Andrew Gross - No Way Back - Part 3 of 3

Bachman said, “I’m listening …”

Harried, I explained the whole thing to him. Hruseff. Curtis. How the agent killed him right in front of my eyes, and the second gun fell across the bed to me. “This person was a Homeland Security agent, Mr. Bachman. And I watched him kill Curtis. Not in a shoot-out. Not under any threat, or in self-defense as it’s been alleged. But in cold blood. Right in front of my eyes. Right there on the bed.”

Bachman shook his head in puzzlement at me. “Why?”

“That I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Curtis was a journalist. He was working on something that implicated the U.S. government in a shooting in Mexico. Look, I found something he wrote on the subject …” I reached inside my pocket and took out a copy of the article. “I’m certain he found out something to do with the Mexican drug trade. Something he shouldn’t have.”

“You said this other person in the room was a Homeland Security agent. He identified himself?”

“No. Afterward, I looked through his pockets and found his ID. And if he was an agent, he damn well wasn’t up there for any good. He was only there to kill Curtis, Mr. Bachman.”

The lawyer nodded, taking it in. We heard a car door slam, and a man who had parked nearby walked up to the elevator. Bachman smiled briefly, uttering, “Morning,” as I looked away. The elevator opened and the man stepped in. Then Bachman turned back to me. “The problem is, Ms. Gould, two other people ended up dead.”

I told him the rest. How I picked up the gun, knowing that the killer would come for me in the bathroom. How I identified myself and still the guy just raised his weapon. “Yes, I shot him. He was preparing to shoot me.”

“And then you just ran?”

I told him how I ran from the room and how the guy’s partner tried to silence me too. Then I told him how Dave died as well. I went through the whole thing. “Not in the kitchen. Not by my hand. They shot him! I left that gun on the bed back in that hotel room, Mr. Bachman. I swear!”

He kept looking at me with this lawyerly, evaluating stare. I had no idea if he actually believed me. But I kept going.

“I tried to turn myself in. You heard what happened at Grand Central the other day. I wasn’t trying to run away. They’re trying to silence me, Mr. Bachman. For what I saw. A close friend was trying to work out my arrest, and he ended up being shot too. That’s why I can’t turn myself in. Not until I find out why they’re trying to kill me.”

“So how do I fit in?” he asked. “Assuming I even believe all this. You said I was the only person who could help you.”

I reached inside my jeans and pulled out Curtis’s BlackBerry.

“I took this from Curtis’s hotel room when I ran. It belonged to him.” I pushed the power button and then scrolled through Curtis’s pictures. “This is the last one he took. Just a couple of days before he died.”

I held it out and watched Bachman’s eyes go wide. He stared at the photo of Lauritzia Velez.

The picture hit home. Harold Bachman’s face went ashen.

“Curtis visited her,” I said. “Just before he died. She knew something he needed to find out. I’m sure it was connected to Cano. To the killing of those two DEA agents down in Mexico, which he thought was connected to the airport bombing that took your wife. Maybe he was trying to get to her father. Maybe he suspected something else about why those agents were killed.”

Bachman shook his head. “This just isn’t something I can get involved in, Ms. Gould.”

“Mr. Bachman, this is the second time I’ve had to say this in the past two days, but we’ve both lost people we loved.” I put my hand on his arm. “Whether you believe me or not, I loved my husband every bit as much as you did your wife. The difference is, I can’t even grieve for him. I’ve got half of the United States government out looking for me. And I’m being framed for a horrible murder I didn’t do.

“And the thing is, their deaths are connected, Mr. Bachman. Your wife’s and my husband’s—whether you can see that or not. I need to find out why Curtis Kitchner was killed. It’s the only way I can clear myself and get my life back. Mourn who I’ve lost. And whatever that reason is”—I looked in his eyes—“I’m absolutely certain it leads through Lauritzia Velez. I’m here because I need to find her, Mr. Bachman.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Ms. Gould.”

“Why? Why is it impossible? You and your wife were her protectors. You represented her. You have to know where she is! I have to find out what she knows. Why Curtis needed to find her. What there was about the killing of those drug enforcement agents in Mexico that every one’s trying to keep quiet.”

“You don’t understand …” His voice lowered, but it was still firm. “This girl’s been the target of some very dangerous people, and I’m not about to put her in any more danger. Any more than I would put my own kids in danger. Besides, I’m quite sure she doesn’t know anything that can help you. She wasn’t a part of any of this.”

“Maybe what Curtis needed to know was how to find her father? He was a part of it.”

“I assure you she doesn’t know where her father is.” Bachman reached down and picked up his briefcase. “Look, I understand your predicament, Ms. Gould, and I’m sorry. I truly am. If you want, I’ll recommend someone who can represent what you’ve told me to the proper authorities. This is the United States, for God’s sake; they can’t just put you in a cell and make you disappear.”

“They damn well can, Mr. Bachman. They’ve already tried.”

“But I hope you understand it’s best if we don’t have any further direct contact. I can’t allow my name to be connected with this Cano person in any other way. I have my kids. My only goal is to protect them now. We’ve already seen what this man will do …”

He was slipping away from me, and without Lauritzia Velez I had nothing. Only possibilities. Suppositions. No proof on anyone. He made a move to leave, but I grabbed his arm. “You looked into those DEA murders yourself, Mr. Bachman. For Lauritzia’s trial. Did you ever come across someone named Gillian?”

“Gillian?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, no …” He moved toward the elevator.

“The agent who killed Curtis said that name. ‘This is for Gillian,’ he said, before he pulled the trigger and killed him. Maybe Ms. Velez would know who he meant.” My voice took on a tone of desperation. “Just let me speak with her once. That’s all I ask. Please …”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I have to go.” He pushed past me and pressed the elevator button several times. “I wish I could help you, Ms. Gould. You see the position I’m in.”

“Here …” I tried to force the article Curtis had written into his hand, but it fell to the floor. “Curtis wrote about all this. It’s what got him killed.”

“And that’s precisely why I can no longer afford to get involved. Don’t you understand?”

The elevator opened. Bachman stepped in.

I stood there looking back at him, my last chance to prove myself dissolving away. “Look up the agent I shot. Hruseff. You’ll see, he wasn’t always Homeland Security. He was in the DEA. He was reassigned. You’ll see.”

“I’m really sorry, Ms. Gould—”

“Look them all up,” I said as the doors began to close. “They’re all connected.”

Harold Bachman’s face disappeared, and I kneeled down to pick up Curtis’s article, sure my last chance to prove I was innocent was now gone.