Victor Drake parked his Jaguar in front of the seedy boxing gym where Suricata and Geoff normally worked out. It was time to dissolve the team, but first, he needed to make sure that all the jobs were satisfactorily completed.
This whole part of town disgusted him. It wasn’t for people like him, and he could hardly believe that he was even here. What if someone saw him?
But then again, since no one would expect a man of his stature to show up here, it was less likely anyone would recognize him.
He didn’t bring the money with him, of course. He wasn’t going to drive into the heart of Barrio Logan with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars cash in the trunk of his car.
Victor locked his car and then slipped inside the crusty building. The place was just like he expected it would be: dark, rank, and filled with the barbaric sounds of large men pummeling each other into unconsciousness. What a wonderful place to spend your free time.
Geoff and Dr. Kurvetek were already there, waiting for him beside a large punching bag. Suricata was finishing battering the face of a man fifty pounds heavier than him. Victor had always known Suricata was good with knives, but he’d never seen Suricata box before. It was disturbingly impressive.
“Do you have the money?” asked Geoff.
“Don’t be ridiculous. No. Not with me.”
An edge of anger. “I thought you were bringing it?” “I’ll get it to you, OK? But first I want to know if you can keep the cops off my back and tell me where the device is.”
“The cops won’t bother you. I took care of all that,” Geoff said.
“And Hunter didn’t have anything with him when he was killed.
I looked all over the area, the pier, everything. It wasn’t there. It’s gone. And I checked his body. There’s nothing to connect him to us.”
By then, Suricata had joined them. Victor allowed him a brief glance. The man was panting. Perspiring. And he smelled revolting.
What else was new.
Dr. Kurvetek peered at Victor through the sweat-soaked air. “It appears the device truly was destroyed in the fire. Hunter didn’t know anything about it. Why would he have removed it? Everything ended with his death.”
“Yeah,” snarled Suricata. “Now, what about our money?”
“Tonight,” Victor said. “I’ll have it at my house. All of it. Be there at 8:30. I’ll give it to you then. But for now, bury all the evidence, the reports, do what you need to do to pin everything on Hunter.
No slipups.” And then, before the three men Victor had grown to despise could respond or object, he strode past them and removed himself from that filthy place.
He would have the money for them tonight. Yes. After all, he was a man of his word. But then, as soon as this nightmare was wrapped up, he was going on a little vacation until the dust settled again.
He finished off his bottle of pills, pulled out his cell, and called his travel agent. Then he drove as quickly as he could away from the part of town he never should have ventured into in the first place.
I was standing in the hallway outside Tessa’s door waiting for her to get her suitcases packed when Ralph called. I answered, hoping maybe he could encourage me that I was doing the right thing by sending Tessa home, but before we could even get to that, he said, “Pat. Nothing more on Drake. He looks clean.” “What else?”
“Margaret’s taking over the case. Suddenly, she seems very interested in it. We have a briefing at police headquarters at two o’clock, and she’s insistent that you be there.”
Executive Assistant Director Margaret Wellington was the last person I wanted to see right now. She doesn’t believe in environmental criminology or geospatial investigation and tries to discredit me and cut funding for my work every chance she gets. Needless to say, we don’t get together to play Scrabble on the weekends. Having to deal with her would put me right over the edge. “Listen, Ralph.
You tell her I’ll be late, if I come at all. You tell her that,OK?'
He processed that for a moment. “Didn’t go so well with Tessa, huh?”
“Not so good. We’re heading to the airport in just a few minutes.”
He paused, probably to weigh what I’d just said against the con-sequences of me not showing up at one of Margaret’s meetings. “All right. I’ll cover for you. And if you can’t make it to the meeting, I’ll tell Margaret you’re on an assignment from me.”
“Thanks. And, hey, tell me I’m doing the right thing here with Tessa.”
“You’re doing the right thing, Pat.”
“Thanks, Ralph.”
“I think.”
And before I could say another word, Tessa’s door swung open and she stepped past me, carrying her hastily packed bags. After she’d taken four steps, she called over her shoulder, “You can take me to the airport now, Patrick. I am so ready to be out of here.”
Ralph and I ended the call, and I led my stepdaughter and her illegal raven to the car.
70
12:39 p.m.
Neither Tessa nor I spoke much on the way to the airport. I’m sure we both had things we wanted to say, needed to say-I know I did-but the conversation just never got started.
We parked. Unloaded her stuff. Walked inside, all in silence.
Finally, at the ticket counter I said, “Tessa. You know I love you and I want what’s best for you.”
Silence.
“I’ll be home sometime in the next couple days. We’ll straighten this all out then.”
“OK,” she said. And that was all.
After she had her boarding pass, I walked with her to the security checkpoint, although she made sure she was a few steps ahead of me the whole way. The line was short, and before she could enter it, I stepped in front of her and said, “Good-bye, Tessa.”
I didn’t think she would reply, but she did. She said one simple, final word: “Good-bye.” Then she brushed past me and walked over to show her driver’s license and boarding pass to the TSA agent.
The words “I’ll see you soon” didn’t quite make it to my lips.
I wanted them to, but they didn’t. I couldn’t stay and watch her walk away like that. I just couldn’t do it.
So at last, without saying another word, I returned to the car.
Tessa dropped her satchel onto the conveyor belt, emptied her pockets, and waited for the bored-looking TSA guy to motion for her to step through the stupid metal detector. She’d avoided eye contact with Patrick so he wouldn’t see that she was about to cry.
She didn’t want him to know how much she hurt.
Hurt because of what she’d done.
Hurt because of what he’d said.
He didn’t trust her. She wanted him to, but he didn’t. And it was at least partly her fault.
The security guy waved her through. The way her day was going she expected the thing to beep. That would have been just brilliant.
But it didn’t.
Thankfully.
But then, as soon as she got to the other side, one of the other worker guys picked up her satchel, shuffled through it, and took out the antibacterial soap for her tattoo because he said it wasn’t 3.4 ounces or less and besides it hadn’t been placed in a quart-sized resealable plastic bag and he threw the soap into the trash and all that did was make her think of the tattoo again and of Riker and Patrick and what had just happened between them and how badly she just wanted to be alone, alone, alone.
Tessa plucked her satchel from the TSA guy’s hands and huffed past him to the gate. She escaped into the
