Eileen Reed - Ground Zero Part 24

Eileen nodded. "I know he was in cla.s.s. I'll be calling on him later to ask him about the case. Art made a phone call? Do you remember what he said?"

"I don't. I heard his voice in the kitchen, then he hung up the phone. Then he left."

"Was there something about the conversation that was different?" Eileen asked. "Think about every second. I know it's hard. But think. Did he talk for a long time? Were the tones of his voice angry, upset? Did he laugh at all?"

"Please," Susan began, but Megan Bailey held up her hand.

"Yes. I remember." She looked up at Eileen, and her expression was dazed, almost hypnotized. "He didn't laugh, and he wasn't upset. He spoke for a moment, then he hung up the phone. Even, measured tones. No life to them at all. Like-"

"Like he was leaving a message," Eileen said. "That was it?"

"Yes. Yes! He left a message. It must have been Nelson he left the message for. Or Joe."

"A message," Susan Lazecki breathed.

"The message might still be there," Eileen said. The tiredness was gone as though she'd received an electric jolt. "Wherever he left it. Did he dial more than one number?"

"No, just one," Meg said. "Just one." Her voice broke unexpectedly, and she bent her head down so Eileen couldn't see her expression. She felt a terrible pity for her, and a terrible anger. It was a hateful feeling, but she didn't think about it. There was no time.

23.

Black Forest, Colorado.

Nelson Atkins lived in the Black Forest, a sprawling stretch of dense forest east of Colorado Springs. Sheltered from the prairie winds and set to catch the moisture sweeping from the Front Range, the Black Forest is a place of towering, thick pines. Eileen had been out to the Forest occasionally, and found Atkins's house without much trouble. The house was large but not pretentious, built to sit in the sun along a stretch of meadow. There were some pretty horses in the shade at the edge of the meadow, grazing contentedly.

Atkins opened the door when Eileen pulled up. He was in jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, the first of the off-duty Gamers to break the pattern of sweat clothing. Eileen caught an immediate strong odor of horses as Atkins shook her hand.

"Just got in from grooming. I asked Caleb to stay out and finish up."

"Your son?"

"Yes. He runs the horse business with me," Nelson said, and gestured for Eileen to enter the house. "We sell Appaloosas. My wife died three years ago. Cancer."

"I'm sorry," Eileen said automatically.

"It was quick. Caleb took over the business. I was planning to sell after Ca.s.sie died, but he convinced me to stay with it."

Atkins showed Eileen into a sitting room. There was dust on the cabinets and dead flies on the sills of the quiet room. Caleb loved the horses, but he didn't much bother with dusting or cleaning. Atkins was oblivious. He looked stronger in his own home, more in control of his environment. Eileen, watching the Game Day tapes over and over, developed an impression of the Game Director as a man uncomfortable with authority. A man who didn't want to lead. His handling of Terry Guzman's poisonous personality was inept. He was probably as oblivious to Terry's effect on his team as he was to the tiny dry carca.s.ses of the flies on the sills of his home.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Thanks, but no. I would like to look at your answering machine, if I could."

There was no reaction from Atkins except puzzlement. Eileen, who was braced for the guilty reaction she craved, relaxed in disappointment. She didn't see the other indication she was looking for either. She wanted to see Atkins going through the mental check-"Did I do everything right? Did I wipe the prints? Did I get rid of the tape?"-that Eileen had seen in a few people who'd later been found guilty of murder. There was nothing but puzzlement in the freckled face.

"My answering machine? I have voice mail, if that's what you mean. I don't have an answering machine."

"Did Art Bailey leave you a message, Mr. Atkins?" Eileen asked, leaning forward. Would every lead turn into this frustrating blank? "I have reason to believe he left a message for you, or for someone on the Gaming Team."

"I didn't get a message from Art," Atkins said. He grimaced and shook his head. "I checked this morning, I use the same voice mail for the horses as I do for work. There was nothing from Art. Why would he leave me a message?"

"Didn't he usually leave a message when he went into work for a late night?"

"Oh. Well, yes," Atkins said, his expression so lost and wandering that he looked stupid. Eileen remembered the veiled contempt that Art held for Atkins, and the way the Gamers looked to Art or Lowell instead of Atkins when they needed help.

"Why are you the Game Director?" Eileen asked neutrally.

