Live No Lies Read online

Two minutes later the man was seated across a table from Mack. The man looked at the sheet of glass for a while, and smiled at Mack.

  “How do you think they feel? You're the new guy who just came in and started doing their jobs better than them. You’re stirring one hell of a hornet’s nest, man, and you don’t even know it.”

  “Do you ever stop talking?” Mack asked, fixing the man a stern look.

  The man smiled and reclined into his chair.

  Mack sorted through the file for a few moments, then he cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his seat. He placed a recorder before him and clicked it on.

  “I’m going to be asking you a few questions—” Mack paused to check the paper before him “—Greg Keith, and you need to reply truthfully and accurately.”

  “Who is Dimitri Stankovich?” Mack offered the first question.

  Greg laughed.

  “You’ve got some nerve calling that name out like that,” he said.

  “So, you do know him?”

  The man’s smile vanished instantly. He cleared his throat uneasily and reclined into his chair.

  “Erm, I don’t know him,” Greg denied.

  “But you knew enough to accuse me of defying the sanctity of the name.”

  “I don’t know who he is, all right? But I’ve heard the name. Everyone knows about the Stankoviches—” Greg paused to take a deep breath. “—they’re only about the most famous people around. They have this massive noodle manufacturing company. There’s no way you can tell me that you haven’t heard of them.”

  Okay, he’s clearly rattled by the mention of the guy’s name.

  “Well, that’s a decent piece of information right there, Greg. Except that there are discrepancies.”

  Mack paused to stare at Greg before he continued.

  “You just said that you’ve never seen Dimitri, yet here I have you standing close to him on the beach.”

  Mack placed a close-up picture of Dimitri on the beach, flanked by a burly man on the right and Greg on the left.

  Mack gave Greg a questioning stare. The man’s lips parted and closed. Mack could see the wheels turning in his head.

  “Look, man, I had no idea that’s who he was.”

  “You had no idea who he was here—” he dropped another picture “—or here too—” he dropped another “—I can keep them coming.”

  “Why am I here exactly?” Greg blurted. “What crime are you accusing me for?”

  “For aiding and abetting Dimitri in human trafficking, drug trafficking, and murder, to name a few.”

  Greg laughed.

  “How do you come up with your facts, man?”

  “I have concrete evidence, Greg, that you were spotted near multiple families whose children were taken.”

  “Please,” Greg snickered.

  Mack caught him looking toward the two-way mirror. He noted that this wasn’t the first time Greg had looked that way, either. It was almost as if he was wary that he was being watched, as if that bothered him.

  “You’ve got to understand, Greg, you’re not getting out of this. There’s enough evidence to send you to jail. Witnesses are willing to come forward and testify. There’s video footage that presents you in compromising positions. And I’ve organized a catalog of trails that show you following a child from place to place right before they go missing a few days later.”

  Greg looked toward the two-way mirror again.

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do any of those things.”

  “Well, I have them here with me. Good luck trying to talk your way out of such incriminating evidence.”

  Mack noticed that Greg just sat there, unmoving, with his arms folded over his chest. He’d anticipated an attitude of this sort, and he had a contingency plan in place. He brought out a photo and slid it over so Greg could see it.

  Greg’s eyes fixated upon the picture, and he sat up instantly from his chair, his countenance turning almost instantly from indifference to shock, then anger.

  “You bastard! How did you get this?”

  “Finally, something that strikes a bell. That’s your younger sister, Ava, right?”

  Greg spared him a glance, then resumed staring at the picture. Mack opened another folder and slid it toward Greg.

  “I also know she murdered someone some months ago. You can see all the findings there in that file. However, for some reason, the case was slid under the rug. Well, I’m here now, and I can pull it back out again.”

  Greg stared at Mack. The fear on his face was palpable.

  Now, I’ve got him just where I want him.

  “But this isn’t a problem, because hey, you and your sister get to be in jail together. So, it’s not like I’m keeping you two apart.”

  Mack caught him looking at the two-way mirror again. And then it hit him. Greg was really wary. He was wary of being watched, very much different then the confident man he pretended to be.

  Mack began replaying scenes in his head. The way the cops had looked at him when he brought Greg in. The cockiness he displayed even in Boyce’s presence. Boyce asked him what he was doing. Mack could feel the connections linking.

  The fear only hit Greg now, when he realized he and his sister would be going to jail. He’d been very confident before now. He must have thought I was only wasting his time, and that he was going to be out of here in no time. Plus, there’s the burial of his sister's case to think about.

  And then it all fell into place for Mack, clear and true.

  Mack refocused on Greg before him. He could almost sense the guy’s indecision from where he sat. Mack could tell that Greg was fighting inside him. It was his love for his sister versus his loyalty or fear of Dimitri. He’d have to choose one, though. Mack didn’t intend on letting Greg out without making a choice.

  I’ve got him.

  “Look,” Mack said, donning an understanding expression and a persuasive voice. He leaned forward, and stopped the recording. “Off the record, there’s a way I can get you out of this pickle.”

  “How?” Greg blurted. Quickly, he shut his mouth up and gazed at the two-way mirror.

