“But,” Kieran said, “you couldn’t have been working alone. I mean, the plan might have been yours, but what connection did you have with Raoul Nicholson?”
“Ah, my dear, connections come with other connections. You just have to make sure that all of your accomplices are on the same boat.” He paused. Craig couldn’t see his face, but he imagined that the man was smiling. “You can always add in someone who is...not all there. Like Amy Nicholson.”
“She’s helping you?” Kieran asked.
He laughed, enjoying the questioning, Kieran’s confusion. It seemed Wrigley liked feeling smarter than everyone. “Well, in her convoluted way. You see, I convinced her that I was the voice of her higher power, and that women are now supposed to rise up to their rightful places. I managed to get into her apartment often enough, and whisper what she should be doing—you know, telling him to kill. My voice even let her know why. They were all expendable—people about to kill other people, people who were wretched and horrible.” He paused for a minute, smiling. “Okay, okay, yeah, I like to be in control. I mean, seriously, how idiotic is it? A great voice calling for sacrifices to save the earth! And, yes, I love to sit back and know that I caused some real carnage!”
“So, she was helping you, but not on purpose?” Kieran stopped on the stairs. Good, Craig thought, she’s slowing him down.
“She’s truly going mad,” Wrigley said. “On the one hand, defending her husband. On the other, she’s thinking of herself as a new kind of prophet, but that, in her power, she should have much more freedom, curse, drink—do whatever the hell she wants. Hey, I liberated that woman! She’s absolutely convinced that a higher power told her how to give her husband instructions on escaping. But the lady—lady is a kind term—was not my knowing, willing accomplice. I have to admit, I am enjoying thinking of myself as a criminal mastermind, so, who am I to judge? And then again, you must be ready to make any sacrifice—make sure that your accomplice is in it all so deep that they could never turn on you,” Wrigley said. He started to laugh. “Raoul Nicholson! What an imbecile. I think he had half of it figured out, as a man will do, but...only half. I mean, seriously, why would I be involved with him?”
“You got to his wife,” Kieran asked. “Interesting. She’s delusional, too, and a liar, but she didn’t kill anyone, right?”
“She did not kill anyone.” They were halfway down the stairs.
Craig followed. He moved quickly.
Simon Wrigley was coming dangerously close to his final act.
* * *
Kieran should have seen it; she should have sensed it coming.
The terrible smell of fire—of burned flesh.
They reached the basement, and there he was. Raoul Nicholson, dead on the floor—at least she presumed that it was Raoul.
A blinding and terrible fear swept over her.
Fire.
She couldn’t think of a more painful way to die. But if Wrigley wanted law enforcement to believe that Raoul Nicholson had killed her before the final act of suicide himself, he was going to have to strangle her first.
Then the attacks and the killing were going to have to stop. But Simon Wrigley would have accomplished what he needed for his agenda—Charles Mayhew wasn’t a roadblock anymore, and he’d be able to get his hands on the building, for whatever purpose.
“You are a psychopath, you know,” she told him.
“A brilliant psychopath. Well, I don’t know if that’s right. I love the power of knowing that someone’s life—their very life—has been snuffed out because I, and not God, had the power to make someone do it.”
“Not so brilliant. You will be caught.”
“How? You might have noted, Nicholson is lying there dead. He killed you—and then, hey, go figure, the voices said that he should kill himself!”
“You’re not brilliant at all—just very sick. And they will catch you.”
Yes, they would get him somehow. But right now Kieran was worried about herself.
“Well, here we are, my dear,” Wrigley said, pointing the flamethrower at her. “I would like to be merciful, even though you’re just not smart enough to stay out of things, but—”
“Damn it, Simon, just do it!”
Kieran was stunned to hear the female voice that suddenly shouted.
She was so startled that she, like Simon Wrigley, spun around.
Annie Sullivan!
“You—you’re in the hospital,” Kieran heard herself say. Stupid—the woman wasn’t in the hospital. She was standing right there.
