Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“So who’s in these pictures?” she asked as she shuffled through the photographs. “Everyone on his team?”

“Team?” Conrad asked. “Do you know anything about military terminology? A team has two to three people, a squad has nine, a platoon is three to four squads, a company is three to four platoons, a battalion is five companies, a brigade is two battalions, and a division is three brigades, which is about five thousand people.”

Sara looked down at the thousands of photographs on her desk. “So is that everyone in his brigade?”

“It’s everyone who was at Fort Jackson while Kozlow was there. And the first pile is everyone in his basic training company. If you look carefully, you may find Sunken Cheeks.”

Flipping through the first pile of photographs, Sara said, “This is impossible. Look at these guys – they’re all the same. Square shoulders and a crew cut, square shoulders and a crew cut, square shoulders and a crew cut. After the first bunch, it gets maddening. I might as well be looking through yearbooks or something stupid like that.”

As Sara picked up the next pile of pictures, Guff came barging into the office, waving a fax. “Start writing your thank-you cards, ladies and gents, because Guff just saved the day!”

Conrad shot Guff a skeptical look. “This better be good.”

“Oh, it is, Most Solemn One.” He looked down at his fax. “While you were searching through the military past, I took the other way around and started searching through the present. I took the two names that came up from Sunken Cheeks’s fingerprints and ran them through BCI. Sol Broder and Warren Eastham have almost nothing in common. They weren’t born in the same cities, neither of them was in the military, they didn’t live near each other, and as far as I can tell, they didn’t even know each other. But they did have one thing in common: They were both criminals. So I ran a search on every piece of their criminal records – what their crimes were, when they were arrested, who their lawyers were, where they served their time – you name it, I searched it. Again, nothing came up. Both Broder and Eastham served their time upstate at the Hudson facility, but Broder was there four years ago, while Eastham was there two years ago. They were never there at the same time.”

“So what’s your great find?” Conrad asked impatiently.

“My great find is that a closer examination revealed the one thing Broder and Eastham had in common: When Sol Broder left the Hudson facility, Warren Eastham occupied his old cell.”

“So?” Conrad asked.

“So that means they shared the same cellmate,” Sara said.

“Exactly,” Guff said with a smile. “And that cellmate is…” Guff held up the faxed mug shot of a prisoner. It was blurry, but it was definitely Sunken Cheeks. Sara’s eyes went wide.

“That’s him!” Sara said, grabbing the fax out of Guff’s hands. “That’s the guy who threatened me.”

“Unbelievable,” Conrad said. “You may get employee of the month for this one.”

“I’m shooting for the whole year,” Guff said.

“So who is he?” Sara asked, still studying the picture.

“His name is Elliott Traylor. That’s all we have right now, but give me an hour and we’ll have the rest.”

“Here we go,” Guff said, reading from a file folder as he stood in the middle of Sara’s office. “The life and times of Elliott Traylor. He was born in Queens, New York, to Phyllis Traylor, who raised him on her own.”

“What happened to his father?” Sara asked.

“There’s no mention of a father,” Guff said. “The family grew up relatively poor in Queens, and Elliott’s mother used to work as both a secretary and a waitress. Here’s the interesting part, though. According to their tax records, Elliott’s mother used to work for a company called StageRights Unlimited. And that was the original name for – you guessed it-”

“Echo Enterprises,” Conrad said.

“Are you kidding me?” Sara asked.

“Wait, it gets better. When she was at StageRights, Phyllis Traylor was the personal secretary for Mr. Arnold Doniger. But according to her unemployment records, she was fired from StageRights a few months before Elliott was born.”

“That was at least twenty-five to thirty years ago,” Sara said. “Is she still alive?”

“No, she died seven years ago from lung cancer. Elliott went to high school in Queens and then won an engineering scholarship to Brooklyn College. His test scores say he was quite the boy genius, but he apparently had a hard time when his mother passed away. He was only a sophomore in college at the time.”

“What was he in prison for?” Conrad asked.

“Aggravated sexual abuse and aggravated assault. Seems he had a difference of opinion with a woman he was courting. She started screaming it was rape; he punched her in the face and broke her jaw. Luckily, someone heard and called the cops. From the file we have on him, he’s a brutal bastard. Smart, too.”

“That engineering degree might explain the fingerprints,” Sara said.

“I still don’t understand one thing,” Conrad said. “What the hell does Elliott have to gain if Kozlow is found guilty?”

“Maybe he’s holding a grudge from when his mom was fired all those years ago,” Guff suggested.

“Too corny,” Sara said. “And not strong enough to make him take all those risks.”

“Maybe he’s been hired by someone else who hates Kozlow and Rafferty for some other reason.”

“No, now you’re getting off track,” Conrad said. “If Elliott is involved, he must have something to gain. There’s a fifty-million-dollar business on the line here.”

“Then let me ask you this,” Guff said as he joined Sara on the couch. “If they take the money away from Rafferty, who gets it?”

“According to the will, it goes to Arnold Doniger’s heirs.”

“So Claire does get it?” Guff asked, confused.

“No, the will specifically states that Claire takes nothing, and since she waived everything else in the prenup, it goes to his other surviving relatives. First, they’ll look to see if he has any children, then they’ll-”

“Stop right there,” Conrad said. “What if Arnold Doniger has a son he doesn’t know about?”

“How do you have a son you don’t-” Suddenly, a cold chill ran down Sara’s back. “Oh, my God. You think Elliott-”

“Why not? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Hold on a second,” Guff said. “You think Elliott is Arnold Doniger’s son?”

“Actually, I do,” Sara said. “Look at the facts: Elliott’s mother spends five years working as Arnold Doniger’s secretary. Over time, a little office romance develops and Arnold starts having a little fun behind his first wife’s back. Then the bad news hits – Elliott’s mom is pregnant. Six months before the baby’s due, Arnold tells her to hit the road. He may have tons of money, but he can’t let an illegitimate child ruin his marriage, his reputation, and his lifestyle.”

“I’m with you,” Conrad said. “Six months later, Elliott is born. His mother has no job, no money, and, as the birth certificate says, no husband. When Elliott is old enough, his mother tells him the story of his father, and for years, Elliott harbors nothing but hatred for the man who won’t acknowledge his existence. So when the opportunity comes to get Dad’s money – his rightful inheritance – Elliott wants to make sure he’s first in line.”

“See, I think he’s more involved than that,” Sara said. “Elliott has way too much information to just be showing up at the reading of the will.”

“You think he took part in the murder?”

“That’s the only way to explain how he knew about the wine cellar,” Sara pointed out. “He and Rafferty could’ve plotted Arnold’s death together. Rafferty would get the money; Elliott would get revenge. But when Kozlow got arrested and the plan fell apart, Elliott realized that he had even more to gain than the resolution of his I-hate-Daddy complex. At that point, he switched sides, turned on Rafferty, and pushed me to win.” As the logic of her own argument registered, Sara slumped back in disgust. “Which means Elliott plotted the death of his own father.”