Talk (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 4) Page 24

Kunsa snapped up the microphone. "Kunsa here. He's got to be in there somewhere. What about the basements? You guys check the furnaces? Hot-water boilers?"

  "Yes."

  "Ask them about the water tanks in the towers," Alexandra said from the back seat.

  "It's the first place we looked," Kunsa said. He pressed the microphone button. "Double-check the water tanks in the towers, will you?"

  "Will do."

  "What about drainage pipes? Sewers?" Alexandra said. "What's the sewer system like up here?"

  "It feeds into the city sewer—" He looked at her. "No, it's too small. And we checked that out right away."

  "We've got to think like him," Alexandra stressed. "He's a government guy, he gets plans, has access. Now, what plans would he have?"

  "Same as I have right here," he said, lifting the blueprints. "Except that pal of yours took some other plans and I don't know what they were."

  Alexandra was resting her chin on the back of the seat, studying the map in Kunsa's hands. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to a mark on the grounds. "There's another one. And another."

  Kunsa got on the radio. "Kunsa here. What are these hash marks on the bottom of the map again?"

  "We don't know," came the answer.

  Kunsa pushed the button. "What do you mean we don't know?"

  "We thought they indicated where the sewer system was, but they don't. The sewers run north to south."

  Kunsa sighed. Then he pressed the button. "So find out what they are."

  There was a pause, a crackle of the radio and then, "How, sir?"

  "Dig, you idiot, dig!" Kunsa yelled, dropping the microphone on the seat in disgust and opening his car door.

  Seagulls screeched as they circled over the water. The tide was rising, lapping closer and closer to the men. Will's head had fallen forward to rest on his knees; the cop was listening to the sounds of cars in the distance. He was sitting down now too, on a rock to the side of the drainage pipe.

  The cop's eyes narrowed. His eyes looked around, and then he turned his head toward the drainpipe.

  He swallowed, then slowly reached down to slide his hand onto his gun. As he pulled it out of its holster, Will's head jerked up with a start, making the cop quickly flash his left hand as a warning to be quiet. He pointed to the pipe.

  The seconds ticked by. The seagulls screamed. The water lapped. The traffic noises of Buffalo continued.

  There was a metallic clank.

  Silence.

  Then another.

  They saw the grate ease forward out of the inner pipe, a filthy hand grasping the grille in the center. And drop it.

  Seconds went by.

  One hand appeared on the edge of the pipe. Then another. And then Leopold's head cautiously began to emerge.

  "Here, let me help you," Will said, jumping up to grab his wrist.

  "Noooooooo!" His scream was like a girl's.

  The cop had taken hold of Leopold's other wrist and the two men pulled him out onto the rocks where he started fighting and flopping around like a fish. The cop finally pushed the small of Leopold's back down flat with a thrust of his foot, reached down to pull the knife out of Leopold's belt and toss it safely away. Then he cuffed him and began reading him his rights.

  Leopold struggled against the handcuffs, screaming with rage.

  Part V

  Fallout

  24

  "Hi,” Alexandra said, walking into Cassy's office at West End.

  "You're back!" the network president cried, jumping up and coming around her desk to give Alexandra a huge hug, and then holding her at arm's length. "You look positively dreadful."

  "Yeah, well, you're not exactly fresh flowers, yourself, my friend," Alexandra said, laughing, and giving Cassy's arms a squeeze. "I just wanted to let you know I'm here. I'm going to crash in my dressing room for a couple of hours."

  "You should go home, you haven't slept in days."

  "It's better I work tonight. Besides, we've got such a big story! Will's already got the gang starting on a special." She smiled. "We're kind of hoping you could clear Thursday night's slate."

  "Three hours?" Cassy's eyes were large. "You think we've got enough?"

  "We've got fantastic stuff coming in," the anchorwoman said, eyes shining. "Denny and Alicia are pulling great clips on Jessica, and Denny's got tapes from the Arizona days, and Phoenix and Buffalo are working on Plattener's history. I've got Craig researching Dirk down in D.C. with the Bureau, and WST is covering his years here in the New York area—I've got John in Albany on the energy commission, we've got tons of footage of the vans and the trucks and that old mental hospital, and I've got a line on who the dying guy is," she finished, taking a breath.

