Page 57 of The List

“Now you’re dealing directly, without the middleman?” Brent asked.

Lee smiled. A thin irritating gesture he instantly disliked.

“In a manner of speaking. So let’s be realistic.

All I want are the things you have. As I’m sure you’ve surmised Bozin and I didn’t get along.

His fanciful fiction about what this company has supposedly been doing doesn’t need to be aired publicly.

It’s all lies. He just wants to harm me and this company.

To do that he concocted some incredible malarkey. ”

He noticed the two file folders lying on the table in front of Lee. “You have the copies of what Bozin gave me?”

Lee pointed to the top file. “Mr. Greene provided those. I’ve read the narrative and the two notes, and I listened to the tape. Like I’ve already told you, this is nothing but lies designed to hurt me, Mr. Hughes, and this company.”

“Those lies include what happened to my father?”

“That’s an excellent example of what I mean. Your father was the victim of a tragic boating accident. A terrible thing. Bozin, quite insensitively I might add, tried to fabricate murder. Don’t you think the police would have long ago come up with evidence to support that, if true?”

“Not necessarily.” He looked at De Florio. “From what I’ve been told your associates are good.”

De Florio’s face stayed like granite.

“Brent, we need to be reasonable,” Lee said. “I’m trying to make this as painless as possible. I see no reason for you to be involved in a personal feud between Mr. Bozin and myself. It was wrong of Chris to include you in the first place.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said I agree with. Unfortunately, it’s far too late to turn back now.”

“All I want are the original writings you have. After that, we can consider the matter dropped with your assurance there are no copies and you won’t be talking to the press or some prosecutor. You have my word nothing more will come from any of this.”

“You’ve got to be joking. I’m supposed to trust your word?”

“It appears you have little option. Greene said he had all of what Bozin left. I didn’t believe him.” Lee pointed. “Because you have it.”

“I have the originals. Greene had copies, except for a tape recording.”

“I want your originals, including the list Hank Reed obtained.”

He realized the only reason Lee was even talking to him was he first needed to retrieve all those items. So he bought more time. “I can go get them.”

“Mr. De Florio will accompany you.”

“Not a chance.”

Lee looked at his watch. “All right. It’s 9:15. I want you back here by 10:00. With everything.”

“I’m not Greene,” he made clear.

“No, apparently you’re not. But I’m no fool either.” Lee passed the second folder to De Florio. “Jon.”

De Florio opened the file. “You live at 328 Live Oak Lane. Your mother is Catherine, age sixty-six. She likes gardening, does it most mornings for a couple of hours, plays bridge on Thursdays. Sadly, she’s been diagnosed with dementia—”

“Enough.” He shoved back the chair, stood, and moved toward the door. “I get the picture.”

Lee stayed seated. “I hope you do. I expect to hear from you within the next forty-five minutes.”

He left.

L EE STARED AT THE CLOSED DOOR.

“Jon, I don’t think Mr. Walker is going to be as cooperative as he’d like for us to think.”

“There’s no reason for him to trust us, or for him to think you will keep your word.”

“Understandable, considering I won’t.” He paused. “What did he do over the weekend?”

“Yard work on Saturday. Went to an air show with Reed’s daughter and granddaughter on Sunday. He’s been seeing the daughter socially. On the way back they stopped by Reed’s for a few minutes.”

“Were you able to listen in on the conversation?”

“They didn’t talk in the outer office, that’s the only room we have bugged. But they made a call to Greene’s house, looking for him.”

“I bet they were. Any more contact between Reed and Walker?”

“A call this morning. Then they met together in the cafeteria before work. The conversation appeared pleasant and friendly.”

“I can’t help but feel we’re being rocked to sleep.” He thought for a moment. “Mr. Walker is not going to bring us what we want. So there will almost certainly have to be retribution. You said his mother was how old?”

“Sixty-six.”

“And Reed has a daughter and granddaughter?”

De Florio nodded.

He considered the options.

“Let’s be in position to move on Walker’s mother at 10:01. But not a moment before. And make it awful. Crime is running rampant these days. Burglaries and robberies occur all the time. The drug traffic causes such mayhem. That should send an appropriate message to all involved.”

9:20 A.M.

