“Thanks a lot, man. Feel free to pick up whatever shit you step on. Stone’s boys rearranged the place without my permission.”
“Allegedly rearranged your place,” Ronnie said. He was a big Italian guy with thick dark hair and an easy smile. He looked more like a mobster than a Fed. I guessed he had come to that crossroads sometime earlier in life and had decided on the ‘law and order’ road.
I started picking up the place, and the guys were kind enough to give me a hand. We were anxious about the return phone call, and it helped keep us occupied. When the phone finally did ring ten minutes later, I almost shit myself.
George looked at me stone-faced. “Just be cool. Stick to the script.”
I picked it up and said “Hello,” to the blocked caller ID.
“You have something of Mr. Stone’s?” said a man’s voice.
George shook his head.
“That’s right. And as I told his office manager, I will only speak to him about it.” I hung up.
The phone rang again in seconds.
“Mr. Walker, don’t be an idiot. Mr. Stone is never going to meet you face to—”
I cut him off. “In person. Or my next call is to the newspaper. He has five minutes.” I hung up. Everyone around me smiled. I guessed I’d done well, at least so far.
The agents fanned out around the house in predetermined locations, and they started checking in with other folks I couldn’t see stationed all over the island. These guys don’t fuck around. I liked that.
Two and a half minutes later, my phone rang again.
“Earl Stone here,” he said an affable voice. “I believe you have something of mine that you want to return to me?”
“Not yours, actually. Casey’s.”
Silence. I was wondering how many guys he had sitting around his office.
“Do you want me to start discussing the contents now over the phone?”
“I don’t think that’s called for, Mr. Walker. Have some respect for my stepdaughter.”
“I have a lot more respect for her than you ever did. Now I’m gonna say this one time, so pay attention, Mr. Congressman. I want my life back. I bought a house because it was a great house. I didn’t ask for all this bullshit. I found Casey’s diary, and I know what happened that night. All I want is to be left alone. I’ll give you the book, and you give me your word you’ll leave me alone.”
“Who have you told about the diary, Mr. Walker?”
“I’m the only one who knows what’s in it. A reporter has some information in case anything happens to me. I give it back to you, and you give me your word to leave me alone. Or you keep fucking with me, and I call the newspapers and the cops. I already met a couple of your friends, and in case you’re wondering why you haven’t heard back from them, it’s because I killed those motherfuckers and dumped their asses in the ocean so far from land that they’ll never be found. I’m retired Special Forces, Stone, and if you come after me again, I’ll make you very sorry. Now do you want to meet me and end this, or would you rather read about it in the paper?”
“I know your military record, Walker. And I’ve read the police reports regarding the triple homicide. It would be a shame to see you indicted and do time for trying to defend your girlfriend.”
“That’s right, Stone. I was defending her. And now you see how nasty I can be when someone comes after me.”
“Touché. Perhaps you’re right. We should end this. How much money do you want?”
“Money? No money. Just you to call your goons off. I only meet with you, Stone. No one else. And we meet here, on Harkers Island where I’ll know if you bring any friends with you. Just me and you. That’s it. I give you the book, and you forget you ever heard of me.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I’m in Washington. Might be a few days before I can get there.”
“You have until ten o’clock tonight. You don’t show tonight at exactly ten o’clock, the newspaper gets a phone call. I have a friend over there dying to hear about what’s in the diary. Don’t fuck with me, and don’t be late. I’ll be waiting for you in the backyard by the angels. You remember them, don’t you?”
I could almost hear his veins popping out of his head. “I’ll be there at ten, Walker. Have the diary.”
Stone is coming!
George gave me a thumbs-up and called Special Agent in Charge Hess over at the CID.
Chapter Forty-Six
Pizza and Prep
Ronnie left the house for a while, and when he returned, he had five large pizza boxes. I didn’t even know Harkers Island had a pizza place. Leave it to the Feds to find it.
“I thought you guys ate doughnuts,” I said when he walked in.
“That’s before ten in the morning. What are we, animals? Jesus, Cory, be civilized.” The guys ate in shifts, and I had three slices myself. It was either better than I expected or I was just starving. I mentioned beer, but they said not until Stone was in custody. At eight, George told me it was time to ‘get wired’. I was expecting all kinds of wires to be taped on my chest or something, but that must have been old school. Instead, he popped a tiny plastic thing into my shirt collar and said, “All done.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Microphone, GPS, infrared sensor. We got you covered nine ways from Sunday. You’ll be in a dim environment by design. My guys will be all over with night vision. Your job is to get him to incriminate himself on tape. We can’t swoop in and arrest him unless he physically threatens you, but that’s a weak charge unless he tries to shoot you, and frankly, the congressman isn’t that stupid.”