  “Look, there’s nobody in there,” Mack told him.

  “What?”

  “There’s nobody there. The observation room is empty. I kind of strayed a little from the concrete procedure. I’m not from around here, and I don’t think they like me very much.”

  Mack paused to let that sink in. Then he asked, “There are cops covering for Dimitri, aren’t there?”

  Greg stared at Mack. He was hesitant about saying anything. Mack sighed, and reached out to retrieve the picture of Greg’s sister so he could pack up.

  “Yes,” Greg blurted quickly. “Yes, there are.”

  Mack smiled.

  Now, who’s a good boy?

  “How many?”

  “A lot,” Greg said. “Even the sheriff.”

  “Wow,” Mack said.

  “Look you said you can get me out of this.”

  Mack sensed the desperation in Greg’s voice, and he smiled inwardly. He had him on a leash.

  “And my sister too,” Greg added.

  “For your sister, I can pretend I never got this file. I’ll leave it under the rug where it’s always been. You, on the other hand, get a reduced sentence.”

  “What? Come on, man,” Greg protested.

  “Greg, it’s either that, or a full sentence, and your sister goes to jail, too.”

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s more a question of who I want. Dimitri.”

  “You’re going to get me and my sister killed. You’re going to get killed.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Mack said, trying to allay Greg’s fears. “Why do you think I’m here? Huh? I’ve got powerful friends. I’d be able to arrange protection for you and your sister.”

  Greg stared at him, and Mack stared back with confidence.

  “All right,” Greg agreed hesitantly.

  Mack t
urned the recorder back on and took Greg’s statement.

  “That’s not enough,” he said, after Greg was done.

  “What?’ Greg asked, his mouth hanging open in shock.

  “You’ve got to go back in.”

  “You think by now word of my arrest hasn’t gotten back to him?”

  “Well, being the loyal dog that you are, you didn’t say anything, right?”

  Greg blinked as he processed that.

  “Right,” he agreed.

  “Good. Remember, the deal is to get so much evidence against your boss it’ll make yours look like child’s play. Now, we’re going to pretend like I brought you in on false charges. Remember, I’ve got damning evidence on you. If you try to play smart, you and your sister are not going to go down well.”

  “Okay, you’ve made that clear enough. Now, let me out of these chains, please.”

  As Greg stood up from his chair and stared at his reflection in the two-mirror, now with more confidence that he knew nobody was there. However, he couldn’t be more wrong. Someone was on the other side, staring at him make a fool of himself. That’s one thing about two-way mirrors: they could be deceptive even to people familiar with how they work. The person watched in darkness as Mack and Greg walked out.

  ***

  Mack felt a little light from excitement. It had been four days since he’d let Greg get back into Dimitri’s fold. They had a scheduled meeting in two hours. He walked into his garage to retrieve something from his trunk. He popped it open, and jumped back in horror. His heart pounded furiously.

  He took slow steps forward and peeked into the trunk.

  No, no, no, he thought as despair settled over him. How’d this get here?

  Lying right there in his trunk was a headless corpse, hands and feet tied, with Mack’s Swiss Army knife lying bloody beside the body. Mack looked around to make sure that there was no intruder in the garage. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest.

  He had obviously been framed, and he was in deep trouble. He scanned the corpse again and discovered a white piece of paper crumpled in the corpse’s hand. He couldn’t use his fingers to bring it out. Putting his prints on the body would just make the situation worse, if that was possible. He rushed to the glove compartment, pulled out two pens, and used them like chopsticks to retrieve the paper.

  When Mack was done, he had a look of hopelessness in his face. The paper had wrinkles, but no amount of wrinkles could blur the words written in bold red:

  Boo!

  Now, run. It’s my turn to give chase.

  Chapter Three

  Brenda rolled out of her bed and yawned. She sat at the edge for a while, looking at all the files and paper running from the top of her head to the ground.

  “Sleep’s a mean woman,” she said out loud.

  She checked her clock. It was morning. The quiet, soothing breeze of Palm Island stole in through the open windows. She wasn’t staying close to the beach, but the cool ocean breeze reached her just the same.

  In different circumstances, this place would be ideal for relaxation and leisure.

  Palm Island had been dangling right underneath the nostrils of the FBI for a while. Its crime rates were disturbing for a quiet, relaxed town. However, it hadn’t deserved their intervention until recently.

  When Brenda drove in last week, she remembered feeling like she was walking into an oasis. The town was peaceful, neat, and seemed far less touristy than similar places. It was very easy to imagine the people here growing old together, happy and undisturbed.

  But Brenda sensed something else as she drove its streets. There was a quiet fear lying underneath the idyllic surface, like an alligator in a still lagoon,, waiting for the right time to strike. A few glances into the eyes of passers-by and she got it. These weren’t the lives of people who loved the quiet. They were the lives of people buried by timidity and fear.

  The FBI has a suspect, multimillionaire Dimitri Stankovich. They suspected strongly that the man wasn’t just an inheritor to a vast fortune left by his father, but that in fact he was the one behind all the disappearances and murders. Brenda was here on Palm Island to find evidence on him. He’d been lurking under the surface all this while, and Brenda was determined to find him.

