The Last Day (10 page)

The luminous hands on his watch dial told Watcher it was nine- forty He gathered his binoculars, notebook, and camera, and packed them all away in the rucksack. That done, he lifted the hinged roof and slipped out of the hide, lowering the lid until it was flush with
the ground. Slowly, he walked through the woods with the pack over his shoulder.

Because tomorrow was going to be a very busy day he would sleep tonight. In the morning, he would go into the house to collect the tape and he'd find out exactly what it was they had been arguing about. Their marriage was at the breaking point, and that gave Watcher a decidedly warm feeling. If things were allowed to run their natural course, the once perfect couple would break up and go their separate ways. Time was too short for that to happen.

TWENTY

After Dr. McCarty left the house at five
A.M.
on Tuesday morning, Watcher went into the garage and removed the GPS from under Ward's BMW and dropped it into his rucksack along with the stuffed bear. Inside the house he collected his recorder, since he wasn't going to need video going forward from here. He moved silently through the house collecting the other cameras
and microphones that were tied into the recorder, leaving only the ones that transmitted so he could access them remotely.

He looked at the thrown- back covers and he leaned down so his face was inches above the sheets. Watcher drank in the scent of the doctor. Smiling, he made up the bed, pulling the sheets and spread tight enough to bounce a quarter on, and all the while wondering what it was going to be like to get a good look at her internal organs.

He looked at the curtains and couldn't see the microphone that was pinned into the top seam. There had been no need to visually record people sleeping.

He eased Dr. McCarty's door closed and crossed to the bedroom where Ward slept. He pressed his ear to the wood, and was rewarded with the sound of McCarty's light snoring. He pressed down the lever carefully, eased the door open. Watcher moved to the foot of the bed, studying the sleeping man's relaxed face. The man was still wearing the clothes he'd been wearing the evening before. Watcher put his hand to the hilt of the survival knife, and suppressed the desire to do something like slit the shirt off Ward's body. Watcher tensed when
Ward suddenly rolled over onto his side, but he doubted he'd awaken yet. The Scotch should be good for another few hours.

It was odd, standing there studying a man sleeping like he didn't have a care in the world. And it was exhilarating to know you would be carving him up in forty hours, give or take. Deciding he should not do anything more, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

He went into the child's bedroom, opened the dresser, and placed a special object he'd fashioned under the child's folded underwear.

Outside, the heat hit him like a blast from an open oven door. Watcher made a beeline up through the woods, passing his hide. He kept going until he arrived at the back door of the small house in the subdivision that bordered the McCarty acres. He went to the guest bedroom, his media room, and listened to the audio of the dinner conversation he'd captured. He especially enjoyed the part about the baseball. Being in denial, not seeing themselves as evil people, they dismissed the idea that someone from the outside could violate their precious and expensive security system. The McCarty home was a
house divided, and it was going to get much worse.

He looked at the stuffed bear, picked it up, and pressed the hand to hear the message a mother had put there for a child who could never hear it again. He laughed and, holding the animal by its arms, made the bear perform a dance of death.

TWENTY-ONE

At 7:43
A.M.
Alice Palmer parked her battered Toyota in the student lot and walked away without locking it. Investigator Todd Hartman moved at an angle across a grassy knoll to intercept her on the walkway leading to the nearby campus buildings. Even if Todd hadn't seen her driver's license and student ID pictures on- line, he would have recognized her from Ward McCarty's description, accurate right down to her rainbow nails.

Head down and wearing a baggy tie- dyed T-shirt, cutoff denim shorts, and yellow flip- flops,
she approached in a thin line of students trickling from the parking lot.

When she was ten feet away, Todd stepped into her path.

“Alice Palmer,” he said, turning on his warmest smile.

Blocked by the imposing stranger, she stopped and stared up at him. When she grimaced, her braces glittered.

“My name is Todd Hartman. I'm an investigator.”

“Good for you,” she said, her eyes suddenly suspicious, “I got a class. See ya.” But she didn't try to go around him.