“Poor Milo! Such an easy mark. He’s out cold. When they find him, they’ll believe that I was spirited away before the police could come, but not even that would matter. Do you realize that no one pays attention to you when you wear one of those silly apron things that the employees in the lab wear? They’ll think that I was kidnapped by Simon—oh, but of course, I’ll be found having turned the tables on Simon. He’ll be dead. I’ll be a beautiful and charming victim on the floor, just coming to—amazed and grateful to be alive!”
“What the hell are you doing?” Simon Wrigley demanded. “Waving a gun at me—at me!”
“Men. You can’t trust them.” She looked at Kieran and shrugged and smiled. “You and that FBI agent of yours. You need him now. Where is he? And Simon...he knew that Nicholson saw me every day. I could be a little voice in his ear. Nicholson—poor bastard. He never knew what was going on. He really thought he was on a mission. Now, here we have a greedy, greedy man who is one sick son of a bitch! And that’s just it. Men. They can’t be trusted. See, Simon here is going to die tonight, and do you want to know why?”
“Love to,” Kieran said dryly.
“He promised me everything. He promised me a whole new life. Luxury. A huge wedding. He said that if he could just get rid of Charles Mayhew—the ass who didn’t appreciate talent and was keeping him from making a fortune—everything would be perfect. But then he laughed at me. Told me that I’d go to prison all my life just like him if I ever said anything. He laughed—laughed, I tell you. He was too good to marry someone like me. So now, I’m going to shoot him. See, Simon, you know all about security. But you forgot that a gun can beat a heck of a lot. I could have already killed you, of course, but I wanted you to know why. Exactly why. And now I think I want to make you suffer, too.” She walked closer. “Let’s see—who first? Maybe I should let you see Simon die, Kieran. I mean, after all, like I said, men are dirt. Simon may be more dirt than most.” She took aim, her gun directed at Simon Wrigley. “He said that Amy was truly stupid, dumber even than her husband.” Annie’s gun swung toward Kieran. “And you—you’re so in love! That big, hot agent. Where the hell is he now?”
“Here, he’s right damned here!”
Craig jumped out of the shadows near the wall at the foot of the stairs; he took careful aim, and he fired.
The bullet hit Annie’s hand, and her gun went flying.
Kieran shoved the man away from her—far away. He was still carrying a flamethrower.
She seized her chance and dived to the floor, rolling as far as she possibly could from Simon Wrigley and his accomplice, Annie Sullivan.
Simon had jumped at the sound of the bullet.
Jerking, his hand spasmed.
The flamethrower spewed fire.
But it was Simon Wrigley who burst into flames, screaming in agony and rage. Somewhere on him, he had carried a small cannister of gasoline, and he had lit himself afire.
He staggered forward; Annie saw his intention. She screamed and screamed again—in pain from the wound to her hand, and fear of the flaming figure stumbling toward her.
Too late.
Simon Wrigley plowed into her and encompassed her in his arms.
And, together, they burst into flames.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“HORRIBLE, JUST HORRIBLE,�
� Cliff Watkins said, shaking his head. “But you and I were both right. As crazy as he really was, as tragic his crimes, Raoul Nicholson was nowhere near the monster that Simon Wrigley proved to be. And Annie Sullivan! So sweet—there’s a lesson. Watch out for charming women.”
“Yeah,” Milo said glumly, turning a dark shade of red. He winced and admitted, “She had me. I had no idea of what went on... I don’t know how she managed to stick me, or how she managed to get whatever it was she stuck me with. She really was out of it when we reached her. And Simon! He strangled himself? Man...but wow. I’d better stay away from women for a long, long time.”
“Hey, we’re not all evil,” Kieran protested.
They were, naturally, at Finnegan’s.
