“So this is all about covering up a rape and murder.”
She nodded. “Suddenly Joe realizes he’s holding dynamite. What to do with the evidence? He didn’t know who to trust. And who would listen to a guy who’s already been labeled a paranoid kook? That must be what he sent you. A copy of this tape.”
“Only I never received it.”
“And by then they’d split up, to avoid capture. But each of them took a copy. Olena was caught before she could bring hers to the Tribune. Joe’s was probably swept up after the hospital takedown.” She pointed to the TV. “This is the last copy.”
Lukas turned to Mila, who’d been hanging back in a far corner of the room, like a skittish animal afraid to come any closer. “Have you yourself seen this man in the video, Mila? He came to the house?”
“The boat,” she said, and gave a visible shudder. “I saw him at a party, on the boat.”
Lukas looked at Jane. “You think she means Charles Desmond’s yacht?”
“I think this is how Ballentree did business,” said Jane. “Desmond’s world was a boys’ club. Defense contracts, Pentagon players. Whenever there are big boys playing with a lot of money, you can bet sex comes into it. A way to close the deal.” She ejected the videocassette and turned to face Lukas. “Do you know who this man is? The one on the video?”
Lukas swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time believing that tape is real.”
“The man’s got to be a major player. Look at everything he’s managed to do, the resources he’s been able to call up, to track down this videotape.” She stood before Lukas. “Who is he?”
“You don’t recognize him?”
“Should I?”
“Not unless you were watching last month’s confirmation hearings. He’s Carleton Wynne. Our new director of National Intelligence.”
She released a sharp breath and sank into a chair facing him. “Jesus. You’re talking about the guy in charge of every intelligence agency in the country.”
Lukas nodded. “The FBI. CIA. Military Intelligence. Fifteen agencies in all, including branches of Homeland Security and the Department of Justice. This is someone who can pull strings from the inside. The reason you don’t recognize Wynne is that he’s not a very public man. He’s one of those guys in the gray suits. He left the CIA two years ago, to head up the Pentagon’s new Strategic Support Branch. After the last intelligence director was forced to resign, the White House nominated Wynne to replace him. He’s just been confirmed.”
“Please,” interjected Mila. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“It’s down the hall,” murmured Lukas, not even glancing up as Mila slipped out of the living room. His gaze stayed on Jane. “This is not an easy man to bring down,” he said.
“With this videotape, you could bring down King Kong.”
“Director Wynne has a whole network of contacts in the Pentagon and the Company. This is the President’s hand-picked man.”
“Now he’s mine. And I’m taking him down.”
The doorbell rang. Jane looked up, startled.
“Relax,” said Lukas, rising to his feet. “It’s probably just my neighbor. I promised I’d feed his cat for the weekend.”
Despite that reassurance, Jane sat on the edge of her chair, listening, as Lukas answered the front door. His greeting was a casuaclass="underline" “Hey, come on in.”
“Everything under control?” the other man said.
“Yeah, we were just watching a video.”
That’s the moment she should have understood that something was not right, but Lukas’s relaxed tone of voice had disarmed her, had lulled her into feeling safe in this house, in his company. The visitor walked into the room. He had cropped blond hair and powerfully muscled arms. Even when Jane saw the gun he was holding, she did not fully accept what had just happened. Slowly she rose to her feet, her heart pounding in her throat. She turned to Lukas, and her shattered look of betrayal evoked in him merely a shrug. A look of sorry, but that’s how it goes.
The blond man took in the room at a glance, and his gaze focused on Regina, who slept soundly among the couch cushions. At once he turned his weapon on the baby, and Jane felt a stab of panic, sharp as a knife to the heart. “Not a word,” he said to Jane. He knew just how to control her, just how to find a mother’s most vulnerable spot. “Where’s the whore?” he asked Lukas.
“The bathroom. I’ll get her.”
It’s too late to warn Mila, thought Jane. Even if I screamed, she would have no chance to escape.
“So you’re the cop I heard about,” the blond man said.
The cop. The whore. Did he even know the names of the two women he was about to kill?
“My name is Jane Rizzoli,” she said.
“Wrong place, wrong time, Detective.” He did know her name. Of course; a professional would have to know. He also knew enough to keep a respectful distance from her, far enough away to react to any move she might make. Even without his gun, he was not a man she could easily tackle. His stance, the quietly efficient way he had taken control, told her that, unarmed, she did not have a chance against this man.
But armed…
She glanced at the floor. Where the hell had she left the diaper bag? Was it behind the couch? She didn’t see it.
“Mila?” Lukas was calling through the bathroom door. “Are you all right in there?”
Regina suddenly gave a start and let out a jittery cry, as though aware that something was wrong. That her mother was in trouble.
“Let me pick her up,” said Jane.
“She’s fine right where she is.”
“If you don’t let me pick her up, she’ll start screaming. And she knows how to scream.”
“Mila?” Lukas was rapping on the bathroom door now. “Unlock this, will you? Mila!”
Regina, as predicted, began to howl. Jane looked at the man, and he finally gave a nod. She gathered the baby into her arms, but her embrace seemed to hold no comfort for Regina. She can feel my heart pounding. She can feel my fear.
There was banging in the hallway, then a crash as Lukas broke through the door. Seconds later he came running back into the living room, his face flushed. “She’s gone.”
“What?”
“The bathroom window’s open. She must have crawled out.”
The blond man reacted with a mere shrug. “Then we’ll find her another day. The video is what he really wants.”
“We have it.”
“You’re sure it’s the last copy?”
“It’s the last.”
Jane stared at Lukas. “You already knew about the videotape.”
“Do you have any idea how much unsolicited junk a reporter gets in the mail?” said Lukas. “How many conspiracy theorists and paranoid nuts there are out there, desperate for the public to believe them? I wrote that one column about Ballentree, and suddenly I’m the new best friend for all the Joseph Rokes in this country. All the weirdos. They think if they tell me about their little delusions, I’ll take the story from there. I’ll be their Woodward and Bernstein.”
“That’s how it should work. That’s what journalists are supposed to do.”
“You know any rich reporters? Once you get past the rare superstars, how many names do you remember? The reality is, the public doesn’t give a shit about the truth. Oh, maybe there’d be a flutter of interest for a few weeks. A few front-page stories above the fold. Director of National Intelligence charged with murder. The White House would express the appropriate amount of horror, Carleton Wynne would plead guilty, and then this would go the way of every other scandal in Washington. In a few months, the public would forget about it. And I’d go back to writing my column, paying my mortgage, and driving the same beat-up Toyota.” He shook his head. “As soon as I saw the videotape Olena left me, I knew it was worth a lot more than just a Pulitzer. I knew who’d pay me for it.”