“We need to talk for just a minute,” Todd said.

She looked down. “About what? You think I did something, Officer?”

“I'm a private investigator and my client has hired me to retrieve something for him he believes might be in your possession.”

“Who?” Her eyes looked right then left ner vously to take in the students walking past.

“There's something he may have left on a plane and he really hopes you were kind enough to pick up for him. You sat beside him Sunday on the flight from Las Vegas.”

Todd saw it register in her little kleptomaniac mind, and, almost as quickly she was weighing the various routes of escape open to her. He had given her plenty of wiggle room, and a way to save face. She wouldn't have to admit any wrongdoing.

“I didn't take his little toy car,” she said, cutting her eyes to the right.

“I didn't say it was a little toy car, Alice.”

“You sure did. So, I hope he finds it,” she said, skirting him.

“There's a reward,” Todd said to her back.
“A
rather substantial one, I suspect.”

She stopped and turned. “How substantial?”

“That model car meant a lot to his son. This is purely a sentimental item for him.”

“Well, he said he didn't have kids. Is he like a liar?”

“His son is dead. If you can help him, he would really appreciate it.” Todd took a card from his shirt pocket and held it out to her. “Maybe it fell into your bag and you didn't even realize it.”

“I'll check and if it somehow did, I'll call you. And you'll …”

“Pay you a cash reward of five hundred dollars.
Everybody makes out. No questions asked, no police involvement.”

“Cool,” she said cheerfully, as she took the card. “You know, he said he'd give me a free toy car.”

“He'll be happy to do that. He asked me to talk to you because he just wants his son's car back.”

A slight smile blossomed in her eyes and she combed her hair back with short fingers. “Are you sure he didn't send you because he was like attracted to me? He was, you know.” She smiled at Todd, and walked away with a spring in her step that hadn't been there before.

Todd watched her, thinking.

Something about the odd- looking girl made him uneasy. History told him that big trouble often sprang from small boxes.

TWENTY-TWO

It took a concerted effort for Ward to open his eyes. Lying on the bed in his clothes, his body felt heavy. He could tell he'd overslept by the angle of the sun's rays stretched across the floor. He stood
and went into the bathroom to shower, and after, as he shaved, he studied his face in the mirror. The still- young man staring back at Ward had the dull gaze of a man who'd had too much to drink, and the body seemed to have softer edges than he remembered. How many Scotches had he consumed the night before? As best he could recall he'd had no more than two drinks. He didn't remember feeling tipsy, nor did he have any memory of going to bed in his clothes.

Up until a year ago, Ward had been in pretty good physical condition. He had done daily laps in their pool year- round, and he and Natasha rode their bikes several miles through the countryside. While his biceps were still solid enough and his leg muscles well defined, Ward was going to seed, and he resolved to start riding his bike again.

In the kitchen, Ward looked at Todd's business card. The address was the Bank of America Tower, pretty expensive real estate. The card contained a landline, a fax number, and a cellular line. Ward slipped it into his wallet next to a picture of Barney and Natasha.

Ward looked out at the covered swimming pool and felt a rush of sadness. The fading blue
cover had remained in place since just after the accident. A year before, he and Barney had been swimming in the pool when the phone rang. Ward had been expecting a call. His uncle had business to discuss. Ward left Barney alone for a minute. He rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the phone before voice mail picked up. As he spoke with his uncle, the lights blinked for a split second. A flicker. A damaged spot in the insulation on a wire connecting the pool's pump and the lights had become saturated by the sprinkler system, and when the barefoot and wet child got out of the pool he stepped on a hot spot and was electrocuted, his heart stopping forever. When Barney fell, he broke the connection. Had that not been the case, Ward would have also been electrocuted when he'd knelt and grabbed his son up into his arms. The child had a gash in his head from the fall, which never bled because his heart had stopped.

When Ward turned, his eyes found the defib-rillator case on the refrigerator. He'd bought the apparatus after Barney's death. Maybe if he'd had it then, he could have brought his son back. Its presence was a perfect example of closing the
barn door after the horses were running free in the meadow.

