Tail Spin
Page 24
“I told Greg Nichols. He heard me out, then said he wasn’t about to help me destroy Senator Abbott’s name and drag the rest of his family through the muck. Of course, he’d be pulled into the muck himself, maybe even do some time in jail, but neither of us mentioned that.
“I didn’t want to talk to Laurel Kostas and Quincy Abbott since I believe to my toes they killed him, and why. I guess I felt deep down that they’d look at me the same way, as something to be kept silent, or like I was crazy or some sort of rodent who’d crawled into their beautiful, perfect lives.”
Jack leaned forward, his hands clasped between his legs. “It’s not difficult to connect the dots here. The Abbotts—their holdings and wealth are up there with the DuPonts, the Bar ringtons, the Jetty-Smiths. I can see they’d hate the scandal, the questions, the media probes about their family ethics, and all the rest. And a possible lawsuit by the little girl’s family, of course. Sure, they might have lost some of their A-list status, but it would have blown over, as every scandal does. But I can’t see them losing much of their money over it, and after all, their brother wasn’t some loser schmuck; he was a United States senator.
“I’m sorry, Rachael, but I can’t see one or all of them murdering him to keep him quiet. The motive isn’t there.”
Rachael said, “As an outsider, I saw them very clearly. I cannot tell you how very proud they are. Their sense of entitlement, their sense of worth, their arrogance—it’s off the scale. They worship their name, their lineage, worshipped their father, the founder of the Abbott dynasty. Laurel Kostas’s children attend the finest prep schools, and they’ll attend the finest colleges, both of them destined for power, destined to marry into other prominent families. And Jimmy’s two daughters attest to that. Both their husbands are from wealthy families as well.
“In their eyes, a scandal like this would ruin the family, and they wouldn’t accept that. They would determine that the removal of this threat was not only justified, it was rational. That’s why they killed Jimmy and have tried to kill me.”
FIFTEEN
And then three days later, you ended up drugged and thrown into Black Rock Lake,” Jack said.
“Yes.”
Savich added, “But bottom line, Rachael, all you have in the way of proof that he was murdered is your belief that your father had given up both driving and drinking.”
“If I’d managed to come up with any proof, I would have camped out at the gate of the White House while I called the Washington Post. I wouldn’t have run like a rabbit after they tried to drown me. Not that it mattered. They found me fast enough.”
Sherlock rose and stretched, nudged her husband’s shoulder. “Well, boss, what now?”
Savich grabbed her hand, gave it a squeeze. “I’m thinking it might be best to simply go public now. That should stop any more attempts on your life.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to go public. Not just yet.”
“What? You like being bait?” Jack said.
She replied, “I don’t need your sarcasm, Agent Crowne. I’ll tell you, when I climbed out of that lake, I saw everything very clearly. I agree that going public might stop them, but they’ll get away with killing Jimmy, their own brother. I have to find proof, don’t you see? I want to bring them down, and if it means my neck is out there, then so be it.” She looked at each of them. “Maybe you can help me do this, maybe you can’t. But it’s my only goal at the moment. Then I’m going public and telling the world exactly what kind of man Jimmy was. After all, only an honorable man would feel such devastation about accidentally killing a child.
“I know you’re all concerned about the repercussions, but I firmly believe that people are forgiving.
“Now that I’ve spilled my guts to you, I’m going to get my car fixed, and I’m driving to Slipper Hollow. I’ve got lots of thinking to do, lots of planning.”
Savich said, “Rachael, what is the state of your finances?”
She blinked. “I suppose I’m very rich, at least in theory, since Jimmy left me one-third of his estate. In actuality, what I have is some money in my duffel I pulled out of Jimmy’s petty-cash box before I ran Friday night. I haven’t counted it, but there’s maybe a couple thousand. As to the disposition of the rest of his estate—I don’t really know. I intended to call Mr. Cullifer next week, ask him what to do about it.”
Savich typed something into MAX, then looked up. “I think it’s a good idea you disappear into Slipper Hollow for a while. Jack, can you escort her there, check everything out, make sure she’s safe?”
“Hold on, Savich. What about Timothy? I’ve got—”
“He’s still unconscious,” Savich said. “We’re moving him to Washington tomorrow, easier to protect him. Another thing you need to do is put your head together with Rachael’s, make sure she gets all the details down. We’ll look for proof on our end. A few days. All right?”
“For a few days, then,” Jack said. “Rachael?”
“For a few days,” she repeated. “Then I want to come back and take them down.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Savich rose, shook Sheriff Hollyfield’s hand. “Thank you for all your assistance. I like Parlow, Kentucky. The sheriff of Maestro, Virginia, Dix Noble—he’s not more than three, four hours away—is a good friend. You two would have a lot to talk about—he was a detective with the NYPD before he moved to the boondocks. Don’t tell him I said so, but I’d put your brain right up there with his.
“We’ll keep in touch. Sherlock, you and I are going to spend the night near the hospital. Besides seeing Dr. MacLean, I want to see if our shooter, Roderick Lloyd, still wants a lawyer.”
“And here I’d counted on spending the night at Greeb’s B&B,” Sherlock said, “falling asleep with that stuffed duck’s head staring at me.”
Roy Bob was the wounded hero of Parlow. By the time he stepped out of the clinic, arm in a sling, both he, Rachael, and the gunman who’d shot up his garage were major celebrities.