  "Get this," she resumed. "Word is, the guy's fingerprints came up in the system as an old CIA operative. Can you believe it?"

  "Cassy?" Chi Chi interrupted, poking her head around the door. "Sorry, but it's Will Rafferty calling from the hospital in Buffalo.”

  "William Rafferty!” Cassy said gaily into the speaker. "I've got you on the speakerphone. Alexandra just blew in.”

  "Hi, Will!" the anchorwoman called.

  "Hi! I was just calling to let you know that Jessica's out of surgery and the doctor said everything went as well as it possibly could."

  "Oh, thank heavens," Cassy said.

  "It was pretty funny, though," Will continued, "because they gave her some shots before they brought her to the operating room—Valium and Demerol or something.”

  "And morphine, probably," Alexandra said. "That's what they gave me when they did my shoulder.”

  "Well, whatever it was, it was supposed to knock her out," Will said. "But Jessica got high as a kite and—what was that Alan Greenspan phrase?"

  "Irrational exuberance?" Alexandra asked.

  "That's what she had," Will said, laughing. "So when they wheeled her to the operating room, instead of dozing she was singing and telling jokes."

  They laughed. And then Alexandra asked, "What's the story on Lawson, what are they doing with him?”

  "They've already moved him," Will reported. "Downstate somewhere. I can't find Kunsa or Cole and no one's talking, but they've probably moved him under the federal courthouse in Manhattan, to the holding pens.”

  "The charges are federal?" Cassy asked, surprised.

  "If we're right," Will explained, "and Lawson was trying to kill Jessica's kidnapper to prevent him from implicating Lawson's part in the kidnapping, the feds get the case."

  "But it all happened in New York State," Cassy said. "I don't understand how the charges can be federal."

  "When someone's part of a kidnapping, he's implicated in everything that follows. So when Plattener took Jessica over the state line to make that stop in Salt Springs, it became an interstate crime and so the feds get it."

  "What about Plattener?" Alexandra wanted to know.

  "He's here, somewhere, being treated for whatever the hell's wrong with him."

  "They don't have him in the same hospital as Jessica, do they?" Cassy said, horrified.

  "No! Sorry. And Slim's arrived and is watching over Jessica with Wendy. I meant that Plattener's still in Buffalo somewhere. As to where he goes from here, no one's saying. They've got that woman's body up here, from the storage locker, and then there's Bea's murder down there. Word is, the prosecutors in both cities are going for the death penalty, and if that's the case, the feds won't even pursue the kidnapping charges."

  "Go to a hotel, Will, and get some rest," Cassy told him. "Jessica's going to be out of it until tomorrow."

  "I'll just wait until she comes up from the recovery room, then I'll go. I am fairly wrecked." Pause. "Listen, I'm glad you're there, Alexandra. I know you were counting on me to put the special together, but I'm afraid I really need some time off."

  "Take a couple of days," Alexandra said quickly. "That's okay."

  He hesitated. "No. It's going to have to be more than a couple of days."

  "I see,
" Alexandra said faintly.

  "I had a talk with the FBI psychiatrist up here and she seems to think Jessica's going to have an awful lot to deal with. And I want to be there for her." He paused again. "I think I need to get her away from all of this for a while."

  "Well, sure," Alexandra said, sounding agreeable in voice but looking decidedly stricken.

  "We'll find someone to pinch-hit," Cassy said. "Don't worry."

  "Oh, great, thanks, Cass," Will said, sounding relieved. "Lex, I'm sorry, but—"

  "No," the anchorwoman said quickly. "You should be with her—or I should. One of us should be and I'm just glad you're there now."

  After they got off the phone with Will, Cassy turned to Alexandra.

  "What?" the anchorwoman said irritably, getting up.

  "You need some rest."

  "I need to get started on this special," Alexandra said, going to the door.

  "Have Kate substitute for Will."

