“She’s dead,” the man said. “Don’t look surprised. It’s your fault. You broke the rules.”
“The map you got is a fake,” he said. “I have the original.”
“Bullshit.”
Wilde pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it on the ground.
“I want the woman.”
The man bent down, slowly, keeping his face pointed at Wilde. He picked up the map and opened it. Then he looked at Wilde. “If this is a trick, I’ll kill you and everyone you ever met.”
“It’s not a trick,” Wilde said.
The man shrugged.
“I lied when I said she was dead. She’s actually alive. You can have her. It’s only fair.”
Wilde expected the man to lead him off to the south to a car. Instead, he headed across the tracks to the north. Wilde fell into step.
“I’m Vaughn Spencer,” the man said.
“Why would you tell me your name?”
“You’re Bryson Wilde.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways.”
“If the woman’s dead, I’m going to kill you,” Wilde said.
“You’re going to try,” Spencer said.
“There was no word try in what I just said.”
Spencer smiled.
“You got some balls Wilde, I’ll give you that.”
They walked past the warehouse Wilde had just come from and into a similar one a half block down. “Don’t tell me you have her in there,” Wilde said.
“Either that or I’m taking you in there to kill you,” Spencer said.
Wilde didn’t break stride.
The building was windowless.
In the back, a steel door was chained shut. Spencer pulled a key out of his pocket, got a padlock off and pushed through the opening.
“River killed your little assistant,” he said.
Wilde stopped.
“What’d you just say?”
“You heard me,” he said. “He spotted her up there on the roof and sent his little tattoo shit of a girlfriend up there. The woman killed her. They threw her in the trunk of a car, to dump her would be my guess. I saw the whole thing.”
Wilde pictured it.
He could hear the thump of Alabama’s body dropping into the trunk. He could see the back end of the car dipping.
“How do I know you didn’t kill her,” he said. “How do I know you didn’t see her over here, figure she was after you, and killed her yourself.”
Spencer grinned.
“Now that’s something I hadn’t thought of,” he said. “You’re right. You don’t know. Maybe it happened just like that for all you know. It’s a bitch isn’t it?” He held out the key and dropped it into Wilde’s hand. “The woman’s up on the top floor.”
He turned to leave.
He stopped and said over his shoulder, “Be sure she understands that she’s not to go to the police. You too, for that matter. If that happens, I’ll know. I always know.”
He walked away.
Wilde pulled his gun.
“Hey, Spencer.”
The man stopped and turned.
Wilde raised the barrel and pointed it at Spencer’s chest.
“Why’d you tell me about Alabama? Just to watch me squirm?”
Spencer shook his head.
“My job is to kill River,” he said. “Now I don’t have to because you’re going to do it. Have a nice life.”
He turned and walked away.
“Hey, Spencer,” Wilde shouted.
The man stopped again.
He turned.
“Why didn’t you kill Alexa? You thought you had the real map-”
“That was going to happen this afternoon, right after I killed River,” he said. “I was going to plant Alexa at River’s place and make it look like he did it.”
He turned and walked.
“What about London?” Wilde said.
Spencer stopped.
He tilted his head as if in thought.
“Tell her it’s her lucky day. She’s off the hook,” he said. “You too for that matter. Anything else?”
“No.”
Wilde headed into the building. It was windowless and the only light was the little bit that trickled through the door. That was enough to get him oriented to the stairway.
He headed over and felt his way up.
At the second floor, the light from the first floor disappeared altogether.
He continued up.
“Alexa Blank. Are you in here?”
There was no response.
He shouted louder.
“Alexa? Are you here?”
A muffled sound came from an upper floor, barely audible but recognizable as a voice, a female voice.
Wilde increased his speed.
“Alexa!”
“I’m up here!”
“I’m coming. I’m a friend-”
“Help me!”
“I’m coming. Just hold on.”
“Please! Help me-”
130
Day Four
July 24, 1952
Thursday Night
Thursday night after dark the heavens let loose with a storm to end all storms. Mean heavy rain pummeled the earth with a monstrous rage. Lightning raked across the sky, one bolt after another, pushing explosive cracks of thunder across the world. Waverly took what cover she could with her back against a scraggly pinion pine, the same as she had for the past hour. She was at the upper turnout on the Lookout Mountain switchbacks west of Denver. Normally the million lights of the city played to the senses and brought the lovers here. Tonight not a single flicker cut through the weather. All the lovers were somewhere else, somewhere saner.
Tucked in her belt was a Smith amp; Wesson.
She put her hand under her T-shirt and ran her fingers over the handle.
The grip was rough, slip resistant.
Su-Moon’s words rang in her ears.
“Don’t do this. If you do it you can’t undo it. It’s forever.”
That’s what the woman said before she headed for the airport. That and “I don’t want any part of this. I’ll never tell anyone, you don’t have to worry about that, but I won’t be a part of it. You better be damn sure you have the right person, too. If you ask me, you should be taking a good hard look at Emmanuelle.”
She got in the car.
It merged into traffic and disappeared.
That was late this afternoon.
Now it was 9:40 p.m.
If all went as planned, Jaden and Bristol would be showing up in the next twenty minutes.
Waverly pulled the gun all the way out, pointed it at the rocky cliff behind her and pulled the trigger. A blast of yellow fire shot out of the barrel and the weapon kicked back, almost out of her hand.
Okay, good.
It worked.
She tucked it back in her waist.
The barrel was warm.
It felt good.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
Could she really be the killer?
Was she really keeping tabs on Waverly instead of helping her? The more Waverly thought about it the more it quivered up her spine. If she was going to kill Bristol, she needed to be absolutely sure he admitted to the killings and that the admission was unambiguous.
Suddenly lights snaked up the mountain from below.
Waverly wedged back into the rocks.
A car pulled into the turnoff, it’s front bumper against the boulders that had been placed there to keep cars from running off the edge.
The headlights went out.
The engine turned off.
Waverly stayed where she was.
No one got out of the car.
It was too dark to see who was inside.
She pulled the gun out of her waist.
Then she crouched down and made her way slowly towards the back end of the vehicle, ending up on the passenger side, next to the tire. Suddenly the window rolled halfway down.
Waverly heard a woman talking.
The voice belonged to Jaden.
This was it.
Her chest tightened.
Her lungs hyperventilated.
She crept forward until she was next to the passenger door, staying down in case a bolt of lighting struck too close.