“Ready for my confession, detective?” D.B. asked.
He looked like the happiest person on the face of the earth, and when Wondero said yes, it did not register that the twitch in his neck had completely gone away.
D.B. started at the beginning. In gruesome detail he re-counted the hitchhikers and scores of runaways he had killed. First Cincinnati, then a short stint at the Port Authority in New York, then west to L.A. He had an appetite for killing, and it had grown enormous once he had gotten caught and locked away.
“When did you recruit Osbourne,” Wondero asked.
“I groomed Eugene,” he said proudly. “I saw a great capacity for violence in him, but no technique. He was just a hit and runner.”
“You mean he killed before you met him,” Rittenbaugh said, scribbling everything down in a small notebook.
“Oh yes. But not with purpose. I’ve spent half of my life inside of prisons and learned many useful things. In Eugene I saw my chance to pass this knowledge on, to mold him into what I might have been. It was a tremendous challenge.”
Heller leaned back in her chair, slowly relaxing, like a parent coming to grips with the confessions of a wayward child. She lit up a cigarette.
“Are we torturing the prisoner now?” D.B. asked.
Heller blew a cloud of bluish smoke at him.
“That’s enough!” he shouted. “Enough!”
Wondero saw Cavanaugh in the hallway, waving frantically to him through the wired window in the door. He’d found something in D.B.’s room, and the detective rose from his chair.
“Excuse me,” Wondero said.
D.B. came out of his chair as well, his bleeding left wrist twisted grotesquely where he’d dislocated it pulling it through the handcuff. Clenched in his right hand was a nail, its tip glistening like a diamond. Wondero raised his left arm, willing to sacrifice it to save his face or neck. A short explosion rocked the room, and D.B. flew sideways into the air and bounced off the wall, the right side of his face looking as if he’d just been stung by a hundred vicious bees.
Still sitting, Heller fired the tiny derringer in her hand again, this time at D.B.’s midsection. With both hands cradling his testicles, he shrunk to the floor, screaming a stream of obscenities. Lowering his arm, Wondero stepped over him and picked up the nail, feeling its tip. It was as sharp as a razor.
“It’s rat shot,” Heller explained as Rittenbaugh took the derringer from her. “I’ve been having a problem in my garage.”
Cavanaugh had entered the room without anyone realizing it. He grabbed Wondero’s arm and said, “It was all there.”
“What are you talking about?” Wondero said.
“In D.B.’s room,” Cavanaugh said. “Notebooks filled with descriptions of how to kill people. Step by step instructions for Eugene Osbourne to follow. He even plotted his escape routes for him.” He thrust a spiral bound notebook into Wondero’s hands. “This is the most recent: there are crimes in it that haven’t been committed yet.” Cavanaugh opened to a page with a bent corner and showed him. “This is supposed to happen today!”
Wondero stared at the page’s heading. It was titled HARDARE, and gave cryptic instructions on how Osbourne should create a diversion that would draw Hardare from the Malibu beach house, allowing him to attack Hardare’s wife and daughter. The date was today, and each instruction was followed by a recommended time of execution. Wondero looked at his watch — it was nearly 1:30 — then at the corresponding time on the page.
1:30: Enter house. Butcher wife, kid.
Wondero wanted to kick himself. When D.B. had opened up to them, he should have sensed something was wrong. He pulled out his cell phone, hoping he was not too late.
Chapter 35
The Weaker Sex
Jan Hardare had just spied the empty dinghy with an outboard motor sitting a quarter of a mile off shore when the kitchen phone rang. She could not recall having seen any boats moored off the beach since arriving in Malibu, and the idea that someone would want to be diving in the ice-cold Pacific this time of year struck her as odd. Her eyes remained on the water as she crossed the living room.
The doorbell rang.
She glanced down the hallway as Li answered the front door. Kevin, their third bodyguard, had stepped outside to get their dry cleaning from the car, and Jan guessed he had locked himself out. She saw Li peer through the peephole, then unlock the front door. Satisfied, she picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Jan?” a frantic voice said.
“Yes, who is this?”
“Harry Wondero. You’re in danger — Osbourne’s there, at your house. “
In her mind Jan could still see the dinghy rocking in the waves. “I know,” she said into the phone without thinking.
She shouted a warning to Li. Kevin stood in the open doorway, his massive frame teetering on an imaginary tightrope. He fell face-first into the foyer, and Li could do nothing but jump back, his lethal hands and feet out of striking range as Osbourne entered the house brandishing a pistol.
Dressed in a wetsuit, Osbourne fired two silent shots, and Jan saw Li reach out and pluck the first dart a few inches from his face, his fingers moving faster than lightening. The second dart imbedded in his wrist, and the man Jan had considered her greatest security asset collapsed to the floor.
“He’s here, Harry,” Jan said, placing the phone on the kitchen counter.
Osbourne danced over the two bodies, his tiny laughter claiming victory. Pulling another pistol from his dripping wetsuit, he ripped off his headgear and threw it to the floor. Then he looked down the hall at Jan, his face a freakish mixture of elation and fear. Strange noises left his throat, like an animal.
For an instant Jan could not move. Osbourne had a sophisticated looking automatic, while her .9 was in her purse in the living room. If she made a run for it, he would have a clear shot at her back. That was not the way she wanted to die.
Jan waited for him to make his move. His popping eyes drifted past her face, and she felt the muscles in her legs twitch. He was giving her a chance to run for it, as if shooting her in cold blood wasn’t sporting enough. No, Jan thought; she had to make him come to her, and close the distance between them. If he came within striking range, they would be on even terms.
Bending over, Osbourne struggled to pull Kevin’s stiff body into the foyer, then shut the front door, locking it in the process. Jan continued to stare before what was happening made sense to her.
He had not seen her.
Dropping behind the counter, she peeked around the corner. He was heading toward her, pointing his gun at the shadows. He was as scared as she was, and she decided to tackle him the moment he got in range. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard a pair of feet came bounding down the staircase.
“Hello, little girl,” Osbourne said.
Crystal screamed.
“No, don’t back up...,” he said. “I’ll shoot you.”
“Oh God,” Crystal cried.
“Walk slowly down the stairs,” Osbourne said. “That’s it. Very good. Did you study ballet?”
“Yes,” Crystal said evenly.
“I thought so. Beautiful movement. Come here... closer.”
“Don’t touch me!”
“I said, come here!”
Jan heard Crystal whimper, and guessed he had gotten his hands on her. Their voices were coming closer. Now she had to have her gun. Stay put, she told herself. Think.
“Where is your mother?” Death said.
“Who cares?” Crystal snapped back.
Jan bit her lip; don’t goad him, Crys, she thought fearfully; you don’t know what he’s capable of doing.