B RENT HEADED BACK TOWARD HIS OFFICE. H E ENTERED B UILDING B, but instead of climbing the stairs to the general counsel’s office he stayed on the ground floor and slipped into receiving.

He desperately needed a phone. De Florio had unnerved him, the message clear.

Play ball or we know all about your family.

He needed to get in touch with his mother, and fast.

He found a phone in an empty office and dialed his home number, but all he got was the answering machine.

Where was she? Even when she was working out in the yard she always toted the cordless with her.

He thought hard, then it hit him. She’d mentioned yesterday a dentist appointment to get her teeth cleaned.

What he couldn’t recall was the name of her dentist.

Maybe if he saw it he’d recognize it.

He rambled through the desk drawers. In the second one he found a Woods County telephone directory. He opened to the yellow pages and scanned the section for dentists. Three names. Spencer, Molis, and Young.

Molis. The recall triggered what else his mother said. New to the area, came about five years ago, young, reasonable about appointments.

He quickly dialed the number.

“This is Brent Walker. My mother Catherine is there having her teeth cleaned. Is she still there?”

“No, sir, we finished with her a few minutes ago. She’s already gone.”

He hung up.

Damn. Any other time she’d have to sit an hour in the waiting room. He dialed home again but still got only the answering machine. Unfortunately, she did not own a cell phone. No need, she always said.

His panic cemented.

Hamilton Lee would do whatever was necessary to get what he wanted.

Of that he was sure. If that meant harming his mother, or maybe Ashley and Lori Anne, that’s exactly what he would do.

Greene pushed his luck. He was not going to make the same mistake.

He had to get everyone close to him out of Concord.

But he knew he couldn’t leave the mill. That would only point De Florio directly toward them.

What he needed was to keep them out in the open, around people, away from the privacy De Florio and his associates liked to use. What to do? Think.

Yes. That’s it.

He reached for the phone and dialed again.

9:35 A.M.

F RANK B ARNARD’S CELL PHONE SPRANG TO LIFE.

De Florio was calling.

“That older woman you’ve been monitoring along with your main interest, please be ready to process her after 10:01. A criminal implication is preferred. I will text when to move.”

“Understood.”

He hung up.

Barnard had been stationed outside the mill at a convenience store, ready to pick up Reed or Walker if either left the plant.

He knew Victor Jacks was inside the mill, still dressed as a security guard, there to directly deal with Reed if necessary.

He cranked the car engine and drove west toward Concord.

Ten minutes later he cruised down Live Oak Lane, making a cursory pass in front of the Walker house, noticing no Prius in the drive.

He rounded the corner and parked the next block over.

He then made his way back on foot and approached the house from the rear.

The dead bolt on the rear French door took twenty-eight seconds to trip.

He stepped cautiously inside.

The house seemed quiet, apparently empty, but he decided to be sure.

Confirmation came on the refrigerator door where a printed card from the office of Dr. Ryan Molis showed that Catherine Walker had an 8:30 dental appointment today.

He searched the kitchen drawers and found a sharp boning knife.

The meaning from De Florio’s instruction of “criminal implication” was clear.

After he slit Catherine Walker’s throat, he would ransack things, stealing just enough to imply a drug-related burglary.

He crept to the front of the house and studied his watch.

9:52 A.M.

Catherine Walker should return shortly.

He stationed himself in the front parlor, with a clear view of the driveway out the windows.

And awaited further orders.

9:54 A.M.

B RENT DIALED THE NUMBER FOR G RACE T ANNER.

S EVENTY-THREE years old, a widow, she’d lived next door all his life.

She was a lot like his mother. Fiercely independent, did all her own yard work, and possessed the kind of personality people instantly liked.

Two rings and the irritating recording announced, “ We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed .

” He’d apparently pushed the buttons too fast, so he cleared the line, calmed down, and dialed again, this time slower, making sure he hit the right keys.

Three rings.

Four.

Five.

He was just about to hang up when the phone was answered.

“Grace, it’s Brent Walker.”

Since moving back to Concord he’d talked with her several times, along with getting to know her two grandsons.

“Is my mother at home?”

“I haven’t seen her this morning. Let me look.” The echo of steps across a hardwood floor came through the earpiece.

“Brent, her car is not in the driveway.”