Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man

“It took all the nerve I had. And... and he answered my question with a question. He...” She broke down at this point and seemed to be struggling to keep from collapsing.

Archer just held the woman for a long minute in silence, except for her sobs. When they finally subsided, Archer handed her back the flask and said, “Just finish it, Beth. The whiskey and your story. You can do this.”

She drank the whiskey but held on to the flask, gripping the metal hide like it was her last attachment to life. Her words came in a rush, like they had been bottled up inside of her for two centuries instead of a mere two years. “He said he wondered whether people would think it odd that I didn’t go up with my mother that day. That I should have been with her, but let something as unimportant as a luncheon prevent me from being with her, when she might have most needed me. Because a second pair of hands, even untrained ones, and another mind to troubleshoot the situation might have made all the difference.” She stopped and stifled a sob as she leaned her head against Archer’s chest.

“In other words, he guilted you.”

She glanced up at him. “He did worse than that, Archer. He made me doubt myself.”

“What possible motivation would you have to kill your mother?”

“Oh, he supplied that, too.” She ran her fingers down the flask as though it held all the answers she needed, only in Braille. “He again wondered whether others would think I wanted her out of the way so I could be the reigning queen of the Armstrong family. He even suggested that some might think with Eleanor gone, he was the only one standing in the way of my inheriting a vast fortune. He joked that he would have to watch himself around me.”

“I think you needed to watch yourself around him.”

“So he’s really not my father?”

“No, he’s not.”

They both looked up to see Dash standing in the doorway holding a piece of paper.

“Now we just need to find Armstrong. Because when we find him, we find your husband. Do you know where he might take Douglas if he intended that the man would never come back alive?”

Beth Kemper nodded. “I do, Willie. He would have taken Douglas to the Cliffs, his little retreat high up in the mountains.”

“Can you tell us how to get there?”

“Yes, I can.”

“It cost me two sawbucks and a promise to the records clerk that I’d provide him with lascivious details about some of my cases,” said Dash.

Dash and Archer were in the Delahaye starting their climb up into the mountains. Daylight had brought increasing clouds, and a huge storm system was coming in off the water like an armada ready to do some serious business. The mists and fogs were already making their ascent treacherous.

They had stopped at the office, where Dash had picked up something that he said would probably be necessary. When Archer saw it, he couldn’t disagree with the man’s logic.

“Why would the clerk want to know those sorts of details?” asked Archer.

“He’s really a Hollywood screenwriter masquerading as a records clerk, at least in his own mind.” Changing gears, Dash said, “So, the Cliffs. Armstrong’s little retreat high up in the mountains. A man might just go up there and have an accident.”

“But if he kills Kemper, surely the jig is up for him.”

“Why? Particularly if the body is never found? Armstrong’s already laid the groundwork for Drake’s campaign being backed by Vegas mobsters. Then Drake offs himself and the mobsters are getting concerned because their guy is out of the race and Kemper is the only game in town for the mayor’s slot. They get to him in jail and ask for his loyalty. He refuses. So what do they do? They take him and kill him, and the mob guys disappear and are never seen again. Where does Armstrong come into the equation in a court of law? He’ll have a dozen alibis that he and his goons were nowhere near the jail because they weren’t. And what evidence do we have that he had Fraser killed except for an affidavit by a lady who’s so scared of Armstrong that if she does come back and testify, she’ll probably claim we killed everybody, instead of Armstrong being behind it?”

“So that’s why we’re heading up to the Cliffs? To rescue Kemper?”

“Yes, but Archer, pull off the road, I don’t want you getting us into an accident when I tell you what I have to.”

Archer stopped on the shoulder and stared at the man. “What are you talking about?”

“I made two phone calls from the hospital. One to Connie. She’s fine. The other call I made was to Midnight Moods.”

“Why’d you call there?”

“The thing is, Archer, we have to assume that Armstrong knows all that we know, okay? So knowing what we know, what does the guy do?”

“Well, if he thinks we’re coming after him, he might want to get some leverage over us.”

“That’s exactly right. Now, Connie is the only person in this town I really care about. But like I told you, she’s safe.” He stopped and stared expectantly at Archer, who, to his credit, had seized on where Dash was going halfway through his last sentence.

“They have Liberty. You called Midnight Moods and she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry, Archer.”

Archer drove the car back on the road. “No, Willie, you’re wrong there. They’re going to be the ones who are sorry.”

The rain started to fall a quarter of the way up. Halfway up they could barely see out of the windscreen. The fog was so thick, fledgling day had been turned into night.

Archer was gripping the wheel so hard his forearms were growing weary. All he could think about was Liberty and what they might be doing to her right now. Especially Hank and Tony.

He suddenly realized something. “Wait a minute, what’d you find at the hospital?”

“Exactly what I hoped to find. Now don’t ask me anymore. Just concentrate on your driving,” he added as a curve shot up.

Archer had to brake and cut the wheel hard to navigate it. The edge of the Delahaye came perilously close to a thousand-foot drop.

“You scared?” he asked. “I don’t mean by the ride up. But when we get there.”

“Well, I’m not stupid, Archer, so of course I’m scared. How about you?”

“Yeah, but it’s neck and neck with anger in me.”

“Channel both to your advantage. Armstrong won’t be alone and there’s hostages, so it’s complicated.”

Archer fought the storm two thousand feet higher. The farther up they went, the worse it got. Finally Dash said, “Slow it down, Archer. From what Beth told us, the place is right at the end of that road.”

“Okay.”

He turned down the road, and then stopped the car.

“Cut the lights.”

Archer did so. They didn’t bother to try to see what was up ahead. Even God was probably having a hard time doing that this morning.

“She gave us the layout of the place,” said Dash. “We need to hit it from front and rear. Which one do you want?”

“I’ve always been partial to the back door.”

“Smart man. Me too. So seniority here dictates that you go in through the front.” Dash took a moment to remove from the floorboard what he had brought. “You ready, soldier?” he asked.

“I thought ‘liberty’ was worth dying for in the war. And my opinion hasn’t changed.”

They moved off silently into the darkened mist.

Archer moved just like he had as a scout in the Eighth Army, first in Italy and then in Hitler’s Rhineland. That is, he moved like a ghost. And next to him Willie Dash did the same. They had grilled Beth on landmarks around the Cliffs, and Archer and Dash came upon one of them. It was one of the largest oaks Archer had ever seen, but either lightning had struck it years before or a forest fire had come through at some point. It still clung to the dirt, a blackened husk of electrified wood that was apparently too stubborn to fall down.