Paradox (FBI Thriller 22)

Sala said, “Sitting there in the dark, trussed up like Houdini, I had a lot of time to think. A lot of time to listen. I swear to you I heard laughter, not anywhere close to me, but it was clear and distinct. And I know I heard voices. One of them was the guy who killed Octavia.”

“And the other voice? Did you recognize it?”

Sala shook his head. “No. But I do know one thing for certain. I did hear a girl laughing. Not a woman, a girl, crazy laughing, and it went on forever.”

13

* * *

Ty rose when the FBI forensic crime team pulled up in a large white van. She said, “Flynn, if you’d introduce me, we can get them started. Dillon, I’m sure you have a lot to talk about with Agent Porto.”

Savich and Sala watched her stride toward the van with Flynn. Savich knew he would keep close tabs on the operation without putting the chief’s nose out of joint. He was good working with locals and keeping the peace, which, Savich supposed, was why Maitland had sent him. Savich laid his hand on Sala’s arm. “I’m very glad you’re alive, Sala. Trust me on this, we’ll find him.”

Sala was rubbing his hands together, the pins-and-needles feeling nearly gone. “It was close, Savich, closer than I’ve ever been to getting my plug pulled. But Octavia, I couldn’t protect her. I know he told her who he was before he killed her, probably jerked off that stocking mask and laughed at her. I forgot to ask the chief if she saw him pull it off on the lake.”

Savich could tell him the man hadn’t been wearing a mask when he’d rowed back to the dock, but he didn’t. He looked to the group who now stood on the dock, gazing down into the lake. He could hear the chief’s voice explaining what they would need. Sala looked out over Lake Massey and said in a low voice, “Octavia and I drank too much wine Thursday night, her favorite, Leaping Frog chardonnay.” He stopped, shook his head. “I remember her laughing her head off at something a kid said at the gas station outside Willicott Thursday afternoon. It was her last day.

“Sure, she asked me here so we could both relax and forget about work, but she had another reason, too. Her ex-husband, Bill Culver, was putting on a full-court press for her to come back to him. We talked about the situation between them, but she hadn’t made up her mind what she was going to do. She was still wavering. She said she hadn’t believed people ever changed, but now it looked like he had, or at least he was trying. He’d told her he loved her, but she wasn’t sure if she still loved him.” Sala swallowed, turned to Savich, tears pooling in his eyes. “And now she’s gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Just—gone.”

Sala looked down at the bandages from Ty’s first-aid kit wrapped around his raw wrists. “If it hadn’t been for you and the chief, we both would have simply disappeared. No one would ever know what happened to us. Sure, the FBI would have tracked us here, found the cabin, but after that, no one would have known where to look.

“I wonder why he ever bothered with the stocking mask if he was going to kill both of us.”

“No matter his bravado, coming alone, he couldn’t be sure how it would go with you there, Sala, an FBI agent. He used the mask in case he had to run.”

Sala stared at Savich, and then he grinned. “That’s excellent B.S. Maybe it’s even true. Sorry, Savich, I’m not very proud of what I am or what I did, right now.”

“Then help us find him. We can start with the criminals Octavia was assigned to prosecute and the criminals she defended before that. It had to be one of them. This was payback.”

“Most of the scumbags she defended ought to be offering to buy her Christmas presents for the rest of her life, not trying to kill her.”

Savich nodded. He thought about the girl Sala had heard laughing. “He was with someone, Sala, the girl you heard laughing. Maybe she helped him get you over here, get you up the stairs. You don’t remember anything until you woke up in the closet?”

“No. I suppose I could have been going in and out for a while, but I don’t remember.”

“You need to tell us where you and Octavia stayed. We’ll get the forensic team over there next.”

“It’s a small clapboard cabin Octavia’s aunt owns out past the rental cottages, right on Shoreline Way. Number 357, I think.”

“What car did you use?”

“We came up together in Octavia’s Volvo. It was parked at the cabin last time I saw it.”

He and Sala were silent a moment, looking out over the placid lake, a warm summer breeze against their faces. Savich saw Hanger’s pontoon boat out in the water, its big nets dragging for more bones.

Sala looked back at Savich, his eyes bleak and filled with pain. “You remember my wife, Joy? She died so needlessly, too, in that helicopter accident.”

“Yes, I remember,” Savich said.

“And now Octavia’s dead. I couldn’t save either of them.” Sala gave an ugly laugh. “I guess I don’t rank very high on the good prospect list. A woman would have to be seriously desperate to hook up with me.”

Savich wanted to tell him what he’d said was ridiculous, but there was never much sense in raw emotion, it spewed out without reason or logic. Sala hadn’t been able to save either his wife or Octavia, and he blamed himself. Savich said, “That kind of thinking is a waste of time, Sala. Time for you to focus, to put the blame where it belongs, and use that fine brain of yours to help me find her killer.”

They sat in silence, side by side on the top step, watching chief forensic tech Tommy Raider—tall, skinny as a parking meter, a cloud of black curls on his head—direct his team winching the Green Gaiter out of the water and settling it onto the wooden dock. They took their time going over the boat. At last the group walked back to Savich and Sala.

“Nothing to help us,” Tommy said, waving back at the Green Gaiter, now lying on its side on the dock. “Not that we expected to find anything, what with the boat being in the water so long. What is with that green color?” He called to his team. “Pete, Rand, Gwen—we’re going to head upstairs to that bedroom where Savich found you, Sala, see what we can find. After we’re done processing this humongous place, Savich, you can take us to the cabin were Sala was staying.” Tommy gave Savich and Sala a salute, said, “Upstairs to the third floor first, bambinos, bambina!”

Tommy leaned close to Sala as he passed him, lightly touched his hand to his shoulder. “If there’s anything useful in there, we’ll find it.” He studied Sala’s still face, gave his shoulder a squeeze, then turned. “Savich, you wanna show us which bedroom closet?”