I burned what?
The intercom on the phone buzzed. I picked it up and gave my name.
One of the search team said, “Ron’s on line one, Lieutenant.”
I hit the blinking button. “What’s up?”
“Couple of things I thought you’d like to know. I’m at the bank right now, going through her records-the manager’s madder than hell, by the way, and said he’d let you know what he thought about us rousting people in the middle of the night-but what we’ve found so far is nothing. I took her IRS files from the house to compare them with these at the bank, and they match perfectly-same basic income and expenses. And we opened her deposit box, too-just some jewelry. I know she probably has other accounts under other names, but so far, it all looks regular as dishwater, so I don’t know where she stashed her share of the money, assuming she has one.”
“J.P. just found it hidden in the house-about half a million.”
Ron digested that for a moment. “Then that makes sense. Something else came up a couple of days ago, when you were still in Chicago, kind of through the grapevine. You know the driver of that hearse that was shot up on the interstate? Well, he’s still in the hospital, doing fine, but two days ago, one hundred thousand dollars was deposited anonymously into his account. I just called his wife and she confirms it. They didn’t know what to make of it. You think it might have been Lucas?”
“Probably. Let me know if you find anything else.”
I hung up and dialed Gail’s number. I’d spoken to her earlier, when we’d found Lucas had flown the coop. She’d been stunned at Billie’s duplicity, and perhaps a little hurt at the betrayal of trust.
This time, when I talked to her about the hundred thousand dollars, Gail was more philosophical-and supportive of her former friend. “It doesn’t erase what she did last week-or whatever she might have done in Chicago-but it’s got to work in her favor. It proves that the good things about her weren’t complete lies.”
I didn’t debate the salving of one’s conscience with other people’s stolen money. After all, I, too, had taken an instant liking to Billie Lucas, and I had to admit that her gesture had been generous and thoughtful, especially considering the amount involved. Also, I wasn’t so pure, either, when it came to protecting myself from Bob Shattuck. Like Billie, I’d taken protective measures. Hers had been amateurish, resulting in the injuring of an innocent man; mine, far more devious and subversive, had enlisted the mob, or so I hoped. Putting things in that light, I was in no position to judge another’s desperation.
So I stuck to the task at hand, leaving unchallenged Gail’s understandable loyalty. “You haven’t come up with any ideas of where she might have gone?”
“No. I’ve been racking my brains, trying to remember if she ever mentioned someone or someplace that might fit, but she never did-never talked about her family, where she came from, or anything else private. She’d always turn the conversation around and talk about the here and now. She was so good at it, I never really noticed.”
“I’ve been looking at that chart again, by the way. I’m pretty sure now it’s Billie’s. For one thing, it doesn’t jibe at all with what she told you.”
I made a sour face in the dark. “That figures.”
“None of us thought to double-check it, since she was the local expert, and we ended up focusing on finding the birthplace, anyway.”
I appreciated her not saying that my reluctance to deal with the chart from the beginning had fostered that lack of thoroughness. “I don’t suppose the damn thing says where she is now?”
“No, but it would’ve told you who she was much sooner, I think. Just using my own books and the little I know about chart reading, I picked up a few warning lights tonight.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “Like what?”
“The major personality trait isn’t shyness at all, but a need for approval, even applause-the kind a community do-gooder might get. Also, the child-abuse emphasis doesn’t involve the mother, but the father, who has all the typical trimmings of a military man. If you’d known that, you might’ve pegged her when you were in Marquette.”
“Oh, well,” I muttered, by now thoroughly depressed. “Spilled milk, I guess.”
Her voice was sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Joe-this must be pretty frustrating. Got any ideas?”
I reflected back on what I’d been pondering earlier, before Tyler had knocked on the door. “I’ve got one-a long shot-but I need to bounce it off Tony first.”
“He’s here-want to talk to him?”
“What’re you doing there?” I asked Brandt when he got on the line.
“I switched with Sammie. Gail said you had something on your mind. Why don’t you come over? I think she’s getting a little sick of seeing just us. You can give me a full update then, too.”
I agreed and headed out Route 9 into West Brattleboro. Gail lived in a converted apple barn on a hill high above Meadowbrook Road, an isolated but exposed spot, which is why Brandt had found it so suitable a place to trap Shattuck.
I was still some distance away when the radio burst to life with the news I’d been dreading since the drive from the airport. “M-80 from O-1-shots fired; officer down at Meadowbrook Road, Zigman residence. All available units respond to seal the area.”
M-80, radio language for our dispatch, began handing out assignments and coordinating approaches to shut off all exits from Meadowbrook, but I was no longer listening. The chorus of voices, the arcane ten-code synonyms, and the growing excitement crackling from the loudspeaker went by me like so much background music. I concentrated on driving as fast as I could, not giving a damn about anything other than getting to Gail in time.
The house was completely illuminated, like a lighthouse on a hill. I spun my tires racing up the steep driveway and ground to a halt behind Gail’s car. Below me, unseen in the darkened valley, the distant howling of approaching sirens sounded like hungry wolves on the prowl.
The windshield to the parked car was shattered, and the side of Gail’s house riddled by a string of bullet holes. The acrid smell of gunpowder lingered in the air. I bolted up the steps leading to the deck, the sense of dread so heavy on me now it bordered on complete panic. I almost collided with Tony Brandt as he stepped through the shattered double doors at the top.
He placed his hands against my chest momentarily. “She’s fine-not a scratch-in the kitchen,” he said, then let me go by.
I found her leaning against the counter, staring at a slowly filling coffee machine. Her face was pale and drawn, but the smile and the relief it foretold were genuine. She turned, put both her arms around my neck and gave me a fierce hug. “Christ, I’m glad to see you.”
I pulled back enough so that I could see her face, my heart still pounding from fear. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“If I’d known what to expect, I might not have been quite so eager to volunteer.”
I hugged her again. “What happened?”
Shattuck had apparently thrown all caution to the wind, appearing from out of the dark on foot and kicking in the glass front doors. All hell had then broken loose-from inside, where Tony had been joined for the night by SRT member Al Santos, and outside, as the perimeter guards had closed in.
Gail had never been exposed to any direct danger. The Special Response people had insisted that she sleep on the floor of her office, located on the uppermost of the house’s several lofts, and Brandt had positioned himself on a landing just below the only set of stairs leading to her.
Al had not been so lucky. Stationed in the living room, with a view of the doors and most of the windows, he’d been the first to confront Shattuck and had caught bullets in the right hand, the right earlobe, and through the fleshy inner portion of his left thigh, all delivered by a short-barreled, rapid-firing machine gun.
Al’s presence, however, and his single misplaced shot, had done the trick-at least in preserving Gail’s safety. Shattuck had quickly retreated, firing as he went, forcing the SRT members outside to dive for cover. Santos had ended up being the only casualty. The same careless bravado that had stimulated Shattuck to attack in the first place had also served him well in his escape. By the time the shooting had stopped, he’d disappeared back into the night.