gives you one simple assignment and look what happens. The FBI rides to the rescue and you end up on the floor whimpering like a little boy.”
Savich said to Ollie, “You and Ruth get down to the basement and see that Lucy’s all right. But be careful, it’s possible there’s another one down there with her. We’ll take this one to the kitchen.”
Armstrong was no longer thinking he’d die. He was wishing his hands were free and he could have another go at these two. “Let me loose. I’m entitled to a phone call.”
Sherlock said, “Sorry, Lance, you’re not entitled to anything at all. Tell us exactly what Farriger and Nikki Bexholt are up to or I might let the big man here at you again.”
“He was lucky. Let me loose and I’ll show you.”
Sherlock laughed. “If I let you loose, what I’d see is him tying your legs around your neck. Now, what did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her, simply carried her downstairs and put her on a bed. She was out cold. I was told she was given a dose of ketamine to keep her out. No one wanted any more trouble out of her.”
Savich dragged Armstrong to the wall so he could sit up. He left his hands cuffed behind him. He looked into Armstrong’s hard face. Could he really be a dupe? He knew Armstrong and Farriger were close. It was more likely he was her henchman, perhaps her lover. Had he murdered Eleanor Corbitt?
Armstrong said, “You haven’t told me how you found this house. You had no way to know.”
Savich gave him a grin. “Would you believe I’m psychic?”
They heard Ruth shout, “We’ve got Lucy. She’s okay, well, she’s so mad she’s frothing at the mouth. She’s got some pain from the blow to her head, and there’s some bleeding, but not much now. She’s a little dizzy from a drug they gave her. No one else is here, only the bozo you guys found. We’re bringing her up.”
“I am not a bozo.”
“Maybe not,” Sherlock said slowly. “If you’re a dupe, that means Farriger has roasted you.” She pulled Armstrong’s Glock from her pocket, studied it a moment. “Dillon, I’m thinking this could be the same gun that murdered Eleanor Corbitt.”
Savich watched Armstrong’s face, saw the brief flash of knowledge in his eyes, but he shook his head. “I don’t know any Eleanor Corbitt. You want to know anything else, you can talk to my boss.” He didn’t say another word.
69
* * *
EAGLE'S NEST
Quint Bodine didn’t come with a shotgun. He didn’t come at all. It was Cyndia Bodine, running toward them, her bathrobe flapping around her ankles, flip-flops on her feet. She saw them and stopped, breathing hard, and there was something dangerous in her eyes. Just as suddenly, her features smoothed out. “I’m relieved you’re both alive, but how are you here? You shouldn’t be here. I heard the landslide and I came running.”
Griffin didn’t move. “Why? How did you know anyone was down here, Mrs. Bodine?”
She said, “I didn’t know. These landslides sometimes happen, do some destruction to the road, but what scared me was my husband wasn’t in bed and I was afraid something had happened to him.”
“Your husband isn’t here, but we were. Sorry, but the landslide didn’t crush us under a ton of boulders coming down off the mountain. Didn’t you hear the explosion?”
She said nothing. She kept looking at him, but Griffin saw her eyes go vague, fixed inward, as if she was focusing on something he couldn’t see. Or someone. “Oh no you don’t!” He ran to her, grabbed her arms and shook her, hard. “Snap back, Cyndia. Whatever you’re trying to do, stop it.”
She hit his chest with her fists, tried to score his face with her fingernails. “Get away from me! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go away, there’s nothing here for you. Let me go!”
But Griffin wasn’t about to let her go. He shook her again. “Listen to me, we know you’re holding three girls in your underground—what? Lab? Apartments? Under the garage. We know you had Rafer kidnap them, you gave him no choice. And do you know what? We’ve finally figured out why you kidnapped the girls. All of them are sixteen years old, and you think they’re perhaps gifted, like you are, like your missing daughter. This is all about Camilla, isn’t it? She’s at the center of everything you’ve done, the excuse. But I