Phantom Limb Page 25

“It seems to me that Payton’s been acting pretty guilty since Lisa’s kidnapping,” I said. “I’ve thought all along it was because he felt he’d failed the Harlands by not protecting her. By letting her get abducted. But maybe he’s feeling that way because he knows—or at least, suspects—who was behind it.”

  “His friend from the security firm.”

  “Yes. Remember, Payton would know that Skip’s real name is Julian. And he was in Harland’s office with the rest of us when the kidnapper called, identifying himself by that name. Payton would have to figure that the caller was Skip Hines.”

  “Then why hasn’t he come forward? Said something?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe we should ask him.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  My Mustang’s windows were open, the wind causing Gloria’s newly trimmed ponytail to flop around behind her. I’d already driven us across town through heavy midday traffic on our way to Fox Chapel. Once we’d decided to question Mike Payton, I realized it didn’t matter where he actually lived. He seemed to reside permanently at the home of his wealthy employer.

  Gloria held her palm flat above her eyes, shielding them from a surprisingly bright spring sun.

  “By the way, where’s Skip Hines now?”

  “Sergeant Polk is tailing him. Off the books, until we know more. For one thing, we don’t want to spook Hines into making an escape. For another, in case I’m wrong about all this, I owe it to him and his sister Charlene to make sure things stop here.”

  “I have no trouble keeping it from Biegler and Wilson. I think they’re both sexist jerks. Plus, if we give them Skip Hines as a prime suspect, they’d each trip over themselves bringing it upstairs to their bosses. I know for a fact that Wilson’s getting a lot of pressure from the director.”

  “Just as I’m sure Biegler is feeling the heat from Chief Logan. Who’s no doubt feeling it from the people above him. Even though Lisa’s been returned safely, bagging the guys responsible would still be quite a feather in the Department’s cap.”

  “Don’t even go there, Danny. The Bureau hasn’t gotten over the last feather that Pittsburgh PD picked up.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, I’m getting that vibe.”

  She shouted over the wind. “Watch it, Doc! The Bureau’s higher-ups may be brown-nosing, envious little creeps, but they’re my brown-nosing, envious little creeps. Got it?”

  “Loud and clear. Especially the ‘loud’ part.”

  The large, multilevel homes and manicured lawns of Fox Chapel were arrayed on either side of us as we wended our way toward the Harland residence. I was just about to turn onto the billionaire’s private access road when another car pulled out at the intersection. I recognized it immediately as one of the company’s SUVs. I also recognized the driver.

  “Hey!” Gloria was pointing. “Isn’t that Payton?”

  It was, indeed, barreling past us without a glance in our direction. Wherever he was going, he was in a pretty big hurry to get there. Without consulting Gloria, I made a U-turn and followed him.

  When I did glance in her direction, she spread her hands.

  “Why not? Let’s see where he’s going.”

  As it turned out, Payton’s destination was only a ten-minute drive from the Harland house. Keeping a safe distance, I watched as he pulled into a small though stylish shopping mall just outside the Borough. He parked, then walked into a quaint restaurant fronted by ivy-laced trellises. An upscale sidewalk cafe, appropriate to the sensibilities of tony Fox Chapel.

  I slid into a parking space two cars over from his SUV. Before we got out of the car, I remembered to check my voicemail, in case that one distressed patient had called again. Luckily, there were no urgent messages.

  Unfortunately, checking my voicemail was the only thing I did remember. It wouldn’t occur to me until much later that, at the same time as Gloria and I were walking through the front entrance of the café, I was supposed to be having lunch with Sam Weiss down at the Strip.

  How differently things would have gone if I had…

  ***

  Having little choice, Mike Payton smiled uncomfortably as he asked us to join him at his corner table. The well-appointed dining area was only half-filled with customers, adding to the café’s hushed feeling of intimacy. Reminding me of an after-hours coffee bar in some European capital. One in particular, in fact, in Rome, where my late wife Barbara and I had honeymooned.

