On Fire(53)

Sig grabbed her keys and handbag, pushed into the hall with a force of  will Riley hadn't seen in her in days. She herself hung back. She  debated saying anything, just melting into the woodwork, then finally  mumbled, for honor's sake if no other, "I'm going after Emile."

Straker thrust a finger at her.

"You wait."

"I will not wait. Emile's going to get himself killed."

"And you with him."

"You can catch up with me." She gave him a faint smile.

"I'll leave a bread crumb trail."

"Riley" -- "I've always wanted to see you in action."

As if she hadn't, she thought with a jolt, remembering last night.

Straker gritted his teeth, with Matt slumped against him.

"Trust me, St. Joe. You don't want me to catch up with you."

But she'd made up her mind and charged out the back door, into the pretty courtyard garden and streaming sunshine.

Straker was rusty. It was his only excuse. An old man, a pregnant woman,  a sexy spit of an egghead and a thrashed blue blood--and he was out  parking the car. He stuffed Matt Granger into Sig's sleek car. '

"Do you want me to drive to the hospital with you?"

She shook her head.

"Go after that stupid sister of mine."

"With pleasure."

"She and Emile..." She brushed at tears with the back of her hand, but  Straker had no illusions. She'd be fine. She was fully engaged,  determined.

"They're devoted to each other. You know it, you've seen it yourself.

And they're just alike. They act first, think later.

They're so smart they usually can get away with it. "

"Not this time. This time, they need to goddamn back off."

"They won't. Neither one."

He nodded. "When you get to the hospital, call the police. Tell them everything."

"I will. I promise."

He believed her. In her own way she was as strong as the rest of her  family. It would be a mistake, Straker thought, to underestimate Sig St.  Joe Granger's strength.                       
       
           



       

Matt was regaining consciousness, and Sig shut the door on him before he  could fall out or try to go after Emile himself. She hurried around to  the driver's side and climbed in, started the engine, gunned it and was  off.

Straker headed back into her house. It was quiet, its elegance marred by  the smears of blood on the walls, floor and woodwork. He went down to  the kitchen and out to the pretty courtyard garden, which had obviously  been neglected in recent months.

No trail of bread crumbs. He reined in his frustration knew there was no  point in following Riley on foot. He wasn't worried about her few  minutes' head start, but she knew Beacon Hill better than he did. He'd  be lucky to find his way back out to the street from the damned  courtyard.

He went back to his car. He'd missed Granger's entrance; he'd missed Emile. He shook his head, disgusted with himself.

The snaking network of hilly one-way streets, originally designed for  horses, tangled him up and slowed him down. He stopped in the middle of  Louisburg Square, realizing Riley could have followed Emile all the way  to Logan Airport and onto a plane to Greece or South America by now.

He double-parked and checked Abigail Granger's house. Locked up tight.

He rang the doorbell, knocked. No answer. He stood on the front stoop,  imagined himself on Labreque Island. It was a clear, warm, perfect  September day. He'd take his kayak out, sit on the rocks, maybe dip his  feet in the bay. But that life seemed remote now, as if the past six  months had collapsed into a matter of seconds.

So what was Matt Granger doing here that got him pushed down the stairs and thrashed?

Straker drove down the hill to Mass. General Hospital. No Sig in the ER  waiting room. No police arriving to take her and her husband's  statements. Straker swore under his breath and pushed his way to Matt  Granger's treatment room. The doctors had gotten right to work. His  broken forearm was already set, and he had his ribs wrapped and the cuts  and bruises on his face treated. He looked like hell, physically and  emotionally spent.

He glanced at Straker. Even beaten to shit, the man had a patrician look about him.

"Where's Sig?" But Straker's hesitation told him, and he jumped off the  treatment table and grabbed his shirt, shrugged it on as he addressed  the doctor who'd been shining a light in his eyes.

"I have to go."

"Mr. Granger, I don't recommend" -- "My wife is in danger. You have any Tyienol or something you can give me?"

