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54
They listened to an older woman’s voice speaking in a soft Virginia drawl:
My visits with Mrs. Clarkson were always short, and I understood because I knew they had to be very tedious for her after so many years with her husband in a coma. There was never much to say, only that Rebekah visited her grandfather often, always spoke with me, asked me questions. Such a kind girl, I always thought, a lovely girl. I was told by the Mayfield nursing staff that Rebekah had been coming there for years whenever she could. She’d talk to Mr. Clarkson as she stroked his hand, tell him what she was up to, and then she’d repeatone of the wild adventure stories he’d told her when she was a child.
It was the strangest thing, Agents, but when I happened to mention that story you asked me about, the Big Take story, on my last visit to Mrs. Clarkson before he died, she got very intense, and her eyes fastened on my face. She wanted to know everything her granddaughter said, so I told her what I remembered. It was her favorite of all his stories, and she’d recited a poem he’d written for her about it, about where he’d hidden the Big Take. As I said, it seemed to me Mrs. Clarkson was going to jump out of her skin. She wanted me to tell her the poem, but I couldn’t remember it, of course, only something about it all being in his head. Mrs. Clarkson became very angry with me, and I didn’t understand why. She told me to record everything Rebekah said to Mr. Clarkson when she visited again.
Griffin turned off the recording.
Gemma said nothing.
Rebekah said, “Mrs. Aubrey told us I didn’t mention the Big Take on my next four visits, and then Grandfather died and she went on to another job. I imagine you thought the money was lost to you after Grandfather had his strokes. I know he never told you where it was, otherwise why would he swear me to secrecy? And now you thought he’d told me where the Big Take was, hidden in that poem, even if I thought it was only a story.” Rebekah searched her grandmother’s face. “You couldn’t ask me about it outright. We’ve hardly been on speaking terms, and you knew I wouldn’t tell you the poem. So you hired Zoltan to try to convince me Grandfather wanted to speak with me, to trick me into telling her what I know. You’ve always believed people can speak to the dead through mediums. You thought Zoltan could convince me. But she didn’t.”
Savich said, “You knew Nate Elderby and your husband had a great deal of cash or bonds hidden away that they’d stolen in the early nineties. They shared everything, no doubt being in something criminal as well. Money like that would draw a great deal of attention, particularly to a congressman, so they knew they had to wait. They stashed it.
“How much was it, Mrs. Clarkson? Fifty million? A hundred million? I wondered why your husband didn’t tell you, but it’s obvious he didn’t want you to have it. The question is why.
“I found credit card records from Mr. Nathaniel Elderby registering as a guest at the Paulson Hotel in Richmond, a private boutique hotel in business since 1989. They continue to cater to the very wealthy who demand privacy. We tracked down the retired former manager of the Paulson. He recognized both you and Nate from photos taken of you in the nineties. And everything became clear. You and Nate were lovers, and you were at that hotel more than once. I believe Nate told you about the Big Take—probably pillow talk—until he caught himself. Then he met and fell in love with Miranda. He broke it off with you and married her. She was twenty-three years old, a knockout, and she worshiped him.”
Gemma exploded with ancient pent-up rage. “That bastard told me he wouldn’t break up John’s marriage! He told me I was old, can you believe that? He said Miranda—that child—was perfect for him.” Her voice cut off like a spigot. She seamed her lips, stared through him.
Savich continued without pause, without acknowledging what she’d said, “And then Nate decided he had to take his share of the money and leave the country with his new wife. I imagine he did plan to meet with John that day on Dawg Creek where they fished, perhaps to pick up the money. But he never got the chance.
“You met him there yourself. You’d have made threats, I’m sure, and then you lost it, hit him on the head and threw him overboard, and no one ever knew, not even Miranda. Did John find out about the affair? Suspect you’d killed his best friend? Is that why he decided you’d never see a penny of that money?”
Gemma slowly rose, flattened her hands on the desktop, and gave each of them a disgusted look. “I’ve been patient with you, but I will not listen to this absurd tale you’ve spun any longer. You’ve accused me of murdering Nate, with no proof whatsoever. Memories of a hotel manager from a picture taken twenty-five years ago? Is that your proof? My lawyers would have a field day with that.”
Rebekah said slowly, “Do you know I was ready to believe Grandfather could have killed his best friend? I bitterly regret ever considering it, even for an instant.” She paused a moment, then the words burst out of her. “What I still don’t understand is why you hated me as far back as I can remember. I am your granddaughter. I am of your flesh. Why, Grandmother?”
