The K Team, page 19
Marcus has been watching Lowry on and off.
The goal was to catch him meeting with Sloane or another coconspirator that we don’t yet know about. That hasn’t happened; according to Marcus, Lowry has been holed up at his house, going out only for groceries.
We had planned to go after Lowry earlier, but the Ellis killing delayed that. Now it’s time, and Laurie and I head for his house. I bring Simon along because we want to scare and intimidate him. Simon is good at that.
We knock on the front door and Lowry opens it. He’s a big guy, an ex-boxer, so likely a tough guy as well, but he looks scared. I don’t mean of us necessarily, even though we are not what one would expect to show up at one’s house. He looks scared on a different level, and I’d bet it’s been going on for a while.
“Mr. Lowry, we want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“We’ll tell you when we’re inside.” I step into the house with Simon, and Laurie follows; Lowry makes no effort to stop us.
Once we’re in, Lowry says, “You can’t just force your way in like that.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” I say. “Here we are.”
“Who are you?”
“Concerned citizens,” Laurie says.
He looks warily at Simon, who is not exactly happily wagging his tail. “Is that dog dangerous?”
“Frequently.”
“John, we have a situation here,” Laurie says. “You are in a bit of trouble.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“No one said you did,” she says. “That’s what we call a tell. You revealed yourself, but it doesn’t matter, because we already know what you did. That is why we’re here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Laurie shakes her head, as if saddened by his pitiful denials. “Perhaps we can help you with that. You’ve illegally interfered with the Equi-net computer system so that a group of wealthy yet very unsavory individuals can prosper. In the process, a number of people have been murdered. You, in fact, either witnessed or committed the murder of Ellis McCray, who you brought to the cabin where it took place.”
“Is this jogging your memory any, John?” I ask.
He is clearly past petrified and heading toward frozen with fear. “I have nothing to say.”
Laurie shakes her head. “Wrong answer, John. When we leave here, we are going to the FBI. They will dismantle the whole thing and send everybody away for a very long time, including you. You think seventeen months felt long, John? Wait until you experience it for the rest of your life.”
“John, the smart play is for you to go with us, for two reasons. Number one, if you give up what you know, what you did, and who you did it for, you will absolutely be able to cut a great deal for yourself. You get a good lawyer like Walter Cummings again and you could even walk.
“Number two, do you know who you are dealing with? Your bosses kill everyone who has information that can hurt them. You are the mother lode of information; do you think they are going to let you ride off into the sunset?”
Watching his face as he listens to Laurie, I think he’s going to crack. He doesn’t, but he comes close. “I need time to think.”
I jump in here. “John, I’ve got to tell you, thinking doesn’t seem to be your specialty. If you were any good at it, you wouldn’t be in this situation. This time you should listen to your gut; it has to be telling you that there’s no other way out of this.”
“Okay,” Laurie says. “We’ll cut you some slack. We’ll give you until eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and then we bring in the FBI.”
I hand him my card. “Call this number anytime before eight A.M. tomorrow. After that, don’t bother, just sit tight. They’ll be coming for you.”
When we leave, Laurie asks, “Do you think he’ll call?”
“I think he should, but I doubt he will. I wish he was smarter.”
John Lowry was forming a plan.
He was starting to come up with it while those two people and the scary dog were in his house, but after they left, he carefully weighed his options and came up with his strategy.
He simply could not go to his employers and tell them what had happened. They were volatile and extremely dangerous, and they would view Lowry as compromised. They would likely decide to kill him, after first forcing him to give up the knowledge that only he had.
Or they might not do that, but instead facilitate his going into hiding. But he could not trust them to decide whether he would live or die.
He could also not go to the FBI with these people. First of all, they were not in a position to guarantee him any kind of a deal. But even if they were right, and the system went easy on him for cooperating, he could still get a long time in prison. Ten years? Twenty?
He simply did not know, but he could not risk spending the bulk of his life in prison. It was just a different type of death, a life not worth living.
So the other option, the only option, was to run and hide. While he had previously considered it almost impossible to successfully pull that off, he was changing his mind.
He figured he had the two things that were essential to hiding in the modern world. He had money; if handled prudently, the advance that he was given for the operation could last for a long time. Lowry had no desire to live expensively; he just wanted to live.
The other thing he had was a brain and incredible savvy in technology and computers. That he was even in this position was proof of that. But the way you hide in the technological age was to lose yourself in cyberspace. He could create a totally new identity for himself, a totally new life.
He had to give it a shot.
So he set to work, carefully packing the things that he would need, mostly clothing and his computer devices. By 10:00 P.M. he was ready to leave, and he started loading the car, which was in his garage. He finished doing that before discovering that someone else was in the garage, waiting for him.
Radoslav Duric.
At 10:05 Duric took Lowry back into the house.
At 10:18 a crying Lowry agreed to write out all he knew about the Equi-net project, including passwords and detailed instructions.
