Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(84)

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 repeat one 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.”