“I'll tidy up before I leave, Ward. Amazing what a little bleach can do to mess up those DNA tests. Ward, you'll get much better accuracy if you cock the hammer before you fire again.”
“I'll try that,” Ward said, cocking the hammer, the sound remarkably loud. Louis chuckled in response. His voice sounded strained.
“Why fight it?” Louis asked. “You're no killer. Tell you what. I'll make it fast for you. What do you have to live for? Your son is dead. Your wife is a baby killer. I'm good with a knife. It won't hurt at all. Promise.”
Ward said, “Your son died, but it had nothing at all to do with Natasha. You know her. You have to know that she did everything in her power to save your son. And for all of your snooping, the only way you missed that is because you are blinded by your thirst for revenge. I will kill you to keep her safe.”
“You're an idiot, Ward,” Louis said. “And you're starting to piss me off defending that murdering slut.”
“There's only one murderer here.”
Ward knew that the longer he talked, the farther away the women would get. Maybe Louis would kill him. Hell, he probably had no chance to survive. After he'd seen that the tires were cut, he and Natasha agreed that if Louis came in, she and the others would go to the bedroom, lock the door, and go out the window. Even after Louis killed Ward, the lock was good and would slow him.
“So,” Louis said. “Should be just a minute or two, now.”
“Until what, Louis? What happens next?”
“I bet you think your wife and the girls got out the window. Don't you know I plan for contingencies? Your wife can't escape this house, Ward. You think I'd leave that to chance?”
Ward sensed he was missing something obvious. He was startled by the sudden light in the hallway and he turned his head without moving the gun from where it pointed. He saw three female figures enter the hallway together and start walking toward him. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Alice was leading the women down the hallway. Natasha was at her side, and Leslie was just behind them. They were almost in the den when Ward saw Leslie holding the knife against Natasha's side.
“Put the gun down, Ward,” Leslie said, making sure Ward could see the blade. “I will kill her.”
“What the hell are you doing, Leslie?”
“She killed Gizmo,” Leslie Wilde said, flatly. “He was our son.”
An icy hand closed around Ward's heart. That was what he'd been missing. So Louis hadn't killed his wife after all. It had been Todd who told them the authorities thought he'd killed his wife. The authorities probably weren't looking for Gismano at all.
Louis called from the kitchen, “Ward, don't tell me you're surprised.”
We're all dead, Ward thought.
SEVENTY-SIX
Special FBI Agent John Mayes was at home in Harrisburg, North Carolina, having just arrived there, when the phone rang. He looked at the ID and opened the phone.
“Where are you?” Bill Firman asked him.
“I just got home,” he said. “Where should I be?”
“You know that duct tape the techs found under McCarty's BMW?”
“What about it?”
“I'm looking at the lab report, and there was a fingerprint on it.”
“That's great,” John said, stifling a yawn.
“Maybe not. The print belonged to Todd Hartman.”
“And?”
“The lab said that tape's been under the car for a very long time. You remember how ratty and filthy it was, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The fingerprint's been there since the tape went on. It was on the sticky side. According to McCarty he hired Hartman the day before the virus thing happened, right?”
“I believe he said something to that effect.”
“That brings up some questions, don't you think?”
“I'll talk to the McCartys,” Mayes said. “First thing in the morning.”
John Mayes hung up. As he stood there looking at the plate his wife had put on the table, his mind started turning that revelation over in his head. He decided that he should call the McCartys. He dialed all of the numbers he had, and each time the phones went straight to voice mail. He put his phone back into his pocket and looked at his watch.
Maybe he should take a run out there and make sure everything was all right. And at the very least, Todd Hartman had some explaining to do.
He dialed his partner's number and Firman answered.
“Bill, I tried the McCartys’ phone and they didn't pick up.”
“I suspect they're talking to people, or celebrating. I would be.”
“Well, I expect you're right. I'm going to eat dinner, and then, if they still don't answer, I'll probably take a ride to Concord and let McCarty know about the tape. Maybe he hired Hartman longer back than he told me.”
“You want me to go with?”
“No. Get some rest. I just don't want to leave it until the morning.”
Mayes hung up, and lifted his fork. The idea that Todd Hartman, a respected investigator, might have been up to no good was crazy. He needed some sleep, and family time-not three more hours in the field.
He set down his fork, and even before he stood, his wife had picked up the plate and put it back into the oven.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Evelyn Gismano turned on the lights in the living room and Louis strolled into the dining room holding a wad of blood- soaked paper towels against his right forearm. He had sliced the long sleeve of his T-shirt from the cuff to his shoulder to get to the injury. The 1911 was hol-stered at his side, and there was a large survival knife in his belt. Ward kept the gun trained on him, but he may as well have been pointing his finger.
“Ward shot you?” Evelyn asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“He sure did,” Louis said. “You're no more surprised than I am.”
“You're working for Mr. McCarty,” Alice said. “Isn't this like a conflict of interest?”
“You should have gone home,” Louis said. “You're in a world of shit here, Alice. And I was starting to like you.”
“My mother kicked me out,” Alice said, frowning. “And I didn't know you were a psycho.”
“Sit down,” Louis told her, as he sat in a dining chair resting his wounded arm on the table. Taking the large knife from his belt, he drove the tip an inch into the dining table.
“Ward, put your gun down and plant your ass in the chair. Get his gun, Evelyn.”
Evelyn grabbed Natasha and placed the butcher knife against her exposed throat.
Ward stood, placed the Smith on the hearth, and moved away, sitting down in the chair he'd just used as a bench rest.
“You should have loaded blanks, Louis,” Evelyn said.
“Hindsight is twenty- twenty.” Louis shrugged.
Alice sat on the couch, holding her tote bag to her chest like a baby.
Natasha sat down beside her and put a protective arm around the girl's shoulder. Ward didn't see fear in the young girl's eyes, just something more like fascination. Natasha appeared more concerned than afraid.
Evelyn Gismano reached over and picked up the handgun from the hearth. Aiming in the general vicinity of the trio, she walked over to stand by the table, handing Louis the Smith amp; Wesson, which he absently tossed on the table beside the erect Randall. He took the bloody paper towels from the wound and his wife looked at it, frowning. There was a deep channel cut into the bottom of his forearm, and the exiting bullet had laid his elbow open.
“I should look at that,” Natasha said.
“I don't think so,” Evelyn said. “You've done enough damage to us.”
“It looks like it shattered your elbow,” Natasha said. “You'll have to get medical attention.”
“It'll be fine,” he said, dismissing her. “You're far more dangerous to other people than your pantywaist husband.”
“That's a bad wound. It could get infected. I can clean it and mitigate the future damage. You could end up losing the arm. And it is going to hurt a lot.”