I thought about the things she had told Landry, and the things she had not told him.
I thought about who had come under suspicion and who had not.
Don Jade was sitting in jail. Bruce Seabright was under a microscope. Tomas Van Zandt, known predator, suspected murderer, was nowhere to be found.
I went back to the writing desk and dug through the mess I'd made to find the piece of paper I had taken from Van Zandt's trash. The flight schedule of horses being shipped to Brussels. The plane was scheduled to leave that night at eleven. I would have to give that information to Landry. And Landry would have to pass it on to Armedgian.
Screw that. I wasn't giving Armedgian anything. If I could find a way to make him look like an idiot, I would. God knew, after the fiasco at The Players, neither Armedgian nor Dugan was going to have anything to do with me anyway.
I decided, when the time came, I would go to the airport and wait for Van Zandt myself, then call in Landry. If Tomas Van Zandt thought he could get away with murder in my country, he could think again.
47
He had no idea how long he had been in the trunk of the car. Night had become day. He knew that because of the heat. The fucking Florida sun was beating down on the car, the temperature in the trunk becoming unbearable.
He was going to die in this horrible place because of that Russian cunt. Two of them. Their faces blended together in his brain. He went in and out of delirium from the pain and the heat.
He would have tried to break out, but he couldn't move. He didn't know how many of his bones were broken. He would have tried to scream, but the lower half of his face was encased in tape. Many times in the hours past he had feared he would vomit and choke to death.
Like the fat groom. Stupid little whore. She had been ready to have sex with Jade. She should have been willing to have sex with him. Some of his beating was her fault. Kulak had known about her death.
An accident. Not murder. If he had gotten rid of her body the way he had wanted, no one would ever have known. No one would have asked questions about where was Jill. Who in the world could give a shit about that one?
If he hadn't been talked into dumping the body into that manure pit, plenty of what had happened wouldn't have. And maybe he would not now be waiting to die.
He could hear sounds outside the car. Machinery running, men's voices. Russians speaking Russian. Fucking Russians.
Something struck the car, rocking it, then it began to move forward. The noise of the machinery grew louder, like a beast from hell devouring everything in its path. The noise grew deafening-the roaring of the beast, the crunching of metal as the front end of the car collapsed.
He knew what was coming. He knew, and he started screaming, even though the sound could not escape his own head. He screamed the names of every woman who had turned against him.
Women. Stupid, ungrateful bitches. The bane of his existence. Many times he had said women would be the death of him. As always, he was right.
48
The scene was as nightmarish as anything Landry had ever watched. Erin Seabright, tied spread-eagle on the bed, screaming and crying as one of her captors violated her.
Dugan, Weiss, Dwyer, and he stood in a half circle, arms crossed, watching the tape play, their faces like stone. At the top of the half circle, Bruce Seabright sat on a chair, his complexion the color of putty.
Landry punched the power button off and slammed a fist against the side of the television. He wheeled on Seabright.
'You sick son of a bitch.'
'I've never seen that before in my life!' Seabright shouted, coming to his feet.
'Landry…' Dugan warned.
Landry didn't hear him, he didn't hear Weiss' phone ring. He was hardly aware anyone else was in the room. He saw only Bruce Seabright, and he wanted to beat him to death with his bare hands.
'What? You were saving it for later?' Landry said. 'Planning your own little film festival?'
Seabright shook his head vehemently. 'I don't know how that thing got in my office.'
'You put it there,' Landry said.
'I didn't! I swear!'
'The kidnappers sent it to you, just like they sent the first one.'
'No!'
'And if it had been left up to you, no one would have seen either of them.'
'That- that's not true-'
'You lying sack of shit!' Landry shouted in his face.
Dugan tried to step between them, shoving at Landry's chest. 'Detective Landry, step back!'
Landry stepped around him. 'It wasn't bad enough you wanted rid of her? You wanted to see her tortured too?'
'No! I-'
'Shut up!' Landry shouted. 'Shut the fuck up!'
Seabright stepped back, small eyes popping with fear. The backs of his legs hit the folding chair he'd been sitting on, and he stumbled and fell awkwardly back down onto it.
'Landry!' Dugan shouted.
Dwyer stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. 'James-'
'I want a lawyer!' Seabright said. 'He's out of control!'
Landry stilled himself, slowed his breathing, stared at Bruce Seabright.
'You'd better call God, Seabright,' Landry said tightly. 'It's going to take more than a lawyer to get your sorry ass out of this crack.'
J ade's bail hearing took twenty minutes. Five minutes for business and fifteen minutes for Shapiro to hear himself talk. For what a guy like that charged by the hour, Landry supposed he ought to at least give the appearance of being worth more than the average suit.
Landry stood at the back of the courtroom, taking roll of the attendees. He was still trembling from the adrenaline and rage that had burned through him in the conference room. Like counting sheep, he counted heads. Shapiro's entourage of lawyers-in-waiting, the assistant state's attorney, a small pack of reporters, and Trey Hughes.
The prosecutor, Angela Roca, stated her intention to take the case before the grand jury and asked for bail in the amount of a million dollars.
'Your Honor,' Shapiro whined. 'A million dollars! Mr. Jade is not as wealthy as his clients are. For all intents and purposes, that would amount to denying bail altogether.'
'Fine by us, Your Honor.' Roca said. 'Mr. Jade has been identified by his victim as a kidnapper and rapist. Additionally, the Sheriff's Office considers him a suspect in the brutal murder of one of his employees.'
'With all due respect, Your Honor, Mr. Jade can't be penalized for a crime for which he has not been charged.'
'Yeah, I caught that one in judge school,' the Honorable Ida Green said sarcastically. Ida, a tiny redheaded New York transplant, was one of Landry's favorite judges. Nothing impressed Ida, including Bert Shapiro.
'Your Honor, the prosecution's case-'
