Донна Эндрюс - Access denied

Evans had backed to the other side of the room and stood in front of an open doorway, as if he felt safer with an escape route at his back. Not much of an escape route, Tim thought. He'd already seen Claudia assess the distance between her and Evans, perform some mental calculation, and sidle a few feet closer.

"We know—well, not everything," Maude said. "But enough to know what a jam you're in."

Kyle didn't react.

Tim was startled to feel his cell phone begin to vibrate. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved that it hadn't made an audible interruption or annoyed at the distraction. Later, he thought, willing the phone to stillness.

"We know about you using the credit card numbers you got from your job," Maude said. "And how you were ordering things with the cards and having them delivered to vacant houses—the house in Leesburg a few weeks ago, other houses before that, and then this week, the house in Oakton.

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The one where your friend Tayloe was murdered."

Evans flinched at that. No, Tim thought, he's not the killer. Not that they had any proof, but seeing Evans's face, he was convinced.

"I didn't kill him," Evans said in a flat voice. As if it were a reflex. As if he didn't expect them to believe it? No, more as if he wasn't really sure he had to deny it. Good heavens, Tim thought, seeing Evans's expression. He's wondering if one of us did it.

"We didn't think you had," Maude said. "And if you didn't, we think we know who did. And if we're right, you're in danger."

"I'm trying to leave town," Evans said.

"Leaving town may not be enough," Maude said. "If the man who had Tayloe killed is who we think he is, you can't possibly run far enough. Turn yourself in to the police. Tell them what you know. They can arrange protection."

"Oh, yeah, like jail time," Evans said, flatly.

"Better than a cemetery," Maude said.

Evans swallowed hard.

"The man who's after you is no lightweight," Maude said. "The FBI is looking for him, too. Look, we've got our lawyer outside. She can help you turn yourself safely in to the police. Convince them that you need protection from Tayloe's killer."

Evans was shaking his head. From the corner of his eye, Tim could see that Claudia was shaking hers, too. As if to say "I told you he wouldn't go for it."

"Just answer a few questions, and then we'll leave you alone," Maude said. "Or maybe even help you, if you help us."

Evans shrugged. Maude evidently decided to assume the lack of protest implied agreement.

"Was the scheme your idea or Blake's?" Maude asked.

"Blake?" Evans said, with a snort. "Give me a break—the

guy can barely read. I came up with the idea. Happened to me, actually—someone charged twenty-four hundred dollars on my credit card, back when I was out of work and trying to ignore the bills, so I didn't even notice until six months later."

"Didn't you report it?" Maude asked.

"Yeah, but by that time it was too late to do anything," Evans said. "Or maybe they just told me that because they didn't believe me. Twenty-four hundred dollars wasn't even that much compared to everything I owed, but it burned me, you know? That they were charging me all those fees and interest and stuff, and they wouldn't even listen to me when I was telling the truth about being ripped off. So when I got into skip tracing and found I could get everything on a person—social security, credit card numbers, the works—I decided to rip the banks off."

"The banks?" Maude said. "I'd have said you were ripping off the people whose credit cards you stole."

"Only if they're stupid enough to pay," Evans said. Talking seemed to help his nerves—he'd gone from scared to boastful. "Sooner or later they'll all skip town or declare bankruptcy anyway, and the credit card company has to eat it. Why shouldn't I get something out of it?"

"Where did Blake come in?"

"I needed someone to pick up the stuff and sell it," Evans said. "I figured that was the part where you were the most likely to get caught."

"Oh, so you had your friend do it?" Tim couldn't help saying.

"He wasn't a friend, he was just this guy I knew from school," Evans said. "His older brother was always getting into trouble for stealing, so I figured he could probably figure out where to fence stuff."

"How did you keep the police from finding you when they began following Blake?" Maude asked.

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"That was one of the good parts," Evans said. "We'd meet every couple of nights in different fast-food places. He'd come in and after he'd been there for a while, he'd go to the John and stick a plastic bag in the toilet tank with the money and the paperwork from all the packages, so I could track what had come in. And then I'd go to the John, pick up the money, and replace it with the address of the next drop-off house."

"Smart," Maude said. "If he didn't hand over the money, he didn't get any more stuff to sell."

"Exactly," Evans said. He smiled, and Tim decided that the "SlyKyle" e-mail address was aptly chosen.

"When did you realize something was wrong?" Maude asked.

"We were supposed to have an exchange in McDonald's that night," Evans said. "I waited till midnight, and he never showed. So I drove by his house—I figured if his van was still there, I could find a pay phone, call his house, give him hell. And I saw a police car."

"You went into hiding?"

Evans nodded.

"I didn't hear about the murder until the next day," he said. "But I knew something had gone way wrong."

Maude glanced back at Tim and then at Claudia, as if she wasn't sure what to ask.

"You always got the credit card numbers from your job?" Claudia asked. "You didn't start getting any from some other source?"

"Where else would I get them?" Evans asked, "I'm not a crook."

"Do you know the name Nestor Garcia?" Tim asked.

Evans shook his head, and his face showed no sign of recognition.

"Look, I'm not a lawyer," Maude said. "But I bet a good lawyer could probably make a case for extenuating circum-

stances. Get you oft lightly. Just let us bring in our lawyer, and you can talk to her and—"

"It's not going to work." Evans said. "Even if I—"

He paused as if a sudden thought had hit him. And then he made a small sound, and stepped forward, into the room.

A tall man in an Arizona Diamondbacks cap stepped into the room, holding a gun to Evans's head. Tim's lists clenched instinctively when he recognized Ishmael. Maudes burglar. The man who'd probably killed Nikki.

"Surprise." Ishmael said.

Tim heard a muffled thump and saw a splash of blood on the doorframe. So that's what a silencer looks like, Tim thought, as Evans's body slumped to the floor and Ishmael turned the gun in his direction.

None of my human friends are answering Should I call 911 ? Tor all I know, they 'ie already caught whoever knocked Sam out and are in the middle of interrogating h■<;»:. r Eu both. Or they could all be knocked out. d at gunpoint. .had —/ had no way of knowing. And just u bat u as 1 supposed to say to 911. any u ay ? The last J. Ydpretended to be Maudes burglar alarm. They'd but Maude isn't out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but ft .ties around. I had a feeling that out here it could take the police a long time to answer an automated burglar

\ thing u as oi er. hou u ere u e supposed t plain an automated call from a nonexis:. n?

V rri He'd . me quickly enough before, when he thought Maudi was in trouble. I used one of our corporate cell phom

.: messa-y. :s's cellphom. "Help!" it

said. "Maude in danger! Send ambulance!" Then I gate the ad-./ signed Sam's name to it. I waked rhing to hap: ailing back to

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see if the message was a hoax. Seconds ticked by. Should I send another message? What if Norris was asleep or something?