The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [115]
Olaf said, “My son and I spent many hours coming up with the right plan for you, Lily. Ian traveled to California, to Hemlock Bay. What a quaint and clever name. It was such a simple little town, generous and friendly to newcomers, such as you and your daughter, was it not? He liked the fresh salt air, the serenity of the endless stretches of beach and forest, the magnificent redwoods, and all those clever little roads and houses blended into the landscape. Who could imagine it would be so simple to find such perfect tools? The Frasiers—greedy, ambitious people—and here they had a son who would be perfect for you.”
“Did they murder my daughter?”
26
“You think the Frasiers killed your daughter?” Ian Jorgenson repeated, his voice indifferent. He shrugged. “Not that I know of.” Lily suddenly hated him.
Olaf said, “I know you felt sorrow over your daughter’s death. But what does it matter to you now who is responsible?”
“Whoever struck her down deserves to die for it.”
“Killing them won’t bring back your little girl,” Ian said, frowning at her. “We, in Sweden, actually in most of Europe, do not believe in putting people to death. It is barbaric.”
What is wrong with this picture? Simon wondered, staring at Ian Jorgenson.
“No,” Lily said, “it won’t bring Beth back, but it would avenge her. No one who kills in cold blood should be allowed to continue breathing the same air I breathe.”
“You are harsh,” said Olaf Jorgenson.
“You are not harsh, sir? You, who order people murdered?”
Olaf Jorgenson laughed, a low, wheezy sound thick with phlegm, perhaps with blood.
“No, I always do only what is necessary, nothing more. Vengeance is for amateurs. Now, you do not have to wonder again if the Frasiers killed your daughter. They did not. They told me that they’d been concerned because your daughter, by ill chance, had seen some e-mails on Mr. Frasier’s computer, communications that she shouldn’t have seen. They, of course, assured the child that the messages were nonsense, nothing important, nothing to even think about.”
So that was why Beth had been moody, withdrawn, that last week. Why hadn’t her daughter come to her, told her, at least asked her about what she had seen? But she hadn’t, and then she’d been killed.
Olaf Jorgenson continued, “I understand it was an accident, one of your American drunk drivers who was too afraid to stop and see what he’d done.”
Lily felt tears clog her throat. She’d happily left Chicago and Jack Crane and moved to a charming coastal town. She couldn’t believe what it had brought them.
Simon took her hand, squeezed her fingers. He knew she was feeling swamped with the memories of her loss and despair. She raised her head to look at Olaf Jorgenson and said, “What do you intend to do with us?”
“You, my dear, I will have painted by a very talented artist whom I’ve worked well with over the years. As for Mr. Russo here, as I said, I hold no hope now of bringing him into my fold. He is much too inflexible in his moral code. It is not worth the risk. Also, he seems taken with you, and I can’t have that. Isn’t that interesting? You’ve known each other for such a short time.”
“He just wants to be my consultant,” Lily said.
Simon smiled.
“He wants you in bed,” Ian said. “Or maybe you’re already lovers and that’s why he’s helping you.”
“Don’t be crude,” Olaf said, frowning toward his son, then added, “Yes, I fear that Mr. Russo must take a nice, long boat ride with Alpo and Nikki here. We still have two lovely canals left from those built back in the early seventeenth century by our magnificent Gustav. Yes, Mr. Russo, you and my men here will visit one of the canals this very night. It’s getting cold now, not many people will be about at midnight.”
Simon said, “I can’t say I find that an appealing way to spend the evening. What do you intend to do with the Frasiers?”
Olaf Jorgenson said to Lily, not to Simon, “At the moment they