The Bullet

by Iris Johansen

  “Right.” He headed for the door. “I guarantee those photos are considerably different from your reconstructions he’s become accustomed to seeing.” He looked back at her. “I still don’t want you to look at them.”

  “Go say good-bye to Michael.”

  He shook his head and went in the house.

  She gazed down at his tablet. Then she forced herself to open it.

  ST. PETERSBURG—KATYA TARVONA.

  She inhaled sharply as she was assaulted by the sheer brutality of the photos. Youth and eagerness, then death and destruction.

  She had told Joe she would glance through the photos, but she was held, horrified into sluggish inertia. She went through each one, digesting each sick detail. Then it was done, and she could close the tablet. She drew a deep breath and stared out at the lake, which was clean and blue, trying to forget the faces of those young girls who’d had their lives cut short by a monster. Trying to forget how close Cara must be to that monster.

  “Okay?” Joe was standing in the doorway behind her with Michael at his side.

  She nodded and handed Joe his tablet. “I was just thinking that it’s likely Michael and I will definitely pay that visit to Catherine.”

  “I was afraid of that. Call me so that I can talk you out of it.” He looked down at his son. “Walk me to the car?”

  “Phone as soon as you make contact with Jock.” She kissed him and held him tight for a long moment. “Be safe.”

  “Always.” He was walking beside Michael down the steps. “And I don’t have to worry about you. Michael and you are a great team.”

  “You bet we are.” She watched him hug Michael a final time and knew he was whispering something in his ear. Guy stuff, again? Then Michael was waving good-bye to him as he drove out of the driveway. Then Michael was running up the steps. He nestled close to her as they watched Joe drive down the road until he was out of sight as he turned the corner.

  “What did he whisper to you?” She smiled down at him. “Or do you have to keep it a secret?”

  “Nah, he just told me not to be a pain in the neck and make sure you don’t worry.”

  “You’re supposed to make sure I’m not worrying? That sounds like your dad. I’m not the one going away. Next time, tell him he should be the one you worry about.”

  “He wouldn’t like that.” Then his smile faded as his gaze went back to the point where Joe’s car had disappeared around the bend. “But you’re right, he’s the one I should worry about…”

  * * *

  The red peasant-style blouse Cara had put on after her shower was one of Michael’s favorites, Cara remembered as she gazed in the mirror. He thought it made her look happy and not so serious as her usual neutral-tone shirts and slacks. But then Michael was always about being happy. She reached up to touch the simple low neck. She usually wore it with a gold cross Jock had given her years ago, and she felt strange without it.

  Jock …

  “Very good.” Svardak was standing in the doorway behind her. “I knew it would be perfect.” He was gazing critically at her hair. “Not quite perfect. Your hair is still wet. I can take care of that.” He went to the vanity and pulled out a blow-dryer. “I thought I’d bought one of these for Marian…”

  “No!” She jerked away from him.

  “Oh, you don’t like the idea of using Marian’s possessions?” He was staring at her maliciously as he turned on the dryer. “She only used it the one time, when I had to make her presentable for her photo. She didn’t complain. By that time she knew better. Now stand still and let me dry your hair, or I’ll be forced to beat you with this very expensive dryer. That would leave nasty bruises. Much worse than the ones I’ve already given you. You don’t want to upset Kaskov when he sees the photo. The first photo is always serene and happy. Contrast.”

  She gazed in revulsion at the nozzle of the hair dryer. In his hands, the dryer looked like a small snake. But she didn’t want to argue and give Svardak any other weapons. She unclenched her hands. “It wouldn’t upset Kaskov. I told you that he doesn’t care anything for me.” She had to raise her voice as he brought the hair dryer closer as he blew through the long strands. “You must know that my grandfather’s occupation doesn’t lend itself to being either tender or loving. Life is all about him.”

  “Shut up. I’m concentrating. It has to be just right.” He added softly, “This should make you feel even closer to Marian. Don’t you feel the intimacy?”

