Sidney Sheldon’s Chasing Tomorrow (Tracy Whitney)

INTERVIEW RESUMED, DECEMBER TWENTY-­FIRST, four fifteen A.M. Miss Kennedy, Mrs. Berkeley has made a statement that you posed to her as an FBI agent. Is that the case?”

Elizabeth Kennedy gave Milton Buck a look of withering disdain but said nothing. Just as she had said nothing to all of Buck’s questions for the last five hours.

“You told Mrs. Berkeley that the emeralds in the choker she was wearing had been irradiated. You further convinced her that her life was in danger from exposure to the irradiated gemstones, a deception you maintained with the use of a number of simple props, including these.”

Milton Buck placed an oval-­shaped piece of plastic on the table. Not unlike one of those monitors ­people used to listen in on their sleeping babies, it was battery-­powered and flashed red with a crackling sound when you pressed a button at the back.

Elizabeth smirked.

“Is that what happened, Ms. Kennedy?”

Silence.

“The device was found in your possession, along with the emerald choker. Can you suggest any other explanation for those items being found in your purse, Ms. Kennedy?”

Elizabeth yawned and looked away.

Milton Buck finally lost his temper, banging his fist down on the table.

“You seem not to understand what a phenomenal amount of trouble you are in, Ms. Kennedy. Tonight’s felony alone carries a jail sentence of over a decade. Did you know that?”

Silence.

“Then there’s entering the U.S. on a fake passport. Illegal use of credit cards. Identity theft. Impersonation of a federal agent. That’s twenty years, before we even begin to talk about the jobs you and your partner pulled in Chicago and Los Angeles and Atlanta.” Buck’s eyes bulged furiously. “You help me, Elizabeth, and I’ll help you. But keep this up and I will personally see to it that you rot in jail for the rest of your natural life. Do you understand?”

Elizabeth cast a critical eye over her French manicure. Milton Buck counted to ten.

“We know you were involved in at least three other high-­profile robberies on U.S. soil. We also know you work with a partner.”

“You seem to know an awful lot, Agent Buck.”

They were the first words she had spoken. Milton Buck looked suitably surprised.

“How clever you are! I’m surprised you need to ask me any questions at all.”

Her tone was amused, mocking.

“I want the name of your partner, Ms. Kennedy.”

“What partner, Agent Buck?”

“Is it Jeff Stevens?”

Elizabeth threw back her head and burst into gales of laughter. Milton Buck felt his anger returning.

“Oh dear.” Elizabeth wiped away tears of mirth. “Is that the best you can do? I think I might re-exercise my right to remain silent. If it’s all the same to you.”

Milton Buck stood up, quivering with rage.

“Interview suspended.”

He stormed out.

OUT IN THE CORRIDOR, Milton took a few moments to compose himself.

This was not going according to plan. What should have been a night of celebration, the greatest triumph of his career so far, was turning into a fiasco.

Milton Buck blamed Jean Rizzo.

The irritating, sanctimonious little Canadian had been a thorn in Milton’s side ever since he showed up in L.A. this past summer, spewing out his preposterous theories about prostitutes and homicides and Tracy friggin’ Whitney. Now, after months of work tracking Elizabeth Kennedy, Rizzo had popped up like the proverbial bad penny, making a mockery of Elizabeth’s arrest and point-­blank refusing to accept his lack of jurisdiction, or Milton Buck’s authority. Embarrassingly, the two men had argued about it in the cab, in front of the suspect, with Rizzo insisting he had a right to interview Elizabeth and refusing to relinquish custody unless Buck allowed him access.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Milton Buck snapped as Jean helped himself to a coffee from the machine at the FBI’s field office on the twenty-­third floor of 26 Federal Plaza. “You can talk to her when I’m done. Not a minute before.”

“And how long will that be?”

“As long as it takes. Days probably. You may as well go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jean Rizzo had been as good as his word. Milton Buck peered through the glass into the waiting room and saw Jean sharing a Domino’s pizza with a bunch of older agents. No one ordered pizza unless they were there for the duration.