Ward wiped a tear from his eye. He unplugged his cell phone from the charger, slipped it into his pocket, and took his keys and briefcase before leaving the house. The BMW's big eight-cylinder purred, and as he pressed down on the accelerator, he could hear the tires against the asphalt humming as he gained speed. He tuned in to that sound and tuned everything else out.

When his cell phone rang a few minutes into the trip, Ward glanced at the name and saw that his uncle was calling.

“Yes, Unk,” he answered.

“Ward, where the hell are you?” Mark yelled into the phone. “I've been calling you for an hour.”

“I overslept. I'm leaving the house. What's up?”

“We've got big trouble here.”

“As in?”

“Computer virus. It's a disaster.”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

TWENTY-THREE

Natasha closed the door to her office and sat heavily in her chair. She picked up the phone with steady hands and called Dr. Edmonds's receptionist to make an appointment on that Friday for a consultation. Normally it would have taken weeks to get in to see the specialist, but with physician's credentials, exceptions were ordinary She hung up the phone and turned to her computer to check her e-mails.

There was a light rapping on her door and she turned around to see Dr. Walls. “Natasha, could I have a word?”

“Sure, George,” she said with a smile. “Come in.”

“I want to discuss your tremors.”

“I just made an appointment with Dr. Edmonds. It really isn't a big deal. In fact it's getting better, but I wanted to be sure.”

“I've spoken with the partners, and we agree that you should let us cover your surgeries until you've seen Dr. Edmonds. Before you protest, let me say that we know you are under a lot of
pressure, and we're sure you'll be good as new in short order. I hope you don't see this as meddling, but I think you'll agree that there's a lot at stake here for all of us. You are an exceptional physician, and we all care a great deal about you.” He tapped his hands on her desk to punctuate his last point, and to give it finality.

“I understand fully,” she heard herself saying, “and I appreciate your concern.” She felt assailed professionally, but she knew she had no business operating in her present condition. She wanted to know what was wrong with her.

“We'll just take the precaution and cover your surgeries until then,” George said, smiling. “And if you'd like to take a few days, we will gladly cover your other appointments.”

“Of course,” she said. “And thank you. But covering my nonsurgical appointments won't be necessary.”

“If your hands were to shake while you were seeing a patient…” He paused. “Well, word might get around. I think it is for the best. Just get some well- deserved rest and don't worry about anything.”

George left the room and Natasha felt embarrassed
and even, to some degree, grateful. She looked at her hands and they began to tremble ever so slightly.

Opening her laptop, she went into her e-mail and ran down the list of waiting correspondence. One was from Ward, titled “You have to see this.” She clicked on it and sat stunned as the screen began filling with a changing montage of horrible images she couldn't believe she was seeing.

“Oh, my dear god,” she said. Her heart pounded and she slammed her eyes closed, fighting to control her breathing. “My god. He's completely lost his mind.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Ward rushed into the RGI building. As he passed by the receptionist, he saw that her phone lines were all lit up, and he could hear a loud angry voice leaking from her headset.

“Mr. McCarty” she said, covering the mouthpiece. “Mr. Wilson is waiting for you up in the conference room.”

Ward took the steps three at a time, rushed to the door, and entered the crowded conference room. His uncle was talking to their head computer technician, Paul Wolfe. A pair of Wolfe's assistants were staring at the screens of laptops open on the table. Over the men's shoulders Ward saw pop- ups opening and stacking in rapid sequence on the screen, each flying up and covering the last in the space of a second or two. It took Ward a minute to realize what he was looking at, but by that point he already felt ill. Naked bodies flashed rapidly, one after the other.

“What's this? What the hell's going on?” he demanded.

“Kiddie porn,” Mark said.

“Somebody had that on one of our computers?” Ward asked, furious at the thought. “Who?”

“We don't know, but our servers are inundated with pictures of kids engaged in sex acts with other kids, kids with adults. Jesus, there's even animals in the mix.”