Everyone wanted him to tell what had happened in the garage that day. He was strutting around in his bay, fiddling with Rachael’s Charger despite having his painful arm in a clumsy sling, half a dozen citizens marveling at his strength and stamina, when Jack and Rachael walked in.
“I didn’t want to talk to Laurel Kostas and Quincy Abbott since I believe to my toes they killed him, and why. I guess I felt deep down that they’d look at me the same way, as something to be kept silent, or like I was crazy or some sort of rodent who’d crawled into their beautiful, perfect lives.”
Jack leaned forward, his hands clasped between his legs. “It’s not difficult to connect the dots here. The Abbotts—their holdings and wealth are up there with the DuPonts, the Bar ringtons, the Jetty-Smiths. I can see they’d hate the scandal, the questions, the media probes about their family ethics, and all the rest. And a possible lawsuit by the little girl’s family, of course. Sure, they might have lost some of their A-list status, but it would have blown over, as every scandal does. But I can’t see them losing much of their money over it, and after all, their brother wasn’t some loser schmuck; he was a United States senator.
“I’m sorry, Rachael, but I can’t see one or all of them murdering him to keep him quiet. The motive isn’t there.”
Rachael said, “As an outsider, I saw them very clearly. I cannot tell you how very proud they are. Their sense of entitlement, their sense of worth, their arrogance—it’s off the scale. They worship their name, their lineage, worshipped their father, the founder of the Abbott dynasty. Laurel Kostas’s children attend the finest prep schools, and they’ll attend the finest colleges, both of them destined for power, destined to marry into other prominent families. And Jimmy’s two daughters attest to that. Both their husbands are from wealthy families as well.
“In their eyes, a scandal like this would ruin the family, and they wouldn’t accept that. They would determine that the removal of this threat was not only justified, it was rational. That’s why they killed Jimmy and have tried to kill me.”
FIFTEEN
And then three days later, you ended up drugged and thrown into Black Rock Lake,” Jack said.
“Yes.”
Savich added, “But bottom line, Rachael, all you have in the way of proof that he was murdered is your belief that your father had given up both driving and drinking.”
“If I’d managed to come up with any proof, I would have camped out at the gate of the White House while I called the Washington Post. I wouldn’t have run like a rabbit after they tried to drown me. Not that it mattered. They found me fast enough.”
Sherlock rose and stretched, nudged her husband’s shoulder. “Well, boss, what now?”
Savich grabbed her hand, gave it a squeeze. “I’m thinking it might be best to simply go public now. That should stop any more attempts on your life.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to go public. Not just yet.”
“What? You like being bait?” Jack said.
She replied, “I don’t need your sarcasm, Agent Crowne. I’ll tell you, when I climbed out of that lake, I saw everything very clearly. I agree that going public might stop them, but they’ll get away with killing Jimmy, their own brother. I have to find proof, don’t you see? I want to bring them down, and if it means my neck is out there, then so be it.” She looked at each of them. “Maybe you can help me do this, maybe you can’t. But it’s my only goal at the moment. Then I’m going public and telling the world exactly what kind of man Jimmy was. After all, only an honorable man would feel such devastation about accidentally killing a child.
“I know you’re all concerned about the repercussions, but I firmly believe that people are forgiving.
“Now that I’ve spilled my guts to you, I’m going to get my car fixed, and I’m driving to Slipper Hollow. I’ve got lots of thinking to do, lots of planning.”
Savich said, “Rachael, what is the state of your finances?”
She blinked. “I suppose I’m very rich, at least in theory, since Jimmy left me one-third of his estate. In actuality, what I have is some money in my duffel I pulled out of Jimmy’s petty-cash box before I ran Friday night. I haven’t counted it, but there’s maybe a couple thousand. As to the disposition of the rest of his estate—I don’t really know. I intended to call Mr. Cullifer next week, ask him what to do about it.”
Savich typed something into MAX, then looked up. “I think it’s a good idea you disappear into Slipper Hollow for a while. Jack, can you escort her there, check everything out, make sure she’s safe?”
“Hold on, Savich. What about Timothy? I’ve got—”
“He’s still unconscious,” Savich said. “We’re moving him to Washington tomorrow, easier to protect him. Another thing you need to do is put your head together with Rachael’s, make sure she gets all the details down. We’ll look for proof on our end. A few days. All right?”
“For a few days, then,” Jack said. “Rachael?”
“For a few days,” she repeated. “Then I want to come back and take them down.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Savich rose, shook Sheriff Hollyfield’s hand. “Thank you for all your assistance. I like Parlow, Kentucky. The sheriff of Maestro, Virginia, Dix Noble—he’s not more than three, four hours away—is a good friend. You two would have a lot to talk about—he was a detective with the NYPD before he moved to the boondocks. Don’t tell him I said so, but I’d put your brain right up there with his.
“We’ll keep in touch. Sherlock, you and I are going to spend the night near the hospital. Besides seeing Dr. MacLean, I want to see if our shooter, Roderick Lloyd, still wants a lawyer.”
“And here I’d counted on spending the night at Greeb’s B&B,” Sherlock said, “falling asleep with that stuffed duck’s head staring at me.”
Roy Bob was the wounded hero of Parlow. By the time he stepped out of the clinic, arm in a sling, both he, Rachael, and the gunman who’d shot up his garage were major celebrities.
Everyone wanted him to tell what had happened in the garage that day. He was strutting around in his bay, fiddling with Rachael’s Charger despite having his painful arm in a clumsy sling, half a dozen citizens marveling at his strength and stamina, when Jack and Rachael walked in.