“How’s it going, Buck? You don’t look too happy.”

The head of the field office, Special Agent Barry Soltan materialized at Milton’s side. Soltan was only a few years older than Milton Buck. Milton resented his superior rank intensely.

“She’s not talking, sir.”

“I see the fellow from Interpol’s still here.”

“Rizzo. Yes, sir. I’ve asked him to leave but—­”

“Let’s get the two of you into my office.”

“There’s really no need for that, sir. Interpol has no jurisdiction here. At no time have we invited them to—­”

“Agent Buck,” Barry Soltan interrupted. “You just told me your witness isn’t talking. Now, I’d like to get some sleep tonight, even if you wouldn’t. Let’s hear what Inspector Rizzo has to say.”

JEAN RIZZO HAD A lot to say, to Agent Buck’s great irritation. Special Agent Barry Soltan listened, then allowed him twenty minutes to try to break Elizabeth.

“If I understand it correctly, you both want the same thing. For the young lady to give up the name of her accomplice. Right?”

Agent Buck nodded grudgingly.

“In which case, I don’t see what harm it does to let Inspector Rizzo have a crack at her.”

Jean Rizzo said, “If she doesn’t talk, there’s every chance another young woman will end up being butchered by this maniac. He always kills within two days after Elizabeth completes a job.”

“Except she didn’t complete this job,” Special Agent Soltan reminded him. “She got caught.”

“For all we know, that may make him even more desperate.”

“For all we know, there may be no connection between the two cases whatsoever!” Agent Buck failed to conceal his exasperation. “With respect, sir, Inspector Rizzo’s wasting our time.”

“Enough, Agent Buck.” Special Agent Soltan raised a weary hand. “He’s going in.”

MILTON BUCK NEEDN’T HAVE WORRIED.

Jean Rizzo was no more successful in getting Elizabeth Kennedy to speak than he had been. After half an hour, Special Agent Soltan asked a few senior agents to join Buck, Rizzo and him in conference.

“I have an idea.” Jean Rizzo addressed himself to the group. “Let’s get Tracy Whitney in there. She may be able to get Elizabeth to open up.”

Milton Buck threw his hands in the air in frustration. “My God. Tracy Whitney? Are you still on that?”

“Last time we spoke, Agent Buck, if you remember, you assured me Miss Whitney was either dead or untraceable. Well, guess what? Not only was she very much alive, but I found her within forty-­eight hours of our conversation.”

Milton Buck grunted gracelessly. “So? She’s still not relevant to this case.”

Jean longed to tell the arrogant Buck that it was Tracy who’d stolen the Brookstein rubies. Not only was she relevant to his case, she was his case. But he bit his tongue, for Tracy’s sake as well as his own. Let Buck keep chasing his own tail.

Special Agent Soltan raised a hand.

“Hold up a second. We aren’t talking about the Tracy Whitney? The lady who took down Joe Romano?”

“Allegedly,” said Jean.

“The con artist?”

“She’s been living quietly in Colorado for the last decade. She agreed to help me with my investigation, as long as I promised her immunity from prosecution.”

Milton Buck exploded. “My God! The arrogance! In what alternate universe can an Interpol operative promise immunity to a U.S. citizen on U.S. soil?”

“Cool it, Buck. Has Ms. Whitney been helpful in your investigation, Inspector Rizzo?”

“As a consultant, she’s been invaluable. She understands the mind-­set of the professional jewel thief. Plus she has a personal connection with Elizabeth Kennedy going back years. They were both romantically involved with Jeff Stevens.”

“Isn’t he one of your suspects?” Soltan asked Milton Buck, whose face was now livid, from anger or embarrassment or both.

Jean Rizzo answered for him. “Stevens is a person of interest in my investigation and Agent Buck’s. Tracy Whitney is convinced he has nothing to do with the murders. But he’s here in New York right now and he’s had contact with Elizabeth Kennedy within the last twenty-­four hours.”

An uneasy silence descended.

“Is she still insanely hot?” One of the older agents was talking to Jean Rizzo. “Tracy Whitney, I mean.”

