It didn't matter now anyway. Armed with Hannah Coffin's testimony and a copy of the airline records, as well as Buccola's evidence of foul play to Lenny's body, Mitch had enough to bring John Merrivale in. Of course, a confession would seal the deal. Push it from a solid circumstantial case to a guaranteed conviction. Mitch pictured the expression on Dubray's face when he told him. The groveling apology. His triumphant reinstatement and promotion to captain. Better still would be Grace's smile. How happy he, Mitch Connors, would make her, and how grateful she'd be. Oh, Mitch, you're incredible. How can I ever make it up to you? He'd get her a lawyer. She'd appeal her sentence and -
"This had better be important."
In a stark gray kimono, with her black bobbed hair slicked back and her face bare of makeup, Caroline Merrivale looked even harder than usual. She reminded Mitch of a prison matron. Anna Wintour meets Cruella de Vil.
"I don't appreciate uninvited guests at eight thirty in the morning."
"I need to speak to your husband. Urgently."
"He's not here. Was that all?"
Christ, she's disdainful. Mitch stiffened. "No, it's not all. I need to know where he is. Like I said, it's urgent."
Caroline Merrivale yawned. "I have no idea where he is. Gretchen, John's secretary, keeps his diary. She'll be here at ten, I believe. Or is it eleven? Now, if you'll excuse me."
"Take one more step and I will arrest you." Mitch stood up and grabbed Caroline by the wrist. She swung around, laughing.
"Arrest me? For what? Let go of me, you fool."
"Not until you tell me where your husband is."
Caroline tried to shake him off, but Mitch tightened his grip. As he did so he noticed her chin jut forward defiantly and her pupils start to dilate. He thought, This is turning her on. She likes power games. Although physically she repulsed him, he forced himself to pull her closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.
"Don't make me hurt you. I'll give you one last chance. Where. Is. John."
Caroline ran her eyes lasciviously over Mitch's butch, masculine physique. Here was a man she could respect. A man who was worth giving in to.
"He's at Newark airport." She breathed huskily. "He's on his way to Mustique."
MITCH DROVE LIKE A MADMAN. PULLING up outside departures, he leaped out of the car, leaving the engine running. An official yelled at him.
"Hey! HEY! You can't leave your car there, man."
Ignoring him, Mitch kept running and didn't stop till he got to the Delta desk.
"Flight 64 to St. Lucia," he panted.
"I'm sorry, sir. Boarding's completed."
"Well, reopen it." Mitch pushed his police badge across the desk.
"I'll go get my supervisor."
An older woman with thick, black-framed glasses emerged from a back office. "How can I help you?"
"There's a passenger on Flight 64. J. Merrivale. I need to speak to him. I need him off the plane."
"I'm sorry, sir. Flight 64 already left. Two minutes ago."
Mitch groaned and put his head in his hands.
"Let's have a look, though. What did you say the passenger's name was?"
"Merrivale. John."
The woman typed something into her computer. "If need be, we can alert the cabin crew and ground staff. They can hold him until - " She broke off.
"What?" asked Mitch.
"Are you sure it was this flight? There's no J. Merrivale on the passenger list." She spun the screen around so Mitch could see it.
He had a bad feeling about this.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S DEAD?"
The director of the FBI lost his temper. "What do you mean 'what do I mean'? He's dead! What part of 'dead' do you not understand, Harry?"
Harry Bain held the phone away from his ear and waited for Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind the door. He was being "punk'd." He had to be.
"But, sir, Gavin Williams is on leave. He has been for over a month."
"Yeah, well, that's not what he told the guys at Dillwyn. He said he was personally authorized by you to transfer Grace Brookstein to our Fairfax facility. They faxed me the documents, Harry. I'm looking at your signature right now."
"This is crazy! I never authorized anything. Williams was obsessed with Grace Brookstein. He had this weird, personal thing going on with her. That's why we let him go."
"Jesus Christ!" roared the director. "Do you have any idea what a stinking mess this is?"
Harry Bain did have some idea. The staff at the OGA prison had released Grace Brookstein into Gavin Williams's custody last night. The two of them were last seen driving out of Dillwyn at around five P.M. At five A.M. this morning, the burned-out shell of Williams's car had been discovered in a remote part of rural Virginia with Gavin's remains inside. Or as Harry's boss put it, "his barbecued remains." Grace Brookstein herself had vanished.
"What's happening with the search effort? Is there anything my guys can do to help?"
"We're all over it. We got helicopters up, tracker dogs, you name it. I was gonna say 'she won't get far' but after last time..."
"I take it the media don't know yet?"
"No one knows. And we're gonna keep it that way. No one knew she was at Dillwyn in the first place, thank God."
Harry Bain thought, Except Gavin Williams. How long would it take for a persistent reporter to uncover the truth? Long enough for them to find Grace? He was reminded of Lady Bracknell's famous line in The Importance of Being Earnest. To lose Grace Brookstein once may be regarded as misfortune. To lose her twice looked like carelessness.