"I was the a.s.sistant Game Director when Paul Wiessman won the lotto," Atkins said promptly, and looked so unhappy Eileen nearly burst into laughter.

"He won the lotto?"

"Yes, can you believe it? I was supposed to be the a.s.sistant just for the last three years before I retired. I didn't want to lead the Gamers. That wasn't what I was supposed to do."

"Why didn't you turn down the job?"

"I was only supposed to have it for a few months. But the productivity was so high they wanted to keep me. I didn't do anything, or at least that's what I thought."

And that's why the Gamers wanted you, Eileen thought. You didn't do a thing and you didn't get in the way. A perfect manager.

"So the person before you retired when he won?"

"He was only thirty-three. I guess you could say he retired," Atkins said grimly. "He fishes a lot now, and rides dirt bikes for fun. The funny thing is, he got the job by default too. The Game Director before Paul was Karen. Karen somebody, I don't know. She was up and coming in the Defense Simulations world, built the team, hired Joe and Art and Doug."

"Then?" Eileen prompted. She was having a hard time keeping a grin from her face.

"Then she took a diving trip to the Bahamas," Atkins said. "She met a guy and fell in love and never came back. She sent her badges by mail. Can you believe it? Like a really dumb romance novel. Ca.s.sie used to read them all the time."

"Was he rich and handsome and French?" Eileen asked, seriously close to collapsing with laughter. She knew she was exhausted and that was affecting her judgment, but this was hilarious. Her mother liked to read those novels too.

"Well, rich and handsome. American. They run a dive shop. Joe's been down there for a vacation. Karen was supposed to be the first woman on the board of directors, she was that hot. And she threw it all away." Atkins shook his head, but there was no censure in his voice. He sounded glum and admiring at the same time.

"So you ended up with the job."

"I did," Atkins said, looking with a lost expression at Eileen. "I never wanted this. I thought we were doing all right, and then Terry was killed. Now Art. I'm going to resign. I'll lose some of my retirement benefits, but not all of them. It doesn't matter anymore."

Eileen thought Atkins looked like an old janitor who'd somehow ended up in the president's chair. He really wasn't management material.

"Can I check your voice mail, just to make sure?" Eileen asked. "I'll call Joe from here. I need to talk to him."

"He'll be at the health club," Atkins said immediately. "If he's not home. He works out when he feels bad. I've got the number. I've called him there before."

"Okay," Eileen said. "Thanks. You know, I think I'll change my mind about that offer of a drink. Do you have a pop?"

Atkins went to the kitchen to get Eileen a cold drink, and she shook her head. She'd check Atkins's voice mail and call Rosen to check on his progress, then she'd meet Joe. She scratched at her cheekbone and refused to think about how glad she was that Joe had an alibi for Art. She also thought about how Joe didn't have an alibi for Terry. Joe Tanner had one of the best motives for killing Terry Guzman, and that lead hadn't ended yet.

The Pentagon.

"I think you'll agree with me after I've finished," the Admiral said.

"Agree with you?" Lucy said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"Agree with me. I'm going to have Jefferson here get us some supper. Lucy," Kane said, and his face became a grandfather's again. "Trust me. Eat something and calm yourself. It's bad for the baby."

Jefferson spoke up then, surprising both Lucy and Mills. "You better eat something. This is going to be hard enough as it is." Lucy saw Mills look at Jefferson with a frown, as though a servant had spoken up, and her rage came under her control as she felt the familiar wash of contempt for her boss.

"That would be just fine, Mr. Jefferson," she said. "I would like some supper. I didn't realize we'd be here so late."

Jefferson smiled at her with an echo of his boss's kindly twinkle. "I've got an order already in. Chicken and mashed potatoes. That's what I fed my wife when she was pregnant and feeling peckish. It will only take me a minute to get it."

The Lieutenant left the room, and Lucy turned to look at Admiral Kane. Her opinion of the old man inched higher.

"Young Jefferson will be taking my place someday, I hope," the Admiral said thoughtfully. "He's quite a brilliant young man."

Lucy knew the position of aide to a high-ranking officer in the Pentagon was highly sought. Even though the job was basically that of a servant, the mantle of command was almost inevitable. She wondered if Mills knew that, or if he thought Jefferson was merely a servant.

