Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(98)
Sonja Grayson cleared her throat, bringing Marsia’s eyes to her. “I’m here to inform you, Ms. Gay, that in addition to the charges we’ll be bringing against you in the Trumbo case, the court is scheduling your trial for the attempted murder of Mrs. Venus Rasmussen.”
Marsia sneered. “If you believe these FBI yahoos, you’re not as bright as I thought you were. Without Veronica, you don’t have enough evidence to convict me of anything.”
“You’ll be pleased to know your dear friend Veronica Lake is no longer in critical condition. Her condition is guarded, but it’s likely she’ll survive.” Below the table, Sonja crossed her fingers, said a silent prayer.
Marsia Gay froze. She began shaking her head back and forth. Angela had promised her, right in the heart. She heard her mother’s voice, booze-slurred and mean, I told you Ronald was too weak, told you he’d fold, the little loser. But you never listen, and now it’s all over for you, Daughter.
“No, no, it can’t be all over. No!” The drunk bitch was always telling her she was wrong, she was stupid. Marsia caught herself. She’d die before she showed these people any weakness. She looked at each of them in turn and said easily, “That’s a line from a book. Unlike you Nazis, the book is fascinating.”
Sonja rose and flattened her palms on the table. “Oh yes, Ms. Gay. Finally, I’ll see you in court. Enjoy your book.”
Marsia drew a deep breath and gave them a beautiful smile. “I’d like to see my lawyer now.”
63
GEORGETOWN
M STREET
CLYDE’S OF GEORGETOWN
SATURDAY NIGHT
Savich, Sherlock, Pippa, and Wilde sat in a booth, a bit away from the happy laughter and conversation at Clyde’s bar.
Chief Wilde said, waving a barbecue rib in his hand, “I’m asking for probation for Mrs. Trumbo, some community service, along with a stern lecture on her poor judgment in not reporting a death, self-defense or not. Of course, she would have done it if Marsia Gay hadn’t extorted her. I can’t see putting her in jail for helping her son, either, even after he attacked Cinelli. Mrs. Trumbo hugged me, and Ronald pumped my hand even though he knows he’ll have to do some time, no way around it.” He dabbed a bit of barbecue sauce off his chin. “Great ribs. I hear yours are even better, Sherlock, according to your husband.”
Sherlock laughed. “What else could Dillon say? We’ll have you over after New Year’s when we have kitchen appliances again. Our logistics expert said something always goes wrong, in her experience. But Clyde’s is always good. Glad you’re enjoying it.”
Wilde said, “Look at all the bones on my plate. Do you know, when Mrs. Trumbo hugged me, I smelled oatmeal cookies?”
Pippa grinned at him. “She hugged me, too. Alas, no oatmeal cookie smell. After Mrs. Trumbo and Ronald gave Sonja even more details of Marsia’s extortion and blackmail scheme, she was so happy she’d have thrown the Trumbos a parade if she could. But what about us? We deserve a parade, too, don’t you agree, Wilde?”
He laughed, patted her hand. “I gotta admit, Cinelli, when you showed up at my house all banged up, pathetic, really, you perked me right up. I’ve had as much fun these last few days as I ever had in Philadelphia.” He paused a moment, fiddling with the final rib on his plate. “I’d forgotten the rush, the challenge. I’m thinking it’s time I moved on, left St. Lumis, maybe moved here to Metro. What do you think, Savich?”
Savich said slowly, “St. Lumis was a good place to heal, Chief. You interested instead in the FBI?”
Wilde reared back in his chair. “Become a Fed? Like Cinelli here?”
Sherlock said, “You have excellent big-city police experience, Chief. Unless you stole coffee money from the homicide division pot in the Philadelphia PD, I think the FBI would be proud to have you, and very lucky. From what Pippa says, you have a good brain. Not as sharp and fast as hers, of course, but still.”
“Something to think about,” Wilde said, and wondered how Savich knew he’d had to leave Philadelphia to heal. He realized now he wanted to be back in the game, the real game. He said, “When does Marsia Gay go to trial, Savich?”
Savich took the last bite of his pesto pasta, chewed, and sighed with pleasure. “Sonja told me the first week of March. That will give Veronica Lake time to get well enough to take the stand and provide the testimony to nail the cell door on Marsia.” He paused as he looked thoughtfully at his green beans. “I visited Veronica yesterday. She seemed different, more centered and self-aware, I guess you could say. Quite a thing to almost be murdered. When I left, she thanked me, told me her time with Marsia seemed like an ugly dream now, that she’d lost herself. She wants to make amends and wants to start in prison. She can teach, she said, she can listen. She’s hoping she can heal herself.”
Sherlock said, “We’re endlessly grateful Veronica didn’t die and is eager to put Marsia in jail for the rest of her life.” She sat back, took a sip of wine, gave them a big smile. “It’s all good.”
“One less psychopath to sow misery and chaos in the world,” Pippa said.
Sherlock turned to her. “The CAU will miss you, Pippa, but your unit chief was clicking her heels knowing you’ll be back on Monday. Jessie told me she wasn’t surprised you did a great job, because she’d trained you herself.”