Astley interrupted her again. “Agent Gregson, this is nonsense, and inadmissible. We don’t know—”
Sherlock said smoothly, “Mr. Astley, this text is signed with your client’s initials—CC—others as well.” Sherlock stared at Cartwright a moment. “And you, Ms. Cartwright, sometimes you called Sasha sweetheart. And that makes it all clear—you and Mrs. Navarro were more than friends, you were lovers.”
There was dead silence around the table. Astley and Cartwright both sat frozen. Sasha moaned again, hugged her arm.
Sherlock continued. “The texts are quite clear, and I will read all of them if you wish, but for now, let me just say Sasha Navarro was waiting for Ms. Cartwright to tell her when to poison her husband with an overdose of narcotics and present herself as the grieving widow who had no idea what he’d done until he finally confessed it to her, and no idea of where he’d hidden the money he’d stolen. He’d killed himself, obviously out of guilt and the knowledge there was no way he wouldn’t be arrested and disgraced. Ms. Cartwright here was waiting for the perfect moment to order up his suicide.”
Sherlock paused. “But things didn’t go as planned. Everything hit the fan with Rebel Navarro’s help, and you texted Sasha to get out, no way to get away with poisoning her husband now.
“Sasha Navarro assaulted her husband when he found her phone and read Carla’s final text:Archer’s suicide not an option now. Meet you in Marrakesh. GO.
“She knocked him unconscious, bound him in duct tape. When Ruth and I arrived, she put a knife to his throat. Once we subdued her, she confessed. And these texts clearly imply the two of you planned the embezzlement months ago, well before Sasha married Mr. Navarro. Mr. Astley, let me be blunt.The federal prosecutors are going to lick their chops. Don’t you think it’s time to get the best deal possible for your client?”
Sasha raised her defeated eyes to Cartwright. “I’m sorry, Carla, I’d almost left when they arrived. He’d found my burner, so what could I do? They found us in Barcelona, I don’t know how, but they did. I would have poisoned him, but you told me not to, so that’s on you because you said to wait. Why?”
Carla Cartwright said, “Shut up, Sasha. For once in your life, shut up.”
Savich said, “Here’s the why, Mrs. Navarro. Rebel Navarro made a liar of your partner and she realized it was too late for you to poison him. No one would accept it, since it wouldn’t make sense anymore. And that’s why she told you to cut and run.”
Carla Cartwright suddenly jumped to her feet, waved her fist at Sasha. “If only I hadn’t listened to you about implicating Rebel Navarro! I knew then it was risky, and there was no need, but I listened to you, you stupid little twit! You couldn’t even manage to hide your phone!”
Carla’s lawyer stared at her, silent, stiff. Didn’t she realize she’d just locked the door on her cell?
Sasha hugged her arm to her chest as a tear streaked down her soft cheek. Archer imagined the pain meds were finally wearing off, and he realized he didn’t care. All he’d been was an easy mark, a man depressed and still grieving his late wife, and here this beautiful young woman appeared to worship him. He felt immeasurably exhausted, emotionally and physically, but at that moment, he saw Tash in his mind’s eye, his perfect gifted little boy. He couldn’t wait to thank him, to hold him, to breathe him in. He said, “Carla’s right. Trying to make my brother look guilty was a good-size blunder. Rebel’s the one who beat out the two of you. As for me, my only crime was being fool enough to trust you.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Plattville, Virginia
Two days later
Led by Savich, a group of special agents quietly exited their vehicles, weapons at the ready, their Kevlar vests snug beneath their FBI jackets. They knew from surveillance there were only three people in the house, so no need for a tactical team. Still, Aboud’s bodyguard, Musa, was a wild card, very dangerous.
Savich knocked on the door.
The front door opened on Mrs. Maynard, Aboud’s housekeeper. She took a quick step back. “What on earth is this about? What are you doing here with all those weapons?”
“We are here for Mr. Aboud,” Savich said. He saw Maynard’s hand move toward her watch and grabbed her wrist. “No need for an alarm, Mrs. Maynard. Alerting Mr. Aboud wouldn’t be a good idea, for you or for him. There’s no need for any violence. Give me the watch.” But Savich himself unclasped the watch from her wrist, examined it a moment, and slipped it in his jacket pocket.
Savich continued, “Special Agent Lucy McKnight will take you to the living room and ask you some questions. Be honest, and don’t forget, lying to a federal agent will send you right to jail. We know the way to Mr. Aboud’s office.”
They walked down the long hallway, past its display ofAmerican antiques and paintings, to the big double doors. Sherlock didn’t knock. She opened the door quickly, and three of the four of them came fast into the room. Ruth Noble stuck her Glock under Musa’s chin before he could straighten from his chair beside the door. “That’s right, don’t move or I will have to shoot you.” Ollie Hamish disarmed him and stepped back.
Aboud’s hand went to his top desk drawer.
Savich said, “No, Mr. Aboud, don’t even think about your weapon.”
Suddenly Musa threw his fist under Ruth’s Glock and sent it spinning to the floor. Ollie turned his own gun when Ruth quickly grabbed Musa’s thumb and bent it back, forcing him to his knees. She stood over him, his thumb still in her hand. “That was rude. Now there will be restraints, and additional charges of messing with a federal officer.”
While she was zip-tying Musa’s wrists, Savich said, “Mr. Aboud, please press your palms to your desktop.”
Ammar Aboud did as he was told. After two beats of silence, he said in a calm voice, “May I inquire why you have invaded my home with armed agents and attacked my bodyguard?”
Savich said, “Here is the answer to your inquiry. You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Elizabeth Palmer.” He read Aboud his rights.
Aboud never changed his expression. He observed the agents dispassionately, spoke to them like a king addressing his troublesome subjects. “Is this about Lady Elizabeth again? I will tell you I’ve heard from a business acquaintance in London that it was her brother, Tommy Palmer, Lord Audley, who was responsible for the attacks on her life. I also heard he was killed.”
Sherlock said, “Your information is accurate, sir, as far as it goes. As I think you know, too, others were involved, including Adara Said. You, sir, and her family have known each other for years. In fact, you’ve known Adara since she was born.”