  Payton recommended the cappuccinos, indicating the half-drunk, generous mug before him. Gloria and I ordered our own from a passing waitress, after which I turned to Payton.

  “Agent Reese and I were just on our way to see you, Mike. I was surprised to find you leaving the residence.”

  “I know, but I really needed a break from the place. With Charles and Lisa both still at the hospital, the only people in the house are cops and a few Federal techs, mopping up from the kidnapping case. Interviewing the staff, dusting for stray prints, that kind of thing. Leaving me alone in that big house with James. Drunk on his ass, as usual. Barking orders to the maids. Being his typical charming self.”

  Gloria indicated our posh surroundings. “Nice place. This your regular caffeine watering hole?”

  He smiled. “And wine bar, when the mood hits. When I’ve had enough of the Harlands. Which can happen, believe me, even for a dedicated head of security like myself.”

  “Speaking of which,” I said, “I understand you worked at Starr Sentinel with someone I know. A guy named Skip Hines.”

  His eyes widened. “Skip? Sure, I know him. He’d just come home from the war and went to work for Starr. I sort of showed him the ropes. We became good friends. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, as I’m sure you know, soon after you left the firm, Skip re-enlisted and got sent back into action.”

  “I’d heard that, yes.”

  “Then, after he was wounded, he returned home. Here in Pittsburgh. Kind of at loose ends, from what I understand. I wonder, Mike, did he ever try to get in touch with you? Maybe looking for work?”

  Just then, the waitress returned with our drinks. After she left, I watched Payton mindlessly stirring a spoon in his mug.

  “Well, Mr. Payton?” Gloria’s voice was firm. “Did Hines contact you or not?”

  Payton sighed heavily. “Yeah, he did. He looked me up at Starr Sentinel, where they told him I’d left to work for Charles Harland. So he called and made an appointment to come by. I gave him the tour, then we went back to my office in the residence.”

  “How did he seem at the time?”

  A sad frown. “Impressed, I’d guess you’d say. With the house, the celebrity of the Harlands. With how lucky I was to have landed such a cushy job. I could practically see all of that on his face.”

  “How did you feel?” I asked.

  “I felt bad for the guy. Especially after I saw that he’d lost a leg. He hadn’t told me about it on the phone, so it came as a surprise when he showed up with that prosthetic. Part of me thought he hadn’t told me on purpose, so he could shock me with it. Spring it on me, if you know what I mean.”

  “Did he strike you as that kind of guy?”

  “Not before, when we worked at Starr. But maybe getting wounded changed him. He sure seemed bitter and unhappy when he visited me at the residence. Not the best face to show someone when you’re asking for a job.”

  “So he did ask for work there?” said Gloria.

  “Yeah. But I told him there wasn’t an open position at the time. Which was the truth. What I didn’t tell him was that there was no way I could hire him anyway. Not with that one leg. Half of what’s involved in personal security is appearance. The perception that you’re a kick-ass dude who shouldn’t be messed with. No matter how tough Skip was—and I know he was damned good and tough—I also knew I couldn’t hire him. I mean, Harland would’ve killed me if I had.”

 
“How did Skip take it?”

  “Not real well, to be honest. So then I suggested he should look up some old Marine buddies. See if maybe any of them could help him out. But he hated that idea. Got angry as hell. Then he just gets up and leaves. I haven’t seen him since.”

  I sipped my smooth, milky drink.

  “When you two worked together at Starr, after Skip’s first tour of duty, did he ever talk about his old unit?”

  “Never. I asked him about it a couple times, but he said he didn’t want to talk about it. I figured I had to respect that.”

  Gloria tapped her fingernail against her untouched mug.

  “Would it surprise you to know that Skip’s unit commander the first time he was deployed in Afghanistan was Raymond Sykes? And that Max Griffin was also part of the unit?”

  Payton stopped stirring his coffee.

  “Sykes? And Griffin? Skip knew those guys?”

  “From the war, yes,” I said. “They all served together, before Skip came home and went to work at Starr.”

  Gloria leaned in to Payton. “And you’re sure he never mentioned his time with them?”