  "Kate's not Will, nobody is," Alexandra said, opening the door. Then she stopped, closed it again and turned around. "I'm sorry. It's been very stressful. And this is a really important special. It could be unbelievably good and I'm used to counting on Will."

  "Then count on me," Cassy said, going over to her chair to pick up her jacket. "I'll get Langley to cover for me and I'll produce your special. What are you looking at? Think I've lost my touch?"

  Alexandra looked startled. "No." She blinked. And then shrugged. "Well, okay, come on, we've got work to do."

  "He's got a slight concussion and a broken cheekbone," the doctor reported. "A bunch of bumps and bruises, but he'll be okay."

  "He doesn't look okay," one cop said dubiously, looking at James Plattener, who was sitting on the end of the examination table in a paper gown, eyes staring vacantly ahead. He had red wounds and purple marks all over his pale body, but his bare legs were nonetheless pressed modestly together and his hands were folded neatly on his lap.

  "So, Dirk, would you care to explain these?" Agent Kunsa asked the former FBI agent in the interrogation room, throwing a stapled bunch of papers down on the table. They were reduced photocopies of detailed building plans.

  Dirk leaned over to look and shrugged as he made eye contact with his lawyer. "I don't know what those are."

  "They're copies of the blueprints for Rockefeller Center," Kunsa told him.

  "So?"

  "So you worked with these same plans as an active agent when President Clinton visited Rockefeller Center."

  Dirk shrugged again. "I don't remember."

  "You personally gave them to the Secret Service to plan security at that event."

  "I still don't remember."

  "As you can see on this set of the plans," Kunsa continued, pointing, "the maintenance passageways are all carefully detailed."

  "If you say so," Dirk said, yawning.

  "But the plans you gave out to security for Jessica Wright's book party at Rockefeller Center did not include all of the maintenance passageways. Someone had blanked part of them out."

  "You'll have to ask the NYPD about that."

  "We did. The copy they gave you had all the passageways marked on it."

  "I wouldn't know about that," Dirk said.

  "What about this man?" Norm said, sliding a photograph onto the table.

  It was a head shot of Jessica's kidnapper, the man she had called Hurt Guy. "What is his name?"

  "I have no idea," Dirk said, sliding it back across the table.

  "That's funny, since you know him very well," Norm said.

  "I told you, I have no idea who he is," Dirk said.

  "Makes me want to give him a swift kick in the teeth," Detective Hepplewhite whispered to Agent Cole from behind the observation glass of the interrogation room. He was whispering because there were others in the room with them.

  "He's been like this from the beginning," Cole whispered back. "And it doesn't look as though Denton's going to make it. And when he dies, so will the link between Lawson and the kidnapping."

  Hepplewhite didn't say anything, but stared stonily ahead into the interrogation room.

  "You know that we've got you, Dirk," Norm Kunsa was saying, "dead to rights for attempted murder."

  "Oh?" Dirk'said. "Who is it I am supposed to have attempted to murder?"

  "This man," Norm said, pointing to the picture.

  "But I told you, I've never seen him before."

  "Oh, you've seen him before," Norm said, starting to pace. "In fact, I introduced you to him." Dirk Lawson looked at Kunsa with the first spark of interest. Norm took a turn around the room before continuing. "I personally introduced you to this man when you were active with the bureau."

  "'That's not true," Dirk said.

  Norm walked on. "How do you know it's not true?"

  "I know because I've never met this man."

  "And I'm telling you that you have, Dirk," Norm said, turning to him, "because I personally introduced you to him. He was a CIA operative named Calvin Denton who collaborated with us on the Gedonia drug bust in Miami in 1989."

  Dirk looked at his lawyer. "He's making this up."

  "Fine, whatever makes you comfortable to think, Dirk," Norm said, resuming his stroll. "I just wanted you to know what I will be testifying to at your trial."

  "Then you'll go to jail for perjury," Dirk told him.

  "No," Kunsa said. "I don't think I will."

  "Did Kunsa introduce them?" Hepplewhite whispered.

  Agent Cole didn't answer.

  Hepplewhite looked back into the interrogation room. "Why do I get the distinct feeling he's going to get off?"

