His eyes were closed, his face a mess of gore. But he was bleeding. That meant he was alive.
I wiped some of the blood off his face, and was horrified that his nose came off in my hand. I resisted the urge to drop it-maybe surgeons could sew it back on somehow. I turned his head down, so the blood dripped away and not into his lungs, and then checked his pulse.
It was strong. I might have actually smiled a little.
Harry coughed, wet and garbled.
“Jackie?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“I can’t…I can’t feel my nose.”
“It, uh, it came off, Harry.”
“Fuck me. Where is it?”
I held up his nose, for him to see. He grunted, and I realized he was laughing.
“You got my nose,” he said.
I grinned at him.
“My ass hurts Do I still have an ass?”
I looked him over.
“Except for the nose, you’re pretty much intact.”
“I’m lying on something hard.”
I wasn’t thrilled to reach under him, but I quickly found the object causing him discomfort. A cell phone. And, incredibly, it still seemed to be working.
I dialed 911, told them to send everything they had.
“Is the bitch dead?” McGlade asked when I got off the phone.
“Yes, bro. She’s dead.”
“Good. I was getting kind of sick of her.”
I glanced over my shoulder and realized I had to make sure. “Be right back.”
I made the long return journey to the severed leg, winced at it, and then worked the zipper on the back. These looked like the boots Alex had been wearing, but I wanted to confirm it, grisly as the task was. When the zipper was down I reached inside…
Grabbed the ankle…
Began to pull it out…
Felt a hand, on my shoulder.
I spun around, terrified, thinking it was Alex, still coming after me like the Terminator, refusing to die even missing a limb.
It was Phin.
“Jack?”
“Toenails,” I told him. “Alex told me she was painting her toenails.”
I tugged the boot free, exposing her foot.
Five toes stared back at me, their nails fire engine red.
This was Alex. She was finally dead.
“Phineas Troutt, this is the FBI! Drop your weapon and raise you hands up over your head!”
Phin and I exchanged a panicked glance. Feebies were all over the place, rushing in from all directions. How the hell could they have followed us? Was there some sort of transmitter on me? Or on Harry? Had he made good on his deal and turned Phin in?
“Go,” I told Phin. “Run.”
He shook his head.
“Please.” I held on to his shoulder. Squeezed.
“You’re not going to jail for me, Jack. This is the only way to make it right.”
“Phin…”
He dropped the rifle and raised his hands.
Twenty seconds later they had him in cuffs and were dragging him off.
Special Agent Dailey approached me, looking prim and proper in a neatly pressed suit.
“Is that Alex Kork?” he asked, indicating the leg.
“What’s left of her. How’d you find me?”
“Your cell phone.”
Dammit. The call to my mother, and the calls from Alex.
“Phin’s a good man,” I said.
“I’m sure he is. But it’s not my job to get personal. It’s just my job to catch him. Getting personal would take more than I have to give.”
He appraised Alex’s leg again, then nodded to himself.
“Nice work here, Lieutenant.”
Someone found a fire extinguisher and was killing one of the burning tires. I watched for a moment, then looked beyond him, into the distance, into the world. A world that I was finally ready to be part of again. But not as a cop.
“It’s not lieutenant,” I said evenly. “Not anymore.”
CHAPTER 57
“I’M READY TO SAY GOODBYE.”
The day was gorgeous, sun blazing, birds singing, a warm breeze whistling through the tombstones. I wasn’t wearing black this time. I had on a floral print dress, one I’d bought de cades ago, something casual and flirty and created for a much younger, happier woman. Someone optimistic.
The grass over Latham’s grave was green and lush, like it had been growing there for years rather than just four days. I crouched down, placed a single red rose on the ground. Six feet above his heart. I stayed like that for a moment, the two dozen sporadic stitches in my legs protesting.
“I’m sorry for everything. Mostly that I didn’t reach this conclusion earlier. You never pushed me into quitting, never made any demands. Thank you for that. But I’m retired now, and if there’s anything beyond this world and you’re listening, I hope you can forgive me. I also hope I gave you even a tenth of the happiness that you gave me. I love you, Latham.”
I stood, wiped the tears off my cheeks. My purse rang, and I fished out my cell.
“Thank you for the gift,” Herb said.
“Did the Turduckinlux come?”
“Did you send me that too? How about steaks?”
“Assorted steaks, Herb. I got you the Meat Lover’s Package. It also comes with an angioplasty.”
“I appreciate it, Jack.” He cleared his throat. “Bernice also gave me the other thing. Your badge. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I think it’s a good thing.”
“Because now I can’t boss you around anymore?”
“Because you deserve to be happy. Now you have a chance to.”
I stared at Latham’s headstone and pursed my lips.
“When are you getting out?” I asked.
“You know hospitals. They want to milk every last cent out of you. I could actually use some milk right now. Or ice cream. Do you like ice cream? I like bacon. They should make bacon-flavored ice cream.”
“Hi, Jack,” Bernice was talking now. “The latest morphine dose is kicking in, he’s babbling.”
“He’ll be okay?”
“Everything looks good.” A pause. “Will you be okay?”
I glanced at the grave again, then looked up at the sun.
“I think so.”
“Good. Stop in later, that will cheer him up. But don’t bring any food.”
“Bring food!” Herb thundered in the background. “It’s horrible here!”
“Don’t bring food,” Bernice repeated. “Doctors have him on a liquid diet.”
“It’s horrible!” he wailed.
“I’ll be by later.”
I hung up, popped the phone back into my purse, and it rang again. I put it to my face.
“Hello?”
Another ring. But it wasn’t my phone. It was coming from my purse. I hunted around, found the cell Harry had had in his pocket, the one I’d used to call 911. I checked the caller ID. Four-one-four. A Wisconsin area code. I answered.
“Hello?”
“Is this Gracie?” A woman’s voice.
“I’m sorry, no it’s not.”
“Do you know anyone named Gracie?”
“I don’t. This is Harry McGlade’s phone.”
“Do you know Samantha Porter? I’m her neighbor. I’m watching her daughter, Melinda.” The voice was frantic, and picking up speed. “Sam’s been gone for two days, and I finally got the landlord to let me into her apartment. I found this number with the name Gracie written on it. She was supposed to go shopping with Gracie, but I haven’t heard back from her in two days.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know any of those people.”
“I don’t know what else to do. I’ve called the police, but they haven’t been able to find her. Sam didn’t tell me much about Gracie, only that she was a dancer too before the car accident scarred her face.”
My core temperature dropped ten degrees.
“Gracie had a scarred face?”
“Just one side, Sam said.”
“Can you describe Samantha for me?”
“Tall. Athletic. Blond hair.”
“Did she have a pair of red boots?”
“She was a dancer. She had a lot of boots.”
“I’ve got your number. I’ll call you back.”
I hung up, feeling numb. This wasn’t Harry’s phone. It was Alex’s phone. The last phone in the daisy chain.