Backfire
Page 75
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“What does he finance?”
“Well, he runs Willet, Haversham, and Bayle.”
She let out a whistle. “They’re so big even I’ve heard of them. They’re worldwide. And they survived the bankers’ rape of the world with fairly clean hands, from all I’ve read. Your dad’s CEO?”
“Well, not really. He’s the chairman of the board. Actually, he pretty much is Willet, Haversham, and Bayle.”
“But your name’s Christoff.”
“Willet and Haversham are his first and middle names, the middle name from his own father, and Bayle is his best friend. They picked the name because Dad liked the sound of it, all snooty and English, like one of their ancient law firms.”
“So your dad is Willet Haversham Christoff? And what’s your full name?”
“I’ll tell you on my deathbed.”
“That bad? Does your name sound like an English duke? All right, I’ll wait. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I’m an only child.”
“All right, I’ll keep pulling hen’s teeth. Your mom?”
“Sylvia is my mom. She’s a fashion consultant.”
She stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
He shrugged. “She’d take one look at you and want to haul you off to be photographed for Vogue. And she’d be right. The camera would love you, she’d say. You’ve got great bones.”
“How would you know that?”
“She took me with her on photo shoots, showed me all the subtle clues in a person’s face, actually. I’ve found it all very useful to a cop.”
“With that background, why’d you want to be a cop?”
Harry said, without hesitation, “My uncle Roy, my mom’s brother, is FBI. When I was six years old he told me I had the heart of a cop. He was right.”
Harry’s cell rang. “Yeah?”
His face remained impassive, but his eyes hardened. “We’ll be there in twelve minutes.”
“What?”
“You put the Cahills in a holding cell in the Federal Building, right? Someone evidently cleared the Cahills to go back to the San Francisco jail. Cheney called, found out they were transferred at eight-forty-five tonight.”
“No, that’s not possible. I mean—what happened?”
Hall of Justice
Women’s jail
Monday night
Cindy Cahill shook her hands to regain some circulation as plump mean-as-a-snake Annette in her too-tight uniform trousers unlocked her wrist chains. “Welcome home,” Annette said. “Hey, you weren’t over in the Federal Building for very long. What was that all about?”
Cindy shook her head. “No one said a word, dragged me and Clive over there, then brought us back.”
“Your hubby okay?”
“Clive would be thriving if it was World War Three.” She and Clive had been taken to the holding cells on the twentieth floor because Savich had wanted to scare them, and not about the CIA, either, but about Xu, as if he’d have a chance of getting into the jail and killing them. Of course, no one had said that, but she’d known it to her toes. Why hadn’t that bitch marshal Barbieri told her what this was all about? Because Barbieri was only a drone, and drones kept their mouths shut, if they even knew the answers.
As she knelt down to unfasten the ankle chains, Annette said, “Maybe this moving you around has to do with your lawyer being murdered up in Bel Marin Keys this afternoon. Both him and his girlfriend.”
Cindy’s heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. She put her hand out to the wall so she wouldn’t fall over. Milo was dead? Murdered? Of course Xu had killed him, she knew it, and that meant he was cleaning house: O’Rourke, Judge Hunt, Milo—she and Clive were the last ones left. Well, Judge Hunt was alive, but why Xu gave a crap about the judge was a huge question in her mind, since he had nothing to do with anything. Had Milo tried to blackmail Xu into giving him more money? Could he have been that stupid? Or was Xu ready to leave the country? He didn’t want to take the chance of anyone finding out his name or anything about him?
And now she and Clive were the only ones left who could tie him to anything at all. It was bad enough Xu had murdered O’Rourke, but she’d believed he’d had to, since O’Rourke had screwed everything up and alerted the judge. It even made sense to her. Both she and Clive had believed Xu would find some other way to get them out. But to murder Milo? Even though in the last couple of days both she and Clive had begun to have doubts about Milo, he’d always calmed her, always made her feel like she was in charge. And he always reminded her that Xu was backing them, the man who had all the money and would spend as much as it took. Xu wasn’t bad in the sack, either.
