Veil. Part 11

"A favor? You don't need to ask me for a favor. Just tell me what you need and it's yours."

Barbara pushed the den door open. A bright-eyed little girl with Lego blocks sat playing on the burgundy-gray Persian carpet.

"Good," his mother said. "Then I need you to look after a friend of mine."

On cue, a well-dressed blond, her eyes bluer than his, rose from his dad's old recliner and walked over, a nervous smile on her face.

"Fiona Patrick," she said, her hand fully extended. "And that ma.s.s of energy on your mother's floor is my daughter, Jessica." Robert smiled and shook her hand. "Congratulations on your appointment to the Supreme Court, Your Honor. It's quite an accomplishment."

"Thank you. I only wish it hadn't come at such a trying time."

"Oh?" said Robert, looking at his mother, wondering if he'd been too quick to offer an unchecked favor.

"What she's referring to, son, is the case you're working on."

"You mean the Bear?" he said, the picture coming clear.

"Yes," Fiona jumped in, her smile fading. "Barbara mentioned your involvement several months ago when this psychopath started killing more judges. I didn't think much of it then, well, not until he killed Judge Weiss. We were very close."

"I see," said Robert. "But I understand security has been stepped up since then."

"It's not enough," his mother snapped. "They can't do the job you can, besides, you're already working the case. How difficult can it be?"

"It's not my only case," said Robert. "Now, I'm sure the Secret Service and FBI will go above and beyond to see that you're safe.

Especially since your nomination."

"Mr. Veil, if I thought that would be enough I wouldn't be here," said Fiona.

"Son, you have Thorne to back you up. Can't she take your other cases for awhile, at least until after the confirmation hearing?"

"It's not just for me Mr. Veil," added Fiona, looking over at Jessica.

"Quite frankly, I'm not worried about myself. I just don't want to take any chances with my little girl."

Robert looked over at Jessica. He wanted to help, but the Kennedy case made it impossible.

"I'm sorry Your Honor, but my partner and I are at our limit. I'm afraid I won't be able to help you."

"Robert, this is important," Barbara exclaimed.

"They're all important mother," he shot back. "I'm sorry. I'll check with the agents watching Judge Patrick to make sure they're on top of things. That's the best I can do."

"Robert!"

"Barbara, don't push him," said Fiona, her eyes swollen and red.

Robert didn't really know what to say. Fiona turned and left the den.

Jessica called out to her mother and gave chase. Barbara stared, her displeasure obvious.

"I don't understand Robert. It's not like you to turn away from something like this. Something this important."

"Mother, I told you. We just can't right now."

"What are you working on that's more important?" Robert never kept any secrets from his mother. In fact, he often found her instincts keen, her advice solid. On more than one occasion, he'd sought her counsel.

"I can't talk about it."

"Can't talk about it? Since when?"

"Since I don't want to lose you the way I lost dad." Barbara's eyes searched his. "Son, ever since your father's murder, we've always played it straight with each other, never holding anything back." She moved closer. "What is it son?" Robert's stomach tightened. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Trust me on this one. I'll tell you later. For now, it's just too dangerous."

"I can take care of myself. What's so bad you can't share it with the woman who taught you how to shoot?"

Robert smiled, leaned forward and softly kissed her on the forehead.

"All in due time. I promise."

Barbara gave him a sly mischievous look. He knew her appeas.e.m.e.nt would be temporary. "Fine. Keep your secret, for now. But I still want you to take this a.s.signment."

Too good to be true. "I told you, I can't."

"Dammit Robert, if you don't watch over this woman and her child, I'll do it myself."

"Look, I'll talk to the Secret Service and make sure they're on top of things. That's all I can do. So please, stop asking." Barbara's face deflated. "I better go check on our guests." She stomped out of the room.

Robert flopped down on the couch, head pounding. His cell buzzed, and Thorne didn't sound excited. She whittled down the number of cemeteries to twenty-five, and each held at least a thousand crypts or more. The news pained him.

"What's Barbara want?"

He laid it out plain.

"Robert, we've got too much on our plate. Don't let her bend you this time, like always."

He a.s.sured her, not as convinced as he sounded. They agreed to meet at the office after he searched the area around Crossroads, and talked to Popeye. He hung up, rested his head back, closed his eyes and groaned.

"Are you okay mister?"

Robert opened his eyes and smiled at Jessica. He didn't have much experience with children. His selfish ex-wife wouldn't tolerate them.

"I'm just fine," he told her. "And you?"

"I'm okay," she said, her voice full of strength and confidence, "But I'm worried about my mom."

Robert checked to see if his mother lurked in the shadows. The heart-tugging scene had Barbara Veil written all over it. "Now why would such a pretty, special girl be worried about her mother?" He picked her up and placed her on his knee. "Your mother seems like a very strong lady."

"She is," said Jessica, a.s.surance in her voice. "But she's worried, I can tell. I hear her on the phone sometimes. She thinks we're really in danger." Jessica tried not to cry, but couldn't.

Robert wiped away her tears. "Thanks mother," he mumbled under his breath. "Your mom's going to be just fine, and so are you. There're a lot of people watching out for both of you. n.o.body's going to get close. I promise."

She rewarded him with a big smile. "Aunt Barbara says you're going to take good care of us so we shouldn't worry. That makes me feel better."

