Ruth and Ollie introduced themselves and put their creds in her outstretched hand. She studied them closely, handed them back. “Why are you here?”
Ruth said, “We are questioning your father about his arrangements with Manta Ray—Liam Hennessey.”
“You are wasting your time. We no longer represent Mr. Hennessey. I’m sure my parents already told you that. I came in to put an end to your harassment.”
Ruth smiled at her. “Trust me, you do not know what harassment is.” She flashed a look at Mrs. Bowler. “There are no nail salons in prison, Mrs. Bowler. As I’m sure you already know, the person who hired you is dangerous. You and your husband will want to think about this very seriously, before it’s too late.”
“Too late?” Magda Bowler planted herself in front of them, hanging on to her control by a thread. “I don’t like your threats, especially after you’ve already proven yourselves incompetent by letting Hennessey escape.”
“Magda, come here!” Her mother’s voice drew her up short. So Mrs. Bowler did drive the family bus.
Ruth and Ollie watched Magda Bowler walk stiffly to stand between her parents. The three of them stared silently after Ruth and Ollie as they left the conference room, shooting death rays between their shoulder blades. Ruth said to Ollie as they walked past Marie Antoinette’s bust, “Mr. Bowler’s ready to break. He’s scared.”
“You know what I think?” Ollie gave Kendrick a wave as they walked out of the offices, to the elevator. Once inside, he said, “I don’t think Mr. Bowler ever believed his off-the-books client would be able to break Manta Ray out of federal custody. Are all three of them in on it? It’s hard to imagine that Mr. Bowler acted by himself. You’re right, Ruth. If any of them break, it’ll be him.”
She pulled out her cell, dialed Savich. “If that’s true, Ollie, we should get some surveillance on Bowler. Who knows? Maybe we shook him up enough so he’ll schedule a meet with whoever hired him.”
8
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
MONDAY AFTERNOON
Kara Moody could hardly believe how giddy she felt when she held her son, Alex. Suddenly everything made sense; her life had purpose. She was happy, excited about the future. She hadn’t felt anything like it in a very long time.
In the past year, her life had flown out of control, and she’d floundered and questioned everything, turned herself into an emotional fruitcake. She could admit it to herself without rancor because none of that mattered now. There was no doubt in her mind her decisions to keep Alex and leave Baltimore were the best decisions she’d made in her life. She had no friends who really understood her choices. As for Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Carl, they only saw she was alone and pregnant, and treated her like a scandalous teenager from thirty years ago. They’d wanted her to have an abortion, as did most of her friends, and she’d broken with them, no choice. As for her mother, she now lived in Oregon with her husband and two children, and they rarely spoke. Kara couldn’t imagine her caring one way or the other.
So she’d taken it all on her own shoulders, made some calls, found a part-time job at the Raleigh Gallery in Georgetown, packed up her Honda, and headed south. In addition to her savings, she had a small inheritance, enough to afford the rent on the house in Georgetown. And to her surprise, she soon found buyers for her own paintings through the gallery. Her art career had seemed to flourish with each week Alex grew inside her.
Dr. Janice Hudson, her next-door neighbor, had been with her, her coach through the long labor, there to cheer when Alex was born. Dr. Janice had whispered to her when she’d first held Alex in her arms that she’d just come through the most profound experience granted to humans. She should never forget she was in charge of two people now, she and no one else. And Dr. Janice had contacted her boss at the Raleigh Gallery, and now she had three huge bouquets of flowers, with congratulations to her and Alex.
Alex. Her beautiful boy had a mop of dark hair, the same shade as hers, the same shade as her father’s had once been before the cancer had taken him so quickly. She’d named her son Alex Ives Moody, after her father and her grandfather, both good men who’d encouraged her to stay the course as an artist, both gone now. It saddened her that they’d never see her miracle, that Alex would never know them.
She found she couldn’t look away from Alex’s bassinet even though it was empty for the moment. A nurse had come in to take him for an ultraviolet-light treatment to prevent him from getting jaundice, she’d told Kara, which sounded scary to her, but the nurse had assured her it was a common treatment that couldn’t hurt him, she wasn’t to worry. It had only been ten minutes and she already missed him. She loved having him in her room, not ten feet away from her, ready for her to feed him, sing to him, tell him she would love him with all her soul forever.
She looked up when a nurse came back into her room with Alex in her arms. “He’s asleep, the little angel. The treatment went fine, he slept right through it. Let him sleep for a while more, Ms. Moody, say thirty more minutes until he wakes up by himself. He’ll be ready to eat by then.” She carefully placed him in his bassinet. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you. You’re sure he’s all right?”
“He’s perfect.” The nurse nodded, smiled at her, and left.
Kara sat up on the side of her bed, her feet dangling, staring at the bassinet. She wanted to hold him now, watch him smack his lips as he had that morning when she’d sung him a Scottish ballad, but she forced herself to wait a bit longer. She thought instead about the series of Tuscany vineyard oil paintings she’d very nearly finished for the reception area of the Alonzo Group’s new Washington office. Exactly what they wanted, one of the VPs told her, and she’d basked. She thought about all the portraits she’d paint of Alex. Life was good.
The terror she’d been through the day before came unbidden into her mind. She couldn’t escape it, not yet, sitting duct-taped in that chair, helpless, terrified she’d failed to protect her baby, because she’d been alone by her own choice. But he couldn’t hurt her now. He was in a coma on the third floor, a nurse assured her. They called him John Doe because he’d had no ID on him. Kara knew she’d have to speak to the police again, tell them everything she could remember, but not now. She looked over at the bassinet again and smiled. Alex was sleeping the sleep of angels.
She slipped out of bed and walked quietly to his bassinet. She leaned down to lift the light blue blanket nearly covering his small face, to look at her gift from God.
9
“I asked you what you were doing here.” Mayer’s voice sounded calm enough, and that was a nice change. Maybe he wasn’t going to draw his weapon.
Savich rose. “Good afternoon, Detective. I’m here to see how John Doe is doing.”
“He’s in a freaking coma, that’s how he’s doing.” Mayer took a step forward, stopped. “You could have learned that from a telephone call.”
“You could have called as well. So why are you here?”
“What’s it to you? It’s my case, not yours. I’m here to see if he’s come around. The mutt’s got a lot to answer for. First off, I’d like him to tell me his name.”
“No one has contacted you about him yet?”
“Nope, no one, not a mental institution, or lockup, not his family. He doesn’t look homeless, so someone will come to claim him; they always do.”
Mayer walked to the bed and looked dispassionately down at the motionless young man. “He looks almost dead. It might have been easier if you’d killed him. I see a bad future for him if he wakes up. Look at those needle marks on his arms. He’s already fried his veins, and now he’s looking at a long stretch in prison if he’s competent enough to stand trial. Have they told you anything about all the tests they’re doing on him?”