Jolie had no doubt he’d find a way to connect the dots.
But she wouldn’t leave it at that. She’d be riding herd on him, funneling information to him as it came up. She might have handed him the case, but this wasn’t the end of her involvement.
Her first thought after seeing the photos was to get Kay to take her to the island. She wanted a look inside the cabanas. She wanted to look for the Saltillo tile, a pale green striped bedspread, the wall sconce.
Kay wasn’t going to help her now, though.
The words had been in the back of her mind all this time, nagging like an aching tooth. Maybe now was the time to address it. Back at home, she turned on CNN to see what was going on in the world—a habit she’d gotten from her dad. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and Googled “Belle Oaks” plus “Tallahassee.”
There were a number of matches: the Belle Oaks Restaurant and Golf Club, the Belle Oaks Riding Academy, and a private health care facility. Jolie eliminated the riding academy immediately. There was a Belle Oaks Drive, too.
Again, Jolie wondered what Kay had been aiming at. Did her parents fight in the bathroom, and she’d somehow witnessed it? She was not even eighteen weeks old when her mother died, and she had no memories from that age. But perhaps she’d absorbed it in some way. Was that the reason for her panic attack at the house?
She thought she knew her father, but maybe—
No.
Maybe someone had broken into the house—a home invasion.
The CNN music for breaking news came on. Jolie ignored it. Since 9/11, these channels had “breaking news” on twenty times a day.
She clicked on the private health care facility. A photo of a red brick Federal-style mansion came up, framed by tall oaks draped with Spanish moss and a green lawn. Another photo at the side—two elderly women and an elderly man eating ice cream cones in the sunshine.
Jolie was still looking at the elderly man and the elderly women having the time of their lives, when she heard the words “Vice President Pintek.”
She looked at the TV.
The screen was dominated by an aerial view of the vice president’s residence, the Naval Observatory.
As a cop and a longtime watcher of CNN, Jolie knew aerial views seldom meant good news. Maybe someone had breached the grounds.
But it was worse than that.
The vice president of the United States, and Jolie’s number one suspect in the death of Nathan Dial, wasn’t the victim of breached security.
He was dead.
Whatever had been, whatever she had planned up to this moment was no more. The vice president was dead—no one could prosecute him now.
She needed to get away from the hot, muggy house. Needed to get away and think. She went for a drive.
Jolie didn’t know how she felt about the VP’s death. A number of things, actually. First, satisfaction. Payback. Owen Pintek was dead. Now she could leave it alone. Louis would drop it, and Jolie could stay on paid leave and forget about turning over any rocks or tweaking any noses. She wouldn’t get into any further trouble with Skeet. She could keep her job without even trying. Jolie knew this. Skeet didn’t have enough to fire her, not without her help. And now she wouldn’t give him any more ammunition to use against her, because it was over.
Except there was one thing. Her family. It was possible—likely, in fact—that someone in her family knew about Nathan Dial’s death. Uncle Frank, probably. He was the attorney general and a longtime friend of the VP’s. They’d both been in President Baird’s cabinet. Maybe Franklin had been part of the cover-up. And there was Luke’s death. Who had he tried to blackmail with the images on his phone? The vice president of the United States, or the Haddoxes?
Jolie thought he’d go for the Haddoxes. Blackmailing them would be nowhere near as daunting. The Haddoxes were local. How would Luke get in touch with the vice president of the United States? The simple answer: he couldn’t. But Luke worked for the tree service that took care of Franklin Haddox’s grounds. In his ignorance, he’d think that would be the same as accessing the vice president.
She drove to Gardenia, past the Iolanthe Paper Company, past the shuttered Starliner Motel, then over to Panama City. All the time thinking about the people who had been killed. Luke and Amy died because of their blackmail scheme. Kathy Westbrook and Maddy Akers were collateral damage. Then there was Nathan Dial, whose death started everything.
Now the vice president was dead, too. According to the television reporter, there was no information other than the death appeared to be due to natural causes. His wife discovered him in their bedroom early this morning, “unresponsive.” That was all the information available, although CNN played it over and over again in a loop and the experts had been brought on to make their guesses.
Jolie followed Route 30 into Panama City Beach. She drove past the Waffle House where she’d met Scott Emerson. Thought about Scott, how they worked the Cove Bar together.
He should know the truth.
Shouldn’t do this. But Jolie was tired of all the things she shouldn’t do, so she punched in his number. Almost gave up as the phone rang and rang. Thinking it was just as well he didn’t answer. This could be a Pandora’s box. And then he picked up.
“Have you seen the news?” she asked him.
“Is it Nathan? Did they find him?”
“No. Vice President Pintek is dead.”
A pause. “What does that have to do with anything?” Another pause. She could almost hear him thinking— putting it together. “You think…” Then he said, “
“Listen,” Jolie said. “It’s common knowledge that the VP was into rough sex with young men.” She did not tell him about the photos. About how much she really knew.
“Oh
“Turn on the television.”
She heard him do that. Jolie listened to the news in the background, but Scott Emerson said nothing.
Time stretched. She became aware of how hard the phone was pressed against her ear. “Scott?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Why?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I thought you’d want to know what happened to Nathan.”
“I don’t know anything, except who you think the guy was. I don’t know how it happened or why it happened, I don’t know how they disposed of him, I don’t know anything. And now this man—the man you
“I thought you’d want closure.” She winced as she said it, because people had often used the same word with her, and she despised the word.
“Closure?” he said. “What the hell is that?”
51
When it was full dark, Landry walked the three blocks to the maid’s car. He drove to the house, backed up into the garage, and opened the trunk. Getting Special Agent Salter out was a challenge, since Landry didn’t have the use of his right hand and Salter was a big man like himself. But Landry had been trained to drag bodies, living or dead, in ridiculously impossible circumstances. By using his body as a brace, he was able to leverage Salter’s body
