The Final Twist by Jeffery Deaver (free ebooks romance novels txt) 📕

“Chalk,” the big officer muttered. As the men and women in blue left, he added, “You should leave too, Ms. Ramirez.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was worried. All those drugs . . . I did it for the children.”

Which, Shaw reflected, was rather a nice touch.

62

Shaw opted for an Altamont Beer Works IPA and drank long.

Typically, he’d been cautious about the Maria Vasquez reward offer.

From Teddy Bruin’s starting the conversation with “coincidence” to Mack McKenzie’s assessment—“probably legit”—he had remained wary. There were too many people in the San Francisco area—from a video gaming exec in Silicon Valley to BlackBridge—who were not pleased with his recent visits here.

He was always skeptical of those posting rewards and he generally spent hours, sometimes days, researching the offerors. It was not unheard of, for example, for a murderer to post a reward for the “loved one” they themselves had dispatched, in a numb-headed attempt to appear blameless. Tessy’s disappearance, though, had happened fast. He was no less cautious than on any other job but he didn’t have the luxury of in-depth research. And, if her mother was telling the truth, she could have been in real danger from her abusive ex, Roman.

Of course, the girl’s disappearance and the reward offer turned out to be one hundred percent genuine.

The “dear friend,” though? He just didn’t quite trust that scenario. Why hadn’t Maria given him her name as someone whom Tessy might contact?

So he’d simply ignored the keep-it-between-us plea and called Maria, asked her about Tessy’s godmother.

Alarmed, Vasquez had said, “Dios mio! Did something happen in Guadalajara?”

Answering his question.

Then he’d inquired: Had anybody called and asked her about the reward? Yes, a woman had seen the offer and called her and said that she too had a missing child, a son; did someone answer Maria’s ad?

Yes, someone named Colter Shaw, Maria had explained to the woman. She had given her Shaw’s number and address. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I thought, maybe she has more money to pay you than I do.”

“It’s all right.”

“This person, is she a problem?”

“I’ll handle it.” Shaw had told her, “It’s probably nothing, but I’d recommend you go stay someplace else for a few days.”

“Yes, of course. Okay, we’ll leave now. And, Mr. Shaw, again, bless you!”

Immediately after disconnecting, he’d called up the security camera recording and watched “Connie” planting the drugs. Using a plastic bag, to avoid transferring his fingerprints, he’d collected the coke and put it, and the necklace, in another bag and hid them some blocks away in a vacant lot. Then on the way back from Hunters Point, he’d stopped at a sporting goods store and bought a bag of hand chalk. He returned to the Pacific Heights safe house and awaited the law. He was sure officers would descend at some point. What he didn’t know was what the woman’s game was.

Now, sipping more beer, he heard the buzzer.

“Yes?”

“It’s me,” came the sullen voice through the intercom.

When she arrived at the door upstairs, he checked her eye movement once more, hand on the gun.

She was alone now too.

He let her in and told her to stop. His voice was abrupt. “Hands.”

“Come on,” she whined.

“Up.”

She grudgingly complied and he frisked her. She was clean. “Sit down.” Pointing to the couch.

The woman complied. He pulled up a chair across from her.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t call Maria?”

“You said you wouldn’t.” As if he’d cheated at checkers.

“Is this something you do? In addition to tricks? Planting drugs and getting people busted?”

He suspected she was a call girl.

She tried to look offended but it didn’t work, and that answered his question. Shaw was continually amused at how the guilty can look so indignant when they get caught.

He opened her purse and shook out the contents. He pushed the pepper spray out of reach. There were no other weapons.

He shuffled through three driver’s licenses, same picture, different names. One read “Consuela Ramirez.”

“Which is real?”

“Sophia Ionescu.”

“That’s Romanian?”

She nodded.

Shaw asked, “¿Y si te hubiera preguntado algo en español?”

“I speak Spanish too.”

He took a picture of the Sophia license and sent it to Mack. Less than thirty seconds later:

That’s her. Two arrests for prostitution in California. One in Florida.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is this something you do? A franchise?”

“A guy wanted to take you down. Get you in the system. He had this idea. He knew what you did for a living so he checked for people around here who’d posted rewards for missing kids or wives. He gave me the numbers and I called them up. Maria Vasquez told me you’d saved her daughter. You were so nice, you didn’t even take the reward. This guy told me to pretend to be the girl’s godmother. I do some acting too.” Sophia said this with a wisp of pride.

“Yeah, you’d get an Oscar. Who hired you?”

“This guy I have dates with.”

A phrase he figured meant something different from “This guy I date.”

Shaw said, “That’s half an answer.”

“Ian. Ian Helm. Or Helms. Maybe an ‘s.’ I don’t know. He’s rich, has some consulting company, he says.”

Well. Interesting, but not utterly surprising, news.

“What’d he pay?”

“Ten thousand.”

“You get along with him? Helms?”

“We fuck.”

“Would you testify against him?”

Sophia laughed at Shaw’s naivete.

He considered the issue but decided that this wasn’t the way to go. Even if the woman cooperated, what could Helms be busted for? Nothing serious. Shaw didn’t want to swipe at the men. He wanted to take the entire BlackBridge operation down permanently and send Helms to prison for decades.

Shaw leaned close, staring. He saw uneasiness cloud her eyes. He was using Russell’s approach. “Is there any risk to Maria or Tessy?”

“No, no. We just wanted information.”

“Because if there is . . .” He tapped her authentic driver’s license.

“No, I swear. I told Ian no way would I help if anybody’d get hurt. I don’t get involved in anything like that. I’m a three-G-a-night girl.”

Offered, he guessed, as proof of her moral