Two hours earlier he had scanned one set of the fingerprints lifted from the cottage into his hard drive and transmitted them via modem to one of his information contacts. He had already called this person and told him what was coming. This particular contact had access to a database that housed oceans of the most interesting facts, the sole reason that Jackson had enlisted his services many years ago. It wasn’t certain that the man who was pursuing LuAnn would have his fingerprints on file anywhere, but Jackson had nothing to lose by checking. If the man did, Jackson’s task of tracking him down would become far easier.
Jackson smiled as his computer screen started filling up with data. A digitized photo of the man had even accompanied the personal details.
Thomas J. Donovan. The photo was three years old, but Jackson reckoned that at this time of life, Donovan wouldn’t have changed all that much. He studied the nondescript features of the man carefully and then checked the contents of his portable makeup kit and various hairpieces he had brought with him. Yes, if it came down to it, he could impersonate the man. Donovan’s name was actually familiar to Jackson. Donovan was an award-winning journalist at the Washington Tribune. In fact, about a year ago he had done an in-depth piece on Jackson’s father’s career as a United States senator.
Jackson had read the story and quickly condemned it as a fluff piece that came nowhere near to addressing the personal side of his father and his monstrous behavior. The history books would smile upon the man; his son knew better.
Jackson’s hunch had proven correct. He had figured the man trailing LuAnn wasn’t your typical blackmailer. It had taken a lot to track her down and an investigative journalist or perhaps ex–law enforcement person would have the skills, knowledge, and more important, the informational resources to have successfully done so.
Jackson sat back and mused for a moment. Actually, a true blackmailer would have posed less of a difficulty for him. Donovan was undoubtedly onto a story, an enormous story, and he would not stop until he achieved his goal. Or until someone stopped him. It was an interesting challenge. Simply killing the man wouldn’t do any good, however. That might make people suspicious. Also, Donovan might have told others of his investigations, although most journalists of Donovan’s capabilities, Jackson was aware, kept their cards close to the vest until they broke the story, for a variety of reasons not the least of which was the fear of being scooped.
He had to determine how much Donovan knew and whether he had told anyone else. He picked up the phone, got the number for the Trib, and dialed it. He asked for Thomas Donovan. He was told that Donovan had taken a leave of absence. He slowly hung up the phone. He wouldn’t have talked to the man if he had come on the phone. He did want to hear his voice, though, in case that knowledge should become useful later. Jackson was also an accomplished mimic and impersonating someone’s voice was a wonderful way to manipulate others.
According to Pemberton, Donovan had been in the Charlottesville area for at least a month. Jackson focused briefly on one obvious question: Of all the lottery winners why had the man targeted LuAnn? Jackson almost immediately answered his own query. Because she was the only one running from a murder charge. The only one who had disappeared for ten years and then resurfaced. But how could Donovan possibly have picked up her trail? The cover had been deep and it had been buried even deeper with the passage of ten years, even though LuAnn had committed a tremendous blunder by coming back to the States.
He had a sudden thought. Donovan apparently knew the names of all or some of the lottery winners for the year Jackson had fixed the game. What if he attempted to contact some of the others? If he didn’t get what he wanted from LuAnn, and Jackson felt reasonably sure he wouldn’t, the next logical step would be to seek out the others. Jackson took out his electronic Rolodex and started making phone calls. After half an hour he had finished contacting the other eleven. Compared to LuAnn, they were sheep to be led around. What he told them to do, they did. He was their savior, the man who had led them to the Promised Land of wealth and leisure. Now, if Donovan bit, the trap would spring.