Paradox (FBI Thriller 22)

“All right, maybe all of you are worthy enough. Dillon, come help me. Let these two geniuses think about this.”

Savich was carrying a tray with ice cream and plates on it and Sherlock the apple pie like a trophy for the winner when they came back. Sala breathed in the smell of hot cinnamon and wanted to weep.

Ty said, “Forget these unworthy men, Sherlock, marry me instead. I’ll give you my all, which admittedly isn’t much, but I promise I’ll always be there for you.”

“Hmm. All right, I’ll consider it.” Sherlock began cutting pie slices. “If Astro were here, he’d be bouncing around like a tennis ball, barking his head off.”

Savich spooned the ice cream atop each slice and handed out the plates.

After a bite, Ty closed her eyes in bliss. “I hated Dillon’s lasagna. It was swill. Now, this pie is ambrosia.”

“I wouldn’t give Savich’s lasagna to my cat,” Sala said, “and that’s saying something. If given the chance, Lucky would eat my socks out of the hamper.”

Sherlock laughed and patted his shoulder. “Music to my ears. Now, listen while you eat, okay? Sala, you dealt with Victor, plus you heard Lissy’s laughter. You already know something about her. Let me emphasize: Lissy had no self-control. If she thought of something, she did it, no mental brakes, no thought to consequences. It was always about the pleasure of the moment, and it often involved killing someone.”

Savich said, “Now, Nesser. He was sent to live with his aunt Jennifer Smiley when her sister, Victor’s mother, and his father, a Jordanian, decided to return to Amman. Jennifer’s very young daughter, Lissy, seduced Victor. From that night on, he loved her to his soul, would do anything for her. Let me emphasize here, Lissy drove the bus.

“Did Lissy love Victor as much as he loved her? Yes, I’m sure she did. Victor was damaged before Lissy, and he was destroyed after she died.”

60

* * *

Sherlock said, “Sala, let me ask you this. Which of them do you think murdered Octavia? Victor or Lissy?”

Sala said without pause, “It was Victor. It felt like a man’s anger.”

“And which one decided to lock you in a closet to die?”

“It had to be Victor, of course, who dragged me unconscious up to the third floor at Gatewood. As to which one decided to leave me to die in that closet, I don’t know, but I did hear a girl’s crazy laughter in there. So maybe it was Lissy.” He closed his eyes a moment, and Ty saw he was stiff as a board, back in that closet reliving the hopelessness, the knowledge he was going to die, and of course the guilt that he hadn’t saved Octavia. She lightly touched her hand to his arm.

Ty decided it was time to turn off the guilt spigot. Turn off the horrible images of him left in that closet to die. She leaned over and jerked his pie plate away.

“Wait! Oh, no you don’t!” And he was back. He waved his fist at her, ate the last bite of pie off his plate.

Savich was remembering how he’d seen Victor walking up the path toward Gatewood, how he’d looked up at Savich standing in the second-floor master bedroom window and pumped his fist. Had Lissy not been with him when he’d rowed Octavia out in the boat and killed her? Evidently not. And that was interesting. They could be apart as well as together. Had Victor imagined he was seeing Lissy in that window?

Savich said, “Let me take the bomb at the church yesterday. Before Sherlock and I brought down Victor, he tried to bomb us, so I’m sure he did the work. He had the expertise. But I bet Lissy loved the idea of blowing up the church at Octavia’s funeral. Lissy loved drama, loved making a statement. What could be more dramatic than destroying a church full of people? Killing as many as she could? She had to be dancing, waving her fist.”

Sherlock picked it up. “Remember Norm, from Norm’s Fish and Bait in Bowman, near Greenbrier State Park, where Victor went in to buy junk food Sunday morning? Victor saw his face on TV. He didn’t kill Norm, he panicked and ran. Lissy would never run. She’d yell, ‘Lights out!’ and kill everyone in sight. So it was Victor at the Fish and Bait in Bowman.”

Ty said, “Okay, then it had to be Lissy who tried to shoot you guys in Peterborough after she saw you talking to people at that fried lobster place where Victor had lunch. It was spur-of-the-moment, over-the-top. I mean, it’s broad daylight, and there you are, the enemies. She went hard at you to get you, kill you dead.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, “that’s classic Lissy. Thank heavens it wasn’t Lissy who came into the children’s tent at the book festival. It was Victor, and I’ll admit what he did had to be spur-of-the-moment and really out of character for him. I mean, his weapon was a big chocolate bar.”

Savich said, “Winslow happens to lie in a direct route to Fort Pessel, where Lissy and her mother lived and where Victor lived with them. It’s where we believe Jennifer Smiley hid her half-million-dollar share from the bank robberies. We know Victor has a big wad of cash, so it makes sense he knew where the money was hidden, and he retrieved it.” He ate the last bite of pie, regretfully set his empty plate on the coffee table. “If this is true, can you guys think of any reason why Victor would go back to Fort Pessel again?”

“Not unless he didn’t take all of it,” Sala said, and scraped up the last tiny bit of apple pie from his plate and looked like he wanted to cry.

Sherlock took his hand. “Come with me, Grasshopper. I think I have one slice of pie left, and it’s got your name on it.”

“Suck-up,” Ty called after him. He waggled his fingers without looking back.

Savich sighed. “And here I was thinking about having that last slice for myself in bed tonight.”

When Sherlock and Sala returned, Sala hugging a plate to his chest with one small slice of apple pie on it, Savich had to laugh. It looked like he was holding a life jacket. “We told you how Victor gave Cindy a hundred-dollar bill to pay for his dinner at the diner. Let’s say we can trace the hundred-dollar bill to one of the bank robberies. That would leave us with the same question—why go back to the Smiley house if you already retrieved the money? No one’s lived there for over two years. The bank foreclosed and has been trying to sell it. It’s probably not habitable by now.”

Ty said, “Sentiment? No place else to go? Someplace you—and Lissy—know and feel safe? Or maybe he didn’t take all the money, and he’s going back to make another withdrawal, like Sala suggested. His own personal bank.” She waved her hand, frowned. “On the other hand, the bank could sell the place at any time, and then it wouldn’t be safe to go back. And Victor would know that.” She looked beyond Savich’s shoulder.