The Truant Officer v5 Read online

“I’m glad you can find humor in this fiasco.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t charge extra for the comedy.”

  LaPoint sighed. “I can’t believe Eicher let you talk him into this high school nonsense.”

  “It’s called Integration Theory, and I have safely incorporated numerous witnesses into communities, schools, etc. Last I checked, you have never been in charge of the safety of a witness. And if you were, you would know that it only works if the witness doesn’t break the rule—make no contact with anyone from the outside. There is no second rule, because if they break the first one they will end up dead. Nick was busted because he contacted his sister.”

  “Barricading him was the right move, not integration. You should have learned from Osama. If he’d stayed in his cave he wouldn’t be fish food right now. But he must have read your book, because he decided to move the family to the suburbs.”

  “Wrong again. He got caught because he chose to hide out in that fortress, instead of blending into society. It raised suspicion, and once they figured out his location, he was trapped. And the same thing would have happened to Nick.”

  LaPoint could never win with Fitzpatrick, so he changed the subject. “So what’s Mr. McLaughlin up to?”

  “After you delivered him the truth about his wife, he went to the high school to talk to Principal Garcia. He also made a new friend named Rebecca Ryan. Quite a cutie, I must say. They left the school and came here.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah, he and his new friend broke in. May I suggest a better security system with that crazy Zubov on the loose?”

  “What did McLaughlin do here?”

  “Broke into Brett’s computer. Saw some racy photos of his wife partying like a rock star at the prom.”

  “Then what?”

  “He actually passed out. Once he was revived, he and Rebecca went out for a burger. He did prove himself to be a gentleman, returning the girl to school so she could pick up her vehicle.”

  “So what’s your take on McLaughlin?”

  “I agree with your initial analysis. He had no clue about his wife’s extracurricular activities. And as far as I know, he hasn’t made contact with the Mrs. since she left town.”

  “Speaking of the wife, Eicher thinks she might be working with Sarvydas.”

  “If she was, we’d be packing up our things and heading home. It would be over.”

  “Rumor has it that Nick took off because he thought there was a leak in the US Attorney’s Office, but Eicher thinks the leak might be coming from the field,” LaPoint stated firmly, his eyes fixed on the young marshal.

  Fitzpatrick looked annoyed. “You think I’m the leak? Do you really believe I would’ve screwed up this much if I was on the take? It would be too obvious.”

  He couldn’t argue with that one. A double-agent would at least offer an attempt at deception.

  Despite this debacle, Fitzpatrick was a talented young marshal who had a bright future. But all young law enforcement officials—no matter if they’re in the FBI, USFM, CIA, or a local agency—learn lessons the hard way. And when you mess up in this job, people usually die. The good ones come back from that, but some don’t.

  “Congratulations, you’ve almost made it through an entire afternoon without effing anything else up.”

  “I think I’m in line for a promotion,” Fitzpatrick replied with the breezy smile that always worried LaPoint. “Any word on Nick?”

  “He called Eicher.”

  “Called? Is he okay?”

  “Doing better than Dantelli.”

  Fitzpatrick looked baffled. “What happened to Dantelli?”

  Now it was LaPoint’s turn to look surprised. “Eicher said you emailed the video to them. Had a run-in with Zubov that turned out like most run-ins with Zubov.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it—can I see the video?”

  “I thought he said it was you, but maybe I misunderstood. I have bigger things to think about than who sent who what.” He took out a hand-held device and showed Fitzpatrick the video of Zubov entering Dantelli’s home. The results of his visit were documented in the gory crime scene photos that followed.

  LaPoint backed off, knowing Fitzpatrick’s failure to protect Nick caused a chain reaction that ended with Dantelli floating dead in a pool.

  He changed the subject, offering up the information about Audrey Mays’ hands, which actually weren’t her hands, and his scheduled trip to Oklahoma in the morning.

