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Chapter Sixty-five

“Bert probably went to call the police,” I said, as Karen Wingfield and I slumped on the floor, backs against a broad wood cabinet. “So we don’t have much time.”

She merely sat there staring out at the storm. I dabbed the gash on her forehead with my handkerchief.

She found her voice. Soft. Tentative.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “Not for sure. Until I spoke with Ed Hingis about the night Kevin was brought in. Hingis questioned him in the Box, but he told me you stayed outside, watching through the one-way. Yet Sinclair said you never did that. You liked to be
inside
, with the witness, the suspect. It occurred to me that you didn’t go in the Box because you were afraid your brother would recognize you. Yet you were worried enough about his condition that you called Angie Villanova, asked that she refer Kevin to me.”

Drops of rain pushed by the wind dotted her cheeks, her lashes. Her beauty hurt my heart.

“The name Casey,” I went on, as though it mattered anymore. “It’s from Karen Carlyle Wingfield. Your mother’s maiden name is your middle name. So you used the first letters of each. Plus, like most people who assume a new identity, you picked a last name with the same first letter as your own. W, for Walters. Makes it easier to remember.”

Though our shoulders were touching, sitting next to each other, I could feel us growing apart, moment by moment. A space, widening.

“Then I remembered Paula Stark. That robbery suspect you said you had to release for lack of evidence. You had gotten
her
to call the police from Arizona, claiming to be you. You gave her a script. All the things to say. No wonder she sounded drunk on the phone. She’d had to screw up her courage to get through the performance.”

I took a breath. “That’s why when she broke down at one point, and said she couldn’t do it, you seemed so alarmed in Sinclair’s office. I watched your face. I thought it was concern for Karen’s plight. Instead, it was fear that Paula was going to blow it.”

I couldn’t tell if she was listening. Gazing out at the violent night.

“By pretending to be Karen Wingfield, Paula spoke
for
you. At last, the truth about your father’s incest could be revealed. To the cops. To the world.”

I stared at her until she looked back. Her eyes were empty.

“When did you decide to use Paula Stark? After Kevin was murdered?”

She took the handkerchief from me and began wiping the blood from her forehead.

“I ran away from Banford soon after my father left. I hated my foster parents, how they treated me. The poor, troubled Wingfield girl. Total slut. Did it with her own brother. Ruined her father’s life. So I ran…and kept running. Changed my name, my look.”

“Kevin told me he’d heard you’d gotten married.”

“Lasted a couple years. A ranch kid out west. I got pregnant and he freaked. Times were hard. Believe me, it took everything I had to turn that detective away when he found me. Holding out my father’s offer of reconciliation, and all that money. But I didn’t want any part of my father.
Or
his money.”

“Did you have the child? As Paula said on the phone?”

She smiled. “No. That was more Paula’s life. I wove some of her personal story into mine to throw up a smoke-screen. Besides, I figured the more similar to her own life, the easier time she’d have telling it.”

She fell silent.

“You didn’t answer my question, Karen,” I said at last. “What about
your
child?”

“Like I said, my so-called husband freaked. Then he left. I didn’t have anywhere to turn. So I got an abortion. Some quack in Taos, New Mexico.”

She rubbed her face with her hands. “I was young. Broke. It was the only thing I could do. But I guess he botched it. They tell me I’ll never be able to have children. Probably just as well. With
my
genes.”

I shifted on the floor next to her, reached out to touch her. She stopped me.

“Don’t, Danny. Please.”

She leaned back, closed her eyes. “But it turned out I was smart. And God knows I have the gift for attracting men. So I picked out a rich one in Denver and got him to send me to college. I graduated
cum
laude
and applied to law school. But he didn’t want a lawyer, he wanted a blonde babe to drink wine spritzers with and impress his old-fart married friends. So we split and I came east again.”

“Were you ever in touch with Kevin?”

“No. I’d heard from some distant relative about his being in and out of mental hospitals. After I started practicing law here, I put out some feelers. But of course I had people looking for a Kevin Wingfield. I didn’t know he’d changed
his
name, too. So I never found him.”

I said nothing, watched as tears began to slide from her closed lids.

“Eventually, I made enough of a name for myself to land a job in the DA’s office. I won’t pretend I’m not ambitious, Danny. And I like getting the bad guys.”

“I can imagine why.” I paused. “Then came the night they brought Kevin in, after he’d been assaulted…”

Karen pushed back the tears in her eyes with her palms. As a child does. As Kevin did.

“I happened to be working that night, so I went down to the Box to join the interview. Then, when I looked through the glass and saw who it was…It’s funny, after all those years, but I recognized him immediately. My baby brother Kev.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand. Why didn’t you go inside? Let him know who you were?”