Monday night had turned into Tuesday with no one sleeping; there had been paperwork that seemed endless—after police and agents had swarmed the old warehouse; after the ambulances had come for the corpses of Nicholson, Wrigley, and Annie Sullivan. After meeting with Egan, finding out if Milo was all right, discovering how Annie had slipped out, drugging Milo before the police officer had come on duty, leaving in a stolen labcoat, just walking out with a smile as if she belonged there, unnoticed by those who didn’t expect a frightened patient to be attempting an escape.
Now, Tuesday night had come, and while everyone was exhausted, Finnegan’s had seemed the place to come to try to shake it all off. To come to terms with the fact that one man had caused the deaths of so many people—because of something so simple as greed. Well, greed, wanting a building, hating a man who didn’t appreciate him—and being so deranged it boggles the mind.
Milo shook his head. “I was just taken so easily.”
“Hey, we were all fooled by Annie,” Kieran assured him.
“And Simon Wrigley. Sometimes, the obvious is the obvious. We were so focused on the fact that it couldn’t have been Nicholson who had killed Mayhew and Blom that we accepted the fact that he was head of a security firm, and so a very unlikely suspect,” Craig said. “But we did research him. His record was clean as a whistle.”
“Yeah, well, that kind of record doesn’t show that the guy was into some wicked sex practices. We talked to Nicholson’s wife, but too bad we didn’t talk to one of Simon Wrigley’s ex-wives. If we’d known why they were ex-wives, we might have had a clue that he could knock himself out—strangling himself!” Mike said.
“I kept thinking that Nicholson’s wife had to have been the one who helped him,” Milo said. “Well, I guess she did, but because of what bull was fed to her.”
“She’s disturbed herself, and dangerous, too, I think. I’m out of it—completely,” Cliff said. “The prosecutor is trying to decide if there are charges he can bring against her, but she’d have to be really involved somehow, and he’s not sure.” He grimaced.
Richard Egan spoke up. “It’s not against the law to be crazy. But we’re still delving into whatever part she might have had in what her husband did. She was pliable and usable, but Nicholson would have gone away for the rest of his life—if Wrigley hadn’t murdered him.”
“I do just thank God that I’m out of it!” Cliff said. He lifted his glass and took a long swallow of his draft; he’d opted for beer that night. Maybe he didn’t need the straight shots, now that he saw an end to the Nicholson affair.
Kieran smiled weakly, glancing over at Craig—and feeling bad that she had suspected the attorney and suggested that he might have been in on it.
Craig grimaced back at her, reminding her that they had both suspected the attorney.
“I’m still feeling like an idiot,” Milo said.
“Hey, in a way, I read people for a living, and she had me convinced, too,” Kieran said.
Milo nodded glumly. “So, you’re going to marry Craig, right? Did you all set a date yet?”
Kieran looked at Craig. “Ah...”
“Yes,” he said.
“We have?”
“Well, almost,” he said. “I was thinking Christmas.”
“And the reception will be here!” Kieran turned. She hadn’t heard her brother Declan come up behind her, joining the conversation at the table.
She looked at him and saw that both Danny and Kevin were there, as well, and that Mary Kathleen was rounding out the group.
“The pressure is on!” Mike said, grinning.
Kieran grinned. “Christmas—a few weeks before. And, yes, we’ll have the reception right here.”
“Slainte! Finally!” Declan declared.
The toast went around.
It had grown late. Assistant Director Egan and Cliff Watkins left at the same time. Then Milo said that he was going to go to bed and get a start on the days off he’d been given for the extra hours he had put into the case.
Mike looked at Craig. “No one gave us a day off.”
“Yeah, aren’t you the one who taught me that the lead agents would be needed to sort out the last details on a high-profile case—for days?”
Mike shrugged. “Yeah, that would be me. All right, then, I’m out of here. Oh, let’s make it a late morning though, huh?”
“I’m sure that will work,” Craig said.
He looked at Kieran and smiled. “Tired?” he asked softly.
“Exhausted. I’ll grab Ruff.” She hesitated. “I feel so bad...but I hope that we really are doing the best thing for a stranger who lost his life the way he did. Ruff is...”
