Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller (50 page)

 
Brant parked in front of the house and they got out. The ground was wet, the air thick with the smell of rain. The sounds of summer had returned — the click click of grasshoppers, the lonely high-pitched moans of cicada, the plaintive chirps of field birds. Brant gulped for air, wondering if it was to be one of his last. Mallek did the same and shot him a knowing look.

 
``Get in the house. We can do it there.’’

 
``You don’t have to do this, you know,’’ Brant said, his hands held in the air to indicate submission.
 

 
``You want to bargain? What do you have to offer?’’

 
Jonas said nothing.
 

 
The farmhouse was abandoned. King made him search for the key hidden behind a wooden panel atop the frame of the front door. All the time she alternated training the sights of the gun on her two prisoners.
 

 
She let him lead the way through the darkened living room and into a country kitchen dappled with sunlight.
 

 
``I’ll take Eichel’s phone if you don’t mind.’’

 
Brant nodded to indicate the phone was in the inside pocket of his rain shell.
 

 
``Christine, stand where I can see you. This must be done the right way. Now, give the phone to me.’’

 
He did as he was told, all the while searching for the right time to make a move, for signs that King’s attention would be distracted — even if just for a moment.
 
King set the phone beside a white enameled sink set into a counter painted pale yellow.
 

 
She stepped back and motioned with the Glock for Mallek to stand beside him. Sunlight played across the farmhouse’s flagstone tile.
 

 
``We must make this look correct. Christine, step a meter back.’’

 
``What exactly are you trying to do?’’ Mallek’s voice was steady, betraying none of the fear or consternation Brant knew the woman would be holding at close quarters.
 

 
King’s face broke into a look of frustration.
 

 
``You’re lovers, remember,’’ King finally said, her voice betraying a hint of exasperation. ``You’ve come to the farmhouse. You’re having a squabble. So terrible. You begin to fight.’’

 
King moved to the kitchen table and swept a bowl up in her free hands only to send it crashing to the floor. Brant and Mallek winced in unison at the violence of the outburst. King pushed at one of the kitchen chairs. The wooden chair teetered on one leg and toppled to the ground.

``You see, a fight. We are too cruel to those who are closest to us, wouldn’t you agree?’’

 
The question hung in the air unanswered. King stepped back again and raised the gun. The room fell silent. She appraised the situation and smiled before tilting her head to one side, a satisfied look of mad accomplishment on her face.

 
``Lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind. We’ll make this a murder suicide, shall we?’’

 
King motioned for Brant to step forward. She pulled out his Beretta, offering it to him, indicating he was to use his own gun to shoot Mallek and then himself. King couldn’t control the situation forever. Two against one. At some point, she would become distracted. It was only a matter of time and he’d make his move.

 
As if reading his thoughts, she hit him with the butt of her Glock, delivering a sharp blow. Pain fanned out as he took the brunt of the action. He swooned and stumbled. Mallek cried out in shock. She rushed to his side, but was forced back by King’s exhortations.

 
``Leave him,’’ she barked, fixing the Glock on Mallek for good measure. Brant was on his knees and useless. King’s blow had found his weak spot, leaving him breathless.

 
``You’re crazy,’’ Mallek said, spitting the words toward King with force. ``You’re going to kill him.’’

 
``That’s the general idea,’’ King said.
 

 
Ingrid King’s face contorted with anger as she flushed red.
 

 
``You’re going to have to do this,’’ King said, directing the instructions toward Mallek as she reached for Brant’s Beretta. Mallek pivoted, bouncing back on the balls of her feet.

 
Now, Brant thought as he noted the wavering of King’s attention. King involuntarily flexed and glanced in the direction of Brant’s gaze.

 
The distraction was all he needed. Brant nodded to Mallek, who followed his line of sight. She lunged at the hand brandishing the Glock.

 
King, flustered, reared back, a look of simple bewilderment painted across the contours of what had once been a beautiful face. Mallek knocked the gun out of her hand and thrust a balled fist hard into King’s stomach. The woman doubled over in shock and fell easily to her knees without struggle. Mallek pulled back as she readied another blow. Brant caught her arm as Ingrid King groaned and spluttered.

 
``I’ll get the gun.’’

 
He retrieved the Glock and emptied the chamber in haste so as to render it useless. King had curled into a ball on the floor and had begun sobbing, her chest heaving with each gasp of air.

 
Mallek stood over the other woman, pulled her leg back and delivered a kick to King’s left flank. The other woman flinched and cried out in pain.

 
``Bitch! She was going to kill us. Right here, in this kitchen. Like animals.’’

 
``It’s done,’’ Brant said. His voice was steady but firm.
 

 
``How can you be so accepting of what she wanted to do?’’
 

 
Mallek’s voice was pleading. Brant took her by the shoulders and lifted her chin. Their eyes met. He began to speak, hoping he would be able to calm her.

 
``It’s over.’’

 
He hugged her tight, terrified she’d feel the shakes and tremors of his own body. When they’d both calmed, he returned to the slobbering ball that Ingrid King had become as she lay on the kitchen floor. Her hair was askew. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears. Bloodied snot ran from her nose.

 
Brant pinned her arms behind her back. Using the nylon belt from his hiking pants, he fashioned a set of crude handcuffs. King bit into her lower lip as he pulled the belt tight across her wrists.

 
``You did well,’’ Brant said to Mallek.