“I don’t know, Danny. I just…couldn’t. After all that time, wondering about him, trying to find him. But suddenly I was so ashamed. I realized
he
must have been, too. He’d changed his name, like I had. We’d each chosen to go on with our separate lives. What right did I have to screw with that?”

Her eyes found mine. “Besides, what if seeing me again did something bad to him? I mean, psychologically. Kevin seemed so fragile…like he was barely keeping it together as it was. So I didn’t go inside. Didn’t let him see me. But I was so worried about him, I called Angie Villanova.”

She sighed. “I felt so much better when I knew he was in treatment with you. I thought it would buy me some time to figure out what to do. Whether to tell him about me.”

Her voice caught. “And then he was murdered. My little Kev…poor baby…poor baby…”

She broke into wrenching sobs, and I cradled her in my arms. Kissed her wet cheeks, the side of her neck.

“I understand now,” I said quietly. “When Wingfield came forward after Kevin’s death…the grieving father, throwing his weight around with the cops…”

Her face craned up, flushed with anger.

“Yes!…That’s when I decided to take him down. I owed it to Kevin to expose our father’s crimes. But I didn’t want to come forward myself. All that publicity. The loss of the life I’d built for myself. I couldn’t give him
that
, too.”

“So that night I first met you, when you complained to Polk about their case against Paula Stark…”

She nodded. “I’d already decided to use her. Polk was right. We
did
have enough to charge her. But I spoke with Paula in private and…well…committed a felony.”

“You offered to let her walk, in exchange for leaving the state and making the calls to the DA’s office, pretending she was someone named Karen Wingfield.”

“Paula’s not stupid. She knew ten minutes into my pitch that
I
was Karen Wingfield. But she didn’t care. She treated me as though we were sisters-in-arms, fucked by men and the system and life. Don’t get me wrong, she was happy to skate on armed robbery. But she was almost as happy to help bring down my sick bastard of a father.”

“Where is she now? Do you know?”

“That part’s the truth. She’s somewhere in Europe. I arranged for the flight myself. With no outstanding warrants, Paula Stark and her son can go anywhere they want. She told me her plan was to marry a Count.”

“Poor Paula.”

“I know. But I wish her well.”

I felt her move under my embrace, so I let my arm fall away. She gave me a sad smile, tossed the bloodied handkerchief on the floor beside her.

“It’s funny,” she said calmly. “It took Kevin’s death for me to finally learn about his life all these years. From his hospital files. The Sisters of Mercy. Clearview Hospital. The suicide attempts. I know it’s lame to think so, but maybe at least now he’s finally at peace.”

Another silence grew between us.

Finally, I found the words. Asked the only question that seemed to matter to me right then.

“Karen…why didn’t you tell me who you really were? From the start?”

“I
wanted
to…really. But I couldn’t take the risk. If my father found out who I was too early in the investigation, he might’ve bolted before we could bring him in. As it is, he almost got away…”

She averted her eyes. “Anyway, that’s what I told myself. But it’s not the truth. I was really afraid that if you knew I was Kevin’s sister, you’d pull away from me. You’d think it was wrong, or unethical or something…” She took a short breath. “I was afraid I’d lose you…”

I hesitated. “You could never…lose me…”

She looked up at me again. Then her lips were on mine, a kiss as tentative as a school girl’s. Then, just as quickly, looking away again.

I tried to think.
Would
it have mattered if I’d known? Probably not. I’d been lost in her from the moment I saw her, against my every instinct. Regardless of doubt or reason. Like a madness I welcomed with open, lonely arms.

And whose loss I was already beginning to feel…

She sniffed, giving me a sidelong glance. The old Casey. “Any other questions, Inspector?”

“Just one. About coming here. When you called and told me about SkyLark Aviation, and that Sinclair and the Feds were just treading water—”

“I’m sorry, Danny. It was a shitty thing to do. But I was afraid my father was going to escape. That he wasn’t going to pay for anything he’d done. To me. To those poor patients. But especially to Kevin.”

She tapped my chest with a closed fist. “I guess I hoped you’d feel something similar. That you’d get on your goddam white horse and—”

She looked down. “I didn’t know what I wanted you to do. Stall him.
Kill
him. But then I realized I’d sent you into danger, and drove as fast as I could here myself.”

“Good thing, too. If you hadn’t opened the door when you did…”

“Oh, Danny…” She leaned up and took my face in both hands. Kissed me again, deeply this time, our lips slick with tears and rain and blood.

Suddenly, I heard Trask stirring outside the room. I got gingerly to my feet, hoisting the Uzi, and whispered for Karen to stay down. Out in the hall, I found Trask barely conscious, bleeding from the head and neck.

