“All right, Roberta, I know you’ve done a ton of good for the community. A real pillar. But I’m not interested in the present. I want to talk about the past, specifically ten years ago.”
“You mentioned that on the phone. The lottery.” She swept a shaky hand through her hair.
“That’s right. The source of all this.” He looked around at the opulence.
“I won the lottery ten years ago, that’s hardly news now, Mr. Donovan.”
“Call me Tom.”
“I would prefer not.”
“Fine. Roberta, do you know someone named LuAnn Tyler?”
Reynolds thought a moment and then shook her head. “It doesn’t seem familiar. Should I know her?”
“Probably not. She won the lottery too, in fact two months after you did.”
“Good for her.”
“She was a lot like you. Poor, not a lot to look forward to. No way out, really.”
She laughed nervously. “You make it sound like I was destitute. I was hardly that.”
“But you weren’t exactly rolling in dough, were you? I mean that’s why you played the lottery, right?”
“I suppose. It’s not like I expected to win.”
“Didn’t you, Roberta?”
She looked startled. “What are you talking about?”
“Who manages your investments?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Well, my guess is it’s the same person who manages the money of eleven other lottery winners, including LuAnn Tyler.”
“So?”
“Come on, Roberta, talk to me. Something’s up. You know all about it and I want to find out all about it. In fact, you knew you were going to win the lottery.”
“You’re crazy.” Her voice was trembling badly.
“Am I? I don’t think so. I’ve interviewed lots of liars, Roberta, some very accomplished. You’re not one of them.”
Reynolds stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
Donovan persisted. “The story’s going to come out, Roberta. I’m close to breaking through on a variety of fronts. It’s only a matter of time. The question is: Do you want to cooperate and maybe get out of this whole thing relatively unscathed or do you want to go down with everybody?”
“I...I...”
Donovan continued in a steady voice. “I’m not looking to wipe out your life, Roberta. But if you participated in a conspiracy to fix the lottery, in whatever manner, you’re going to take some lumps. But I’ll offer you the same deal I offered Tyler. Tell me all you know, I go and write my story and you do whatever you want to do until the story hits. Like disappear. Consider the alternative. It’s not nearly as pretty.”
Reynolds sat back down and looked around her home for a moment. She took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”
Donovan turned on the recorder. “Was the lottery fixed?” She nodded. “I need an audible response, Roberta.” He nodded toward the recorder.
“Yes.”
“How?” Donovan was almost shaking as he waited for the answer.
“Would you mind pouring me a glass of water from that carafe over there?”
Donovan jumped up, poured the water, and set the glass down in front of her. He sat back down.
“How?” he repeated.
“It had to do with chemicals.”
Donovan cocked his head. “Chemicals?”
Reynolds pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at a sudden cluster of tears in her eyes.
As Donovan watched her, he figured she was near the breaking point. Ironic that the one to call him back would be the nervous Nellie type.
“I’m no scientist, Roberta, give it to me as simply as you can.”
Reynolds gripped the handkerchief tightly. “All but one ball, the one with the winning number, was sprayed with some chemical. And the passageway through which the ball traveled was sprayed with something. I can’t explain it exactly, but it made certain that only the one ball that wasn’t sprayed with anything went through. It was the same for all the other ball bins.”
“Damn!” Donovan stared at her in amazement. “Okay, Roberta, I got a million questions. Do the other winners know about this? How was it done? And by whom?” He thought back to LuAnn Tyler. She knew, that was for damned sure.
“No. None of the winners knew how it was done. Only the people who did it knew.” She pointed to his tape recorder. “Your recorder’s stopped.” She added bitterly, “I’m sure you don’t want to miss one word of this.”
Donovan picked up the recorder and studied it as he reflected on her words. “But that’s not exactly right, because you knew how the lottery was fixed, Roberta, you just told me. Come on, give me the whole truth.”
The crunching blow to his upper torso sent Donovan over the top of the settee. He landed hard on the oak floor, his breath painfully gone. He could feel shattered ribs floating inside him.
Reynolds hovered over him. “No, the truth is only the person who came up with the whole scheme knew how it was done.” The feminine hair and face came off and Jackson stared down at the injured man.
Donovan tried desperately to get up. “Christ.”
Jackson’s foot slammed into his chest, knocking him back against the wall. Jackson stood erect. “Kick-boxing is a particularly deadly art form. You can literally kill someone without using your hands.”
Donovan’s hand slipped down to his pocket, fumbling for his gun. His limbs would barely respond, his broken ribs were prodding internal organs they weren’t meant to touch. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
“Really, you’re obviously not feeling well. Let me help you.” Jackson knelt down and, using the handkerchief, pulled the gun out of Donovan’s pocket. “This actually is perfect. Thank you.”
He kicked Donovan viciously in the head and the reporter’s eyes finally closed. Jackson pulled plastic locking binds from his pocket and within a minute had Donovan secured.
He pulled off the rest of the disguise, packed it carefully in his bag pulled from under the couch, and went up the stairs two at a time. He raced down the hallway and opened the bedroom door at the far end.
Bobbie Jo Reynolds lay spread-eagled on the bed, her arms and legs tied to the bedposts, tape over her mouth. She looked wildly up at Jackson, her body twitching in uncontrollable fear.
Jackson sat down next to her. “I want to thank you for following my directions so precisely. You gave the staff the day off and made the appointment with Mr. Donovan just as I requested.” He patted her hand. “I knew that I could count on you, the most faithful of my little flock.” He looked at her with soft, comforting eyes until her trembling subsided. He unloosened her straps and gently removed the tape.
He stood up. “I have to attend to Mr. Donovan downstairs. We’ll be gone very soon and won’t trouble you anymore. You will stay here until we’re gone, do you understand?”
She nodded in a jerky motion, rubbing her wrists.
Jackson stood up, pointed Donovan’s gun at her, and squeezed the trigger until the firing pin had no bullets left to ignite.
He watched for a moment as blood spread over the sheets. Jackson shook his head sadly. He did not enjoy killing lambs. But that was how the world worked. Lambs were made for sacrifice. They never put up a fight.
He went back downstairs, pulled out his makeup kit and mirror, and spent the next thirty minutes hovering over Donovan.
When the reporter finally came to his head was splitting; he could feel the internal bleeding but at least he was still alive.
His heart almost stopped when he found himself staring up at... Thomas Donovan. The person even had his coat and hat on. Donovan refocused his eyes. His initial impression had been one of staring at his twin. Now he could see subtle differences, things that weren’t exactly right. However, the impersonation was still remarkable.