Strictly solo. But Jake never heard about the accident, so he kept the tape in the bar’s safe until the PI’s brother showed up. No one had listened to it until his brother did. That’s when he brought it to us. There’s an introduction on the tape from the PI, explaining the circumstances and the reason for the wire. The brother already verified the PI’s voice. Of course, you’ll need to verify your father’s voice and the Zollinger family will need to verify the women’s…”
“What’s on the tape, Detective,” Wilson interrupted impatiently. His stomach tightened like a fist.
“Seems the two Zollinger women were murdered by a professional,” Zemke said, pausing for a few moments. “We think your father was shot by someone named Carter.”
The living room began spinning as Wilson braced himself against the wall. Zemke was still talking, but only bits and pieces were registering. “…prolonged argument…women were convinced…it was too risky…the PI must have tried to negotiate…But Wayland evidently hired…killed the two…Carter and…another long discussion…your father wanted to end…there was more…”
“Wait,” Wilson finally managed to blurt out, trying desperately to regain focus. “What did my father want to end?”
Detective Zemke hesitated for a moment. “Seems he wanted to kill all of them, including himself.”
Wilson was too numb to speak.
“Your father apparently tried to stop the two Zollinger women from being shot. After the two women were dead, Wayland called off the assassin and took the gun. There was a heated exchange of words, and then a fight. Your father took the gun from Wayland and told the others to back off. That’s when your father kept saying this was the best way to end it. But another person-we think it was Carter-wrestled the gun away from your father and then shot him.”
Wilson could barely breathe but managed to utter the words running through his head, “Carter shot my father.”
“That’s our take on it.”
“Who else was there besides my father, Wayland, and Carter?”
“Name was uhh …” Zemke paused a moment before answering, “…Jules and of course the unnamed assassin.”
“When can I hear the tape?”
“A copy is already on its way to you. Overnight. Should arrive at your office tomorrow morning. We’ll need you to verify as many voices as you can. Thought about doing it by phone, but the tape isn’t that good, and we want to make sure it’s legit before we turn it over to the FBI.”
“The FBI?”
“They said you were working with them,” Zemke said, sounding surprised.
“That’s right,” Wilson said, quickly, “Have they heard the tape?”
“No. I called your office and talked to your assistant Anne. I told her it was vital that I track you down. Then, I called the Zollinger family.”
“Why didn’t you call the FBI?” Wilson said.
“They were all over us yesterday, six of them, confiscating everything we had on the White Horse case. Put us through the ringer, if you know what I mean. They won’t be getting anything else from me until I know exactly what it is.”
Wilson remained silent, trying to think.
Hap motioned for Wilson to keep the conversation going.
“Mr. Fielder,” Zemke said.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“We assume Carter is your father’s associate Carter Emerson. Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Wilson said, abruptly.
“They’re coming back here tomorrow at noon to officially take over the investigation. If I don’t hear from you by eleven o’clock my time, I’ll call you,” Zemke said. “All I need to know is whether the voice on the tape is your father’s.”
Wilson agreed to listen to the tape and call Zemke in the morning. When he ended the call, Hap tried to console him, but strangely, Wilson was already over it. All of a sudden, everything had become sickeningly predictable.
While initially dumbfounded that Carter had pulled the trigger of the gun that shot his father, the pieces of the puzzle had been there all along-the contingency plan that Carter wished he’d never agreed to, his father’s coma convincing the other partners of Carter’s loyalty, their relentless quest to finish what they’d started, the repeated attempts to protect Wilson, and that faraway look in Carter’s eyes whenever he talked about Wilson’s father. What weren’t they willing to do for disclosure?
“I still can’t believe it,” Hap said.
“I can,” Wilson said, Zemke’s words still ringing in his head:
“What?” Hap blurted.
For the next twenty minutes Wilson tied together the bits and pieces for Hap’s benefit. Carter had indeed already told Wilson everything-what they had done, what they expected to happen, and what yet remained to be done. When Hap’s doubts were addressed and he had no furthers questions, Wilson said, “Call Driggs. I want Emily extracted now. Her parents and sisters are going to need immediate protection.”
56
Emily — Princeton, NJ
Feeling her body being gently lifted off the cot, Emily thought she was dreaming. Then, as her consciousness grew, she assumed she was being raped. She immediately arched her back and attempted to kick her legs. Driggs pulled off her earphones and whispered, “We’re taking you to Wilson.”
Emily stopped breathing. When her blindfold came off, she was staring into the face of a sympathetic-looking black man whose finger was pressed vertically against his lips.
“My name is Driggs. I work for Hap Greene. We need to hurry,” he whispered as he removed the tape from her mouth and helped her stand up.
Emily nodded, still trembling as she placed her feet on the ground. After a few steps, they began running along the wall of a dimly lit, nearly empty warehouse. She hung onto Driggs’ arm as they ran. She could see the exit door ahead of them. The nightmare was over, she thought.
Suddenly, a volley of gunshots echoed throughout the cavernous space. Four of Hap’s men and four FBI agents hit the floor surrounding the makeshift office where three armed men were taking cover. All three guards outside the warehouse had been subdued without a single shot being fired, but not before one of them alerted the others inside. The woman who had been attending to Emily was lying on the restroom floor in a fetal position.
Driggs gripped Emily tightly under the armpit, speeding up their pace as he steered her toward an open door ten yards away.
Quickly positioning himself behind a large filing cabinet, one of the trapped captors spied Emily and Driggs heading for the exit door. “If we’re going down, so is she,” he said before training his scope on Emily. He would only have one shot-his last.
“Breech!” was the only word spoken in the radio silence amongst FBI agents and Hap’s operatives.
Just as he squeezed the trigger of his M110 sniper rifle, the captor and his two cohorts were blown off their feet-their bodies riddled with chunks of debris from the blast of a fragmentation grenade.
Driggs slung Emily in front of him, toward the open exit door six feet ahead. Tripping on the door’s threshold, Emily tumbled onto the asphalt outside the warehouse. She glimpsed a black Range Rover and a man running toward her. Then, Driggs’ body slammed down on top of her.
“Nooooo…” Emily screamed, struggling to remove her legs from under Driggs’ body, so she could reach his face. The man running toward her was Mike Anthony, who’d been with her and Wilson in Venice.