  “I told you, he refused to discuss his experience over there. Said he wanted to put that part of his life behind him.”

  “Yet he re-enlisted later,” I said. “He quit Starr soon after you did and went back into the service. Any idea why?”

  Payton lay down his spoon very quietly. Voice softening. “The only thing I can think of is that Skip hated civilian life. Even on a tactical team with me at Starr, with all its military-like aspects, we were still civilians. People with homes, families, pets, who had to buy groceries and pay bills and deal with noisy neighbors. He hated every bit of it. He always seemed…I don’t know…lost. Overwhelmed. Not that he even liked the work at Starr much, either.”

  “What do you mean?” Gloria asked.

  “We offered protection to CEOs, movie stars, all kinds of big shots. Skip thought most of our clients were assholes—which they were, of course. Plus there really wasn’t much field action. It was mostly babysitting, setting up security systems, doing paperwork. That’s why I left, tell you the truth. So I wasn’t surprised when I heard that Skip did, too. Though I thought he was crazy to re-up. Go back to that hellhole in the Middle East. The land of sand and shit.”

  I met his gaze. “But civilian life works for you?”

  “Hell, yeah. I like it stateside. Modern plumbing, girls in bikinis, all the beer you can drink. I like it fine.”

  I noticed Gloria finally taking a sip of her drink. We still had one big question for Payton that needed an answer. Since she was the one with the badge, I assumed Gloria would be the right person to ask it.

  I guessed right. Putting down her mug, she narrowed her gaze at Mike Payton.

  “I’d like to ask one more question, Mr. Payton.”

  “Okay, but make it quick. I can’t be away from the house too long. I’ve still got my duties to perform.”

  “I understand. But you were in Harland’s office, as were Dr. Rinaldi and myself, when the kidnapper called to make his ransom demand. Though his voice was electronically altered on the phone, he told us his name was Julian.”

  “Yes. Like he just picked it out of the air.”

  “That’s what he implied, yes. But I have to assume you knew that Skip Hines’ given name was Julian. Did you?”

  He paused before replying. “Yeah, I did. Though I never called him that. Never heard anybody call him Julian. And he always introduced himself as Skip.”

  I interjected here. “But you knew that was his real name?”

  “I already said I did.”

  Gloria’s features darkened. “And yet you never suspected that maybe this ‘Julian’ on the phone, the kidnapper of your employer’s wife, was the same Skip Hines you knew from Starr Sentinel?”

  Payton pulled nervously on his lower lip.

  “Answer the question, Mr. Payton,” Gloria said. “Or we can continue this conversation at the Federal Building…”

  “No…There’s no need for that.”

  “Well,” I said sharply, “did you think it was Skip who was behind the kidnapping? That it was his voice on the phone?”

  “Not at the time. But later, yes, it occurred to me that maybe…I mean, it seemed crazy…I thought it couldn’t be Skip. It had to be a coincidence that the kidnapper used the name ‘Julian.’ It just had to be…”

  “Even so, why didn’t you inform the police about it? Lisa Campbell was missing, possibly injured…and you kept silent. Why, Payton? Why not at least raise it as a possibility?”

  “Because I knew the answer. I knew that it couldn’t have been Skip.”

  “How did you know?” Gloria pressed him.

  “Because when I had a few moments alone, not long after the kidnapper hung up, I got in touch with Skip. He’d left me his cell number when he came to the house to ask for a job. I called Skip and asked him, point-blank, if it was his voice on the phone. If he was behind Lisa’s kidnapping. And he denied it.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Absolutely. He told me he had an alibi for the time of the kidnapping. And of the phone call to Harland’s office. Both times he was at the bar where his sister works. And if I thought her word couldn’t be trusted, he said there was a room full of customers who could confirm it.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in some way.”

  “It did to me, Agent Reese. He swore on the lives of his fallen comrades in Afghanistan. No way he’d do that if he was lying. In fact, he was offended that I’d even suspect him. And that as far as he was concerned, we were no longer friends.”