Gemma’s voice was vicious, filled with bitterness. “You stupid girl! You think your father was a young man who abandoned you and your mother, and she never even identified him to you? Didn’t you ever consider that odd? You never saw him, never heard his name? You’re an idiot. There never was a young man.”
And then, finally, it all slid into place. Rebekah said slowly, “I never even wondered why Grandfather spent so much time with me. I thought all grandfathers were like him. I knew he loved me, knew he’d give his life for me, yes, but I never once thought he wasn’t my grandfather. But he wasn’t; he was my father. What happened? Your husband had his own affair, got his lover pregnant, and he asked his daughter, a footloose twenty-two-year-old, to pretend to be my mother, to raise me? It’s amazing she agreed. I wonder what he gave her to claim his baby as her own. No wonder she asked me to call her Caitlin and not Mother.” Rebekah started laughing, gasping for breath. “She’s my older sister. It’s all so clear now. You’re right, I am an idiot.” She hiccupped. “And there you were, considered by one and all, myself included, my grandmother. That must have burned you to the ground.”
Gemma’s hands were fists. “I had to look at you, Johnny’s little princess, the pride of his benighted life. Do you know Caitlin told me she did love you like her daughter? She hadn’t wanted to, but she began to the moment she held you in her arms. And my husband saw to it I’d never tell anyone the truth, certainly not you, or he’d ruin me.” Gemma straightened, up went her chin. “In the end, who cares? None of it matters now. Johnny, your precious father, is dead and gone. It was I who took very good care of him all those long years when he was nothing more than a rotting vegetable. As for the rest of it, I did not kill Nate. That’s absurd.” She leaned forward, her eyes hard on their faces. “Now, I want all of you to leave. Go make your accusations to the next person on your list. If you bother me again, I will call my lawyers and let them deal with you.”
Rebekah said in a pleasant voice, “Sit down, you vicious harridan. I have more to say to you.”
Gemma stiffened and stared at Rebekah, her mouth agape. “What could you possibly have to say to me, you worthless brat?” But she sat down.
Rebekah smiled. “When I refused to tell Zoltan anything, did you hire those two men to kidnap me? Did you tell them to beat me until I told them the poem? Were you going to kill me after I told it to them?”
Gemma shook her head. “Don’t be any more of a fool than you already are. I know nothing of your attempted kidnapping. I know nothing of any of this. As for you, Rebekah, I hope I never have to see your face again.” She leaned forward, stared hard at Rebekah. “Do you know, you look more like your real mother? I wonder if you’ll ever find the slut.”
Rebekah actually smiled. “You want to know what scares me? You’re still officially my grandmother, and I’m still officially related to you.”
No one moved. Rebekah said, “Do you know the poem Grandfather—Father—had me memorize? I have no idea what it means, none at all. Even if you’d succeeded, even if those thugs you hired had tortured me, there was nothing I could have told them.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. So you see, this elaborate scheme of yours was for absolutely nothing at all.”
Savich said, “Mrs. Clarkson, feel free to call your lawyers. You’re going to need them. We have Gary Duvall in custody, the thug you hired to shoot Zoltan. He isn’t talking now, but he has very little to lose and might save himself a return to a supermax prison if he does talk. I suspect we’ll be able to tie him to you in some way. What are the odds you’d be connected to two people who shot each other if you’re not involved?”
Gemma threw back her head and laughed. “Oh my, do take any evidence you find to a federal attorney, and he can laugh along with me. I don’t know any Gary Duvall.”
As they rode down in the elevator, Griffin sighed. “I really thought she’d incriminate herself, but we got nothing solid. The old bat is right, we need more.”
Savich said as they stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, “You should go home, Rebekah. Call your husband, get him home, spend some downtime with him. You two have a lot to talk about. I have to admit, your grandmother surprised me with how unconcerned she seemed about Gary Duvall. Something isn’t right.” He threw his Porsche fob in the air, caught it, and started whistling as he walked with them to the parking lot.
As Rebekah and Griffin watched him drive out in his beautiful red Porsche, she said, “Do you know what’s grand, Griffin? That hateful old woman isn’t really my grandmother. At last everything makes sense.” She paused by Griffin’s Range Rover. “And I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting to see her in jail.”
