Secret of the Seventh Son by Glenn Cooper

Author:Glenn Cooper
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Murder, Serial murders, Blessing and cursing, secrets, Mystery & Detective, Fiction, Criminal profilers, Women FBI agents, Clues, Thrillers, General
ISBN: 9780061721793
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2009-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

Nelson Elder was arriving at the foot of the driveway of his home, a six-bedroom mansion at The Hills, in Summerlin, when his mobile phone rang. The caller ID registered PRIVATE CALLER. He answered and pulled the large Mercedes up to one of the garage bays.

“Mr. Elder?”

“Yes, who is this?”

The caller’s voice was pinched with tension, almost squeaky. “We met a few months ago at the Constellation. My name is Peter Benedict.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall.”

“I was the one who caught the blackjack counters.”

“Yes! I remember! The computer guy.” Strange, Elder thought. “Did I give you my cell phone number?”

“You did,” Mark lied. There wasn’t a phone number in the world he couldn’t grab. “Is it okay?”

“Sure. How can I help you?”

“Well, actually, sir, I’d like to help you.”

“How so?”

“Your company is in trouble, Mr. Elder, but I can save it.”

Mark was breathing rapidly and visibly shaking. His cell phone was on the kitchen table, still warm from his cheek. Each step of his plan had taxed him, but this was the first requiring human interaction, and his terror was slow to dissipate. Nelson Elder would meet with him. One more chess move and the game was his.

Then his doorbell jolted him into the next level of autonomic overdrive. He rarely had unannounced visitors, and in fear he almost bolted for his bedroom. He calmed himself and hesitantly went to the door and opened it a crack.

“Will?” he asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

Will stood there with a big easy smile on his face. “Weren’t expecting me, were you?”

Will could see that Mark was unsteady, like a tower of playing cards trying to maintain a composure. “No. I wasn’t.”

“Hey, look, I was in town on business and thought I’d look you up. Is this a bad time?”

“No. It’s fine,” Mark said mechanically. “I just wasn’t expecting anybody. Would you like to come in?”

“Sure. For a few minutes, anyway. I’ve got a little time to kill before I head to the airport.”

Will followed him to the living room, reading tension and discomfort in his old roomie’s stiff gait and high voice. He couldn’t help profiling the guy. It wasn’t a parlor trick—he always had the knack, the ability to figure out someone’s feelings, conflicts, and motivations with lightning speed. As a child, he’d used his natural acumen to fashion a protected triangulated space between two alcoholic parents, saying and doing the right things in the right aliquots to satisfy their neediness and preserve some measure of balance and stability in the household.

He’d always wielded his talent to his advantage. In his personal life, he used it in a Dale Carnegie way to win friends and influence people. The women in his life would say he used it to manipulate the hell out of them. And in his career, it had given him a tangible edge over the criminals who populated his world.

Will wondered what was making Mark so uncomfortable—a phobic, misanthropic kind of personality disorder or something more specific to his visit?

He sat down on an unyielding sofa and sought to put him at ease.

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