  Payton pushed his mug away from him. Face grim.

  “I’m telling you, Skip Hines was not involved in Lisa’s kidnapping. And you know why you can believe me?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because if I thought he was, I’d kill him. Dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Mike Payton was right about the cappuccinos—they were delicious. Unfortunately, neither Gloria nor I got to finish ours. Because all of a sudden her cell rang.

  She picked up, listened for a moment, said, “Right, on my way,” and clicked off. Then she gave me an urgent look.

  We left Payton to finish his drink—and, at his insistence, pay the check when it came—and went out to my car. Soon we were driving back the same way we’d come, beneath an expanse of clear azure sky, headed for the Federal Building.

  “They’ve just called a special briefing,” Gloria explained. “A joint Pittsburgh PD and FBI meeting to get everybody up to speed on the manhunt for Sykes and Griffin.”

  “Why the sudden urgency?”

  “Apparently, Charles Harland’s well enough to make phone calls from his hospital bed. One was to the governor, wanting to know if we’d caught the bastards who kidnapped his wife yet.”

  “I guess his memory’s returning. Or else Lisa told him about it when she went to visit him in his room.”

  “Whatever. But the governor started making a few phone calls himself, as you can imagine. To the director, your mayor. He’s screaming for results.”

  “Sure. Harland’s a potentially huge campaign donor.”

  Coming into view up ahead were the clean silver lines of the Federal Building. I pulled around to the front entrance and stopped at the curb. Gloria climbed out, then leaned her head back in the passenger side window. Smiled.

  “Hey, in case Wilson’s right about Sykes, keep your head down. That’s an order, Dr. Rinaldi.”

  “You do the same, Agent Reese.”

  She winked, then hurried into the building.

  ***

  I’d just rolled back into the flow of midday traffic when my own cell rang. Harry Polk. I switched on the hands-free app.

  “Li
sten, Rinaldi, I got a call a minute ago about some bullshit briefing at the Feds. Attendance is mandatory.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “That means I gotta get my butt over there ASAP.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Same place I’ve been for the past two hours. I followed Skip Hines from his fleabag motel in East Liberty to this pool hall a couple blocks away. Near the old fire station.”

  “I think I know it, yeah.”

  “Well, I’m parked across the street, but I got a good view into the place through the front window. I’ve had Hines in sight the whole time.”

  “What’s he been doing?”

  “Ya mean, besides gettin’ his ass kicked playin’ pool? Nothin’. Waitress comes over with a beer every twenty minutes, but he ain’t budged. I mean, not even to take a leak. Unless he’s pissin’ into that fake leg o’ his.”

  “Jesus, Harry…”

  “Anyway, other than jawin’ with the other players, he hasn’t been approached by anybody. Nobody suspicious, if ya know what I mean. Plus he hasn’t called out on his cell, or answered a call from nobody. Not that I could see.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “Who the fuck knows? Maybe he’s just layin’ low. Actin’ normal ’til Sykes contacts him. Or maybe they’re meetin’ later.”

  “That’s possible, too.”

  Over the phone, I heard Polk start his car.

  “Look, Doc, I gotta book outta here. If I don’t show up at that goddamn meeting, Biegler’ll hang me out to dry.”

  “I get it, Harry. Thanks.”

  “For what? We got nothin’ on Hines, other than he’s good at gettin’ hustled at pool. See ya later…”

  Polk clicked off, leaving me to stare distractedly at the back of a semi chugging to a stop in front of me. The intersecting lines of cars, buses, and trucks had grown, slowing traffic to a crawl. Angry horns beeped, frustrated drivers cursed. A cool but dazzling sunlight glared from windshields, glazed the edges of steel-and-glass buildings. Threaded the thin haze of billowing diesel smoke and bus exhaust.

  None of which had its normal irritating impact, as I thought about Skip Hines. Was he involved in any of this? Maybe Polk was right, and he was merely going on about his business until he was contacted by Sykes. Purposefully acting like any other aimless guy on the block. Hanging out. Killing time.