The Target

guys can remember.

    "Where," Sherlock began, "do you think Louey Santera planned to go if he did manage to get the Mercedes off the estate?"

    "Nowhere," Molly said. "He hadn't thought that far ahead. He was scared and he lost it. He did that sometimes."

    "This time it was fatal," Ramsey said. "Poor bastard."

    "Not a poor bastard if he was the one who staged Emma's kidnapping," Molly said, her voice hard. "How will we prove it if he was behind it?"

    "Follow the money," Savich said. "I'll get a warrant to search through all Santera's financial records. There's always something there, always."

    "You don't need a warrant. I'll get the records." Mason Lord stood in the kitchen doorway, Gunther standing right behind his right shoulder.

    "I'd just as soon you didn't do anything, Mr. Lord," Savich said. "It's our job. Let us do it on the up and up. Admittedly it takes a bit longer. On the other hand, it's legal. There are advantages to being really legal in this situation."

    Mason said, "I know Louey's accountant. I will speak personally with him. Warren will plead to tell me everything he knows, to show me every record he's ever entered. Warren has always been useful and informative."

    "You know," Sherlock said slowly, eyeing Mason Lord, wondering how he could be so utterly different from her own father yet look so remarkably like him. Both men had power, but they were on opposite sides of the law. "Just maybe since Mr. Lord and Mr. Santera's accountant are such good acquaintances, it wouldn't be a bad thing. What do you think, Judge Hunt? Does that sound kosher enough to you? Would evidence from such a source give the defense a shot at an appeal?"

    "Not that I can see. Hey, why not? We're on Mason Lord's turf. Let him glean information for the case." He grinned at Lord. "I would discourage breaking and entering, though."

    In that instant Molly realized her father had been standing there stiff as a poker. Now she saw him ease up, saw those aristocratic hands unclench, the long lean fingers uncurl. The cops were admitting him. They wanted to involve him. He didn't smile, no, he'd never go that far, but there was something in his expression that held at least some degree more warmth than usual.

    WARREN O'Dell was completely bald-probably through shaving-and looked like a longshoreman, exactly the opposite from what you'd expect of an accountant. He did wear wire-rimmed glasses, though. He had something of the look of Michael Jordan.

    When he spoke, you saw he had yellow teeth from too much smoking. He had calluses on the pads of his fingers and his palms. He spared one glance for Ramsey, his full attention on Mason Lord. Then he did a double take. "I know you," he said, staring hard.

    Ramsey smiled and said, "I'm Ramsey Hunt."

    "You're that federal judge in California who jumped over the railing and chopped up a group of terrorists in your courtroom."

    "That's the way things worked out. It was just a little group."

    Mason Lord cleared his throat, and suddenly Warren O'Dell turned pale. "Uh, sir," he said, nodding his head and making a sweeping gesture with his hand toward an expensive white leather sofa. "Please, sit down. I was devastated at the news of Louey's death. I was going to call you."

    "Were you now, Warren?" Mason said. "Why?"

    It was obvious that Warren O'Dell was scared spitless. He was standing in the middle of his beautifully furnished office on the nineteenth floor of the McCord Building on Michigan Avenue looking as if he wanted to jump out a window.

    "Yes, sir," he said finally. "I would have called you as soon as it happened, but it was such a shock, you know. I couldn't pull myself together until just this morning. Louey's dead, blown up by a car bomb. I can't believe it. It doesn't seem possible. I heard you allowed the cops to investigate?"

    Ramsey felt a small ripple of surprise in his gut. Did O'Dell consider Mason Lord to be some sort of god with total immunity?

    "It was murder, Warren. I'm a law-abiding citizen," Mason said, his voice austere, as if he'd been the one to insist on the cops coming in. He looked toward Ramsey. "Judge Hunt is the man who saved Molly's daughter."

    "Oh, yes, now I see. I couldn't imagine why he was here, with you, seeing me. It's the shock of Louey's death. It's shaken me badly. I gave my girl the day off I was so upset."

    "I see you have some boxes shoved behind your desk, Warren. I don't suppose you were planning to destroy some documents? Perhaps