  “I’m coming with you,” Fitzpatrick stated, still showing an idealistic vigor. A good sign.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “C’mon, there’s nothing left for me to do here.”

  He shook his head. “You’re grounded, Fitzpatrick.”

  After the yelling stopped, Fitzpatrick marched into the bedroom where Brett Buckley once resided, and slammed the door in anger.

  Chapter 39

  Natalie Gold sprawled naked across the elegant bed, her gaze fixed on the prime minister as he finished dressing. The room was fit for royalty, filled with rose petals and expensive aromas. But despite what the cover of Rolling Stone said, Natalie knew she was nothing more than a well paid prostitute, and Viktor was her pimp. But it was a means to an end, or in this case, a surprise ending.

  He met her look. His eyes then wandered down her body. “You were amazing, Natalie.”

  To go through with Viktor’s requests, she had to transform into the ice princess called Natalie Gold. It was as if she was having an out-of-body experience. She smiled. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  “I can only hope that Viktor and I do more business while he’s in Israel.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, holding the smile.

  He ran the tips of his fingers over her naked body from toes to nose, then softly rubbed her cheek with the back of his hand. It was like he wanted one last touch to store in his mind.

  When Kessler departed, Natalie moved into a grand bathroom. She stared into the mirror, no longer recognizing herself. She still hadn’t got used to the look of the voluptuous pop star. After being murdered, she really had no other choice.

  Natalie cupped her large breasts as if to make sure they were actually attached to her body. They acted like an elaborate costume she couldn’t remove. When she looked in the mirror she still saw her once lithe body. She pulled off her blonde wig, the tape scraping at her shaved scalp. She longed for her natural brown, straight hair that once hung below her shoulders. Viktor probably had the same problem, she thought with a laugh. She didn’t know who he thought he was fooling with the wig he wore so proudly. And he caked-on more make-up than she ever did

  The plastic surgery that changed her into Natalie Gold was all about making her dream come true. And Natalie would go to any lengths to make it happen. But her dream wasn’t to be a pop star.

  That didn’t mean that her first great love wasn’t singing. Her first public performance was in a small church in Oklahoma where her father was the minister. By the time she was ten, she was a showstopper, with people coming from hundreds of miles to see the neophyte with the angelic voice. No wedding or funeral in Cotton County was official until it was marked by her voice.

  Her small town of Devol even raised money to send her to perform on Star Search when she was eleven. She lost out to a nine-year-old rapper who got three-and-a-half stars, while all she got was a goodbye wish from Ed McMahon. But it was on a church trip to New York to see The Nutcracker, when she knew where her destiny lay. Following graduation from high school, she was accepted to the Juilliard School, arguably the most prestigious performing arts school in the nation.

  Once in New York, she took jobs singing in clubs to make rent on her closet-sized apartment in Brooklyn Heights. And then one day she found her second love. He was a tall and handsome law student who came up to her after a performance to compliment her. He did make an odd statement, telling her that she reminded him of his mother. She had met some weirdos during her time in New
York, and initially shied away. But he explained that his mother also was a singer with a beautiful voice.

  They became inseparable. And she discovered that while singing was her passion, it was not her dream. Her dream was to spend the rest of her life with him. But when Nick’s world came crashing down, and she was “murdered,” Audrey Mays realized that she’d have to become someone else to make her dream come true.

  Her new dream was to kill Viktor Sarvydas.

  Chapter 40

  Natalie changed into a baggy T-shirt and shorts. More along the lines of something Audrey would wear to bed than how Viktor normally had her dress for him. She moved down the quiet hallway and slipped into the master bedroom.

  Viktor was propped on top of the bed, wearing purple satin pajamas, and still had on his wig and make-up. The television was on, but Viktor was engrossed in his Russian crime novel. He took off his reading glasses and looked at her like the cat that ate the canary. “Did the prime minister enjoy his stay?”

