The Last Day (26 page)

Ward was still aiming at the doorway, but his hand was shaking worse than before he'd fired the gun.

“You came damn close to doing me serious injury, Ward,” Louis said from the kitchen in a loud voice. The light came on in that room, star-tling Ward. “I've had worse, but for your first shot at a man, it wasn't far off, really. And in the
dark and all. I'm impressed. I didn't know I was such a good teacher.”

“I'll come closer next time,” Ward said. “You can still leave.”

“And miss the sight of your intestines steaming on the floor between your wide- open legs?”

“I will shoot you,” Ward called. “And next time I'll kill you.”

“You had your chance and you blew it,” Louis said.

“But I have four more chances and you'll have to show yourself.”

“No, Ward. Take my word. That was your only chance. I just didn't think you could shoot that accurately, even accidentally. Beginner's luck, that's all. I've been bit worse, and I'll survive this little nick.”

“You've left some of your DNA on the floor, I bet. I guess that's a good thing for me, but not so good for you.”

“I'll tidy up before I leave, Ward. Amazing what a little bleach can do to mess up those DNA tests. Ward, you'll get much better accuracy if you cock the hammer before you fire again.”

“I'll try that,” Ward said, cocking the hammer,
the sound remarkably loud. Louis chuckled in response. His voice sounded strained.

“Why fight it?” Louis asked. “You're no killer. Tell you what. I'll make it fast for you. What do you have to live for? Your son is dead. Your wife is a baby killer. I'm good with a knife. It won't hurt at all. Promise.”

Ward said, “Your son died, but it had nothing at all to do with Natasha. You know her. You have to know that she did everything in her power to save your son. And for all of your snooping, the only way you missed that is because you are blinded by your thirst for revenge. I will kill you to keep her safe.”

“You're an idiot, Ward,” Louis said. “And you're starting to piss me off defending that murdering slut.”

“There's only one murderer here.”

Ward knew that the longer he talked, the farther away the women would get. Maybe Louis would kill him. Hell, he probably had no chance to survive. After he'd seen that the tires were cut, he and Natasha agreed that if Louis came in, she and the others would go to the bedroom, lock the door, and go out the window. Even after
Louis killed Ward, the lock was good and would slow him.

“So,” Louis said. “Should be just a minute or two, now.”

“Until what, Louis? What happens next?”

“I bet you think your wife and the girls got out the window. Don't you know I plan for contingencies? Your wife can't escape this house, Ward. You think I'd leave that to chance?”

Ward sensed he was missing something obvious. He was startled by the sudden light in the hallway and he turned his head without moving the gun from where it pointed. He saw three female figures enter the hallway together and start walking toward him. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Alice was leading the women down the hallway. Natasha was at her side, and Leslie was just behind them. They were almost in the den when Ward saw Leslie holding the knife against Natasha's side.

“Put the gun down, Ward,” Leslie said, making sure Ward could see the blade. “I will kill her.”

“What the hell are you doing, Leslie?”

“She killed Gizmo,” Leslie Wilde said, flatly. “He was our son.”

An icy hand closed around Ward's heart. That
was what he'd been missing. So Louis hadn't killed his wife after all. It had been Todd who told them the authorities thought he'd killed his wife. The authorities probably weren't looking for Gismano at all.

Louis called from the kitchen, “Ward, don't tell me you're surprised.”

We're all dead,
Ward thought.

SEVENTY-SIX

Special FBI Agent John Mayes was at home in Harrisburg, North Carolina, having just arrived there, when the phone rang. He looked at the ID and opened the phone.

“Where are you?” Bill Firman asked him.

“I just got home,” he said. “Where should I be?”

“You know that duct tape the techs found under McCarty's BMW?”

“What about it?”

“I'm looking at the lab report, and there was a fingerprint on it.”

“That's great,” John said, stifling a yawn.

“Maybe not. The print belonged to Todd Hartman.”

“And?”

“The lab said that tape's been under the car for a very long time. You remember how ratty and filthy it was, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The fingerprint's been there since the tape went on. It was on the sticky side. According to McCarty he hired Hartman the day before the virus thing happened, right?”

“I believe he said something to that effect.”

“That brings up some questions, don't you think?”

“I'll talk to the McCartys,” Mayes said. “First thing in the morning.”