“She’s attractive,” Jean conceded.

“Is she single?”

Barry Soltan frowned. “Okay, Frank. This ain’t a dating ser­vice.” He turned to Jean. “Where is Miss Whitney right now?”

“She’s here. In New York.”

“Where exactly?” Milton Buck demanded.

“Somewhere safe.”

Barry Soltan said, “Can you convince her to come down here?”

“I can try. You’d have to guarantee she won’t be arrested.”

“We’re not guaranteeing anything!” Milton Buck snapped.

“Sure we are. For now.” Special Agent Soltan overruled him. “The main thing is that we get Miss Kennedy to talk. Bring her in, Inspector Rizzo.”

TRACY’S HEART RACED AS she approached the interview room. She’d dressed carefully when she left the hotel, in a black cashmere turtleneck and figure-­hugging bottle-­green corduroy pants tucked into flat boots. She hoped the look conveyed casual confidence, but the very obvious leers of the FBI agents when she walked into the building made her second-­guess herself.

Why the hell am I feeling nervous? She’s the one going to jail, not me. I hold all the cards here.

The last time Tracy had seen Elizabeth face-­to-­face had been in L.A., in the alleyway behind the Brooksteins’ mansion. That had been a triumphant moment. This should have been too. So why were her palms sweating?

Of course, it could have had something to do with the venue. The FBI’s New York headquarters did not exactly qualify as one of Tracy’s “happy places.”

“You’re perfectly safe,” Jean Rizzo told her. “I’m on the other side of the glass, along with Agents Buck, Soltan.”

“Surrounded by the FBI. That’s very reassuring,” quipped Tracy. “Do I need my lawyer, Jean?”

“No. Nothing’s off-­limits.”

Special Agent Soltan nodded his agreement. “We appreciate you being here, Miss Whitney. You say whatever you need to in there to get Kennedy to talk. You have complete immunity, so you won’t incriminate yourself.”

Tracy glanced at the short, good-­looking agent next to Jean. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a handful of jalapeños.

Jean Rizzo patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

ELIZABETH LOOKED UP WHEN the door opened, an expression of profound boredom etched on her face. Then she saw who it was and smiled broadly.

“Tracy!” She leaned back in her chair. If she were nervous, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. “Well, well, well. Playing for the other team now, are we? I must say I’m surprised. Especially after our last run-­in. Out of curiosity, how much did you get for Sheila Brookstein’s rubies?”

“One-­point-­seven million,” Tracy said coolly. “You’re so sweet to ask.”

On the other side of the mirrored glass, Milton Buck’s jaw hit the floor.

“Tracy Whitney pulled the Brookstein job?”

“Shhh.” Jean Rizzo waved a hand dismissively, his eyes glued to the two women. Tracy was talking.

“I donated the money to charity.”

“Of course you did.” Elizabeth’s upper lip curled slightly. “You always were quite the saint.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Tracy smiled. “Then again, it’s all relative.”

Milton Buck hissed in Jean Rizzo’s ear.

“You knew about this! You knew Whitney did the Brookstein job! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“And compromise my source? Why should I?” said Jean. “Besides, you weren’t exactly falling over yourself to help me with my investigation. Remember?”

“Be quiet, both of you,” Special Agent Soltan snapped.

Tracy had sat down now, face-­to-­face with Elizabeth.

“It hasn’t been your year, has it?” she said mockingly. “First you screw up the Brookstein job and now you manage to get arrested by not one but two law enforcement agencies on the same night. Not very impressive. Especially when you consider that a monkey could have outsmarted Bianca Berkeley.”

“Bianca took the bait hook, line and sinker,” Elizabeth shot back. “I executed the job perfectly.”

“Hmm. That must be why you’re here.”

Tracy’s confidence was returning now. She was starting to enjoy herself. Elizabeth radiated the same cold beauty Tracy remembered. Her features were perfect, but she was as dead inside as a marble statue. Running her eyes up and down her slender figure, Tracy said, “They’re going to love you in prison. Trust me. I’ve been there.”

Elizabeth looked at her curiously.

“Why do you take things so personally?”

