“It was a pistol,” Woodruff said. “Maybe a quarter mile away.”
An engine roared to life. “Shit. He’s got a trail bike.”
We listened as the bike drove off and faded into the distance.
“He shot the hostage,” Woodruff said. “She made sense when he had the car, but once he swapped it for two wheels, she was excess baggage.”
We stood up and ran toward where the shot came from, Woodruff and Kylie in the lead, me hobbling behind.
We came to a clearing, and there was the Rover parked at the far end. Right next to it, facedown in the dirt, was Annie Ryder. As I got closer, I could see the pool of blood around her head.
Just as Kylie knelt beside the body, an automatic weapon coughed a hail of bullets into the tree over our heads.
“That was a warning shot,” the voice behind us bellowed. “The next one won’t be.” I didn’t have to turn around. It was Bassett.
“Now drop your weapons,” he commanded. “One at a time. Ladies first.”
Kylie set down the shotgun, took the Glock from her holster, and lowered it to the ground.
“All your guns, Detective,” Bassett yelled.
She added her ankle piece to the pile. Woodruff and I went through the same drill.
“On your feet, Grandma,” Bassett ordered, and Annie Ryder came back from the dead.
She stood up, brushed herself off, and wiped the blood from her hair and face. A gutted rabbit carcass was still on the ground where her head had been.
“Give the old lady your cuffs, officers,” Bassett said.
We each produced a pair of handcuffs and gave them to Annie.
“Now the three of you hold hands and make a circle around that tree.”
We joined hands and hugged the trunk.
“Cuff ’em,” he yelled.
Annie came up behind me, put the bracelet around my left wrist, and ratcheted it shut. “Sorry,” she said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Bassett shouted.
Annie turned. “I was apologizing for your bad behavior, asshole.”
The AR15 in Bassett’s hands opened up, and a barrage of bullets splintered the tree not more than six inches above my head.
“I’m not anxious to kill three cops and have half the uniforms in the state of New York looking for me,” he bellowed, “but I will if I have to.”
“He means it, Annie,” I said. “Just cuff us.”
She snapped the other half of my cuffs onto Kylie’s right wrist, then hooked Kylie’s left wrist to Woodruff.
Annie moved behind Woodruff and me, then fumbled with the last set of cuffs.
“Faster,” Bassett yelled.
“My hands are freezing,” Annie yelled back. “If you don’t like my work, find someone else.”
She finally managed to link my wrist to Woodruff’s.
“Move away,” Bassett told her, and she slowly backed off. He lowered his weapon, sidestepped over to the tree, and yanked hard on each set of handcuffs. They held tight.
“Good job, Granny,” he said, turning to her. “I meant what I said about not wanting to kill them. You, on the other hand, are totally expendable. No cop is going to give a shit if you’re alive or dead, and they’re certainly not going to rise up in force to avenge your death.”
“Please don’t,” she said, raising her hands in the air and holding them behind her head.
“Don’t? Oh, but I must. But not with this,” he said, setting the AR15 down. “I’m going to use Detective MacDonald’s gun.”
He picked up Kylie’s Glock from the pile. “Nice piece,” he said, examining it with the eye of a professional.
Max Bassett knew a lot about guns, but he didn’t know enough about people. He certainly didn’t know anything about the seventy-year-old woman standing thirty feet away with her hands held high in the air.
Annie Fender was only fifteen when a carnival came to Enid, Oklahoma. When it left, she left with it, having fallen madly in love with a German trapeze artist.
For the next five years, young Annie’s life was filled with fire-eaters and fortune-tellers, knife throwers and blade box queens, pitchmen and pickpockets.
And then she met Buddy Ryder. Within days, she dumped her high-flying boyfriend to spend the next forty-seven glorious years with the smooth-talking confidence man.
Max Bassett knew nothing of Annie’s backstory. Had he known, he might not have been quite so cavalier when he leveled the Glock at her chest and said, “Any last words?”
“Just three,” she said defiantly.
“Then spit them out, bitch, because nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be the one who snuffs out your wretched exist—”
What happened next went down so fast that it was over before I could process it. Annie’s right arm came hurtling down with all the force and precision of a former big-league pitcher at an old-timers’ day game. The three-and-a-half-inch gut hook skinning knife, which had only seconds earlier been tucked in a sheath at John Woodruff’s right hip, came whirring through the air, and the blade sank deep into Max Bassett’s chest. A red splotch blossomed over his blue denim shirt, and he dropped to the ground like a stone.
Annie walked slowly to the body, looked down, and said the words that Maxwell Bassett would never hear.
“I hate guns.”
Part Four
The New Normal
Chapter 76
Monday. A week ago people were mourning the death of Elena Travers. Today they were celebrating the life of the woman who avenged her murder.
Annie Ryder — tough-talking, fast-thinking, knife-wielding Annie Ryder — had gone from obscurity to notoriety with a single fling of her practiced right arm.
The saga of the trap we set for Max Bassett was on the front page of every city paper and at the top of the hour on every TV news program. It was the kind of story that left everyone smiling.
Everyone except our boss, who was fuming. “Annie Ryder is a penny-ante crook, a blackmailer, and a con artist,” Cates said, “but they’re making her out to be a hero.”
“Technically, she is,” I reminded her.
“Bullshit. Her son stole the necklace, was an accessory to murder, and the DA’s office decided to cut a deal with the devil.”
It seemed like a bad time to remind Cates that less than forty-eight hours ago, she was the one who had urged us to recruit Annie to trap Max Bassett.
“If it’s any consolation,” Kylie said, “the DA is thrilled that the devil came through. Mick Wilson would have given up a thousand Teddys to bring down a high-profile murderer like Bassett.”
“It’s a win-win-win, boss,” I said. “Mama Bear bought her son immunity, the DA will milk this for all the votes he can muster, and Red gets credit for solving the murders of Elena Travers, Jeremy Nevins, and Raymond Davis.”
“I know. I saw your pictures in the papers,” she said. “I’m glad the photographers didn’t get there while you were still handcuffed to a tree with a game warden.”
“You can thank Annie for that,” Kylie said, a smirk spread across her face. “She unlocked the cuffs.”
“Next subject,” Cates said, not cracking a smile. “Howard Sykes called. He and the mayor are coming here at six o’clock to hear how you’re going to solve her problem with the Warlock and his Robin Hood defense.”
“The plan was for us to meet her at city hall at noon,” Kylie said.
“The mayor bagged that idea when she heard who you’re bringing to the party. She doesn’t want the press corps to know that they’re even talking to each other.”
“Six o’clock?” Kylie said. “I was planning to leave early and drive down to Atlantic City to bring my husband home.”
“No problem. Zach and I can handle it,” Cates said. “I’m glad to hear he’s doing better.” The phone rang and she grabbed it, grateful for the interruption.