Backfire
Page 61
“He could have managed to get to the window unseen by the deputies guarding the house,” Eve said. “It’s a big property, with lots of ways in, if one climbs the cliff or sneaks through Mr. Sproole’s yard. It’s a huge risk to take, though. It’s more likely he saw you a week or more ago. When he was planning to shoot Ramsey.”
Sherlock said, “Molly, did you tell the marshals?”
Molly nodded. “They weren’t happy. They checked around the house right away, but they didn’t find anything. You know the rain was heavy.”
Molly stared at each of them in turn. “He’s going to kill Ramsey unless you find him. How many more times can he fail? He was promising me, you heard the certainty in his voice. He’s going to kill Ramsey.”
Savich hated the despair in her voice, and he snapped her back. “Molly, have you taken a bath every night since last Thursday night when Ramsey was shot?”
She started. “Well, no. I’ve been so exhausted, I’ve hopped in and out of the shower, but last night—” She gave a hoarse laugh. “Last night I needed to calm myself down, get it together for the children. I soaked for a good thirty minutes. And maybe he was outside, watching me, and I didn’t know it—I was lying there, my eyes closed, and I was so thankful Ramsey had survived the elevator attack—” She looked at them blindly. “I know he was there watching me, all the time, he was watching me.”
And in everyone’s mind—Could he have gotten to her last night, broken into the house without alerting the marshals outside?
Sherlock said with infinite calm, “He’s not going to try to take you. His whole purpose is to terrify you, to scatter your focus, and our focus. The best thing for your peace of mind, and for ours, would be to take you and the kids to a safe house for the duration.”
Cheney nodded. “I can arrange it.”
Molly said, “That’s like in the movies. I can’t believe any of this, it’s all so surreal, and Ramsey—” She broke off, pulled herself together, cleared her throat. “All right. Good. I’ll try to make the boys think it’s a mini-vacation, maybe down by the zoo? We’ll need to transport Emma’s piano, since she plays at Davies Hall in a week and a half.”
Harry said, “It’d be less risky to rent one, bring it to the safe house.”
“No, that wouldn’t work. Emma’s piano—it’s been her lifeline since Ramsey was shot.”
Cheney said, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you. I’ll head home, then, and get everything ready. But what if he’s watching the house? What if he sees us leave? And follows us? He’ll know you’re taking us away; he’ll know it.”
Savich said, “No, Molly, he won’t know where you’re going. Listen to me, this guy isn’t some kind of superman who knows all, sees all. He’s only one man, and we’ve done this before. Trust me, this is going to throw him off his game.”
But not for very long, Eve thought. They had no idea whether his game included continuing trying to kill Ramsey, or even what his game was. Not that she would say that to Molly. He knew they would all hear his phone call to Molly. If he thought about the consequences at all, which, of course, he had, she knew they were going to have to be very careful while moving her.
Molly slowly nodded. “I don’t want to tell Ramsey about this. There’s nothing he can do. I can’t stand worrying him more when he’s helpless. It would destroy him to know he can’t protect us. All right, I’ll get Emma out of school now.”
Crandall Building
California Street
San Francisco
Late Monday morning
Damn her eyes, I’m one of the most famous defense lawyers in the world. How can she do this to me?
Milo Siles mashed the elevator button once more, then another couple of times for good measure. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped in. Eight other people surrounded him, most taller than he, and he felt the familiar punch of claustrophobia. He closed his eyes and thought about the .38 he’d left in his glove compartment. He’d managed to wheedle a permit for it, not an easy task in San Francisco. It was a good thing he’d left it there or he might have shot the selfish cow and her greedy moron of a lawyer. How demeaning it was to be forced by a lamebrained judge to meet with a lamebrained mediator on the twelfth floor of the Crandall Building, in her lawyer’s conference room, to listen to her lawyer demand half a million dollars from him every single year for the rest of her selfish self-centered life, plus the house in Claremont, plus the shares in the vineyard in Sonoma, plus support for their two boys until they were eighteen.
Sherlock said, “Molly, did you tell the marshals?”
Molly nodded. “They weren’t happy. They checked around the house right away, but they didn’t find anything. You know the rain was heavy.”
Molly stared at each of them in turn. “He’s going to kill Ramsey unless you find him. How many more times can he fail? He was promising me, you heard the certainty in his voice. He’s going to kill Ramsey.”
Savich hated the despair in her voice, and he snapped her back. “Molly, have you taken a bath every night since last Thursday night when Ramsey was shot?”
She started. “Well, no. I’ve been so exhausted, I’ve hopped in and out of the shower, but last night—” She gave a hoarse laugh. “Last night I needed to calm myself down, get it together for the children. I soaked for a good thirty minutes. And maybe he was outside, watching me, and I didn’t know it—I was lying there, my eyes closed, and I was so thankful Ramsey had survived the elevator attack—” She looked at them blindly. “I know he was there watching me, all the time, he was watching me.”
And in everyone’s mind—Could he have gotten to her last night, broken into the house without alerting the marshals outside?
Sherlock said with infinite calm, “He’s not going to try to take you. His whole purpose is to terrify you, to scatter your focus, and our focus. The best thing for your peace of mind, and for ours, would be to take you and the kids to a safe house for the duration.”
Cheney nodded. “I can arrange it.”
Molly said, “That’s like in the movies. I can’t believe any of this, it’s all so surreal, and Ramsey—” She broke off, pulled herself together, cleared her throat. “All right. Good. I’ll try to make the boys think it’s a mini-vacation, maybe down by the zoo? We’ll need to transport Emma’s piano, since she plays at Davies Hall in a week and a half.”
Harry said, “It’d be less risky to rent one, bring it to the safe house.”
“No, that wouldn’t work. Emma’s piano—it’s been her lifeline since Ramsey was shot.”
Cheney said, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you. I’ll head home, then, and get everything ready. But what if he’s watching the house? What if he sees us leave? And follows us? He’ll know you’re taking us away; he’ll know it.”
Savich said, “No, Molly, he won’t know where you’re going. Listen to me, this guy isn’t some kind of superman who knows all, sees all. He’s only one man, and we’ve done this before. Trust me, this is going to throw him off his game.”
But not for very long, Eve thought. They had no idea whether his game included continuing trying to kill Ramsey, or even what his game was. Not that she would say that to Molly. He knew they would all hear his phone call to Molly. If he thought about the consequences at all, which, of course, he had, she knew they were going to have to be very careful while moving her.
Molly slowly nodded. “I don’t want to tell Ramsey about this. There’s nothing he can do. I can’t stand worrying him more when he’s helpless. It would destroy him to know he can’t protect us. All right, I’ll get Emma out of school now.”
Crandall Building
California Street
San Francisco
Late Monday morning
Damn her eyes, I’m one of the most famous defense lawyers in the world. How can she do this to me?
Milo Siles mashed the elevator button once more, then another couple of times for good measure. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped in. Eight other people surrounded him, most taller than he, and he felt the familiar punch of claustrophobia. He closed his eyes and thought about the .38 he’d left in his glove compartment. He’d managed to wheedle a permit for it, not an easy task in San Francisco. It was a good thing he’d left it there or he might have shot the selfish cow and her greedy moron of a lawyer. How demeaning it was to be forced by a lamebrained judge to meet with a lamebrained mediator on the twelfth floor of the Crandall Building, in her lawyer’s conference room, to listen to her lawyer demand half a million dollars from him every single year for the rest of her selfish self-centered life, plus the house in Claremont, plus the shares in the vineyard in Sonoma, plus support for their two boys until they were eighteen.