  "Maybe because he set everything up in preparation for this day should it ever arrive," Agent Cole said, sounding bone-tired.

  "But we know he had to be in on it," Hepplewhite said. "'There's got to be proof somewhere.

  "He's a trained agent," Cole said. "He knows everything there is to know about proof and how to get rid of it."

  "All right, Dirk," Agent Kunsa said, "let's go back to your attempt to murder Calvin Denton while he lay dying."

  Lawson looked bored.

  "I've got two excellent eyewitnesses—a highly decorated New York City detective and one of the most revered news anchors in America—who saw you pull out a stun gun, set it on the highest charge and move in to shock Denton with it."

  Lawson sighed, sounding put out. "How many times do I have to tell you? I found the stun gun in the mental hospital and had it in my pocket. When I kneeled down to see what the injured man could tell me about the perp's whereabouts, I pulled it out in case the perp was faking and he tried to attack me. If it was set for the highest charge, it was set on that before I found it."

  "Why didn't you pull out your gun?"

  "I didn't have a gun. I couldn't pack one when I had to fly and you never issued me one in Buffalo."

  "Why did you pick up the stun gun? You know not to touch the evidence."

  "Given the fact we were in a hostage situation with a known murderer, it was reasonable to annex any weapon of the perp's. Which brings me to a question," he said, following Norm's stroll around the room with his eyes. "What the hell was Waring doing packing a nine millimeter?"

  "She's licensed to carry," Kunsa told him. "She's got a permit."

  "She always made out to me she was anti-gun," Lawson mused.

  Kunsa turned to smile. "A very wise policy, don't you think? Given the fact you turned out to be such a fucking scumbag lowlife?"

  Trying to sound as though he was attempting to humor him, Dirk said, "I didn't do anything, Norm. You're way off base."

  "Too bad Hepplewhite didn't let Alexandra just blow you away," Kunsa sighed, circling the table. "So what were you going to do afterward, Dirk? If you had used the stun gun and killed Denton? What were you going to do when the autopsy showed that he had seven broken ribs, a critical concussion, cerebral hemorrhage, broken wrist, smashed kneecap, massive internal injuries and a blood pressure next to dead? How were you
going to explain the danger he presented you—danger that required pumping as many electrical volts into him as you could?"

  Lawson just shook his head, as if disgusted. "This is going to mean your career, Norm. You can't go around arresting innocent people. Remember Richard Jewel and the Atlanta bombing."

  "This is getting us nowhere fast," Hepplewhite muttered, turning from the window abruptly.

  Agent Cole moved close to him. "So do you get a crack at Plattener?"

  "That's what they tell me, for the Bea Blakely murder."

  "Where are you going to put him?"

  "Riker's for now," Hepplewhite said. He looked at his watch. "I've got to get going. Listen," he said, moving even closer, "Rafferty's bringing Jessica back to New York in a few days. If this—" he tossed his head in the direction of the interrogation room—“continues, I think we should pay her a visit and talk to her about Denton. What do you say?"

  "I say Norm will have a fit. We're supposed to leave her alone."

  "And I think we need to talk to her about Denton. Just you and me—quietly. What do you say?"

  "I say okay,” she replied.

  25

  "That's beautiful," Jessica murmured as she came out of her hospital bathroom, spotting the clay pot of white and purple African violets on the windowsill.

  She was showered and dressed, her arm bandaged and in a sling, and now all they needed was for the hospital staff to bring a wheelchair so she could check out. Her head and face had dreadful bruises on it, and except for a little patch of hair on the back of her scalp and less than a quarter of one eyebrow, she was bald, and so she had a bandanna tied over her head.

  At first it had taken a great deal of coaxing to allow Will to see her like this ("Even Demi Moore had eyebrows in G.I. Jane," she had complained to Alexandra over the phone. "I look a lot more like Uncle Fester after being mugged."), but she was glad she had agreed to see him. The way he had been looking at her ever since told her everything she had needed to know. He did love her, even like this.

  "Who are those from?" she asked, referring to the flowering plants. "And how is it I am so lucky as to see them?"