent of the Tambour P.D., an honest man I think, Eddie offered to do some covert investigative work. Possibly he’d picked up vibes when he was moonlighting at Marset’s company.
“In any case, the superintendent sanctioned it, but when Eddie was killed, he didn’t connect the car wreck to Eddie’s secret investigation, which to his knowledge had never produced any evidence. Eddie had given it to you,” he said directly to Honor.
She looked across at her father-in-law, laid her hand on his forearm, and pressed it. Then she motioned toward the recorder. “How long after recording that was Mrs. VanAllen…”
“Killed?” Hamilton asked.
Honor nodded.
“Minutes. Her lawyer had insisted that her statement be taken in a private office at the rehab center where she was getting therapy for the ankle injury. There were two federal marshals posted at the door. She was in a wheelchair. I and another agent were flanking her. Her attorney was pushing her chair.
“As we emerged from the office to take her back to her room, the young man seemed to come out of nowhere. He lashed at the marshal with a straight razor and sliced open his cheek. The other FBI agent was trying to draw his weapon when the young man slashed his throat. That agent died a few minutes later.
“Mrs. VanAllen was cut swiftly, but viciously. The razor went through her neck, almost to her spinal column, and from ear to ear. It was a gruesome death. She had time to realize she was dying. The young man, however, died instantly from a fatal gunshot wound.”
It had been reported on the news that Hamilton had shot him twice in the chest, once in the head.
“It was a suicide mission,” Hamilton said. “He had to know there was no possible means of escape. He gave me no choice.”
“And he hasn’t been identified?”
“No. No ID, no information on him at all. No one has come forward to claim his body. We don’t know his connection to The Bookkeeper. All we have is his straight razor and a silver crucifix on a chain.”
After a silent moment, Hamilton stood up, signaling that the meeting was adjourned. He shook hands with Stan. Then he clasped Honor’s hand between both of his. “How’s your daughter?”
“Doing well. She doesn’t remember anything of that night, thank God. She talks about Coburn constantly and