"You need something stronger."

Granger shook his head.

"Anything stronger'll knock me out."

The doctor sighed, handed him samples of Extra- Strength Tyienol and Tyienol with codeine.

"I want you back here. You're leaving against my advice."

"I know, Doc." Matt gave a rakish, Robert Redford grin, despite his swollen, bloody face.

"I won't sue you."

The doctor wasn't amused. He kept arguing as Granger headed for the  door. Adrenaline and pain had him focused and alert. Straker didn't try  to stop him. If Sig St. Joe was his own wife, he'd drag his ass off an  ER treatment table and go after her.

"I'll look after him," he told the doctor, "and get him back here as soon as I can."

The doctor didn't like that, either, but there was nothing he could do.

"Sig would blithely walk into the mouth of a dragon," Granger told him as they headed outside.

"She's oblivious. Here she's nearly been killed, I've nearly been killed  and she goes off" -He grimaced, as if he'd thought too far ahead  already and couldn't stand what he saw. "What the hell is she thinking?"

"Riley took off after Emile."

"Damn it. They're both impossible."

"You said it yourself. Loving a St. Joe isn't easy."

Matt half fell into Straker's front seat.

"If I brought this on Sig" -- "That kind of thing won't get you anywhere," Straker warned, and shut the door.

He took Cambridge Street to Government Center, snaked through the jammed  traffic and endless waterfront construction and tried to push back his  own rampant thoughts.

"If you're right and Emile killed Cassain, he wouldn't deliberately hurt  his own granddaughters. He had that chance back on Chestnut Street.  Instead he got out bandages for you."

Granger cradled his broken arm, swallowed the Extra-Strength Tyienol without water. He had to be in immense pain.                       
       
           



       

"You don't think it's Emile."

Straker reluctantly slowed for a stoplight, clenched the wheel.

"No, I don't."

"I just don't know anymore. My family..." Granger shut his eyes briefly,  every fiber exuding misery on a large scale. He swallowed.

"Christ."

"Maine CID talked to your stepmother this morning. They found the engine  parts Cassain brought up from the Encounter in an outbuilding at your  family house on Mount Desert. Do you know how they got there?"

Granger sat in tight-lipped silence. Straker didn't push it. He pulled  up in front of the Boston Center for Oceanographic Research. No  reporters jumped in front of his car, which was at least something. '

"You stay put. Security's suspicious of me as it is. They don't need to  see me walk in with a bloodied Granger. Keep the car running." He gave  Granger a hard look.

"Ten minutes. That's all I need. You steal my car and pass out and kill a pedestrian" -- "Ten minutes. Go."

On his way Straker called Richard St. Joe on his cell phone.

"I've lost both your daughters. You want to let me in?"

"I'll meet you at the main entrance."

"Henry Armistead has me down as a stalker."

"Screw Henry."

Despite his rumpled, distracted appearance, Richard St. Joe commanded a  certain respect among the center's staff. The security guards let  Straker pass.

Straker didn't mince words.

"Your son-in-law just had the shit kicked out of him at Abigail Granger's house. Is she here?"

"I don't know. I think so. John, what the hell's going on?"

"Someone sabotaged the Encounter last year. It should have been a nice  little explosion that made everyone feel bad. Instead it was a great big  explosion that sank the ship and killed five people."

"Jesus Christ," St. Joe said.

"That's the short version."

"Emile?"

Straker gave a tight shake of the head.

"No." For the first time, he was convinced his instincts were right.

It wasn't Emile.

"Sam Cassain came out and blamed Emile, and that suited the saboteur  just fine. With the Encounter at the bottom of the ocean, there was no  proof of what really happened. Then your son- in-law secretly funded  Cassain's bid to bring up the ship's engine. He succeeded."

"And the engine showed evidence of sabotage. Do you think that's what  Sam expected?" "Initially, I think he was just looking for something  that proved conclusively that Emile was responsible."