'Stop, Trevor!' Jack shouted. He narrowed the gap between them, reaching for Trevor's sweatshirt, then veered around the corner. The sweatshirt was almost within Jack's fingertips when the elevator doors opened and a cadre of Philadelphia police flooded the reception area. Cops? Where had cops come from? What the hell was going on? Jack skidded to a bewildered stop but Trevor ran practically into the arms of the cops.
'He's got a gun!' Trevor screamed. 'He's trying to kill me!'
'Freeze!' one of the cops ordered, drawing his gun on Jack.
I'm unarmed!' Jack shouted, but in the next instant a crazed Trevor grabbed the gun from the cop's hand.
'No!' yelled the cop, jumping for his weapon. The cop flanking Trevor grappled for it, too, and they were wrestling for the gun when it went off, the sound reverberating hideously in the tony corporate setting. Jack held his breath and didn't know if anyone had been hit. Neither did the cops. And for a final split second, neither did Trevor.
'Shit!' said one of the cops, pained and angry, when the gun dropped to the plush Oriental.
Jack watched in horror as a strange smile appeared on Trevor's face, then went suddenly slack. Bright red blood spurted from a round hole in his neck, under his chin. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed silently against the cops, who sprang instantly into action, trying to save his life. One palmed a radio while another ran to the reception desk for a phone. Two knelt over him, checking for a pulse and trying to staunch the flow of blood.
Jack, aghast, rushed to Trevor's side and knelt down beside the cops. Blood was everywhere, spurting regularly with each heartbeat, and they couldn't seem to stop it. They fell silent, their drawn faces acknowledging what they couldn't say. Even Jack could see how much blood Trevor was losing and hung his head over the boy's body.
'Shit, it's arterial,' said the cop at Trevor's neck. Blood gushed through his fingers despite his grip. Trevor's face was ashen and his blue eyes still.
The carotid,' the other cop said, his voice heavy with regret. 'Oh, jeez. Oh, jeez.'
Jack couldn't believe it was happening. The kid was dying. He shook his head over his body, then spotted something. Trevor's shirt had been pushed up in the struggle and a purplish bruise peeked from the elastic bottom.
Jack reached out and pressed his shirt to the side. My God. Bruises blanketed Trevor's stomach. It had to be the bruises Mary had told him about, that hadn't been on Paige. Jack was looking at the man who murdered Honor.
'No,' he said, remembering Whittier, in a horrified daze. He had to make him account for this. And for Honor, and Paige. He rose to his feet but when he stood up his arms were grabbed from behind, wrenched together, and slapped into tight handcuffs. 'What are you doing?' Jack demanded, twisting around in anger.
'Take it easy, Newlin,' a cop ordered, shoving him to the elevator.
'I didn't do anything! I don't have a gun -'
'We've been looking for you. We're taking you down for questioning in the attempted murder of your daughter.'
'What? Me, kill Paige! Are you insane?' Jack struggled against the handcuffs but more cops appeared. This was a nightmare. Him suspected of trying to kill Paige. Trevor bleeding on the floor. Whittier getting away with murder. 'You can't stop me, you have no right! Get Whittier, would you? Arrest him! He's behind this and the murder of my wife!'
The cops shoved him toward the elevator. 'Tell the detectives about it when you get there,' one said.
'How dare you. Jack!' came Whittier's voice, from the entrance to the reception area. Jack twisted around in the cops' grasp, but Whittier remained composed, slipping into the pinstriped jacket he'd been carrying. 'That's libel, and if you repeat it I'll sue you and the paper that prints it.'
'Sue me, you asshole!' Fury constricted Jack's throat and he lunged for Whittier. The cops yanked him back and the handcuffs dug into his forearms. They shoved him toward the elevator but he stood his ground. 'This boy's dying because of you! My wife died because of you! And my daughter -'
'Enough!' Whittier shouted. 'As I told the officers, this boy, as you call him, has been blackmailing me over you.
He told me you have been trafficking in cocaine, with his assistance -'
That's a lie!' Jack shouted. He resisted the cops but they edged him to the elevator bank.
'- he was threatening to go to the press with it, destroying my law firm.' Whittier tone quieted in the face of Jack's rage. 'You must have known he'd be meeting me tonight, here, and that's why you -'
'Bullshit! You and Trevor killed my wife! You tried to kill my daughter!' Hearing himself raging, even Jack knew Whittier looked and sounded the more believable of the two. And he didn't have a murder charge hanging over his head. It infuriated Jack all the more. 'I'm on to you, you asshole!'
'- came to my office, to kill him. You've lost control, Jack. You need help. Counseling. Are you an addict, too? You're not the man I knew.'
'He's lying!' Jack erupted, lunging again for Whittier. He almost slipped free but the police tackled him to the rug, grunting and shouting. The wound on his cheek erupted and pain shot through his ribs. He thrashed and fought back to get to Whittier, but the cops subdued him.
'Get the fuck down!' they shouted. 'On the floor! Get down!' They rained blows on his arms and legs. His ribs exploded in renewed agony.
Jack torqued his body right and left to get free, screaming Whittier's guilt until his ranting ended with a blow to the head and everything went black.
53
Mary peeked through the wired window of the interview room at the Roundhouse and felt her heart wrench in her chest. Jack sat cuffed to a steel chair that was bolted to the floor. A goose egg with broken skin swelled over his right eye and the wound on his cheek gaped. Blood dotted his tourist jacket and he slumped in the chair, in obvious fatigue and pain. Only his eyes had any life in them and they brightened the moment she opened the door.
'Jack!' she said, rushing into the grimy room. She didn't throw her arms around him, but knelt to be eye-level with him and touch his shoulder. She'd given up any pretense of sounding lawyerly, and his expression told her he had decided that he wasn't only a client anymore.
'Can I hire you back?' he asked, with a smile that reached her almost as deeply as a hug. A cut on his lip cracked when he grinned. 'Now that I know you're from a nice family and all.'
'You got it,' she said, flushing with pleasure, then recovered her wits. They were alone in the interview room but it had a two-way mirror with a video camera. The cops and maybe even Davis were on the other side. Mary leaned closer to Jack so they couldn't be overheard. They want to question you. The D.A. is convinced you were the one shooting at Paige. He had the cops looking for you. Let's just lay it out, okay? The whole truth and nothing but.'
'It's about time,' Jack whispered. 'The inheritance has to be why they think I tried to kill Paige. I don't benefit under Honor's will but I do under the trust, if Honor is dead. Get to Whittier. He's the executor in both and the fees are worth millions to him and the firm. That's all I've got to go on.'
'Don't worry.' Mary stood up and faced the mirror, her hand on Jack's shoulder. It was warm and strong beneath her fingertips, or maybe it felt good to acknowledge her feelings for him. 'Olley, olley, oxen free,' she called out, and in the next minute, the door to the interview room opened and in came Detectives Kovich and Donovan.