John Mayes hung up. As he stood there looking at the plate his wife had put on the table, his mind started turning that revelation over in his head. He decided that he should call the McCartys. He dialed all of the numbers he had, and each time the phones went straight to voice mail. He put his phone back into his pocket and looked at his watch.

Maybe he should take a run out there and
make sure everything was all right. And at the very least, Todd Hartman had some explaining to do.

He dialed his partner's number and Firman answered.

“Bill, I tried the McCartys’ phone and they didn't pick up.”

“I suspect they're talking to people, or celebrating. I would be.”

“Well, I expect you're right. I'm going to eat dinner, and then, if they still don't answer, I'll probably take a ride to Concord and let McCarty know about the tape. Maybe he hired Hartman longer back than he told me.”

“You want me to go with?”

“No. Get some rest. I just don't want to leave it until the morning.”

Mayes hung up, and lifted his fork. The idea that Todd Hartman, a respected investigator, might have been up to no good was crazy. He needed some sleep, and family time—not three more hours in the field.

He set down his fork, and even before he stood, his wife had picked up the plate and put it back into the oven.

SEVENTY-SEVEN

Evelyn Gismano turned on the lights in the living room and Louis strolled into the dining room holding a wad of blood- soaked paper towels against his right forearm. He had sliced the long sleeve of his T-shirt from the cuff to his shoulder to get to the injury. The 1911 was hol-stered at his side, and there was a large survival knife in his belt. Ward kept the gun trained on him, but he may as well have been pointing his finger.

“Ward shot you?” Evelyn asked, a note of concern in her voice.

“He sure did,” Louis said. “You're no more surprised than I am.”

“You're working for Mr. McCarty,” Alice said. “Isn't this like a conflict of interest?”

“You should have gone home,” Louis said. “You're in a world of shit here, Alice. And I was starting to like you.”

“My mother kicked me out,” Alice said, frowning. “And I didn't know you were a psycho.”

“Sit down,” Louis told her, as he sat in a dining chair resting his wounded arm on the table. Taking the large knife from his belt, he drove the tip an inch into the dining table.

“Ward, put your gun down and plant your ass in the chair. Get his gun, Evelyn.”

Evelyn grabbed Natasha and placed the butcher knife against her exposed throat.

Ward stood, placed the Smith on the hearth, and moved away, sitting down in the chair he'd just used as a bench rest.

“You should have loaded blanks, Louis,” Evelyn said.

“Hindsight is twenty- twenty.” Louis shrugged.

Alice sat on the couch, holding her tote bag to her chest like a baby.

Natasha sat down beside her and put a protective arm around the girl's shoulder. Ward didn't see fear in the young girl's eyes, just something more like fascination. Natasha appeared more concerned than afraid.

Evelyn Gismano reached over and picked up the handgun from the hearth. Aiming in the general vicinity of the trio, she walked over to stand by the table, handing Louis the Smith & Wesson, which he absently tossed on the table
beside the erect Randall. He took the bloody paper towels from the wound and his wife looked at it, frowning. There was a deep channel cut into the bottom of his forearm, and the exiting bullet had laid his elbow open.

“I should look at that,” Natasha said.

“I don't think so,” Evelyn said. “You've done enough damage to us.”

“It looks like it shattered your elbow,” Natasha said. “You'll have to get medical attention.”

“It'll be fine,” he said, dismissing her. “You're far more dangerous to other people than your pantywaist husband.”

“That's a bad wound. It could get infected. I can clean it and mitigate the future damage. You could end up losing the arm. And it is going to hurt a lot.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Evelyn hissed.

“Get some warm water, Leslie,” Natasha said. “You have to clean it. I can stitch it, and at least slow the bleeding. I have some medical supplies.”

“You're worried about me?” Louis asked, snorting derisively.

“You're getting blood all over,” Alice said. She opened her black carry bag.

“Don't sweat it,” Evelyn snapped.

“So, can I play my game?”

Everyone looked at Alice quizzically. “You want to play a video game right now?” Louis asked slowly.

“I was winning. It's no skin off your ass. It relaxes me. Plus your fucked- up arm is making me want to puke.”

“Forget it,” Louis told her.

Evelyn said, “You just sit there like the amazingly stupid and ugly fucking toad you are. I ought to just shoot you in that ass- face and put the world out of its misery.”

