All That Remains - Cornwell Patricia (читать хорошую книгу полностью TXT) 📗

"That's very kind," I said, managing a smile. Clearly, Wesley did not tell her everything, and the idea that Mark might have been in Virginia recently without so much as calling me was almost more than I could bear.

When she left us for the kitchen, Marino asked, "You heard from him lately?"

"Denver's beautiful," I replied evasively.

"It's a bitch, you want my opinion. They bring him in from deep cover, hole him up in Quantico for a while. Next thing, they're sending his ass out west to work on something he can't tell nobody about. Just one more reason why you couldn't pay me enough to sign on with the Bureau."

I did not respond.

He went on, "The hell with your personal life. It's like they say, 'If Hoover wanted you to have a wife and kids, he would've issued them with your badge.'" "Hoover was a long time ago," I said, staring out at trees churning in the wind. It looked like it was about to rain again, this time seriously.

"Maybe so. But you still ain't got a life of your own."

"I'm not sure any of us do, Marino."

"That's the damn truth," he muttered under his breath.

Footsteps sounded and then Wesley walked in, still in suit and tie, gray trousers and starched white shirt slightly wrinkled. He seemed tired and tense as he asked if we had been offered drinks.

"Connie's taking care of us," I said.

Lowering himself into a chair, he glanced at his watch. "We'll eat in about an hour."

He clasped his hands in his lap.

"Haven't heard shit from Morrell," Marino started in.

"I'm afraid there are no new developments. Nothing hopeful," Wesley replied.

"Didn't assume there was. I'm just telling you that I ain't heard from Morrell."

Marino's face was expressionless, but I could sense his resentment. Though he had yet to voice any complaints to me, I suspected that he was feeling like a quarterback sitting out the season on the bench. He had always enjoyed a good rapport with detectives from other jurisdictions, and that, frankly, had been one of the strengths of VICAP's efforts in Virginia. Then the missing couple cases had begun. Investigators were no longer talking to each other. They weren't talking to Marino, and they weren't talking to me.

"Local efforts have been halted," Wesley informed him. "We didn't get any farther than the eastbound rest stop where the dog lost the scent. Only other thing to turn up is a receipt found inside the Jeep. It appears that Deborah and Fred stopped off at a Seven-Eleven after leaving the Harvey house in Richmond. They bought a six-pack of Pepsi and a couple other items."

"Then it's been checked out," Marino said, testily.

"The clerk on duty at the time has been located. She remembers them coming in. Apparently, this was shortly after nine P.M."

"And they was alone?"

Marino inquired.

"It would seem so. No one else came in with them, and if there was someone waiting for them inside the Jeep, there was no evidence, based on their demeanor, to suggest that anything was wrong."

"Where is this Seven-Eleven located?" I asked.

"Approximately five miles west of the rest stop where the Jeep was found," Wesley replied.

"You said they bought a few other items," I said. "Can you be more specific?"

"I was getting to that;" Wesley said. "Deborah Harvey bought a box of Tampax. She asked if she could use a bathroom, and was told it was against policy. The clerk said she directed them to the eastbound rest stop on Sixty-four."

"Where the dog lost the scent," Marino said, frowning as if confused. "Versus where the Jeep was found."

"That's right," Wesley replied.

"What about the Pepsi they bought?"

I asked… "Did you find it?"

"Six cans of Pepsi were in the ice chest when the police went through the jeep."

He paused as his wife appeared with our coffee and a glass of iced tea for him. She served us in gracious silence, then was gone. Connie Wesley was practiced at being unobtrusive.

"You're thinking they hit the rest stop so Deborah could take care of her problem, and that's where they met up with the squirrel who took them out," Marino interpolated.

"We don't know what happened to them," Wesley reminded us. "There are a lot of scenarios we need to consider."

"Such as?"

Marino was still frowning.

"Abduction."

"As in kidnapping?"

Marino was blatantly skeptical.

"You have to remember who Deborah's mother is."

"Yeah, I know. Mrs. Got-Rocks-the-Drug-Czar who got sworn in because the President wanted to give the women's movement something to chew on."

"Pete," Wesley said calmly, "I don't think it wise to dismiss her as a plutocratic figurehead or token female appointee. Though the position sounds more powerful than it really is because it was never given Cabinet status, Pat Harvey does answer directly to the President. She does, in fact, coordinate all federal agencies in the war against drug crimes."

"Not to mention her track record when she was a U.S. attorney," I added. "She was a strong supporter of the White House's efforts to make drug-related murders and attempted murders punishable by death. And she was quite vocal about it."

"Her and a hundred other politicians," Marino said. "Maybe I'd be more concerned if she was one of these liberals wanting to legalize the shit. Then I have to wonder about some right-wing Moral Majority type who thinks God's told him to snatch Pat Harvey's kid."

"She's been very aggressive," Wesley said, "succeeded in getting convictions on some of the worst in the lot, has been instrumental in getting important bills passed, has withstood death threats, and several years ago even had her car bombed - " "Yeah, an unoccupied Jag parked at the country club. And it made her a hero," Marino interrupted.

"My point," Wesley went on patiently, "is that she's made her share of enemies, especially when it comes to the efforts she's directed at various charities."

"I've read something about that," I said, trying to recall the details.

"What the public knows at present is just a scratch on the surface," Wesley said. "Her latest efforts have been directed at ACTMAD. The American Coalition of Tough Mothers Against Drugs."

"You gotta be kidding," Marino said. "That's like saying UNICEF's dirty."

I did not volunteer that I sent money to ACTMAD every year and considered myself an enthusiastic supporter.

Wesley went on, "Mrs. Harvey has been gathering, evidence to prove that ACTMAD has been serving as a front for a drug cartel and other illegal activities in Central America."

"Geez," Marino said shaking his head. "Good thing I don't give a dime to nobody except the FOP."

"Deborah's and Fred's disappearance is perplexing because it seems connected to the other four couples," Wesley said. "But this could also be deliberate, someone's attempt to make us assume there is a link, when in fact there may not be. We may be dealing with a serial killer. We may be dealing with something else. Whatever the case, we want to work this as quietly as possible."

So I guess what you're waiting for now is a ransom or something, huh?" Marino said.

"You know, some Central American thugs will return Deborah to her for a price."

"I don't think that's going to happen, Pete."

Wesley replied: "It may be worse than that. Pat Harvey is due to testify in a congressional hearing early next year - and again, this all has to do with the illegitimate charities. There isn't anything much worse that could have happened right now than to have her daughter disappear."

My stomach knotted at the thought. Professionally, Pat Harvey did not seem particularly vulnerable, having enjoyed a spotless reputation throughout her career. But she was also a mother. The welfare of her children would be more precious to her than her own life her family was her Achilles' heel.