“Probably because I’m a person. Not a machine, like you.”

“A machine?” Elizabeth smiled, composed again now. “Come now, that’s not fair. We’re the same, Tracy, you and I.”

Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “The same? I don’t think so.”

“Why ever not? You’re a thief. I’m a thief.”

“I only robbed from the greedy, from ­people who deserved it.”

“Deserved it according to whom? You?” Elizabeth snorted with derision. “Who made you judge and jury?”

Outside, Milton Buck muttered under his breath, “Exactly.” He couldn’t understand how Rizzo and the others could listen to this baloney.

“You prey on the old and the weak,” said Tracy.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Sometimes. The old and weak can be greedy too, you know.”

“All you care about is money.”

“Again, not true. I care about Jeff. That’s something else we have in common.”

Tracy jumped in her seat as if she’d been shocked. The atmosphere inside the room was suddenly electric.

“Where’s your sense of sisterhood, Tracy?” Elizabeth taunted. “I’ll admit, in the beginning it was just business. I seduced Jeff as part of a job. But the sexual chemistry between us was so insane, it soon became more than a job. For both of us,” she added, like a scorpion delivering its sting.

Beneath the table, Tracy dug her nails into her palms so hard they bled.

Don’t cry. Don’t show emotion. Not to her.

“So what was this job?” Her voice was calm and measured. “I’m curious.”

“I was hired to split the two of you up.”

“Why? Who hired you?”

Elizabeth smiled. “That would be telling. Let’s just say that not everyone out there is as convinced of your saintly status as you seem to be. Some ­people just see you as a conniving, thieving little bitch who deserves to get her comeuppance. And did you ever get it, Tracy!” She laughed cruelly.

Tracy kept her cool. “How much were you paid?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” said Elizabeth. “Of course I wouldn’t get out of bed for that today. But this was a decade ago. And all I had to do was get into bed, Jeff’s bed. Which wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

Jean Rizzo winced. He knew how much this exchange must be hurting Tracy, but he prayed she stayed on this track. Elizabeth was getting emotional, giving far more away than she intended to. If Tracy could just press the right button, surely, he told himself, she’d crack.

Tracy said, “They think Jeff’s involved in this, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Elizabeth laughed. “Agent Buck seems to believe Jeff masterminded my entire career and that odd little Canadian fellow thinks he’s running around bumping off prostitutes. Or that I am, I wasn’t quite sure. He showed me some horrible photographs. Not very gentlemanly of him.”

“So you don’t work with Jeff?” Tracy pressed her

Attagirl, thought Jean Rizzo.

“No. I don’t. And I don’t know anything about any murders either. I wouldn’t have the stomach for that sort of thing.”

“If you don’t work with Jeff, what were you doing at his hotel last week? You were seen meeting in the park, then returning to the Gramercy together.”

“Was I now?” Elizabeth smirked.

“What were you doing?” Tracy repeated.

“What do you think we were doing? Playing Scrabble? Dear oh dear, poor Tracy. Has it really been that long?” Elizabeth laughed. “I’m not a nun and Jeff’s certainly no monk. We were enjoying ourselves. You interrupted us in London all those years ago. So let’s just say we made up for lost time. I’m not in business with Jeff. Our relationship is based purely on pleasure.”

The pain seared through Tracy like a hot poker. It wasn’t just Jeff, although God knew the thought of him with this cold, calculating, horrendous woman hurt like hell. It was the embarrassment. The shame. The truth was, it had been that long. After Jeff’s betrayal, Nicholas had filled the void left in Tracy’s heart. But the sexual side of her, the romantic, passionate life that had once meant so much to her? That had gone forever. Elizabeth Kennedy had taken it from her. That was what Tracy couldn’t forgive. It was that that made today a victory for Elizabeth, not for her. Elizabeth might be going to jail. But it was Tracy who was serving a life sentence with no parole.

With a huge effort of will, she managed to control her emotions.

“You say you care about Jeff. If that’s true, you should want to help clear his name.”

Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Everyone knows you work with a partner.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“This is me you’re talking to,” said Tracy. “At least three of the jobs you pulled off could not possibly have been done alone. I know that for a fact.”

“And which three might those be? Hypothetically, of course. Your friends on the other side of that glass have nothing on me other than what they discovered tonight.” Elizabeth waved mockingly at the mirror. “Let’s not insult each other’s intelligence by pretending otherwise.”

Tracy said, deadpan, “Hong Kong, Chicago and Lima.”

Elizabeth nodded but said nothing.

“What if Rizzo’s right and your partner is the one killing these girls?”

“He isn’t right.”

“Are you sure? Because someone is killing them, Elizabeth. After each of your jobs. For all we know, he might be out there right now, looking for his next target.”

Elizabeth looked thoughtful. There was a long pause. Jean Rizzo held his breath.

Then Elizabeth said, “Let’s say I have a partner. And let’s say I give you his name. What do I get in return?”

“You don’t get anything,” said Tracy. “Other than clearing Jeff of suspicion and potentially saving another woman’s life.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No deal. I want my lawyer here and a plea deal in place. I’ll serve no more than a year for tonight’s robbery. Sorry. Attempted robbery.” She bowed dramatically to the audience behind the mirror. “No other charges will be brought against me.”

Tracy burst out laughing. “You’re out of your mind! They’ll never agree to that.”

“Then they don’t get their name.”

The door opened. Jean Rizzo asked Tracy to step out.

In the anteroom, Tracy told the assembled agents, “You heard her. I tried, but without a deal she won’t talk. Not yet, anyway.”

Milton Buck looked at his boss.“I say give her the deal.”

Tracy’s eyes widened. “What? No! Are you insane? You’d let her walk away from this?”

“She’s the monkey. I want the organ grinder.”

“I agree.” Jean Rizzo’s voice was low but firm. “I’m sorry, Tracy, but Buck’s right. Elizabeth Kennedy hasn’t killed anyone. It’s her partner we need.”

In desperation, Tracy turned to Special Agent Soltan. “You can have both. She’ll give you that name if you keep up the pressure. Maybe trade it for a shorter sentence . . . But a year? And dropping all charges? You’re just rolling over. She’s playing you! All we need is a little time.”

“We don’t have time,” said Jean. “What if he’s in New York right now? He could kill again in hours.”

Special Agent Soltan said, “Call her lawyer.”

AFTER THAT, EVERYTHING HAPPENED so quickly, Tracy felt as if she were in a dream. Elizabeth’s attorney arrived within fifteen minutes. The deal was hammered out and signed in less time than it took one of the junior agents to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

“I want the name,” Agent Buck said.

Buck sat opposite Elizabeth and her lawyer in the interview room, making much of being back in charge. Jean Rizzo stood at the back of the room, a few feet from Tracy. Tracy’s face was set like flint. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Jean.

He promised me Elizabeth would go to jail. He promised me, if I helped him find her, he would put her away. I trusted him and he lied to me.

Milton Buck went on. “I want every scrap of information you have about him. I want dates, I want times, I want details. On every job. And I want to know where he is right now.”

“You can have the name and the details. But I don’t know where he is right now.”

Agent Buck stiffened. “Are you for real?”

“I haven’t seen him face-­to-­face in almost three years.”

“You’re a liar!”

Elizabeth shrugged. “We’re all liars when we need to be, Agent Buck. But this happens to be the truth. We communicate by e-­mail and occasionally by phone. It’s business. We aren’t friends. If we were, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I am capable of loyalty, you know, whatever the saintly Miss Whitney may think.”

Tracy looked away.

“In any case, that’s my offer. You can take it or leave it.”

Jean Rizzo was getting antsy. “For Christ’s sake, Buck. We don’t have time for this.”

“Fine,” Milton Buck barked. “Give me the name.”

Elizabeth glanced at her attorney, who nodded.

“My partner is actually an old acquaintance of Tracy’s. Funny how closely our lives have become intertwined, isn’t it?”

Despite herself, Tracy looked up.

“His name”—­Elizabeth paused for effect—­“is Daniel Cooper.”