“You could just say no,” Alice said, frowning. “You don't have to be such an asshole.”

“Actually,” Louis said, “we should thank Alice for being a little thief. She helped me get in here earlier than I'd planned. I was planning to use the virus as my entry into the McCarty household. Just like Howard's party at the lake, the gods smiled.”

“I hope you bleed to death,” Alice said. “People like you are why the world is so fucked up. And if you didn't know it, your wife's a total
psycho bitch. I can't believe anybody let her have a kid in the first place.”

Ward let his eyes pass over the fireplace tools, trying to think of something he could do, some weapon he might go for, when he got a chance. His eyes went to the prototype on the mantel, and he thought about Barney, his mind forming an image of his son laughing with everything he was—laughter that took over his entire being.
If I die, I will be with Barney.
Death held no fear for him. But he had to mess with Louis a little, because Louis wouldn't expect that from him. Ward needed to play for time. He had to muddy the waters for Louis the way Louis had muddied them for Ward.

“So, Louis,” Ward said, “how much longer does Leslie—Evelyn—here have?”

Louis's eyes fixed on Ward, as did Evelyn's.

“Unless you lied about her screwing Sergeant Ross.”

“Fuck you, Ward,” Evelyn snapped.

“That was why Gizmo was out there to be killed by Howard Lindley Way it looks to me, you killed his three friends and set him up to go to prison. Those young men were sons, just like Gizmo was yours. If you'll kill three totally
innocent young men, are you really going to let Evelyn off the hook for what she did? Ob vi ously she's alive now because you needed her to get close to us, but seems like she's just deadweight now.”

Louis's eyes sparkled, and something like a smile crossed his tight lips.

“Shut up, Ward,” Evelyn snapped.

“Your wife knows I'm telling the truth. She's a very intelligent woman. You blame her as much as, if not more than, you blame Natasha.”

“She's my wife,” Louis said after a too-long silence. “She was Gizmo's mother. She knows I love her. She's in this every bit as much as I am. Isn't that right?”

Evelyn nodded once, but her eyes remained uncertain.

“I forgave her for the affair, after I showed her the error of her ways.”

Evelyn smiled nervously. “Sergeant Ross seduced me like he seduced a lot of other women. He was evil. He deserved to die for it.”

Ward shrugged. “You'd know Louis better than I do. Maybe he has really forgiven you because he still loves you despite how you helped to kill Gizmo. Perhaps he doesn't still think
about you in bed getting your sweaty jollies while your son wandered into the path of Howard's car. Maybe you can believe we're going to be the last objects of his revenge. I'm thinking if he can really believe that Natasha killed Gizmo and that she didn't do everything in her power to save him, and he can still kill her … Or is this all just an excuse for him to kill and torture innocent people? It seems evident that there's no stopping place, just pauses in the process. Louis may miss Gizmo. Maybe he loved him and he's been driven to this by grief and he isn't just another sociopath who's using Gizmo's death as an excuse. But I think he likes killing. It gives him pleasure. Best case, he's insane.”

“Shut up,” Louis said, wincing as the pain hit home. “You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

“No? What's the body count in your son's name? Six? Seven? More? We'll make it what, nine? You know Natasha tried to save Gizmo, don't you, Evelyn. If Lindley hadn't hit your poor sister, you think he'd have let her live?”

“It won't work,” Louis said, pulling the survival knife from its resting place and gripping it in his bloody left hand to point the tip at Ward.
“You're not going to save yourself by making up this psychological mumbo jumbo. You're a dead man.”

Ward didn't intend to shut up. “You don't feel anything, because psychopaths can't feel anything. You kill so you can, but there's no lasting satisfaction in it. And it's your only purpose. There's no stopping place. Everybody is responsible for your son's death except you. Everybody but you should die. So why did you start sleeping with that sergeant, Evelyn? Was it because you never felt loved? We're all just cardboard targets in Louis's world. He wants you to believe he loved your son, but what kind of love allows him to paint his son's legacy in blood? What kind of a meaningful monument is it? Natasha has spent the past three years saving children and raising money for a children's surgical center at the hospital, while he's spent the past three years killing people. Louis wants to kill Natasha, and his selfishness will do harm to innocent children, all like your son, for decades to come.”