At 10:41 he finished writing it.
He died at 10:43.
Laurie picks me up at seven thirty in the morning for the drive to Lowry’s house.
He did not call last night, which didn’t come as much of a surprise. We’re checking a box this morning by giving him one more chance to change his mind, but we both think it’s a waste of time.
This time I don’t bring Simon with me since whatever intimidation we might have accomplished we took care of yesterday. Obviously it didn’t work as planned.
As soon as we pull up, it’s clear that something is wrong. The garage door is open, as is the trunk of the car inside. That’s where Laurie and I make our first stop. We see three suitcases and a computer case packed in there.
“This is not going to end well,” Laurie says.
We go to the house and ring the bell. When there’s no answer, we do it twice more. The door is locked, so we go around to the back and try the door nearest to the garage. It’s open.
“Let’s go in,” she says.
I agree, thereby adding trespassing to my list of crimes. If we were still cops, I’d think we had probable cause to enter without a warrant, since I think we are going to discover a body. We’re not cops and we are warrantless, but legalities like that are not going to stop us.
There is no sign of Lowry or anyone else, nor is there any indication of foul play. We walk through the entire house, looking for any clues as to what happened to him. His bed is made and not slept in, and there is nothing to make us think that he ate any breakfast.
The closets and drawers are less than a third full, and I have a feeling that the missing items are in the car. “He was bailing out,” Laurie says, realizing I’m sure that she’s stating the obvious.
“Until someone interrupted him.”
Laurie nods. “One way or the other they decided that they don’t need him anymore. It seems not to be a good idea to be on the list of people that they stop needing.”
A pen is on the floor next to Lowry’s desk. I point to it. “It’s possible he wrote out what they needed to know.”
“Under duress. Severe duress.”
“We might have been the reason they killed him. They could have had him under surveillance, and when they saw that we showed up, they might have been afraid he would talk to us.”
She nods. “He wasn’t going to. He was going to try and disappear.”
“Well, he’s accomplished that. He is never going to be found, unless they want him found.”
“We should make a missing person’s report.”
I shake my head. “We can, but the cops won’t take it seriously yet. You know as well as I do, an adult missing for a few hours is not exactly Amber Alert material. And there’s no evidence here of violence, although the cops wouldn’t enter this house anyway. They would need a warrant, unlike us.”
“They’re getting rid of all the people that can hurt them,” Laurie says. “Once they do that, they can sit back and run their scam forever.”
Laurie is right. Based on the numbers that Cynthia Warren showed me, the eight companies are making a nice profit, but nowhere near the money necessary to justify what has gone on. I imagine part of the reason is that they don’t want to call attention to themselves by overdoing it, though since I don’t know what they’re doing, that’s just a semi-educated guess.
But what she has just said gives me an idea. “You’re right; they are getting rid of everyone who could hurt them. And now they can just sit back, unless they get drawn out by going after someone else who can hurt them really bad.”
“I sense a terrible idea coming on,” she says.
“It’s not terrible, and you know it. Let them come after me, and we’ll be ready for them.”
“What will that accomplish? They’ll send a hired gun, be it this guy Duric or someone else.”
I nod. “Probably. But if we can get our hands on that person, maybe we can work our way up the ladder.”
“We know where the ladder leads. It leads to Miles Sloane.”
I smile. “Exactly. And that’s where I’m going.”
The phone rings at six o’clock in the morning.
It’s on Dani’s side of the bed, and she picks it up and looks at the caller ID. “It’s Laurie.”
“Uh-oh.” This is either an amazingly realistic déjà vu moment, or another big problem.
I take the phone. “Who died this time?”
“Miles Sloane.”
“I was kidding.”
“I’m not. Pete called me and gave me the details; he said the media will be running with it any minute. Sloane was found last night; he had been missing for almost twenty-four hours.”
“Cause of death?”
“That’s a little complicated. His car went off the road and down into a gully. It was hard to see from the road because of the dense shrubbery; Pete said it was lucky that it was found when it was. He doesn’t appear to have died from the accident; at first look the coroner thinks it was a heart attack.”
“Did he have a heart condition?”
“Apparently so.”
“Does anybody on this call believe that Miles Sloane died of natural causes?” I ask.
“Not unless there’s a third person listening in.”
“So my confronting Sloane wouldn’t seem to be an effective plan anymore, if it ever was. We need to come up with something else.”
“If Dani doesn’t mind, we can discuss it at dinner tonight. Oh, by the way, happy birthday.”
Those two sentences prompt a whole series of possible questions from me, such as “We’re having dinner tonight?” and “Dani is going to be there?” and “It’s my birthday?”
Instead I go with “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Uh-oh,” Laurie says. “I didn’t realize it was a surprise.”
“What surprise?” I notice that Dani is cringing while overhearing this.
“Talk to Dani, and tell her I’m sorry for blowing the surprise.”
