Greg raised the saw as if it were an actual weapon, using his other hand to steady it. He gave the trigger a quick squeeze. The sound it made was as intimidating as the blade that jutted back and forth at high speed.
“Fuck, fine!” Neil said, backing away.
Greg squeezed the trigger again, holding it this time, and lunged toward me. That high-speed blade, designed to cut through just about anything, would do some serious damage if it reached me. I quickly sidestepped, reaching for the gun at my back at the same time.
But I fumbled it.
The gun clattered to the floor.
“Shit!” said Neil.
Greg wasn’t sure whether to go after the gun or keep coming after me with the saw. He settled on the latter, squeezing the trigger in short, menacing bursts.
There was the sound of a shot, like a cannon going off in the mall’s cavernous concourse, the echo bouncing off the walls and the shattered glass ceiling.
Isabel had grabbed the gun and fired it wildly, effectively getting Greg’s attention, but missing him by a mile.
“Stop it!” she screamed. “Put it down!”
She pulled the trigger again, the recoil throwing her arms upward. Greg tossed the saw and started running in the direction of the closest deactivated escalator.
He wasn’t the only one running for his life. Neil, who clearly had no idea who the good guys and the bad guys were here, had figured the only thing to do was get the fuck out of there.
Isabel looked like she wanted to get off another shot, but Greg and Neil were on intersecting flight paths, and she clearly didn’t want to take out the homeless guy, although with her aim I had a sense we were all safe except maybe for some pigeons roosting up near the overhead windows.
Greg was still headed for the dead escalator, but Neil had some other destination in mind, and ended up sideswiping Greg, who lost his balance and began to stagger toward the railing. He reached out for it to stop his fall, but instantly realized his mistake.
The bolts that held the railing to the floor were either shot or not there at all, and the railing gave way like it was made of nothing stronger than toothpicks.
Greg went over the edge and disappeared, his lungs bellowing out a loud, “Fuuuck!” as he went down.
Isabel screamed.
I was running.
I reached the escalator and descended the steps two at a time, careful to navigate the gaps where steps had been removed, and hit the lower level, my heart pounding. I had to backtrack past a few empty storefronts until I reached Greg, on his back, one leg twisted around so impossibly that it was almost up to his ear.
“Greg,” I said, getting down on my knees.
He turned his head a fraction of an inch to look at me, tried to move his lips.
Isabel made it halfway down the escalator, then stopped and watched.
“Greg,” I said again. “Hang in there. Just for another minute. We’re not done. I’ve got one more thing to ask you about, and it’s really, really fucking important.”
I asked him my question and put an ear close to his lips to hear what he had to say.
Tuesday
Sixty-Two
Isabeclass="underline" Am I going to be charged with murder? Because I didn’t kill him. I admit I shot at him, I admit that. But I didn’t hit him. I didn’t get anywhere close to him. I’m a terrible shot, evidently. It was the homeless guy. He bumped into him.
Detective Hardy: You’re correct, you didn’t shoot Mr. Raymus.
Isabeclass="underline" Not that I wouldn’t have been happy to do it. He did it, you know. I mean, not with his bare hands. But he did it. He had Brie killed.
Detective Hardy: We know.
Isabeclass="underline" I was wrong about Andrew. I feel terrible about what I put him through. I just... I was so sure for so long.
Detective Hardy: I know. I thought so for a long time, too. But we’ve pretty much nailed down what happened and why. Your statement from our earlier interview corroborates what Mr. Carville told us. About how Mr. Raymus was sabotaging his own company. The bikers, the whole thing. And this hit man that he’d hired, we’ve connected him to some other homicides, including one as recent as last week. That all pans out.
Isabeclass="underline" It’s over, isn’t it?
Detective Hardy: Pretty much. But there’s one part of what happened at TrumbullGate that I want to go over with you again.
Isabeclass="underline" Okay.
Detective Hardy: Starting with the moment that you fired the gun and Mr. Raymus started to run.
Isabeclass="underline" He was going at Andrew with this crazy-looking saw and Andrew tried to get the gun out but it fell and I grabbed it. I think I’d fired twice and then Mr. Raymus dropped the saw and ran. He bumped into this homeless man and reached for the railing and it gave way and he went over the edge.
Detective Hardy: And Mr. Carville went after him?
Isabeclass="underline" That’s right. He ran down the escalator. It wasn’t working, you know, because the mall’s being torn apart. He got to the bottom and ran over to where Mr. Raymus fell.
Detective Hardy: You witnessed this?
Isabeclass="underline" Yes. I went partway down the escalator to get a better look.
Detective Hardy: What did you see?
Isabeclass="underline" Andrew was kneeling over Mr. Raymus and asking him questions.
Detective Hardy: Were you able to hear this conversation?
Isabeclass="underline" Some of it.
Detective Hardy: What did you hear?
Isabeclass="underline" Andrew asked about Candace DiCarlo. He said, “What about Candace? Did you kill her, too? Were you following her?”
Detective Hardy: And what did Mr. Raymus say?
Isabeclass="underline" He was mumbling. He was hurt pretty bad. Andrew had to bend over to hear him.
Detective Hardy: So what did you hear?
Isabeclass="underline" First I heard Andrew ask him if he’d done it. And when he heard the answer, he asked why. Like, did you spot her by chance? Did you think she was Brie when you killed her? Something like that.
Detective Hardy: And then what?
Isabeclass="underline" Andrew said something like, you son of a bitch. Like that. I didn’t hear anything else because I went down the escalator to join Andrew, and by the time I got there Mr. Raymus had died.
Detective Hardy: What did Andrew say?
Isabeclass="underline" He didn’t say anything. When he realized Mr. Raymus was dead, he just sat on the floor, put his head in his hands, and started to cry. He was shaking, like he was having a panic attack or something. I got down and put my arm around him and tried to calm him down. He was a wreck, you know?
Detective Hardy: He’d been through a lot. It was a hell of a day for him.
Isabeclass="underline" It really was her, wasn’t it?
Detective Hardy: Sorry?
Isabeclass="underline" Not talking about Candace. Brie, I mean. In that grave.
Detective Hardy: We exhumed her remains, and yes, we did a rush on the DNA test. Compared it to samples we retrieved from her home six years ago. It was a match.
Isabeclass="underline" We can have a proper funeral now. Give my sister the send-off she deserves.