The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [132]
“Comes to him.”
“Comes to me. Why go for the direct attack? On the job is where you’re in your element, where you do good. But you don’t do everything right, Quincy. Hell no, you’re not perfect. In fact, when it comes to being a husband, being a father, being a son, you pretty much suck. Once I realized this, I knew I had you.”
“You approached Mandy at her AA meeting.”
“I started looking up your father, your ex-wife and daughters. Didn’t take me too long to figure out Mandy was the weak link. Shit, you must’ve done quite a head job on that kid, Quincy. She’s a drunk, she’s promiscuous. She’s the perfect, insecure wreck. What do you have your Ph.D. in again?”
He thinned his lips. Montgomery smiled, happy to feel he had the upper hand and as Glenda predicted, now expansively verbose.
“Yeah, I approached Mandy, pretended to be the son of an old acquaintance of your dad’s, Ben Zikka, Jr. That’s the nice thing about AA meetings. They build a sense of camaraderie, allow even perfect strangers to bond. Three meetings later, I had her.”
“You introduced her to him.”
“I had her.”
“Mandy had standards. You never so much as held her hand.”
Albert scowled, so he’d struck a nerve. But the disgruntled agent quickly scrambled to make up lost ground. “Your daughter was a real friendly girl, Quince. Lunches, dinners, breakfasts. Didn’t take any time at all to learn all about the rest of the family. And so many fascinating details about you, Pierce. Your habits, your home security system, your pathetic letters trying to keep in touch with your oldest daughter and build some kind of relationship.”
“Handwriting samples,” he deduced. “Material to copy as the UNSUB prepared the note for Philadelphia. For that matter, stationery.”
Albert merely smiled. His gaze flicked once again to the wall clock.
“I was at Mandy’s one night when you called,” Albert said. “Got to hear one helluva stilted conversation, that was for sure. Really, Quince, you never did understand your own daughter. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“He milked her for information,” he said softly. “And then he killed her.”
“I came up with the idea. Get her drunk and behind the wheel of the car. It was a little risky. Maybe she didn’t die right away. Maybe she regained consciousness. In the end, who cared? She was so damn drunk, she’d never remember what really happened, and we could always arrange a little accident in the hospital.”
“We?”
“I,” Albert said hastily. “I could arrange a little accident. I considered her murder a little test, Quince. Would you catch on? How good was Quantico’s best of the best? But, true to form, when it comes to your family your instincts are a complete zero. Hell, you didn’t even stay at her bedside. Just showed up and agreed to pull the plug. You helped kill your daughter, Quince. Not that I mind, but how do you feel about that?”
He ignored the question. “You used her to approach Bethie.”
“Sure. Mandy told us . . . me! all about her mom. Favorite restaurants, favorite music, favorite food. It’s not rocket science after that. And I do have my charm.”
“Bethie hates charm. He approached her as an organ recipient. He disguised himself as part of Mandy.”
Albert’s eyes widened. He clearly hadn’t known they knew that much. His gaze dashed to the clock. The time seemed to soothe him. He took a deep breath and eyed his interrogator more warily.
“When I’m brilliant, Quincy, I’m brilliant,” Albert tried.
Quincy merely shook his head. “He had to wait over a year for Mandy to die. Did that make him anxious? That couldn’t have been part of his plan.”
“Patience is a virtue,” Albert said.
“No, he got nervous. He needed my attention for the game to be interesting. So he used Mary Olsen to raise my suspicion.”
“I didn’t want destroying you to be too easy,” Albert said. “After fifteen years of planning, a guy’s gotta have a little fun.”
“Mary Olsen is dead.”
That shocked him. Albert’s gaze widened again