'His wife leaves. Says she's gotta go home to her mother, who's got lung cancer. And that she's tired of a bunch of his crap. We've detected a little trouble here and there over the months. She bitched a little about his hours and all, but nothing this serious. So she goes home to Mommy. Says she don't know when she's coming back. Mommy's sick, right? Removed a lung, right? But we can't find a hospital that's heard of Maxine Sutherland. We've checked every hospital in Kentucky, Indiana and Tennessee. Seems odd, doesn't it, fellas?'
'Come on, DeVasher,' Lambert said. 'My wife had surgery four years ago, and we flew to the Mayo Clinic. I know of no law requiring one to have surgery within a hundred miles of home. That's absurd. And these are society people. Maybe she checked in under another name to keep it quiet. Happens all the time.'
Locke nodded and agreed. 'How much has he talked to her?'
'She calls about once a day. They've had some good talks, about this and that. The dog. Her mom. The office. She told him last night she ain't coming back for at least two months.'
'Has she ever indicated which hospital?' asked Locke.
'Never. She's been real careful. Doesn't talk much about the surgery. Mommy is supposedly home now. If she ever left.'
'What're you getting at, DeVasher?' asked Lambert.
'Shut up and I'll finish. Just suppose it's all a ruse to get her outta town. To get her away from us. From what's coming down. Follow?'
'You're assuming he's working with them?' asked Locke.
'I get paid for making those assumptions, Nat. I'm assuming he knows the phones are bugged, and that's why they're so careful on the phone. I'm assuming he got her outta town to protect her.'
'Pretty shaky,' said Lambert. 'Pretty shaky.'
DeVasher paced behind his desk. He glared at Ollie and let it pass. 'About ten days ago, somebody makes a bunch of unusual copies on the fourth floor. Strange because it was three in the morning. According to our records, when the copies were made only two lawyers were here. McDeere and Scott Kimble. Neither of whom had any business on the fourth floor. Twenty-four access numbers were used. Three belong to Lamar Quin's files. Three belong to Sonny Capps. The other eighteen belong to McDeere's files. None belong to Kimble. Victor Milligan left his office around two-thirty, and McDeere was working in Avery's office. He had taken him to the airport. Avery says he locked his office, but he could have forgotten. Either he forgot or McDeere's got a key. I pressed Avery on this, and he feels almost certain he locked it. But it was midnight and he was dead tired and in a hurry. Could've forgotten, right? But he did not authorize McDeere to go back to his office and work. No big deal, really, because they had spent the entire day in there working on the Capps return. The copier was number eleven, which happens to be the closest one to Avery's office. I think it's safe to assume McDeere made the copies.'
'How many?'
'Two thousand and twelve.'
'Which files?'
'The eighteen were all tax clients. Now, I'm sure he'd explain it all by saying he had finished the returns and was merely copying everything. Sounds pretty legitimate, right? Except the secretaries always make the copies, and what the hell was he doing on the fourth floor at three A.M. running two thousand copies? And this was the morning of April 7. How many of your boys finish their April 15 work and run all the copies a week early?'
He stopped pacing and watched them. They were thinking. He had them. 'And here's the kicker. Five days later his secretary entered the same eighteen access numbers on her copier on the second floor. She ran about three hundred copies, which, I ain't no lawyer, but I figure to be more in line. Don't you think?'
They both nodded, but said nothing. They were lawyers, trained to argue five sides of every issue. But they said nothing. DeVasher smiled wickedly and returned to his pacing. 'Now, we caught him making two thousand copies that cannot be explained. So the big question is:
'He couldn't copy those files,' Lambert said.
'What else would he copy, Ollie? I mean, everything's locked on the fourth floor and the third floor. Everything, except Avery's office. And assuming he and Tarrance are whispering in each other's ears, what would he want from Avery's office? Nothing but the secret files.'
'Now you're assuming he's got keys,' Locke said.
'Yes. I'm assuming he's made a set of Avery's keys.'
Ollie snorted and gave an exasperated laugh. 'This is incredible. I don't believe it.'
Black Eyes glared at DeVasher with a nasty smile. 'How would he get a copy of the keys?'
'Good question, and one that I can't answer. Avery showed me his keys. Two rings, eleven keys. He keeps 'em with him at all times. Firm rule, right? Like a good little lawyer's supposed to do. When he's awake, the keys are in his pocket. When he's asleep away from home, the keys are under the mattress.'
'Where's he traveled in the last month?' Black Eyes asked.
'Forget the trip to see Capps in Houston last week. Too recent. Before that, he went to Grand Cayman for two days on April 1.'
'I remember,' said Ollie, listening intently.
'Good for you, Ollie. I asked him what he did both nights, and he said nothing but work. Sat at a bar one night, but that's it. Swears he slept by himself both nights.' DeVasher pushed a button on a portable tape recorder. 'But he's lying. This call was made at nine-fifteen, April 2, from the phone in the master bedroom of Unit A.' The tape began:
'He's in the shower.' First female voice.
'Are you okay?' Second female voice.
'Yeah. Fine. He couldn't do it if he had to.'
'What took so long?'
'He wouldn't wake up.'
'Is he suspicious?'
'No. He remembers nothing. I think he's in pain.'
'How long will you be there?'
'I'll kiss him goodbye when he gets out of the shower. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.'
'Okay. Hurry.'
DeVasher punched another button and continued pacing. 'I have no idea who they are, and I haven't