I get off the phone and reflect on its being the first time in my entire life that I forgot my own birthday.
“Don’t be pissed,” Dani says. “I thought you’d like a night out with friends, so I set it up. It’s just a simple dinner at Dantoni’s with Laurie and Andy.”
I didn’t even know that Dani knew Laurie and Andy. My instinct is to complain about this; I hate when people pay attention to my birthday. I especially hate when people do things behind my back, even when they are well-intentioned. But I don’t want to be an asshole; Dani went out of her way to do something nice. It’s going to happen anyway, so there’s nothing to be gained by acting like my normal, idiotic self.
It’s possible I may be maturing.
So I go along with it. It’s an early dinner, six thirty. I find that the older I get the earlier I like to eat. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to move lunch and breakfast earlier as well, so as to maintain space between meals.
I spend the day unproductively thinking about what to do next in our case, and also following the media reports of the death of Miles Sloane. The coroner has confirmed that he had a heart attack while driving. I suppose it’s possible; maybe the stress of what he had been doing got the better of him. But I doubt it.
Sam Willis calls to give a report on Denise Tennison’s whereabouts. I had asked him to do whatever he could to track her down. I can tell that it pains him to say it, but he’s still come up empty: “She does not exist on this planet.”
We get to the restaurant, arriving at the same time as Andy and Laurie. They hadn’t met Dani before; she had just called Laurie because Dani knew that we were friends. They seem to hit it off instantly, and I’m sure Laurie will be disappointed when Dani and I stop seeing each other. I will be also.
I will? I didn’t realize that until I just said it to myself. Maybe I should think this through.
So we have a thoroughly pleasant dinner. Laurie and I have agreed we shouldn’t talk about work, so instead we talk about everything else. It’s an easy, comfortable, fun conversation of the type I have not had in a long time.
We order dessert and it comes along with a cupcake with one candle on it. This sends everyone including the waiters into an awful, embarrassing rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” Mercifully I don’t have to sing along.
A few minutes later I ask Andy if he saw any of the Mets game. It started at 4:00 P.M. because they were playing the Dodgers on the West Coast.
He just about jumps out of his seat. “Don’t tell me anything!”
It’s a bizarre reaction. “Don’t tell you anything about what?”
“The Mets game.”
Laurie chimes in with an explanation. “Andy taped the game because he couldn’t watch it live. And he placed a bet on it, so he wants the exquisite agony of watching his money go down the drain, pitch by pitch.”
“You’re going to watch a game that’s already over?” Dani asks.
Andy nods. “I am.”
“So everybody else will already know whether you won or lost, including the person you bet with?”
“It’s called a bookmaker, you sheltered person, you.”
“Do you win a lot of money?”
Laurie laughs, and Andy says, “What’s so funny?”
“Andy would find a way to lose even if he was able to place the bet after the game was over.”
I haven’t contributed to this banter because my mind has spent the last thirty seconds alternating between racing and being stunned. But it’s my turn now. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?” Laurie asks.
“I know what’s happening.”
“Are we talking about the case?”
I nod. “We are. Listen to this.…”
The attendees at the funeral service for Miles Sloane are a who’s who of the financial industry.
At least that’s what it seems like to me. Since I have no idea who is who in the financial industry, I can’t be sure. But there must be three hundred people here, and every man is wearing a suit that I’m sure costs more than my entire wardrobe.
I’m glad but not surprised to see Drew Lockman here. He hated Sloane and blamed his ex-partner for his going on trial and almost to prison. But he’s shown up to say good-bye.
People tend to honor their enemies in this way when the enemies die. Even though the people are secretly glad that the enemy is dead, they know that they will look good for being there. It feels like a big gesture, even though it’s anything but.
First of all, when the person you hate dies before you, you’ve won. Victory is assured, you have outlived the bastard. So you go to the service more to gloat rather than to honor, yet you also get the credit for somehow being a big person who is looking past your anger in the face of this tragedy.
It’s a win-win.
Also here is Arthur McKnight, who was actually close to Sloane and who invested at least a small portion of his billions with Sloane’s company. I would assume that every one of Sloane’s competitors is angling to get a piece of that money before Sloane is even in the ground.
McKnight and Lockman don’t even acknowledge each other, at least not as far as I can tell. They hate each other; Lockman thinks McKnight tried to put him in prison, and McKnight thinks Lockman stole his money. Whichever of these two guys dies first, you can be sure the other will be at the funeral service.
The service is going to begin in about twenty minutes, so Laurie and I just hang out talking to each other. Everybody else seems to be working the room, probably working out secret financial arrangements that will enrich each other at the expense of peasants like myself.
When the peasant revolution begins, these are the kind of people I am going to be coming after.
Lockman does not exactly seem to be the center of attention. His legal troubles have left him something of an outcast, and certainly a line of people are not waiting to chat with him.
