Дэвид Балдаччи - Mercy

“And she killed my brother, Ken, as I told you.”

“I never met Ken, but I’m sure he was tough.”

“He was. But with someone who knew what they were doing? Like you? He wouldn’t be much of a match. One man I talked to said Cain tore through a professional fighter with a ferocity he’d never seen before. And she pulled a gun on this same man, and he said she would have blown his head off without a second thought.”

“Tell me, why did she kill Ken?”

“Does it matter?”

“Just trying to get the full flavor. But if you’d rather not answer...?”

“My brother was with a woman, Rosa. He was beating her. This woman, let’s call her El Cain for consistency, intervened. She gave him multiple opportunities to walk away, but he grew increasingly incensed. When he pulled a gun on her, well, she took it to another level.” Buckley glanced at her. “Does that make a difference?”

“No. But would it be impertinent for me to say that your brother got what he deserved?”

“It would not be.”

“So why are you doing this, then?”

“If you had grown up in my family, you might understand.”

“I might, and then again, I might not. What’s the next move?”

“Find El Cain.”

She touched the iPad’s screen. “And we talk to Leonard and Wanda Atkins, currently residents of Huntsville, Alabama, which explains why we’re here. Do you think the agent on the case has been by to talk to them?”

“I would be stunned if they haven’t.”

“And if the Atkinses won’t cooperate?”

“I have ways of making them do so — I’m talking money, of course — and if my methods don’t work, I’m sure you can think of some.”

“You appear to be all-in on this. Otherwise, I doubt you’d be taking such personal risks by going after her with the FBI already involved.”

He glanced over at Spector, frowning. “I’ve taken personal risks my whole life, Britt, just as you have. You do so when the stakes are worth it.”

“Well, you like a challenge, too. Maybe you’ve been stagnating.”

Buckley nodded, looking thoughtful. “There’s no maybe about it. I have been. The earlier years were the best, when I was building something. Even when I had nothing there was a dream in place. I guess there was nowhere to go but up, and it all depended on me. Now I go to board meetings or sit in on video conferences. I listen to stupid, boring people say stupid, boring things, and I wonder why I’m even bothering. They make their money and I make my money. But one can only make so much money.”

“Spoken like someone who has far more than he’ll ever need.”

“Then I’ll triple your fee, but don’t ever think money will replace the thrill of living, Britt.”

“I never said it would, Peter. That’s why I do what I do.”

We might be too late,” said Spector as they walked up the sidewalk to the Atkinses’ front door that afternoon.

Spector had checked into her room at the hotel and had her champagne and salad in Buckley’s suite. Then Buckley had made numerous phone calls and sent texts and emails. Spector had gone to the gym to engage in her intense daily workout, which had left her sweaty and breathless. She had showered and changed, and they had then driven over here.

Spector examined the knocked-over lamppost. “That looks very recent.”

They hurried up to the front porch, and Buckley rapped on the door.

Wanda Atkins opened it and stared up at them, bleary-eyed.

“I hope you’re not selling something, because I’m not buying.”

“It looks like you need to buy a new lamppost anyway,” said Spector, pointing to the demolished one.

Atkins stared at it and her eyes bulged. “Well, damn.”

“How did it happen?” asked Buckley.

“Excuse me, but who are you folks?” asked Wanda suspiciously. Buckley said, “We’re trying to find a woman named El Cain, but you might know her as Rebecca Atkins.”

“How do you know anything about all that?” demanded a stunned Atkins.

“May we come in?” asked Buckley.

“No, no, I don’t want any visitors now.”

Buckley took out his wallet and pulled out a fistful of cash. “It will be worth your while, Mrs. Atkins. We just have some questions. You are Wanda Atkins, correct?”

“Yes, yes I am, and I don’t care who knows it. I got nothing to hide. But what do you want with Becky?”

“This would be much better discussed privately,” said Buckley smoothly.

“Well, all right,” said Atkins, staring at the bills clutched in his hand.

She led them into the living room. Len was sleeping in his wheelchair.

“Mr. Atkins?” said Buckley.

“Yes, he’s had a stroke. I don’t want to wake him. He can’t talk anyway — he just grunts,” she said bluntly.

“All right,” said Buckley, with a glance at Spector, who was drilling Atkins with a hard look.

They all sat down, and Buckley said, “Have you seen Cain lately? Might she have been the one to knock down your lamppost?”

Spector added, “That would have taken a lot of force.”

“Well, she’s a big woman, bigger than you,” said Atkins before she caught herself.

“So she has been here then?” interjected Buckley.

“You mentioned money?” said Atkins.

Buckley placed two thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills on the coffee table. “And depending on what you can tell us, I’ll double that amount.”

“But what I don’t get is why everyone’s all so interested in Becky now.”

“Like who?” asked Buckley.

“The FBI has been here. Couple of gals.”

“ Female FBI agents?” said Spector quickly.

“Well, one was I guess. The other woman was too old. I think the agent said she was an assistant.”

“Interesting,” noted Spector. “That’s not usually how the Bureau conducts investigations. What was the agent’s name?”

“She left me her card.” Atkins rose, went into the other room, and came back out with one of the business cards Pine had left her and handed it to Buckley. He looked at the name and then passed it to Spector.

“Did you know this Atlee Pine?” asked Buckley.

“No, but there’re almost three thousand female special agents at the Bureau.”

“Are you with the FBI, too?” asked Atkins, who was listening closely to this.

“No, but I know some of the agents.”

Buckley said, “What did you tell Agent Pine?”

“She already knew a lot, but I filled in some blanks.”

When she didn’t seem inclined to say any more, Buckley pushed the pile of cash toward her. “And we look forward to you doing the same for us, filling in blanks.”

“But what’s your concern in all this?”

“We have been tasked with finding El Cain. She’s wanted in connection with a crime.”

“What sort of crime?”

“The worst of all, I’m afraid — murder.”

“Murder? Who was killed?”

“We can’t go into that right now. But she is wanted by the police. What we’re trying to do is find her and convince her to turn herself in. That way no one gets hurt.”

“My God. She never mentioned a murder.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

“Wait a minute, you’re not talking about my son, Joe, are you? Because Becky didn’t kill him.”

“No, I’m talking about a murder that just happened recently. Now, we’ve made inquiries. And we need you to validate our conclusions.”

Atkins’s face screwed up in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“That your son and daughter-in-law kept Rebecca prisoner in a cabin in the woods and, from the looks of things, abused her emotionally and physically. She escaped from there. Your son was killed by, perhaps, his wife. And both his wife and Rebecca disappeared. And that you and your husband knew about it. And that you left Georgia after it all happened. And Rebecca is now calling herself El Cain.”