  She did feel an intimacy, but not the way he meant. He wanted her to feel helpless that he was repeating this act that had preceded Marian’s death. She didn’t feel helpless. She felt angry and sad, together with a growing recklessness that surprised her. She didn’t care that he held the power. No one should be permitted to do what he’d done to Marian Napier. No one should be permitted to hurt Eve and Joe the way Cara knew they’d be suffering by now. She could take whatever he’d do to her. He had to realize that in the end it wouldn’t matter, he wouldn’t matter.

  “That’s the way you should be,” he murmured. “Meek and compliant.” He held up a strand of her hair. “See how it shines now. And look how rosy your cheeks are from the heat of the dryer.”

  “Maybe not from the dryer.” She held up her wrists. “Are you going to take the chains off me? You promised me something to eat. Unless you just want to throw me some bread and water?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” He unlocked the cuffs from the chain. “What good is surface polish if you look like you’re starving? Before and After.” He pushed her toward the door. “I have a bowl of stew for you on the bar. Be sure not to spill anything on that blouse. You look like a gypsy, much better than that insipid gown you wore at the concert.”

  “What concert? I know you weren’t at the charity concert at the hotel.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I would have been nauseated to see them all fawning over you as if you were some angel of mercy. No, I had a box at the concert in Charlotte. That way I could ignore your lack of skill and concentrate on what was going to come afterward.”

  “You mean this horror you’ve dreamed up?” She sat at the bar and looked down at the unappetizing stew in the bowl in front of her. “What a completely useless life you must lead to have to depend on slaughter to keep you amused. You might think I have no skill, but I don’t destroy.” She began to eat the stew. Cold and lumpy. Yet she had to keep up her strength. “And you’re wrong, I’m actually very good. I’ve been taught by experts, and I’ve worked hard.” She forced herself to take another bite. “And Marian Napier was also good. You just don’t have the judgment to appreciate anything that’s outside your own narrow viewpoint. Whoever taught you about music must have been extremely limited and without any sense of—”

  “Bitch!” He knocked her off the stool. She fell hard on the floor, striking her temple. It took her a moment to recover. She shook her head to clear it of the waves of pain. The blow had come so swiftly, she’d had no time to brace herself. He was standing over her with clenched hands. “Limited? Anna was superb. It’s the rest of you who know nothing. You have no discipline or control.”

  There was something here that she might be able to use … She slowly got up on one elbow. “Anna? Your sister?”

  “Of course. Anna had no limits. She was so perfect, everyone was jealous of her skill and tried to crush her.”

  “She played the violin?”

  “Of course. So much better than you.”

  “Then I would like to hear her.” She paused. “But you’re speaking past tense. She’s not alive?”

  “No.” His face was twisted with pain. “He killed her. She didn’t think he’d find her, but he did. She told me she’d come and get me, but she didn’t. He hunted her down and shot her and she never came back to get me at that hospital.”

  “Who did it?”

  “You know who shot her.” His face was flushed, his eyes glittering. “You know who killed them all.”

  “I have an idea it had
to be Kaskov. But I don’t know why. Tell me.”

  “No.” He was suddenly smiling recklessly. “I’ll let him tell you. But not now, it has to be the right time.” He reached down and jerked her to her feet. “And he has to have the Before photo to prepare him. So that he’ll know what’s coming next.” He slung her into the chair in front of the fireplace. “But you’ll not insult my sister again, or I’ll use that fire poker to scar that pretty face.”

  “I didn’t know I was insulting her. I don’t insult other artists. I was just remarking on your lack of judgment. I didn’t realize she had taught you. How could I? I don’t know anything about you.”

