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“I thought Savich was throwing his weight around, rubbing my nose in how he could talk Detective Raven into anything. He did the same thing on Sunday! It pissed me off—”
Maitland interrupted him, “Answer his question, Detective Mayer.”
Mayer’s face was so red Savich was afraid he’d stroke out. No one said a word. Finally, he whispered, “Yes. Yes, I would have felt responsible.”
Captain Ramirez said matter-of-factly, “Do you now admit Agent Savich was justified in requesting a police guard?”
Stone silence. Captain Ramirez merely looked at him, waited.
Mayer said finally, “So he turned out to be right, in this case.”
Maitland said, “And if Agent Savich hadn’t taken a personal interest in this young man, do you think John Doe would still be alive?”
Mayer turned on Savich, but there was nothing more he could say.
Time to end it. Mayer was heaving with anger, with guilt, with humiliation. He was a man with a long career—a good cop, no, an excellent cop—and he’d finally admitted his mistake.
Mr. Maitland said, “Detective Mayer, you should know Savich didn’t call for this meeting, I did. I wanted to hear your apology myself. You have an excellent and fair captain, and he will decide whether to take any disciplinary action.” Maitland leaned forward, his big hands splayed on his desktop. “If I were Agent Savich, I doubt I would have behaved as well. I strongly suggest you get over yourself and stop the self-justification because there isn’t any.” He paused, nodded. “Captain Ramirez, thank you for coming.”
When the door closed behind the two men, Maitland said, “I’m thinking maybe Detective Mayer cares more about John Doe than he hates you.”
Savich said, “Maybe you’re right. But I do know that his hatred of me is hardwired. We’ll see what he does now. Thank you for dealing with this, sir.”
Maitland came around his desk, sent his fist into Savich’s arm. It hurt, but Savich smiled. “I know, boyo, that you would have let it go, but I couldn’t. Mayer had to be called out, he had to be brought to book. If there’s a next time, I can guarantee he won’t be so lucky.”
29
IN THE HELICOPTER OVER VIRGINIA
Elena kept her Walther pressed against Liam’s side. She was quiet, her mouth seamed, and Liam thought she was probably thinking about Jacobson’s perfect-ten swan dive to the road at the feet of those two FBI agents. All in all, in his opinion, it was a satisfying ending for the bully.
Liam turned to her, gave her a white-toothed smile. “Our little vacation in the forest didn’t turn out the way you planned, but hey, it had its moments. We’re finally going to see the big boss?”
“Shut up.” She pressed the gun harder against his side.
He continued to smile. No way would she shoot him, she’d already made that clear. And that made her vulnerable. Quick as a snake, he twisted the gun barrel away from him, grabbed the back of her head with one hand, and pressed the thumb and forefingers of his other hand under both sides of her chin, squeezing fast and hard upward to pinch off her carotid arteries until she sagged against him, unconscious. “Like squeezing a garden hose,” he whispered against her temple. “I’m glad you knew enough not to pull the trigger.” He kissed her temple. “You owe me, sweetheart. If I’d held you longer, you’d be dead, but I don’t want you dead.”
The pilot twisted in his seat, yelled, “Hey! What’s going on back there? What did you do to Elena?” The helicopter banked, then righted again.
Liam saw him fumbling with a box on the seat next to him. He turned his headset microphone on so the pilot could hear him. “No, mate, don’t go for a gun. There’s nothing to worry about. She’s not dead, only taking a little nap. I didn’t want any more trouble from her, and you know women—” He laughed, picked up the Walther from the floor, checked the magazine
was full. Excellent. He said, “I’ve got the gun, but you have no worries as long as you keep flying us where we’re supposed to go.”
“But why’d you do that, Manta Ray? You didn’t have to; she wasn’t going to hurt you.”
He wasn’t Manta Ray now. No, he was Liam, Liam Hennessey. He smiled widely, showing a gold back tooth. For the first time since he was shot, he was in control again. He was flush with pleasure. If he played his cards right, he’d soon be richer than his poor dead partner, Cass, God rest his soul.
Showtime.
He eyed the back of the pilot’s head, brought his Irish to full power, falling into the cadence. “Well, laddie, first thing for you to remember is my name is Liam Hennessey. You can call me Liam. I’ll admit it: Elena’s good, but I’m better. And to be honest, I knew she couldn’t shoot me. If I die, her boss’s grand schemes go to the grave with me.” He lifted the Walther so the pilot could see it.
“Look, mate, I know the lay of the land, probably better than you do. Let’s have ourselves a fine chat.”
“All they told me is your name’s Manta Ray, but who are you?”
I’m your worst nightmare. Liam smiled, gently pressed the Walther to the back of the pilot’s neck. He froze. Liam rubbed the muzzle back and forth across his neck. “Don’t make me remind you again, mate. I’m not Manta Ray, I’m Liam. And I am the most important man in the world to the boss.” He lowered the Walther. “What’s your name?”
“Ralph, Ralph Henley. I didn’t know you were a mick. Listen, don’t kill Elena, the boss would go nuts, shoot all of us. They’re lovers, for years now, common knowledge.”
