‘Whose death did that involve?’ I asked, hoping she might come clean without thinking.
‘Good try, Matt. Do I look like I’ve lost it completely?’
I was thinking about the hit-and-run incident in Florida, the one that had killed Gordy Lister’s brother. If she had been hired to kill Rothmann, it wasn’t unlikely that the same employer would have wanted to put Rothmann’s number two under pressure. But who was that employer?
‘They’re on the road again,’ Sara said, shutting down the laptop.
The flashing cross on the monitor had started to move.
I watched this former lover of mine as she drove on. I was thinking about the question she had asked-‘Do I look like I’ve lost it completely?’ Until she’d said that, I hadn’t thought anything of the sort. But now I had begun to wonder about the sweat on her face and the tension around her eyes. Could it be that the invincible Soul Collector was finally beginning to come apart at the seams?
‘I wish to see my lawyer immediately.’
Peter Sebastian was sitting across the table in the interview room from Sir Andrew Frogget, Arthur Bimsdale by his side. He looked down at the photographs that had been taken on their entry to the apartment in Adams-Morgan.
‘I’ve already outlined the law pertaining to sexual acts with minors,’ Sebastian said. ‘Would you like me to send these photographs to your lawyer?’
Sir Andrew stared back, but there was less fire in his gaze than before.
‘Since you’ve spent weekends with Mr. Mallinson at his place in the Northern Neck, you’ll know his daughters Molly and Kirsten.’ He glanced at his assistant.
‘Molly is thirteen and Kirsten eleven,’ Bimsdale supplied.
Sebastian watched as the Englishman looked away. He bided his time. The guy had medals from the Gulf War; he wasn’t going to crack so easily. After several minutes, he picked up one of the photos and examined it. Frogget was in the fore as he stood over the girl, who was naked on the sofa. She had just registered the sound of the FBI team’s entry to the apartment, but it looked like she was turning from Sir Andrew in revulsion.
‘I imagine Lady Annabel would be interested in this,’ Sebastian said. ‘Have you got a fax machine at home?’
Sir Andrew smiled frostily. ‘If you think that my wife will be in the least bit disturbed, you know even less about the British upper classes than your fat-arsed countrymen who hang around outside Buckingham Palace.’
Sebastian knew the investment banker’s marriage was under strain, but he didn’t come back on that. He wanted to see how much punishment Frogget could take.
‘All right,’ he said impassively. ‘So you won’t mind if we send the images to your old regiment?’
The Englishman blanched, but attempted to rally. ‘Surely you don’t believe all that crap about officers and gentlemen, Mr. Sebastian.’
‘What I believe is not germane to this interview.’ The senior FBI man looked at his notes. ‘We can also send them over to the British ambassador. I believe you knew him at Cambridge?’
There were spots of red on Sir Andrew’s cheeks now. ‘I-’
Sebastian raised a hand to cut him off. ‘Of course, we will have to provide your board of directors with the images. We also have the fax numbers of the London Times and BBC News.’
The knight’s shoulders dropped.
Peter Sebastian had one last lance to pierce the bull’s hide. ‘We would be sure to send the photos to your London club, as well.’
All the fight had gone out of the old soldier. ‘Enough,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘What is it you want from me?’
‘You know that very well, Andrew,’ Sebastian said, deliberately dropping the title. ‘I want to know every detail about the backers of Woodbridge Holdings.’
It was only as the Englishman began to spill what was a very revealing can of beans that Peter Sebastian fully realized what he had done.
Twenty-Eight
Sara kept us about a mile behind Abaddon’s vehicle. There were signs to Waco on the left and Dallas on the right, but we stayed on back roads. It was difficult to make out what kind of country we were going through. All I saw were the lights of small settlements and deserted gas stations.
‘Any idea where he’s headed?’ I asked.
The Soul Collector drew a forearm across her forehead. ‘Nope. He seems to be avoiding large population centers, probably because of the weapons he’s carrying.’
‘You’re not aware of any connection he has with this neck of the woods?’
She glanced at me. ‘Killers aren’t like authors, Matt. We don’t have pages on Facebook or websites that advertise where we come from and where we like to spend our holidays.’
‘So where do you live?’ I told myself I was gathering material that could prove useful down the line, but I was actually interested in the life of the woman I had once loved. I knew she’d need some encouragement to talk. ‘Let me guess. Somewhere central so you can get to both coasts quickly.’ I stuck a pin in my mental map of the U.S. ‘Kansas City?’
‘What?’ She laughed. ‘Have you ever been there?’
‘I have, actually. There are some good blues bars.’
‘Yeah, right. Anyway, it’s not great for flights. St. Louis would be better.’ She paused, her brow furrowed. ‘Now I come to think of it, there was talk that Abaddon was based there.’
‘Maybe that’s where her brother’s going.’
She thought about that and then tapped buttons on the tracking device. ‘Dallas to St. Louis is 621 miles, ten and a half hours. Bit of a long haul in that heap.’
‘True. Then again, if he wants to keep his weapons to hand, he’s hardly going to fly.’
‘Mmm.’ She seemed distracted.
‘You haven’t told me.’
‘What?’
‘Where you live.’
‘What makes you think I even have a fixed abode?’
‘Come on, Sara. I know you. Even when we were together, you kept on your own place.’ I remembered the plants and wall hangings she filled the rented flat with. ‘You need somewhere to shut out the world.’
‘Give me one reason why I should tell you.’
‘If you don’t make it, who’s going to water your plants?’
That off-the-cuff remark seemed to get to her. She blinked and kept her eyes on the road.
‘I tell you what,’ she said. ‘If it looks like I’m on the way out, I’ll give you my address.’ She gave an abrupt laugh. ‘Watch out for the booby-traps.’
I could tell she wouldn’t be talking anymore. I went back to moving my wrists surreptitiously; there didn’t seem to be any slack developing. Eventually another part of my body hit the panic button.
‘Em, sorry about this, but I need to pee.’
Sara looked at me as if I were a small boy interrupting the teacher.
‘What? We’re not all superhumans with steel bladders.’
‘Evidently,’ she muttered, pulling off to the side. ‘Come on, then.’ She went round to my door and hauled me out. There was a pistol in her other hand.
I walked into the long grass. ‘You have to help me.’
She registered that I couldn’t use my hands. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ She came over and put the muzzle of her weapon against my belly, then unzipped my fly and stepped back. ‘I’m not holding it.’
Overcome with relief, I smiled. ‘Wouldn’t exactly be the first time.’
The first shot whistled past my head and Sara shoved me to the ground. Several more rang out. I heard the bullets thud into the earth beyond us. I rolled farther into the grass, hands over my exposed dick. By the time I looked back, Sara had blasted off a clip in reply. An engine revved and a car accelerated past us. I got a clear view of the driver and the gunman.
‘Are you all right?’ Sara called, from the side of the pickup.
‘Just about. Fortunately I’d finished peeing. You?’
‘Yeah. Get over here.’
I did as I was told, keeping my head down even though our assailants were long gone.
‘Did you see them?’ I asked.
‘A man and a woman. She was driving.’