  “You’ll learn very soon.” He was backing away from her, his head tilted as he studied her. “Yes, that chair is perfect for you.” He went behind the bar and got his phone. “And I knew the red top would show you off beautifully.” He was clicking photos with his phone camera. “Now the violin…” He went to the kitchen pantry and pulled out her violin case. He set it in front of her. “Open it, I know you’ve missed it. Such a wonderful instrument. Anna should have had one like it.”

  “There’s no other instrument like it. Each Amati or Stradivarius is unique and individual. If your sister was as clever and talented as you claim, she’d know that.” She took the violin out of the case, her palms unconsciously caressing the fine wood. “Even if you don’t.” The violin felt so good in her hands. Just touching it made her feel that wonderful sense of belonging, bonding to something that was part of her and yet part of the world around her. “But any violinist would appreciate this Amati.”

  “And you love it.” His eyes were narrowed on her face. “Kaskov gave it to you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. But I don’t love it because it came from him. I love it because it makes beautiful music.” She looked down at the strings. “We complete each other. We make beautiful music together.”

  He scowled. “You don’t, you know. You’re mistaken.”

  “I won’t argue with you.” She glanced up at him. “Take your photo.”

  “You don’t give me orders. I want you to look perfectly natural.” He came forward, unlocked her handcuffs, and took them off. “I want you to look the way you did at that concert.” He smiled mockingly. “Play for me, Cara.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the Before photograph, the one to cherish and remember.”

  She looked up at the photo of Marian Napier on the wall. No smile, but all the glow of youth and courage was in that face. Cara wished she’d had a chance to know her. The longer she was here, the closer she felt to Marian. “That’s her Before photo? Who has the After?”

  “I’m sure you can guess. Kaskov, of course. But you really wouldn’t want to see it. Play, Cara. I’m becoming impatient.”

  She was tempted to refuse, but he would only force her, and the violin might be damaged in the conflict. It didn’t really matter. She wanted to play. It would release a little of this poison that he’d injected every minute she’d been with him.

  She tucked her violin beneath her chin and began to play the Tchaikovsky.

  “No,” Svardak said instantly. “Something else. Maybe the same Mendelssohn as Marian played.”

  She paused. “I’m not Marian. You want me to play? I’ll play what I like and how I like. You shouldn’t care, you said we were both amateurs, didn’t you?” She started to play the Tchaikovsky again. “You want me to look the way I did at the concert? I played the Tchaikovsky.”

  Just try to get away from him. Let the music take her to that magic place that had always been her joy and her solace. She could see how tense and resistant he was. She half expected him to step forward and strike her again.

  It didn’t happen. She didn’t look at him, but she was vaguely aware that he was just standing there, listening. Then she wasn’t aware of him at all, he vanished as the music swept her away.

  Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Dvorak. Then, exquisite, exciting Vivaldi. The music rose, fell, surrounding her, completing her …

  Then she went back to the Tchaikovsky and began again.

  “Stop it!” Svardak stepped forward and tore the violin away from her and threw it on her lap. “It’s ugly. It’s an abomination.”

  “Is it?” She was breathing hard, she could feel the heat in her cheeks as she stared defiantly up at him. “What a liar you are. You know it’s not ugly. I can see it in your face. You liked it.”

  “I was only letting it go on to get what I wanted from you,” he said hoarsely. He was taking photo after photo of her at top speed. But Cara saw with shock that his hands were shaking. “But I couldn’t let you do that Tchaikovsky again. You’re too … flamboyant and personal. She would have hated it.”

  “Anna?” Her gaze was watching him, assessing. “Then she was also a liar. Music is personal. Music is supposed to reach out, raise the spirits of those listening, not glorify the artist.”

  Her head snapped back as his hand lashed out and cracked against her cheek. “She didn’t lie. He was the one who was wrong. We were right to do what we did.”