"What are you going to tell us?" she said. "Can't you just summarize it in twenty-five words or less so I can get home at a reasonable hour? After I've eaten your food, of course."

Kane smiled with his eyes. He understood she was offering a little olive branch, and he took it. Lucy felt a little better. Kane might be the kind of person she could deal with. But why would he bury the investigation?

"I'm going to show you a film," Admiral Kane said. "Ahh, Samuel. Supper."

The chicken dinner was in small bags, packed like lunch. But the paper bags were hot and smelled delicious.

"Let's get the film started," the Lieutenant said, pa.s.sing out the bags to Lucy, the Admiral, and Mills. "I suggest you eat quickly. The first part isn't so bad. You won't be eating much later on."

"Are you feeling okay, Miss Giometti?" the Admiral asked, and this time the solicitude was real. Lucy felt sick with the swings of emotion in the room, but she wouldn't admit that. And the food did smell delicious.

"I'm feeling all right," she said. "I'll be all right."

"Good girl," he said warmly.

Lucy opened her divinely smelling bag of food. Lieutenant Jefferson started the film. He didn't dim the lights all the way, so she could see her chicken. She dug in.

Garden of the G.o.ds, Colorado Springs.

Eileen found Joe Tanner's car where he'd agreed to meet her. Garden of the G.o.ds was quiet and still in the late-afternoon heat. The deep red of the rocks was paled by the sun. Eileen saw him as she parked her car next to his. He was sitting halfway up the slope of a rock, in the shade, in a white T-s.h.i.+rt and black sweatpants.

Eileen chunked the door shut and climbed the rock, the soles of her shoes gripping firmly. They looked like women's dress loafers, but they had the structure of running shoes, a recent invention that police were finding very useful. She found a flat place next to Joe and sat down. The shade was cool and good after the heat of the car and the sun. The rock gave a good view of the spires of the Garden, and the sprawl of the city beyond.

"This is a pretty spot," Eileen said mildly. Tanner turned his attention away from the view and looked at her. His eyes were red-rimmed. Lack of sleep? Tears? Eileen didn't know.

"Thanks for meeting me here," Joe said finally. "I don't think I could be inside right now. I didn't even go running. I've just been sitting here."

"I'm sorry about Art," Eileen said, and waited for the accusation. She should have found the murderer before now. She should have stopped this from happening. She turned her view to the drowsing city beyond the red-gold spires of the Garden and waited.

"He should have called you," Joe said surprisingly. "Art was all heart and brain and no common sense. He figured out who the murderer was, and the murderer found out."

"How do you figure that?" Eileen asked casually.

"Because he was killed at the Center," Joe said. "He was there at midnight and he was doing something. He told me about the tiles, by the way. I never thought of them either. Then Art must have remembered something else. I've been awake all night trying to think of what it could be. Whatever it was, he was on the right trail."

"I wonder," Eileen murmured.

"Oh, come on," Joe said harshly. "Don't try that Detective Columbo bulls.h.i.+t on me. Who do you think you're dealing with, a bunch of idiots?"

"I don't think I'm dealing with idiots," Eileen said steadily. "I haven't found the murderer yet, now have I?"

Joe surprised her with a deep and husky laugh, then turned his head away and coughed. He kept his head averted for a few moments.

"G.o.d, I miss Art," he said finally, turning back to her. "Do you think I did it? Killed them?"

"I know you didn't kill Art," Eileen said. "Unless you're not acting alone."

"Sure, one of Doug's conspiracy gang," Joe said. He blinked firmly a couple of times to clear his eyes. "Tell me. Why is it easier now?"

"For some, there's no feeling at all after a while," Eileen said.

"But not for you."

"No, not for me."

There was silence between them. Joe was looking at her curiously, and for the first time Eileen felt uncomfortable. He was really looking at her.

"Do you think there's a conspiracy?"

"I don't know," Eileen said, and shrugged her shoulders. This was getting nowhere, and she was finding herself increasingly aware of losing her grip on the conversation.

"Hey, I'm really hungry," Joe said. "Do you want to get something to eat?"

Eileen's stomach responded before she did; her last meal was the huevos rancheros at Doug Procell's house that morning. The growl was audible to both of them. Joe grinned, then laughed, and Eileen laughed with him. n.o.body who laughed like that could be a vicious murderer, her heart insisted. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with her?