John Miller - Too Far Gone

“I suspect a lot of people hate you,” Alexa said.

“Touche,” he said, draining his glass. “Casey did it all in such a way that nobody can touch her. Brilliant! Perfection in breeding and environment. She didn’t inherit her mother’s illness, but that would have been better for all concerned.”

He poured another drink from the decanter on his desk.

“No matter how deep you dig, Agent Keen-and she knows you of all people believe she was the victim, so you won’t bother to look any deeper than you have. The local cops are way out of their league with her. And so, it appears, is the FBI. Hell, I certainly was. She is a master, and any evidence you find will point to others. Casey is as hard as her grandmother, and my mother was a stainless steel magnolia with a diamond-coated carbide heart.”

“So you say.”

Alexa thought about something. She reached into her purse. “Do you know this man? Andy Tinsdale. The blackmailer. He shot Decell.”

“And Casey shot him. He was in on this? That makes everything fit,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course. I never imagined he was capable of anything. But with her help…”

“Andy Tinsdale was an orderly at River Run. You knew him very well.”

“I never cared to know him. Ask Casey about him. She knew him a lot better than I did. Show her the picture. You already did, didn’t you? What did she tell you?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does, based on your expression. Andy was a creepy little bastard. A sick little fool of the first order. When he was thirteen or so, my gardener caught him with his pants around his ankles masturbating in the tool shed with a pair of Casey’s panties on his head.”

“What did that have to do with Casey?”

“She was there watching. Egging him on. He swore she put him up to it. I believed her because she seemed so upset. An actress even then. She said he forced her to watch him. I forbade him ever coming here again, or being within ten miles of Casey. Now I know she put him up to it.”

“How was Tinsdale connected to Dorothy?”

“He’s Fugate’s bastard. He was raised by Dorothy’s brother as his son. Her brother may have been his real father, as far as I know. She gave the miserable creature a job as an orderly on the wards. He had to change his name to get the job, of course. Casey enjoyed his company, probably because she could get him to do anything she liked. I’m sure she hooked up with him recently.”

“You’re just trying to make trouble for Casey. You paid the ransom only to get that diary, not to get Gary back.”

“She has him back. Think what you like. Don’t you wonder at all why the diary was there for you to find, or why it was released to the media? Don’t you at least think it odd that Casey ended up going out there with you, and that she just happened to have a gun with her? Haven’t you wondered, if the diary was the reason I paid the ransom, why Gary was kidnapped in the first place? They could have brought the diary and I would have paid them off. Simple business transaction.”

“I assume Gary’s abduction was at Grace’s request. She was in love with Casey and jealous of anybody near her.”

“Casey and Grace. That’s a dark and sticky web. Grace thought she and Casey were friends, maybe much more than friends. I’d wager Casey told Grace that Gary was a mere necessity-a baby maker. Casey probably intended that Gary and I both would die in that hellish hovel, but she didn’t count on Decell being there. I imagine Tinsdale was supposed to kill me and be gone long before you arrived. Instead, you rush in. You’re suddenly in peril, so Casey comes in, gun blazing, fills old Andy full of lead, snipping that loose end. The other loose end was her assistant, Grace Smythe.”

“Grace committed suicide.”

“Sure she did.” LePointe shrugged. “I’m only a psychiatrist, not an FBI agent, but is a woman who is about to live happily ever after with a very wealthy woman a prime candidate for suicide? Maybe times have changed and people kill themselves because their wildest and wettest dreams are about to come to fruition. I know Casey had that idiotic little thing in her thrall, but I never suspected…” LePointe’s focus dulled. “That’s the beauty of planning things out five moves ahead, something we LePointes have mastered. Well, some of us obviously better than others. Casey makes sure she never leaves loose ends.”

“Casey doesn’t need your family’s money,” Alexa offered. “She has her own fortune. She told me she has more personal money than you do.”

“Four times as much. Personal money is one thing, but that amount pales in comparison to the trusts. When is too much ever enough?” LePointe asked. “Casey’s my own flesh and blood. And oddly, despite everything she has done, I am proud of her. I lost a game I wasn’t aware I was playing, but I know I would have still lost even if I had known. Now she’s one of the wealthiest and most powerful women alive. Shoot all the holes in it you want, but she’s made sure believing her is the easiest course. The one thing I know is, she’s played you like a flute and there’s not one thing you or anybody else can do about it. She’s not done with me yet. That’s why I’m telling you this. Catch her if you can, and stop her. It’s in my best interests.”

“I don’t believe a word you’ve said.”

“I bet you didn’t know that Casey can revoke the prenuptial she signed with Gary West. There is an escape clause in the fine print that if he were to be incapacitated at any point before the magical anniversary, it is null and void.”

“Nobody is that good an actor,” Alexa argued.

“Is she that talented? You tell me. Never mind. You just have.” LePointe laughed loudly. He stood. “Now, please leave my house. I have an impending hurricane to flee from.”

Alexa left the house, feeling sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to believe that Casey was a sociopathic liar and cold-blooded killer. LePointe had surely twisted things around to make Casey look bad, to punish her because he was that sort of bastard. Casting the blame onto his daughter was the logical act of a twisted sociopathic mind seeking redemption. What he had told Alexa was a trial balloon, one he would no doubt spread to the public to clear his reputation.

Alexa prided herself on knowing a lie when she heard one, and she had never sensed the slightest deception in Casey West.

In the car, Alexa removed the picture from her pocket of the children at play and studied it under the map light. She knew who had taken it-the boy’s proud mother, an ambitious nurse who had hopes in her heart that the children would be together for years to come. The girl’s father would not have known his mistress had recorded it. Alexa’s heart sank and she clenched her teeth, the anger rising so close to the surface, she could taste it.

The idea that William LePointe was being honest in his accusations was totally preposterous. If it was the truth, Alexa had never been so completely taken in by anyone in her life.

Am I being objective?

Alexa had a more troubling thought. If Casey West was indeed the cold-blooded, plotting monster her father claimed she was who was responsible for all those deaths, there probably wasn’t anything she could do about it. And if that was the case, Casey West was laughing at her along with everybody else.

The wind buffeted the car mercilessly. The rain was being driven horizontally and the trees and bushes seemed to be trying their best to get their roots out of the earth and fly. It was impossible for her wipers-as often lifted by the wind as not-to do their job.

Alexa had gotten lost on several occasions because the GPS lady was no longer functioning, but since her cell phone was, she finally called Casey to get directions to her house. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the GPS satellite had been knocked out of the sky, but it was just as likely faulty FBI equipment.