  She ignored the pain but had to wait a few seconds until the dizziness disappeared. “Really?” She had to be careful now, she told herself. She might have gone too far. He was very close to losing control. She had just been caught up in the exhilaration of the moment and the knowledge that Svardak might not be quite as committed to his weird fantasy as she’d thought. But if he wasn’t, the idea that he’d already killed Marian to serve it was even more terrible. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

  “Why should I? You’re nothing.” He was putting the handcuffs back on her. “You’ll know soon enough. I’ve decided to let Kaskov see more than a photo tomorrow.” He jerked her across the room, then outside. “In the meantime, I don’t even want to be in the same house with you. Just looking at you I’d hear that hideous music.” He was dragging her toward the pine tree overlooking the abyss. “You can stay out here today and commune with Marian.” He’d already rigged a chain around the tree, to which he fastened the cuffs. “While I go through those photos and choose the best one to send Kaskov tonight. It has to be just right.”

  “It’s still daylight. Aren’t you afraid someone will see me out here?”

  “Not at all. The trees are so thick on this cliff that you couldn’t be seen from a plane. I’ve leased the lands all around here and, as you’ve seen, I have guards stationed here and also along the paths down to that canyon. No trespassers allowed.” He looked back over his shoulder with a malicious smile. “Unless I choose to permit it. Did I forget to tell you that I gave the guards a photo of Joe Quinn and told them he’d be my special guest if he stopped by to see me?”

  “Yes, you must have left that out.” Don’t let him see the shock and fear. “But you said you weren’t worried about my being seen by anyone, so I won’t worry about Joe.”

  He didn’t like that she could tell. His smile didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of impatience on his face. “Worry about him. Arrangements can always be made.”

  He disappeared into the cabin.

  Terror. Breathe deep. Look straight ahead and don’t let him see the fear. She could tell he was feeding on every sign that the torture he was inflicting was working. She allowed herself a few moments before she relaxed and sank back against the tree in case he was still watching her. She must not show weakness, or it would destroy anything she’d accomplished in establishing herself as an equal foe to him. She could take the punishment as long as it made him believe he still had a battle to win. Once he thought that she’d capitulated and was no longer worthy of him, it would become much more dangerous for her.

  And dangerous for Joe, Svardak would search for more entertaining ways to make her to come to heel, and he thought he already had one in Joe Quinn.

  For God’s sake, stay away from here, Joe.

  * * *

  “Where the hell have you been?” Joe said as he saw Jock striding across the parking lot of the Mountain Stream Din
er toward his rental car. “I’ve been waiting half the day for you.”

  “Be quiet, Joe. I was busy. I decided not to stop in the middle of it.” Jock opened the car door and dropped down in the passenger seat. “I might have found her.”

  Joe tensed. “Cara? Where?”

  Jock was taking out a map from his jacket pocket. “The general area is a canyon about fifteen miles from Coal Town. Mountains all around and very rough country. The canyon sits in the middle of a mountain on one side and a cliff that curves in a half circle on the other. Svardak would need privacy if he held Marian Napier there for over a month. Not an area where hunters and climbers would be permitted.” He pointed at the canyon, and then the mountain and steep cliff shadowing the valley below. “I called Palik and had him check out real-estate transactions in the Coal Town area for the last six months. While I was waiting, I took a hike to look at the canyon myself. It was definitely a possible.”

  “What did Palik say?”

  “A six-month lease on the entire canyon and mountain area was taken out three months ago, supposedly by a Canadian real-estate company that wanted to explore setting up a tourist and spa resort. Palik said it was going to take him at least a week to dig up the true leasers because the paperwork is buried very deep.” He smiled bitterly. “He suggested my expertise might prove more effective than his to get it done. I told him that he’d have it for me tomorrow morning together with a complete map of that canyon, or I’d pay him a visit.”

  “I imagine that will make it happen,” Joe said. “But are there any other prospects we can check out in the meantime?”

  “Not ones that are nearly as likely.” He folded up the map and stuck it back in his pocket. “And how do we know the deadline I gave won’t be too late? I’m going back and do some more reconnoitering tonight. I just came back to get you.”