Dix’s finger was trembling on the Beretta trigger. It would be so easy, he knew, the slightest squeeze, the small buck of recoil, and it would be over.
“You insane old man—you killed my wife because she looked like your damned mother. She was just a face, nothing more to you.”
“I told you, it was an accident.”
Dix knew he didn’t have much time before cops poured out the roof door. If he was going to kill Pallack, he would have to do it now. He leveled his Beretta at Pallack’s chest. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to find her? Can you even begin to imagine how much I hate you?”
“So? A sheriff is going to shoot me in cold blood?”
“If I shoot you, Pallack, it will be an execution.” His finger tightened on the trigger. In that moment Dix felt something warm and soothing touch him. He knew it was something outside himself, but it didn’t matter, it gave him balance and understanding, and it gave him hope. His breath slowed. He lowered his Beretta. “No, I don’t want your blood on my hands. Drop the gun, Pallack, now, or I’ll have to shoot you.”
Pallack laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t shoot me, Sheriff.”
“The sheriff won’t need to, Thomas.”
Dix whirled around to see Charlotte standing just inside the roof door behind him, her nightshirt blowing around her legs. In her hand she held Dix’s two-shot derringer. “There are two bullets in my gun, Thomas.”
“Shoot him, Charlotte! It’ll be self-defense. He’s insane with grief, came here because he believed I killed his wife—”
“Shut up, Thomas. But you can put your gun down, Sheriff, won’t you? As I said, my little gun has two bullets. They’re for you, Thomas.”
“No, Charlotte, don’t—”
She spoke right over him—”You vile old man, you had David killed. You had my brother killed.”
“I had no choice, do you hear me? He called me, hysterical, yelling that the FBI had come to see him, asking him all their questions about Christie, and he wanted money or he’d tell them everything. I had no choice, dammit, it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t let him live.”
Charlotte pulled the trigger.
Pallack’s gun went flying as he grabbed his shoulder and staggered back. For several seconds, Dix thought he was going over the roof guard, but Pallack managed to jerk sideways and fall to his knees. Dix saw blood flowing through his fingers from the shoulder wound.
Pallack raised pain-glazed eyes to his wife. “You bitch! You’re nothing without me, nothing!”
She fired again, but she missed.
Dix heard Charlotte crying as he leaped at Pallack. He slammed his fist into his jaw, felt it break. Dix hit him again, knocking him down on his back, and straddled him, grabbing his shirt collar. He brought his head up and slammed it down on the rough stone roof. “You murdered my wife! What kind of insane monster are you?”
He hit him again even though Pallack was nearly unconscious, and moaning, and then Dix lowered his own head, and started to cry.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “He’s unconscious, Dix. You can stop now.”
A woman’s voice. He turned to look up into Ruth’s face. “He killed Christie.”
“Yes, I know.”
Dix looked over to see Sherlock cuffing Charlotte Pallack’s hands behind her.
The roof filled with people. He heard Savich’s voice, heard Cheney speaking to Frank Paulette on his cell. And Julia was there, telling a uniformed police officer that Xavier Makepeace was dead, in the study, and that he was the one who’d been trying to kill her.
Dix said to Savich, “Pallack had David Caldicott killed. Charlotte didn’t know about that.” He hated to say it because he knew she was an accomplice to everything else Pallack had done, but he added, “Fact is, Charlotte shot Pallack.”
Charlotte said calmly, “By shooting him I saved your life, Dix. If we can make a deal, I’ll tell you all about what Thomas has done. I’ll tell you where Christie Noble is buried.”
“You don’t know,” Dix said slowly.
“Oh yes, I do. My brother told me. David said he followed Thomas several times to her grave. David said Thomas spent hours there, sitting on the ground beside her, ranting and raving at her.” She smiled. “I’ll even testify against him.”
Ruth said, “You’re a regular Mother Teresa, aren’t you, Charlotte?” She held out her hand to Dix and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, Dix, it’s over.”
EPILOGUE
SAN FRANCISCO
Cheney and Julia stood side by side on the Marin Headlands looking down at the Golden Gate Bridge, watching thick gray threads of fog weave through the suspension cables. They both had on their leather jackets and gloves. A sharp wind was whipping Julia’s hair around her face.
“I’d like for you to stay in San Francisco, Julia,” Cheney said. “With me. I’ll bet we can find a nice house that’ll suit us.”
She cocked her head to one side, tapped her fingertips to her chin. “Say, is that a proposal?”
He looked surprised. “You know, I hadn’t started out with that particular objective, but I guess that’s how my brain wanted it to come out of my mouth. Goes to prove I should trust my brain. I’m crazy about you. What do you say, Julia? Will you marry me?”
He saw a leap of excitement in her eyes, felt his smile ready to split his face, but what she said was, “That’s a huge thing you’re saying, Cheney. You’ve never been married before. I have, two times, and neither had a good result. We haven’t had what you’d call a normal dating relationship, let alone a single date, other than that one wild time in the Sherlocks’ gym—well, I’m thinking maybe we should take our time, let things settle down some more—”
He laid his hands on her shoulders. “Look at me, Julia. Yes, look at me. You can see what I’m feeling for you right on my face. When something’s right, it’s right. I know it is. Do you?”
She chewed on her bottom lip a moment, looking away from him. Just when his anxiety level was nearly in the stratosphere, she looked up at him and gave him a big smile. “Yes, oh boy, yes, I’ll marry you. You can forget what I said, that was just depressing maturity and common sense leaking out of my mouth.”
“Is that a note of sarcasm?”
“Maybe. Now, Cheney, are you willing to accept my psychic friends without rolling your eyes? Can you restrain yourself?”
“Even with Bevlin?”
“Especially with Bevlin. He’s still becoming who he’s supposed to be, trying to fine-tune his gift.”
Cheney rolled his eyes, then saw the smile she was trying to hide.
“I saw that,” he said.
“I can’t help it.”
The wind kicked up and Julia hugged him closer. She said between kissing his neck and jaw, “You’ll admit, won’t you, that at least Kathryn acts pretty normal, some of the time.”
“Okay, maybe.”
“That’s because she thinks you’re hot, and doesn’t want to scare you off. Or maybe it’s Savich she thinks is hot, hard to tell. But me, I’d take you any day.”
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “I’d take you any day too. I could offer her Savich, but I think he’d hurt me.”
She kissed his ear.
Cheney said, “I called my folks, you know, told them about you.”
“Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of your family yet. You got a big one?”
“Oh yeah, three brothers, two sisters, a dozen nieces and nephews and my parents, of course, and none of them are very good at minding their own business. But my family will adore you, Julia, fold you right into the mix, whether you want that or not, and begin meddling immediately—career decisions, vacations, where we’ll spend Christmas, where our children should go to school—won’t ever stop, even if we move to Alaska. Once you’re married to me, your privacy is over. Can you live with that?”
“That sounds wonderful. They don’t know much about me, do they?”