  Audrey found her brash Natalie Gold persona, and her veins filled with ice. “They are going to have to surgically remove the smile from his face.”

  He looked pleased. “I aptly named you—you are worth your weight in gold.”

  She crawled up next to him and ran her hand over his satin-covered chest. “It’s not the same as being with you, Viktor.”

  When he gently nudged her away, she disguised her relief. She curled up beside him as if she were disappointed.

  “You should save your strength for tomorrow. You have a long flight and a full day of promotion. Then the premiere party for your video in the evening.”

  “I’m so excited, I’ve never been to New York,” she exclaimed. Technically, Natalie Gold never had, even if the late Audrey Mays once lived there.

  “It’s the greatest city in the world,” Viktor gushed. “Far greater than any so-called city you’ll find in Israel. One day when this mess with Alexei is cleared up, I will show you around the city as a princess should see it.”

  She rubbed her hand over his chest once more, this time more comforting than seductive. “It’s terrible how they are treating him like some animal. Your family has done so much for that country.”

  He patted her hand and held it close to where his heart would be if he had one. “Speaking of Alexei, I have a favor to ask of you when you arrive in the States.”

  “Let me guess, you want me to work my charm on the prison guards and break him out,” she chortled coyly.

  Viktor remained serious. This trial was no joke to him. “Alexei will need no help getting out of prison, but he will need a ride when he is released tomorrow. I want you to pick him up. Buy him a decent outfit and bring him as your date to the party. After his ordeal, he deserves a good night out on the town.”

  “They are releasing him?” she asked, caught unaware.

  “By tomorrow they will be left with no other choice.”

  She didn’t doubt him. What Viktor wanted, he got. He didn’t clarify why his son would be released in the face of the overwhelming evidence against him. Viktor bookmarked his page in the novel and turned his focus to the television. Their nightly ritual was to watch the news and then fall asleep. But in actuality, Viktor slept, while Natalie lay awake and cursed each breath he took.

  He always watched GNZ cable news, refusing to acknowledge the local Tel Aviv networks that he thought portrayed him as a Russian criminal who’d bought off the prime minister. He didn’t dispute it—he just didn’t like it.

  The first story was about political primaries set for the following day in the States, where it was still Monday afternoon. The second was about the aftermath of an earthquake in India that had killed over a hundred. The controversy they created at the Wailing Wall—timed perfectly to coincide with her much anticipated US arrival—was the third.

  Three stories later came a detailed report about Alexei’s upcoming trial. One of the key witnesses, a retired NYPD detective named Dantelli, had been murdered in his suburban Las Vegas home. Viktor avoided any eye contact with her as the story unfolded, but she now had a better idea of why he was so confident of Alexei’s release.

  The news reports started to run together, until one stood out to her about a high school teacher who ran away with her underage student. A photo of the teacher was displayed on the screen, along with the student, named Brett Buckley. Audrey froze.

  It was Nick!

  She gathered herself. When she got her bearings, she sneaked a peek at Viktor to see if he recognized him, but thankfully he had slipped off to sleep. This allowed Audrey to safely view the report. She hadn’t seen Nick in a year, and felt a pang of relief that he was healthy and alive. But filled with jealousy when the reporter called Nick and his teacher “lovers.” She could only hope it was the same means-to-an-end strategy she was using.

  Things fell apart so fast in New York that Audrey never had time to really review the demise. It started when Nick’s mother was killed, followed shortly thereafter by his father, a murder that Nick witnessed. What Audrey didn’t know was the next person to be killed was her.

  Nick came to her with the news that he was going to testify against Alexei Sarvydas and had to go into the Witness Protection Program. It was staggering news that tossed their lives upside down, but Nick seemed more concerned with her safety than his own. He implored her to get out of New York immediately and to change her identity. He warned her not to even contact her parents in Oklahoma. His trembling words still rang in her ears: “These people will do anything to keep me from testifying. And they will come after you to get to me.”