“Well, he runs Willet, Haversham, and Bayle.”
She let out a whistle. “They’re so big even I’ve heard of them. They’re worldwide. And they survived the bankers’ rape of the world with fairly clean hands, from all I’ve read. Your dad’s CEO?”
“Well, not really. He’s the chairman of the board. Actually, he pretty much is Willet, Haversham, and Bayle.”
“But your name’s Christoff.”
“Willet and Haversham are his first and middle names, the middle name from his own father, and Bayle is his best friend. They picked the name because Dad liked the sound of it, all snooty and English, like one of their ancient law firms.”
“So your dad is Willet Haversham Christoff? And what’s your full name?”
“I’ll tell you on my deathbed.”
“That bad? Does your name sound like an English duke? All right, I’ll wait. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I’m an only child.”
“All right, I’ll keep pulling hen’s teeth. Your mom?”
“Sylvia is my mom. She’s a fashion consultant.”
She stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
He shrugged. “She’d take one look at you and want to haul you off to be photographed for Vogue. And she’d be right. The camera would love you, she’d say. You’ve got great bones.”
“How would you know that?”
“She took me with her on photo shoots, showed me all the subtle clues in a person’s face, actually. I’ve found it all very useful to a cop.”
“With that background, why’d you want to be a cop?”
Harry said, without hesitation, “My uncle Roy, my mom’s brother, is FBI. When I was six years old he told me I had the heart of a cop. He was right.”
Harry’s cell rang. “Yeah?”
His face remained impassive, but his eyes hardened. “We’ll be there in twelve minutes.”
“What?”
“You put the Cahills in a holding cell in the Federal Building, right? Someone evidently cleared the Cahills to go back to the San Francisco jail. Cheney called, found out they were transferred at eight-forty-five tonight.”
“No, that’s not possible. I mean—what happened?”
Hall of Justice
Women’s jail
Monday night
Cindy Cahill shook her hands to regain some circulation as plump mean-as-a-snake Annette in her too-tight uniform trousers unlocked her wrist chains. “Welcome home,” Annette said. “Hey, you weren’t over in the Federal Building for very long. What was that all about?”
Cindy shook her head. “No one said a word, dragged me and Clive over there, then brought us back.”
“Your hubby okay?”
“Clive would be thriving if it was World War Three.” She and Clive had been taken to the holding cells on the twentieth floor because Savich had wanted to scare them, and not about the CIA, either, but about Xu, as if he’d have a chance of getting into the jail and killing them. Of course, no one had said that, but she’d known it to her toes. Why hadn’t that bitch marshal Barbieri told her what this was all about? Because Barbieri was only a drone, and drones kept their mouths shut, if they even knew the answers.
As she knelt down to unfasten the ankle chains, Annette said, “Maybe this moving you around has to do with your lawyer being murdered up in Bel Marin Keys this afternoon. Both him and his girlfriend.”
Cindy’s heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. She put her hand out to the wall so she wouldn’t fall over. Milo was dead? Murdered? Of course Xu had killed him, she knew it, and that meant he was cleaning house: O’Rourke, Judge Hunt, Milo—she and Clive were the last ones left. Well, Judge Hunt was alive, but why Xu gave a crap about the judge was a huge question in her mind, since he had nothing to do with anything. Had Milo tried to blackmail Xu into giving him more money? Could he have been that stupid? Or was Xu ready to leave the country? He didn’t want to take the chance of anyone finding out his name or anything about him?
And now she and Clive were the only ones left who could tie him to anything at all. It was bad enough Xu had murdered O’Rourke, but she’d believed he’d had to, since O’Rourke had screwed everything up and alerted the judge. It even made sense to her. Both she and Clive had believed Xu would find some other way to get them out. But to murder Milo? Even though in the last couple of days both she and Clive had begun to have doubts about Milo, he’d always calmed her, always made her feel like she was in charge. And he always reminded her that Xu was backing them, the man who had all the money and would spend as much as it took. Xu wasn’t bad in the sack, either.