 
They were the first words he could think of. In the confusion, he’d lost all perspective on what she’d been going through. He’d been trained for such a situation. He’d known to wait, to prolong. Mallek had been naked. She’d had no such training. He could only hope she’d make the right decision when the time came and he’d been proved right.
 

 
``Let’s get out of here.’’

It was early afternoon when they returned to the lodge. The sun shone bright. The lake was a plate of silver. Birch trees snapped smartly in the warm breeze.

 
John King rushed to greet them, his face turning gray when he caught sight of his wife trussed like a turkey in the back of the Range Rover. He glanced first at Brant then at Mallek, a questioning look of resigned despair on his face.

 
He’d had to have known. Somewhere along the way he’d had to have suspected. Or had his love made him immune from the truth, from the reality facing him square in the eye?
 

 
The first call was to Jolly. Brant leaned against the roof of the Range Rover as he began to explain in fantastical detail the events of the past two days. Jolly was encouraging, his voice puffed up with obvious pride at the outcome. The next call was to the state trooper substation. The field commander promised to dispatch a trooper in haste to take their statements. Satisfied, Brant returned the cellphone he’d borrowed from King and wearily made his way to his room.

 
A hot shower was in order. The pain behind his left eye persisted with a stubbornness he couldn’t shake.
 

 
``Hate to see the other guy,’’ Mark Burnard joked when they passed in the hallway. Despite the rising heat of the afternoon, the inside of the lodge was cool and dank.

 
``It was a woman, actually.’’

 
Burnard smiled awkwardly, betraying a moment of confusion.
 

 
``Look, I’m sorry. I thought the worst.’’

 
Burnard shrugged.
 

 
``I told you I could never kill Franz.’’

 
``You didn’t like him.’’

 
``No, I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I would have done anything to hurt him.’’

 
``I know that now. I was wrong.’’

 
Brant held out his hand. Burnard took the peace offering and shook, grasping his good shoulder lightly in a sign of further contrition. The two men parted friends, each smiling as the other made a hasty retreat.

``You must have known.’’

 
John King shook his head in despair. They were sitting on the steps of the lodge, the sun skirting the tops of the trees. Field birds sang in the background.

 
``I was hoping….’’

 
King’s voice trailed off to nothing as the big man brushed a tear from his cheek.
 

 
``That night, when Eichel was killed. You were in bed waiting for her.’’
 

 
Brant balled his hands, massaging the wrist that had taken the force of Ingrid King’s blows.

 
``I was in bed,’’ King said, repeating Brant’s words. ``I thought…I hoped…she was in the bathroom down the hall.’’

 
They sat in silence for a moment, each contemplating the stillness of the afternoon and the fading light.

 
``You must think me a fool,’’ King said, straightening his back as he drew his hands down the length of his cheeks.

 
Brant shook his head. ``None of us want to believe the worst of those we love the most. It’s only natural.’’

 
``Yes, but all the same….’’

 
``There is one question,’’ Brant said, letting the moment hang.

 
``Go ahead.’’

 
``When you realized she wasn’t in the bathroom, when you realized she’d gone to see Eichel….Wasn’t she covered in blood when you saw her next? Why involve me? Didn’t it make sense just to let it be and wait for the local troopers?’’

 
King stood and stretched his legs. Standing at full height, he towered over Brant. Jonas stood.
 

 
``I didn’t want it to be true,’’ King said, turning to face Brant. ``I’d been drinking. I was passed out and never actually saw her go to the bathroom. She must have changed. It was all a blur. I thought that if you investigated and if you didn’t find anything, then that would be it. We could all get on with our lives. It was stupid, I know. But you said it earlier. I didn’t want to believe she could be capable of doing such a thing.’’

 
Brant picked at a knot in the wooden support beam he’d been leaning against. A butterfly fluttered by, dodging and weaving through the air with dizzying speed. Beyond the gravel driveway, a cicada wailed and clicked an ode to the approaching end of summer.

``When did you find out about them?’’

King smiled awkwardly as he brushed the seat of his hiking pants.

 
``I’d been watching them. I could tell by the way they were acting. I was furious at first. I wanted to confront her…them. I could have killed him. I really could. But then I pulled back. I promised myself that if she stayed with me, I wouldn’t ever bring it up. I was such an idiot. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. I’m pathetic actually.’’

 
Brant felt pity for the man. To suspect your wife of infidelity was one thing. To find the proof and then to refuse to act was an entirely different situation. For a man like John King, an alpha male accustomed to getting everything he’d desired, the predicament would have been unbearable.

 
``Look, this isn’t going to be easy on you, but details will come out at her trial that you’re not going to like. I want you to be prepared. You need to hear everything and the sooner the better.’’

 
King shook his head with force.

 
``I’m not interested,’’ he said. ``I don’t care what they were up to. I really don’t. I lost her before I ever had her. That makes what we had, what we built together, a complete charade. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to recover from that, lieutenant.’’

 
Brant stepped toward King to comfort him. The other man pulled away.

 
``I’ll leave you my business card,’’ he finally said. ``Call me in Boston if you need anything.’’

 
``And what is it exactly that you can offer me?’’ King turned to Brant, a hardened look on his weathered face.
 

 
``I know loss,’’ Brant said with feeling. ``I know what it’s like. My wife was killed in a car accident a few years ago. A drunk driver. Kid of about nineteen sideswiped her at an intersection. An absolutely senseless death. Stupid. It makes me burn with anger every time I think about it.’’

 
King’s face softened. ``I’m sorry.’’

 
``What’s done is done.’’