David Baldacci - True Blue

Roy got back on the chair, unhooked the wires, and handed it to her.

She turned it over. “Smoke detectors are popular items to substitute with surveillance pin cameras.”

“Surveillance? Of Diane?”

“They tapped her computer, why not her home?”

“So why didn’t the police find it?”

“They probably removed it before the cops searched the place. I think you need to go to your office tomorrow and do some real digging.”

“You really believe it’s tied to Shilling?” he said skeptically.

“Billion-dollar contracts? Companies in the Middle East? Uh, yeah.”

“It’s actually pretty boring stuff. Just business.”

“One man’s business is another man’s apocalypse.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Just humor me and check around. Come on, I’ll drop you off at your condo.”

Outside, they climbed on the Ducati. Before Mace started the engine, she turned and looked at him. “So why did you tank the HORSE game?”

“Why do you think?” Roy said quietly.

Mace found she couldn’t meet his gaze. She slowly turned back around, engaged the engine, and they sped off.

HEY, Ned.”

Roy walked through the lobby on the way to the office elevators. He’d had pretty much a sleepless night listening for any sound of killers coming for him. He’d taken the bus to work and planned to drive the Marquis home. Ned was behind the marble desk looking excited.

“Roy, did you hear about the fire here last night?”

Roy tried his best to seem surprised. “There was a fire? Where?”

“Well, actually there wasn’t a fire. Somebody pulled the fire alarm. That’s a crime!”

“Yeah, I know. Who would’ve done that?” he said impassively.

“The fire department guys were pissed. I heard they traced it to the alarm pull on the fifth floor. I guess they’ll run the key card access records to see who was here last night.”

At this comment Roy’s ass clenched like a boxer’s fist. He’d used his key card to get in the building with Mace. That would be on the database. If no one else was in the building last night, how was he going to explain that? What was the penalty for falsely pulling a fire alarm?

This day could not get any worse, he thought.

He was wrong about that.

“Roy?”

He looked up as he entered the firm’s lobby. Chester Ackerman was staring at him.

“Yeah, Chester?”

“What the hell happened to your face?”

Roy touched his still swollen eye and bruised cheek. “Ran into a door.”

“I need to talk to you. Now .” Ackerman turned and marched off.

Roy eyed Jill, the young receptionist, who’d been watching the two men closely. “Any idea what’s going on, Jill?”

“You’re in trouble, Roy.”

“That one I’d figured out. Any idea why?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Roy dropped off his briefcase in his office and headed to Ackerman’s. He closed the door behind him and sat down across from the man.

“You’re looking less stressed out, Chester,” Roy began amiably.

“I have no idea how that’s possible,” Ackerman shot back. “Because I feel like my damn head is going to explode.”

Roy crossed his legs and tried to look mildly curious. “So what’s up?” Please, God, don’t let it be about the damn fire alarm.

“What the hell is this I hear about you representing the man the police have arrested for Diane’s murder? Please tell me that is complete and total horseshit.”

“Hold on, I can explain that-”

Ackerman rose, looking even more agitated. “So it’s true?”

“I met with the guy. He wants me to rep him. I haven’t-”

“You know Diane’s killer? You actually know the bastard?”

“Wait a minute, it hasn’t been proved that he is Diane’s killer, Chester.”

“Oh for God’s sakes. He was in the building that morning. No, he was trespassing . And I understand some of the evidence the police found ties him to the murder.”

“Who told you that?”

“What I want to know is how you could possibly think of defending this person?”

“I guess it’s that whole innocent-until-proven-guilty thing they taught us in law school.”

“Don’t give me that crap. And besides, you work for this firm. We do not do criminal defense work. You cannot accept an assignment like that without the firm’s approval, specifically my approval as managing partner.” Ackerman added in a snarl, “And you don’t have a chance in hell of getting it.”

“I only met with the guy once, okay? I defended him on an assault charge when I was with CJA. But I don’t think the guy did it, Chester.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think. You are not representing him. Period.”

Roy stood. “I’m not really liking your whole tone here.”

“Trust me, you’ll like it a lot less if you go down that road.”

“I can quit.”

“Yes, you can. But why in the hell would you? Give up the golden egg for some homicidal homeless freak?”

Roy felt his face growing hot. “He’s not a freak. He’s a veteran. He fought and bled for this country. He’s still got North Vietnamese shrapnel a few millimeters from his spine.”

“Right, right. And he killed Diane. So make your choice.”

Roy turned to the door. “I’ll let you know.”

“Kingman!”

“I said I’ll let you know.”

Roy slammed the door behind him.

MACE HAD BARELY slept at all. This time, though, it wasn’t nightmares about Juanita and the throat-slicing Rose coming for her. It was the recurring image of her father in his coffin. She’d just turned twelve, Beth was eighteen and getting ready to head off to college at Georgetown on full scholarship. The day of the funeral the casket had been closed because of the disfiguring nature of Benjamin Perry’s fatal wounds.

Yet Mace had seen her father that final day. She’d snuck away. Her mother was mush, collapsing on any shoulder she could find, while Beth was handling everything that their mom should have been dealing with. They had gotten to the church early, before the coffin had been brought into the chapel.

It was just Mace and the coffin in a small room next to where the memorial service would be held. She remembered every smell, every sound, and every breath she’d drawn in the few minutes she stood there, staring at the big wooden box with the metal handles on the sides containing her dad. To this day she wasn’t sure why she’d done it, but she’d gathered her courage, walked up to the casket, held her breath, and pushed the top open.

As soon as she saw him, she wished someone had stopped her. She stared at the body lying there for a few terrible seconds.

That face.

Or what was left of it.

Then she’d turned and run from the room, leaving the top still up. That wasn’t her father. Her father didn’t look like that .

Mace rushed to the bathroom, and ran cold water over her head and splashed some on her face. She looked at herself in the darkened reflection of the mirror. She could never shake the feeling that she had let him down somehow. If she had just reacted in a different way, seen or heard something, she believed that her father would still be alive. If she only had done something! Anything!

My fault. Age twelve. My fault.

Beth had found her hiding in a closet at the church after closing the casket. She too had seen her father dead. And neither sister had ever talked about it since. Beth had held Mace for what seemed like forever that day, letting her cry, letting her shake, but telling her that everything was going to be okay. That the body in the coffin was just a body, their dad had already gone on to a much better place. And he would watch over them forever. She’d promised. And Mace had believed her. Her sister would never lie to her.