  The clues she got were unrewarding, mostly because the case files were so vague and incomplete. The local police directed her to an investigator named Boyce, who told her that they didn’t have any information beyond what was in the files.

  As she prepared for the day, she reminded herself that she had to pay a visit to the mother of one of the murder victims. Mrs. Cumming was a forty-year-old widow who had no one else besides her son. Now he had been taken too, and all that had been found of him was his head.

  ***

  Brenda parked in the driveway of Mrs. Cumming’s Mediterranean home, shrouded by palm trees and smaller shrubs. The house appeared quiet and empty. If not for the cleanliness of its façade, Brenda would have doubted anyone had lived in the house for quite a long time.

  Brenda sighed and cast habitual glances around the environment before she pressed the doorbell. She heard the electric bell ring inside. It took two more rings before she heard a response from inside. Brenda stepped back from the door and waited. When Mrs. Cumming opened the door, all she saw was a younger woman in a flannel shirt and denim pants. Brenda preferred to dress down in the field, particularly when she visited victims’ families. She found it took the edge off the conversations.

  “Good day,” she greeted. “How can I help you?”

  “Good day, ma’am. This is Mrs. Cumming’s place?” Brenda asked.

  “Yes. I am Abigail.”

  “Good. I’d like to ask you some questions about your son, Tim.”

  The expression on Mrs. Cumming’s face darkened. If Brenda had been unarmed, the change of expression on the other woman’s face might have unnerved her.

  “Who’re you?” Mrs. Cumming asked. “If you don’t leave here this minute, I’ll be forced to call the police.”

  Brenda sighed and pulled her badge from her back pocket.

  “I’m Brenda Lawson of the FBI,” she said, flashing her badge in front of the woman.

  As expected, the badge worked. The hostile expression on the woman’s face dissolved. Quickly taking its place was a cloud of sorrow and weariness. Brenda could see that the woman really was going through a tough time. Her life was hard already, raising a child on her own. And now, the last time she had seen that child’s face, it was on a severed head. Brenda hoped that she could make this interview as painless as possible for the woman. If she was being realistic, though, she knew the interview was going to be anything but painless. She needed all the details she could get if she wanted to reach the bottom of things.

  The living room was dark except for the little beams of light that came in through the small gaps in between the window blinds.

  “I’m sorry for the whole look,” Mrs. Cumming said. “Nothing has been the same since Tim left me.”

  Mrs. Cumming turned on the lights, throwing the entire place out of darkness. Most of the furniture in the living room had been covered with tarps. Brenda exchanged a glance with Mrs. Cumming.

  “You’re leaving town,” she said. It was more a statement than a question. Even if Mrs. Cumming didn’t offer a reply, the fact hung in the air like cobwebs.

  “This town has taken everything from me. Except for my own life, it’s left me with nothing.”

  “I understand. However, right now, I need to ask you a few questions that’ll aid me in helping your son. This is no longer a local police business. I need to find who’s responsible for your son’s death, and that of others, and bring them to justice.”

  Mrs. Cumming studied Brenda for a while.

  “You don’t look like a federal agent.”

  “What about me doesn’t say federal agent? The clothes?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Brenda smiled.

  “It’s like a cop not liking
donuts, yeah?”

  The hint of a smile appeared on Mrs. Cumming’s face. It was like the thinnest ray of sunshine between the blinds, but it was enough. It filled Brenda with the hope that she could actually get something out of this.

  “Do you want tea?” Mrs. Cumming asked.

  Brenda’s first instinct was to decline politely and get straight to business. But on second thought, she accepted. She didn’t have any concrete plan after this interview. The informality would hopefully make the woman more open for a discussion on her son.

  Before long, Brenda and Mrs. Cumming sat drinking tea at opposite ends of the sofa.

  “So, Mrs. Cumming, tell me about your son, Tim.”

  “Well, there’s so much to say, but it all seems so useless now.”

  A screen of tears formed on her eyes as memories of her boy cruised through her mind.

  “I’m sorry,” Brenda apologized. “But if there were some other way I could do this, I would.”

  “No, no, it’s alright,” Mrs. Cumming sniffed, then sipped at her tea.

  “Tim was all quiet, growing up as a child. He and his father, my late husband, got along so well, they should’ve just been siblings. He was bright, did well in school, had as much luck with the ladies as his father had—” a smile appeared on Mrs. Cumming’s face as she stared into the distance “—he reminded me of his father so much. His behavior changed though when he lost his father about six years ago. He was quiet for most of the time, but would occasionally get violent and angry.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I’ve got no idea. He could spark like a flame at very little things. He also began spending time out more often. Sometimes, I won’t see him till the next day. That began more recently.”

  “How recently?”

  “My God, you’re thorough.”

  “That’s my job,” Brenda said, smiling.

  “Well,” Mrs. Cumming continued, “if I’m to put a time on that, I’ll say about a year ago.”

  “I understand that this must be very tough for you, but the questions I’m about to ask are very crucial to the investigation process.”

  Mrs. Cumming nodded, indicating for Brenda to go on.

  “Do you know when your son died?”