“He’s a good dog, and I sincerely think that Olav Blom would be grateful to know that he was going to be taken care of the rest of his days. Grab our adoptee. Let’s get going.”
Kieran headed to Declan’s office for the pup. Apparently her brothers had taken turns spending some time with the little guy and let him out for breaks while Kieran had been off being bait for a serial killer.
They said good-night to her brothers, and walked the distance to their apartment.
As they headed up in the elevator, Craig turned to Kieran and said softly, “You know, you handled yourself like the best of our agents. Mike joked that you should go to the Academy. I’m afraid every time you become involved in something, and yet you have as much right as I do to go after what you see as right. If you wanted...”
“I like my job,” Kieran said. “I like working with those who could be in trouble, but who just need to learn to understand themselves and work past the bad parts... I don’t think I really want to do what you do.”
He smiled. “Good. I’d like to think you’re safe sometimes.”
“I’d like that, too,” she assured him.
He opened their apartment door, closed and locked it, and keyed in the alarm. Then he looked at her, an arch in his brow.
“It has been a long, long couple of days,” he said.
“Sure has.”
“But here’s the thing... We’re tired. We have to wind down. We now need a certain kind of rest. You know—we need to turn our minds off.”
She laughed softly.
“Well?”
“My mind needs to be turned off, too.”
He pulled her into his arms. “A Christmas wedding...and for tonight, a vacation for my mind and pure luxury for body, heart, and soul.” He grew sober suddenly, smoothing back her hair. “That’s life, you know. Living while other stuff goes on—taking moments in the midst of everything else and remembering just how special some moments are.”
She stood on her toes and very gently kissed his lips. “I cherish those moments,” she assured him, and added, “Just let me put junior to bed, and I’ll race you up the stairs. I very much want to seize a special moment with...with my mind magnificently turned off!”
She hurried to put the dog in his room for the night.
“Hey!” Craig called. “The dog can be in the wedding party, too, you know!”
She smiled, set Ruff on his pillow on the floor, and turned.
/>
Then they raced up the stairs, ready to forget the case, and remember all that was so special and precious in life.
EPILOGUE
THE DAY CAME.
New York was beautiful at Christmastime. The church was decorated with lights and garlands of greenery.
Neither Craig nor Kieran were much for details; they’d even contemplated getting married on the courthouse steps.
But Declan was so honored by the concept of walking his sister down the aisle as the oldest Finnegan sibling, and Danny and Kevin had been eager to be groomsmen.
Craig had his own cousin, Finn Douglas, anxious to be his best man, and Mary Kathleen wanted to be Kieran’s maid of honor.
And so, it all came about, the church decorated for Christmas and their wedding. He and his groomsmen were dressed in kilts—he was wearing his family’s clan Frazier colors, and the others the Irish Finnegan plaid. The bridesmaids all wore beautiful green dresses and were adorned with plaid shawls to honor the bride.
Kieran looked so beautiful. All brides were beautiful, but Craig thought there couldn’t possibly be one as stunning as his bride. All the empathy and honor and integrity and humor of the woman seemed to shine through. And the mischief, of course. Because Kieran was going to be very traditional to honor her family, but she was also going to stop and kiss a few kids and friends on the heads or cheeks as she came down the aisle. He supposed they were a playful family. After all, Ruff was the ring bearer.
From the rehearsal to the real deal, Ruff moved with his ears up and his head high, regal as he walked straight down the aisle to take his place at the altar.
Father Anthony had been fine with it—he, too, had fallen in love with the little creature.
Ruff was just that kind of dog.
Then there were the vows. Craig had written his own, as had Kieran. In those vows, he told her that it wasn’t so much that she had changed his life—rather, she had become his life. And he was so grateful, and so in love. Grateful that he’d found someone like her: passionate, caring, amazing. They never seemed to detract from one another; they just gave, and he prayed that he could make her life as complete as she made his.
The Final Deception Page 27