  She was a strong independent woman from Oklahoma. Nobody told her what to do, not even the man she loved. But when she returned to her Brooklyn Heights apartment, she found it draped in yellow police tape. It was like a scene from a movie as they carried a body out.

  Her body!

  Audrey Mays, twenty-three years old of Brooklyn, was murdered by an intruder in her apartment. It also crassly mentioned that her body was mutilated beyond recognition. At least according to the newspaper articles she read online at the Montreal train station, where she fled.

  It was so hard not to contact her parents. She thought about how devastating it must have been for them to bury their daughter. She visualized her father being strong and philosophical, comforting her mother, who surely was an emotional wreck. She read about her own funeral in an Oklahoma paper online. The townsfolk seemed to blame the big bad, morally bankrupt city of New York, but Audrey knew who was behind her murder.

  Viktor Sarvydas

  And it was at that train station in Montreal where her new dream materialized. She knew that only then could they be together again.

  In their last meeting, Nick had provided her with money to run—actually, it was enough money to live comfortably in her old life back in Oklahoma—she used it on a flight to Paris and a plastic surgeon who completely altered her look, turning the fresh-faced All-American girl into a sultry bombshell. She started singing for her supper in seedy bars, where she met the type of people who could provide her with a new identity.

  She became an Israeli named Daria Scheffer, and while the surgeon’s knife had changed her look, she still had the same voice that brought the house down back in Devol. She made her way to Tel Aviv, where she purposely began singing outside the bookstore that Viktor frequented. She knew he had a great eye for talent.

  She took another look at the television and stared at the photo labeled Brett Buckley.

  “What are you up to, Nick?” she mumbled to herself.

  Chapter 41

  Rob Bachynsky eyed the woman across the bar. She was just his type. Actually most women were his type, which had always been his downfall.

  He pulled his stare away and scolded himself for succumbing to his vice. It’s what got him in this mess, and made him drive the two hours from his mountain hideaway in Vail to the Denver suburb of Aurora. Dantelli was dead and Zubov was the lead suspect! It didn’t make sense—Rob h
ad thought they were all on the same side.

  He sipped his drink and thought of the marriages, the alimony, the daughters in private school. It all stretched his police check very thin. As his beloved mother had told him, “Robby, you live a champagne lifestyle on a beer paycheck.” As usual, Mom was right, which was why he was open to the offer from his partner, Tony Dantelli, to do some side jobs.

  He was promoted to the organized crime unit in his Brooklyn precinct a few years back. His bosses sold him on the fact that his Eastern European heritage would be an advantage in dealing with the rising threat of the Russian Mafiya, and it was also a great opportunity to move quickly up the ranks. Rob was a self-proclaimed dumb Pollack, but was smart enough to know that the real reason for his “promotion” was because the Russians were a bunch of lunatics who would shoot you in the middle of Times Square because they didn’t like the way you looked at them. In other words, nobody else volunteered. Rob Bachynsky was expendable and he knew it.

  At first, the side jobs consisted of him roughing up some guys—bad guys, drug runners—for Dantelli’s contact. But then it changed from rough-up to rub-out. When Rob drew the line, Dantelli revealed that his source was Viktor Sarvydas, and that his leaving would become an issue, as in a dead issue. He had no choice but to continue.

  The Karl Zellen job itself was quite simple. Their instructions were to set up a meeting with Zellen under the pretext that they had found new information on his wife’s murder. Once inside, Rob tied Zellen to a chair in the kitchen, while Dantelli dismantled the alarm, did a sweep of the mansion, and made sure there was easy entrance for Zellen’s executioner, probably Zubov. Ten minutes in and out, and since Zellen greeted them as friends, there was no forced entry. Basically their job was to use their badges to clear a neat path. They would later return as the first officers on the scene and make the arrest for the murder of Karl Zellen. It wouldn’t be a difficult case to crack, since prints would be left of the man Sarvydas wanted arrested.