I called into the lounge. “Hey, this guy’s not going to make it if we don’t get an ambulance here soon.”

Karen stood in the doorway, wiping tears from her eyes. “I thought you said Garman went for the cops.”

“Dammit, I should’ve stopped him. There may be more guys like Trask in the building. Or in the hangar.”

As if on cue, the phone in the lounge started ringing again. Karen ran to the broken window, shards of glass crunching under her feet, and peered into the night.

“The jet’s still on the tarmac, with the engines going. And I don’t see any patrol units. Any lights.”

I took another look at Trask, then joined Karen in the middle of the lounge. I handed her the Uzi.

“What are you doing?” She gazed dumbly at the gun.

“I’m going to find Bert before it’s too late. Use that damn phone and call the cops. If Trask moves, shoot him. Understand?” She managed to nod.

As I headed out of the room, her voice stopped me at the door. “Danny…?”

We looked at each other.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, and hurried off.

Chapter Sixty-six

I took the stairs two at a time, stopping at each floor and searching the darkened halls. The office doors were all locked. No sign of security, or anybody working late. Maybe Wingfield had cleared the place out before.

On the lobby floor, I found a well-lit kitchen, and the steward, Stevens, huddling behind a tiled counter.

“Are you okay?” I went over and crouched next to him.

“I heard shooting.” His teeth chattered. “Gunfire. At first I thought it was the plane’s engines, but—”

“Where is everybody?” I asked.

“Mr. Wingfield sent his staff home earlier, except for Mr. Trask and myself. I was just about to leave when I heard the shots.”

I pulled him upright, just as the faint sound of a siren in the distance pulsed through the walls. Somebody must have spotted Wingfield’s body on the tarmac.

Steven stared at me, wide-eyed. “Perhaps I should stay here, sir. In case Mr. Wingfield needs me.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t. Feel free to take the rest of the night off.”

I turned and headed back out to the lobby. More sounds from outside. Voices. Airport security, maybe.

I was too worried about Garman to wait and find out. After a quick search, I found the door to the hangar. It swung open with a pneumatic whoosh.

The tunnel itself was low-ceilinged, lined with lights like a runway and filled with Muzak piped in from hidden speakers. My running footsteps echoed as if in a dream.

The set of double-doors at the other end opened into the hangar, a yawning structure with high, curved walls and rows of hanging ceiling lights, none of which were on. I could only make out their outlines in the cross-hatch of shadows overhead. What light there was came from small wall lamps placed at intervals around the hangar.

I made my way carefully through the dim, nearly empty space. Except for the two remaining Skylark jets angled away from me, their wheels locked.

My footsteps clicked on the concrete as I moved around the fuselage of the nearer jet. The cockpit was empty. Then a sudden rush of wind made me turn around.

At the far end of the hanger, the huge doors stood open, walls-on-wheels bolted to their tracks. Beyond, on the tarmac, I could see the jet Karen had mentioned, still idling. Lights flashing. Waiting to take off.

As I crept slowly across the floor, my thoughts kept returning to Casey—to Karen. Something she’d said was stirring in my mind. Some vague notion whose contours I couldn’t yet see…

I heard a sound. A muffled cry—

My heart began to pound as I moved through the darkness, the emptiness. A feed-back loop of echoes and wind and the quick cadence of my own breathing.

Where the hell was Bert Garman?

Another dozen paces and I’d reached the second plane, sleek and silent, a dull sheen of plastic and glinting struts in the uncertain light. Its wings halved the space before me like knives suspended in air.

I ducked my head and slipped under the fuselage, coming up on the other side.

To nearly stumble over Bert Garman.

I jumped back, righting myself. He lay panting on the cold asphalt, one elbow down, trying to push himself up.

“Bert!” I helped him up.

“Danny.” He gasped and began flexing the fingers of his right hand, more shamefaced than injured.

“What happened?”

“I guess I tripped.”

He blinked in the dimness. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have run off on you, but I went to call the cops. I can’t find a phone. Everything’s locked. Then I heard something and ran in here—”

He glanced around. “Dark as hell, isn’t it? I keep stumbling over stuff, and…”

I just looked into his pale, watery eyes. And knew.

“
You
were at Clearview Hospital, weren’t you, Bert?”

“What?”

“When Casey mentioned it upstairs, it reminded me. You were on staff there. You told me yourself, remember? You came from there to Ten Oaks.”

“Yeah? So…?”

“You
knew
Kevin, didn’t you? When he was a patient there. You were both there at the same time. Funny, during all this, you never mentioned that fact…”

Bert Garman shook his head sadly, then turned away. When he turned back, he held a gun.

“Aw, hell,” I said.

“Yeah.”