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“I don’t know how friendly Jack and Shane were. But yes, Jack slept with her.”
Grace’s head began to whirl. “And Geri Duncan got pregnant.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“But you know she’s dead.”
“Yes.”
“And you know Jack ran away.”
“Before she died.”
“Before she was pregnant?”
“I just told you. I never knew she was pregnant.”
“And Shane Alworth and Sheila Lambert, they’re both missing too. You want to tell me it’s all a coincidence, Sandra?”
“I don’t know.”
“So what did Jack say when he called you?”
She let loose a deep sigh. Her head dropped. She was silent for a while.
“Sandra?”
“Look, that picture has to be, what, fifteen, sixteen years old? When you just gave it to him like that, out of the blue . . . how did you think he’d react? With Geri’s face crossed out. So Jack went to the computer. He did a Web search—I think he used the Boston Globe’s archives. He found out she’s been dead this whole time. That was why he called me. He wanted to know what happened to her. I told him.”
“Told him what?”
“What I knew. That she died in a fire.”
“Why would that make Jack run out?”
“That I don’t know.”
“What made him run overseas in the first place?”
“You have to let this go.”
“What happened to them, Sandra?”
She shook her head. “Forget the fact that I’m his attorney and that it’s protected. It is simply not my place. He’s my brother.”
Grace reached out and took Sandra’s hands in hers. “I think he’s in trouble.”
“Then what I know can’t help him.”
“They threatened my children today.”
Sandra closed her eyes.
“Did you hear what I said?”
A man in a business suit leaned into the room. He said, “It’s time, Sandra.” She nodded and thanked him. Sandra pulled her hands away, stood, smoothed out the lines of her suit.
“You have to stop this, Grace. You have to go home now. You have to protect your family. It’s what Jack would want you to do.”
chapter 38
The threat at the supermarket had not taken.
Wu was not surprised. He had been raised in an environment that stressed the power of men and the subordination of women, but Wu had always found it to be more hope than truth. Women were harder. They were more unpredictable. They handled physical pain better—he knew this from personal experience. When it came to protecting their loved ones, they were far more ruthless. Men would sacrifice themselves out of machismo or stupidity or the blind belief that they would be victorious. Women would sacrifice themselves without self-deception.
He had not been in favor of making the threat in the first place. Threats left enemies and uncertainty. Eliminating Grace Lawson earlier would have been routine. Eliminating her now would be riskier.
Wu would have to return and handle the job himself.
He was in Beatrice Smith’s shower, dyeing his hair back to its original color. Wu usually wore it bleached blond. He did this for two reasons. The first reason was basic: He liked the way it looked. Vanity, perhaps, but when Wu looked in the mirror he thought the surfer-blond, gel-spiked style worked on him. Reason two, the color—a garish yellow—was useful because it was what most people remembered. When he brought his hair back to its natural state of everyday Asian-black, flattened it down, when he changed his clothes from the modern hip style to something more conservative, donned a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, well, the transformation was very effective.
He grabbed Jack Lawson and dragged him down into the basement. Lawson did not resist. He was barely conscious. He was not doing well. His mind, already stretched, had perhaps snapped. He would not survive much longer.
The basement was unfinished and damp. Wu remembered the last time he’d been in a similar setting, out in San Mateo, California. The instructions had been specific. He had been hired to torture a man for exactly eight hours—why eight Wu had never learned—and then break bones in both the man’s legs and arms. Wu had manipulated the broken bones so that the jagged edges sat next to nerve bundles or near the surface of the skin. Any movement, even the slightest, would cause excruciating pain. Wu locked the basement and left the man by himself. He checked up on him once a day. The man would plead, but Wu would just stare silently. It took eleven days for the man to die of starvation.
Wu found a strong pipe and chained Lawson to it. He also cuffed his arms behind his back around a support wall. He put the gag back into his mouth.
Then he decided to test the binds.
“You should have gotten every copy of that photograph,” Wu whispered.
Jack Lawson’s eyes rolled up.
“Now I’ll have to pay your wife a visit.”
Their gazes locked. A second passed, no more, and then Lawson sprang to life. He began to flail. Wu watched him. Yes, this would be a good test. Lawson struggled for several minutes, a fish dying on the line. Nothing gave way.
Wu left him alone then, still fighting his chains, to find Grace Lawson.
chapter 39
Grace did not want to stay for the press conference.
Being in the same room with all these mourners . . . She didn’t like to use the term “aura,” but it seemed to fit. The room had a bad aura. Shattered eyes stared at her with a yearning that was palpable. Grace understood, of course. She was no longer the conduit to their lost children—too much time had passed for that. Now she was the survivor. She was there, alive and breathing, while their children rotted in the grave. On the surface there was still affection, but beneath that Grace could feel rage at the unfairness of it all. She had lived—their children had not. The years had offered no reprieve. Now that Grace had children of her own, she understood in a way that would have been impossible fifteen years ago.
She was about to slide out the back door when a hand took firm hold of her wrist. She turned and saw it was Carl Vespa.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“That’s okay. I can hire a car.”
His hand, still on her wrist, tightened for a brief moment and again Grace thought she saw something detonate behind his eyes. “Stay,” he said.
It was not a request. She searched his face, but it was oddly calm. Too calm. His demeanor—so off with the surroundings, so different from the flash of fury she’d seen last night—frightened her anew. Was this really the man she was trusting with her children’s lives?
