He was seated at the table, secured with handcuffs and leg irons. He smiled when the guards escorted her inside.
"What's up, Doc?"
She took the seat opposite his. The guards remained with them, standing silently by the door.
"How are you, Justin?"
"Took a licking, kept on ticking. Got me some fine scar tissue. It's like body art. I'd give you a look, but I don't think the Deputy Dawgs would appreciate me undressing in front of a lady."
"Probably not."
"You shot me up good, Doc. Regular Dirty Harriet, you are. Bona fide Jane Wayne."
"It was amp; instinct."
"Killer instinct." He said it with a smile.
There was silence, neither of them knowing what to say.
"Been watching the TV," Gray offered. "Nasty little conspiracy them crooked-ass cops had going."
"Yes, it was."
"That motherfucker, Wolper, and that other dudewhat's his name?"
"Banner."
"Looks like they're ratting each other out. DA's playing one against the other to see who can squeal the loudest."
"That's about it."
"Couple of prize scumbags, ain't they?"
"Yes," Robin said. "They are."
Banner had begun manipulating Meg after meeting her at the awards dinner. He had a wife and a teenage daughter of his own, but he also had a secret obsession with young girls. He enjoyed impressing them by pretending to be a tough street cop, though he'd worked only Traffic and media relations. He'd had clandestine relationships with many girls, and Meg had been just one more, chosen at random, for convenience, not as part of any grand design. Only later, when Brand was assigned to Robin as a patient, did Banner begin to think about using his connection with Meg to gain leverage against her mother.
According to Hammond, Banner had tried to discourage him from taking over the manhunt. The reason was fairly clearBanner hadn't wanted to be tied up with the investigation, because it meant he was unable to return to the factory and kill Meg. Wolper had been forced to draft Tomlinson for the job.
When the cell phone trace led Hammond to the factory, Banner became increasingly nervous. He knew that Meg would identify him instantly if she was somehow still alive. His last chance to silence her had failed when she saw him coming and ambushed him with Tomlinson's syringe.
"Buncha other assholes are implicated," Gray was saying, "but they're all low on the totem pole." He leaned forward. "You want my take on it? I say there's higher-ups involved, and they're getting protected."
He could be right. "I don't know," Robin said.
"That's how it always is. Fucking cops take care of their own. The big ones will walk away. Always do. It's the little guys that get it up the ass, every time."
"Are you one of the little guys, Justin? Are you a victim now?"
"Shit, no. Me? Never. Just telling it like it is. So why are you here, Doc Robin? Want me to take another turn as your lab rat?"
"No, Justin."
"Then what's the deal?"
"I wanted to ask you a question. It's something that's been on my mind."
"Ask away. I got all kinds of time."
"You killed Tomlinson with one shot," she said slowly. "He was all over Meg, and it was dark in the cellarthere was only one flashlight to see bybut you hit him on your first try."
"Damn, I'm good."
"You killed Brand with a head shot in the middle of a car crash."
"He was a foot away. No big thing to nail your mark at that range."
"Brand didn't nail you."
"I was faster."
"You were better."
He didn't deny it. "What's your point?"
"When I was diving into the cellar, you fired right at me. And you missed."
"Then I guess them two kill shots was just luck."
"You know what I think, Justin? I think you had no problem killing in self-defense or to save Meg. But when it came time to kill me, there was a split second of hesitation. A flicker of doubt."
Gray was quiet for a long moment. Then he smilednot a warm smile, not friendly.
"Still wanna believe, don't you?"
She said nothing.
He leaned forward, his manner calm and conversational and wryly amused. "Doc, here's what happened. You whacked me on the head with that wooden board. Cost me a shitload of stitches, by the waythanks very much. All that blood, it was running into my eyes, fucking up my aim. I was shooting blind."
"I see."
"But even if I hadn't been blinded, I still might've missed, 'cause I ain't no sharpshooter. Got lucky with Tomlinson, like I said. With you, I wasn't so lucky. And you know what else?"
Her voice was low. "What, Justin?"
"Every night I lie awake on my rack, wishing I hadn't missed you. I wish I'd put you down hard. You and your cunt daughter. I wish the both of you was dead meat, six feet under. That's the cold truth."
She nodded, taking this in. "All right."
"Not what you wanted to hear?"
"I thought we might have made just a little progress."
"No such luck. Got news for you, Doc Robin. That brain machine of yours ain't gonna save the world. And it sure didn't save my fucking soul."
"I guess I can't save everybody."
"You'll keep trying, I bet."
"Probably." She stood up. "Good-bye, Justin."
She took a step toward the door, where the guards were waiting.
Gray asked, "Is it your brother?"
She turned. "What?"
"You got a con in your family. That's why you're so hot to trot about this rehabilitation shit. When we were night-riding to your daughter's rescue, you almost let spill who it was."
"That's true. I remember."
"I'm betting it's your brother. Right?"
"My father, actually."
"Your dad's in lockup?"
"He died there."
"Huh." She expected a response, but he merely shrugged, absorbing the information without visible feeling. In his world, bad things just happened. That was life. There was no particular way to feel about it. "You say hello to Meg for me."
"She'll never even know I was here."
"Figured that. I'll be thinking of her, though. Look forward to seeing her again."
"You'll never see her."
She reached the door. Gray called after her, "Don't be so sure about that, Doc Robin. Keep looking over your shoulder. Someday I'll be there."
She looked back almost sadly. "I don't think so, Justin."
"Count on it." His head was lifted in adolescent bravado. "You hear me, Doc? These walls can't hold me forever."
Robin stared at him. "Yes, they can."
In his eyes, she saw that he knew it, too.
She turned, and the door shut behind her with a clang of solemn finality that rang in her ears as she walked slowly away.
Author's Note
As always, readers are invited to visit my Web site at http://michaelprescott.freeservers.com, where you'll find information on my previous and upcoming books, as well as interviews, personal essays, and an e-mail address. Many thanks to my agent, Jane Dystel of Dystel amp; Goderich Literary Management, for her help throughout the writing of this book; to Miriam Goderich, also of DGLM, for valuable feedback and encouragement; to Tiffany Yates, for her expert copy editing; and to Doug Grad, senior editor at New American Library, for reading the manuscript with care and sensitivity. Thanks also to the sales and marketing professionals at NAL who manage the difficult job of getting the books into the stores.