Mother, my patience is wearing thin. "You'll be safe Jessica, but I'm not the one who'll be watching you."

A curious look fell over Jessica's round little face. "Why not?" She folded her arms across her chest.

"Well, I'm, really busy right now," he said, reading her irritation.

"It's a bad time."

"Why can't you help my mommy?"

"It's a little complicated," he tried to explain. "I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises."

Jessica hopped off his knee, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You don't care if my mommy dies!" She cupped her face in her hands. "It's not fair!"

Robert reached out but she s.n.a.t.c.hed away. "I want my daddy," she said sobbing.

He was dumbstruck. Where the h.e.l.l is her father anyway?

"Now, now, little one. Come with Auntie Barbara," his mother said entering the room, Judge Patrick right behind her. "I have fresh baked cookies. That'll cheer you up."

Robert gave a "you don't play fair" look, as Barbara led Jessica from the room, ignoring him. Judge Patrick sulked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames.

"I'm sorry," she said, not facing him. "Normally I wouldn't be so worried."

"What about her father?" Robert asked, trying not to sound too blunt.

"He died almost three years ago, cancer." Robert remembered. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'd forgotten."

"Three years is a long time. I've managed to move on." Robert and Fiona both looked down at their feet, s.h.i.+fting back and forth in uncomfortable silence.

"When the Bear makes a try I want Jessica as safe as possible," Fiona finally said.

"With all due respect, there are a number of federal judges in the area.

No one knows when or where this guy will strike next. He may not even come for you. So far, he hasn't targeted female judges. Mrs. Weiss got it by accident."

Fiona pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to him. "This came to the courthouse in the mail today." Robert looked at the note, written in Russian.

"I had a colleague at Georgetown University translate," she said. "It says "Congratulations. Soon."

Robert stared at the note, then at her. "Why haven't I heard anything about this from the police, or on the news?"

"Because I haven't told them. I decided to take another route and called Barbara. She called you, and now you know." Fiona walked over to the couch and sat down. "To know that monster is so close," she said, her voice cracking. "It's more than I can take." Robert cursed under his breath. How can I walk away? It would be just like chasing the Bear, which we're doing anyway. At least that's how he'd sell it to Thorne.

Barbara came back into the room. "There's just too much crying going on in this house," she said, sitting down next to Fiona. "It's going to be alright." She threw her arm around Fiona's shoulders. "You just wait and see."

"Okay," said Robert. "I'll do it, but it won't be full time. I have another case that's important, so Thorne and I will want to set up at Judge Patrick's house and coordinate with the authorities involved.

We'll have to clear it with the Secret Service and Justice Department.

We'll be in and out, but we'll be there."

"Good enough," Barbara cried, slapping her knee.

Fiona ran over to Robert. "Thank you," she said. "It means a lot to me." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and for the first time he noticed how good she smelled.

"You're welcome," he said. "Now go tell Jessica." Fiona left the room. Robert glared at Barbara. "Mother."

"I don't want to hear it Robert," she snapped. "I don't know what you're working on, but whatever it is can wait." Barbara walked over and stroked his cheek. "Thanks son, this means a lot to me. You're doing the right thing."

"You should've given me more warning than this. Next time..."

"You're always Lord knows where, doing G.o.d knows what. Just do this for me. Take good care of her, please." Robert kissed the palm of his mother's hand, then her cheek, and headed toward the door. He caught a glimpse of his father in a photo hanging next to the door, and stopped. After all the years, it still bothered him.

"If he were alive he'd be proud of you son. You're just like him.

Tough as nails outside. Good heart inside." Robert ran his fingers across his father's face. He remembered what it was like growing up without a father, and thought of Jessica.

The front door closed behind him, the night still and quiet, he heard Thorne cursing in his ears.

13.

Robert parked in front of Crossroads and called Thorne. He tried the office, then her cell. No answer. She wouldn't like it at first, but watching over Judge Patrick gave them an edge. They knew the next victim. A break.

He examined the note Fiona gave him. White copier paper and a red felt pen. Different from the typewritten letter left at the Weiss murder scene. Could be a hoax. I'll have Thorne run it against the prints in our files.

Robert decided to keep the note between him and Thorne, at least for the time being. The boys at Quantico can get their two cents in later. He didn't want some over-anxious federal flunky in their way f.u.c.king things up.

He stepped out of the car, his eyes fixed on a distinguished bronze plaque next to the mission's front entrance. The plaque read: In Memory of Patrick Orlando Miller 1949-2002.

"I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."

Umberto Eco We'll miss you Patrick. From those who call the streets home. A large, impressive carving of Patrick Miller's smiling face hung just above it. Robert remembered the quote. The same Charlie mumbled when they videotaped him. Too obscure to be coincidence, it said Patrick Miller knew more than he told. I have a hunch Popeye knows more too.

It took thirty minutes to find the old vet. At liquor store number three, Robert watched the tarnished wheelchair glide out onto the sidewalk. Popeye spotted him and almost lost control of the brown paper sack balanced on his lap. He tossed his stringy wet hair back out of his face, gave a rueful sneer, and rolled away.

Robert jogged after him. The wheelchair sped up and disappeared around a corner. When Robert caught sight of him again, Popeye was nearly a block away. He quickened his steps, maneuvering in and out of tattered men, women, and children, some pus.h.i.+ng grocery carts, others lugging garbage bag suitcases filled with all they owned.