of all this. Those men would be alive if it weren’t for you.”
“And you would be dead,” Rice answered calmly, “and you may be dead soon if we stand here debating who’s responsible for what. When Wingate’s men don’t report in, he’ll send more. Now tell me what you told the police about the Unit.”
“The police don’t know anything. I told them what you said was privileged.” Suddenly a picture of George French’s ravaged body flashed in Ami’s mind and she shuddered. “Wingate’s men must know what you told us. George was tortured just the way you tortured Eric Glass.”
“Do the police think I killed French?”
Ami nodded. “I saw the crime scene photographs at Lost Lake. I thought…”
“Of course you did. What else were you supposed to think?” Rice placed his hands on Ami’s shoulders. “There’s only one way you can save yourself. You have to tell that DA, Kirkpatrick, about the Unit. Wingate won’t have a reason to kill you if other people know my story. Get dressed. I’ll take you to police headquarters and drop you off.” Rice pointed at the corpse. “He’s your proof.”
Ami grabbed some clothes and a pair of sneakers and went into the bathroom while Rice searched the dead man. When she came out he was holding a pistol that he’d taken from the killer.
Carl led Ami downstairs in the dark and out the back door. They circled through the woods that bordered her property and came out on a logging road about a quarter-mile from the farmhouse. Ami saw the outline of a car in the dark. Carl aimed a penlight at the front window and turned it on and off. The engine started, and Carl raced to the car with Ami in tow. Ami jumped into the back, Rice got into the front passenger seat, and Vanessa started driving.
“We’re going to drop Ami at police headquarters,” Rice said.
Vanessa was about to respond when Ami pointed down the road. “What’s that?”
A car was barreling toward them with its lights off. Carl opened his window and fired across the hood. An answering shot blew out Vanessa’s left front headlight. Carl fired again and the other car’s windshield shattered. Almost instantly the car careened off the road. When they sped past, Ami saw the driver slumped over the steering wheel.
“Move!” Carl ordered Vanessa. She floored the accelerator and Ami flew back in her seat.
Two men had leaped out of the wrecked car and were firing at them. Carl pushed Ami to the floor as a bullet ricocheted off the trunk leaving a trail of sparks. Ami rolled back and forth on the floor as Vanessa sped out of range.
“You can sit up now,” Rice said when he was sure that they were safe.
“Where are we going after we drop off Ami?” Vanessa asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “We need a place to hole up until the hunt dies down. Then we can try to figure out how to get out of the country.”
“I have an idea,” Ami said. “When I was at my old firm I bought a cabin with two other couples. It’s on the coast. I’m pretty sure no one is using it this week. You can stay there.”
“Thanks for the offer but I’ll pass,” Rice said.
“Why? It’s pretty isolated. No one will look for you there.”
“If the police find out you helped us they’ll arrest you. I’m not going to risk that.”
“You just saved my life, Carl. I’d be dead and Ryan would be an orphan if it weren’t for you.” Ami took a key off of her key chain. “I’m willing to take a chance for someone who took a big one for me. Use the cabin.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ami was drinking a cup of coffee when Walsh and Kirkpatrick burst into the interrogation room where she had been waiting for the past half hour. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and looked like hell.
“Is Ryan safe?” she asked before they could say anything.
“He’s fine,” Walsh assured her. “I sent an extra car over there to be sure. Tell us what happened at your house.”
“The policemen who were guarding me are dead. I would be dead too if Carl hadn’t saved me.”
“Who is Carl?” Walsh asked.
“My client’s real name is Carl Rice, not Daniel Morelli. The woman who helped him escape is Vanessa Wingate. She’s the daughter of General Morris Wingate.”
“The Wingate who’s running for president of the United States?” Walsh asked.
Ami nodded.
“Holy shit.”
Brendan Kirkpatrick imagined the consequences to his career of issuing an APB for the daughter of a man who was the front-runner for his party’s presidential nomination.
“Okay, Ami,” he said. “Let’s start at the beginning. What does the daughter of a presidential candidate have to do with an itinerant carpenter who got into a fight at a Little League game?”
For the next half hour Ami told the prosecutor and the detective the stories Carl and Vanessa had told her. They both listened intently, and Walsh took notes. When Ami was almost finished an officer came into the interrogation room and started to speak to Walsh. The detective stopped him and they left the room. Moments later Walsh reentered the room. He looked concerned.
“The men I sent to your house just reported in. They found the officers. They’re dead. But there aren’t any other bodies at your house.”
Ami was stunned. “That’s impossible.”
“Did you see the men who murdered the officers?” Walsh asked.
“Weren’t you listening? One of them attacked me with a knife!”
“Calm down,” Kirkpatrick said.
“Do you think I’m lying? Do you think I made this up?”
“No one is accusing you of lying,” Kirkpatrick said. “It’s just that…Well, the whole story sounds…”
“Unbelievable?” Ami finished for him. “Don’t you think I know that?”
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Ami used the moment to think.
“Vanessa was parked on a logging road behind my house when Carl saved me. After we got out of the house, Carl and Vanessa drove me here. While we were still on the logging road, men in another car attacked us. Carl shot the driver and they crashed. The car must not have been too badly damaged and they must have driven to my house and taken the bodies away.”
Before Kirkpatrick could respond, the door to the interrogation room opened and a large man with granite features walked in followed by two other men in crisp blue pinstripe suits.
“Who are you?” Kirkpatrick snapped.
“I’m Victor Hobson, the executive assistant director for law enforcement services at the FBI. These are agents McCollum and Haggard. I understand that you had Carl Rice in your custody and you let him escape. I’m here to help you get him back.”
Walsh and Kirkpatrick exchanged glances.
“How did you know our prisoner’s name was Carl Rice?” the DA asked.
“I’ve been hunting Rice since 1985. He’s wanted for the murders of United States Congressman Eric Glass and General Peter Rivera. The woman who helped him escape is probably Vanessa Kohler, General Morris Wingate’s daughter.”
“Mr. Hobson,” Kirkpatrick said, “I’ve got a question to ask you, but I’d like to hear what you can tell us about Rice and Vanessa Wingate first. Will you fill us in on what you know?”
“In 1985, Congressman Eric Glass was tortured and murdered in his summer home on Lost Lake, California. A deputy sheriff found Vanessa Wingate wandering around the grounds in a daze. She identified Carl Rice as the killer, but there was nothing beyond her statement connecting Rice to the crime. I was sent to investigate because the victim was a member of Congress. By the time I got to Lost Lake, General Wingate had taken his daughter out of the local hospital and had committed her to a private mental hospital. She was there for a year and the medical staff prevented me from talking to her during her stay.