“Glad to know that,” I deadpanned.
“Push his buttons. Make him talk. Try to rile him. In other words,” he smiled, “just be yourself.”
“I’m cool. After the other night, this is child’s play.”
“Yeah, well, remember,” George cautioned, “that this isn’t about killing the enemy. If you harm him physically without a definite threat against your life, we’ll end up having to arrest you. The guy’s a congressman, Cory. Please don’t forget that.”
“Well, that would be ironic, huh? We do a sting operation against a child-raping murderer, and you end up arresting me? Sounds like a military operation.”
“It’s going to be fine. You have that copy of the diary?”
“Yeah, it looks exactly like the original.”
“The lab boys are good. Plus he hasn’t seen it in twenty years…if he ever saw it. He’ll never know. Try to relax. We’re watching the bridge, the ferry dock and the waterways from the mainland. No matter how he gets here, we’ll know before he wants us to. You carrying?”
“No. I lost my Mossberg at the lighthouse.”
“No you didn’t. We have it. We’ll give it back to you after this is all over. No other weapons on you now?”
“You want to pat me down?”
“Nope. But he may want to. If he does, let him. We want him to know you are unarmed and alone.”
“I’m never defenseless. I’d prefer to kill him with my bare hands anyway.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he said seriously. “You aren’t here to kill him, understand? We have you protected in case he brings friends or tries something stupid, but you are not to physically assault the congressman. Remember… Get him talking.”
“I get it. I get it. I’ll be a good boy and just try to give him a stroke or heart attack instead.”
“Natural causes would be fine,” said George. He looked me deep in my eyes and repeated himself slowly and deliberately. “Do not assault the congressman. You may need the most restraint of your entire life.”
I exhaled and nodded. “Wilco.”
Ronnie walked back in. “We got him…in a limo coming across the bridge. Spotter says maybe three guys plus the driver. Everyone’s in position. Showtime, Cory. We are go. Good luck.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Stone
At nine-fort
y-five, I walked out to the backyard with the forged diary and sat on the ornate bench next to the garden. In the dim light, the pink flowers looked grayish white, and the white marble angels gleamed eerily. I looked up at them and my heart ached.
Three FBI agents in black jumpsuits and Kevlar vests jogged past me with their weapons out and night vision goggles on top of their heads. Their faces were covered with black masks, and Ronnie whispered, “Just be cool, bro,” as he passed me and moved into the pines and shrubs that surrounded the property.
I sat on the bench, the book in my lap, and waited. Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen lifetimes. If he walked in with guns blazing, I guessed I’d just read my obit in the Inquirer from Hell the next day.
I heard a car pull into my driveway. Three car doors opening and closing.
The sounds of footsteps on the slate walkway around the side of the house made the hair on my arms stand up. I should have been sitting in a foxhole with my SCAR or Ice, not sitting on a bench with a book for protection. All I was missing was a large bullseye on my chest.
My house was locked up and dark inside. The outside lights were on, and the Congressman knew his way around. He emerged around the corner of the house and stood. I didn’t move. For a moment, we were just frozen in time.
He finally started walking warily to me and stopped a few feet away. He looked up at the angels, and I saw his expression change. That psychologist from the Bureau had said they’d help get him talking. I hoped she was right.
I stared at this man who wanted to be the next President. He was tall and fit, with salt-and-pepper hair. He didn’t look like a child-raping murderer. He looked more like a congressman, complete with suit and tie. I found that disturbing.
“You have something of mine?” he said quietly.
“Like I said before…not yours. Casey’s.”
“All right. Casey’s. I’m her father. I’ll take it now.”
Her father? The asshole’s ego just wouldn’t stop.
“Why’d you do it, Earl?” I asked, using his first name, the way the psychologist had told me to.
“Kids… Who knows what they write in their diaries? You got kids?” He was staring at the two beautiful angels.
“You didn’t kill Casey. I know that. I mean, why’d you kill Anne?”
His head snapped in my direction, away from the angels. “I didn’t kill Anne. She was heartbroken over Casey. That McComb kid raped and killed our daughter. It was too much for any mother to endure.”
“Holy shit, Earl. You’ve been telling that story for so long you actually believe it now, don’t you? I would, too, except I read Casey’s diary. And I spoke to Detective Arthur McDade, who was mysteriously murdered this week. And I spoke to Dr. Greller, the medical examiner, who seems to have disappeared. And I spoke to Thomas Woods…”
The mention of Thomas hit a nerve. I could see it in his eyes. I’d hold that in my pocket for now. “I’ve learned a lot since I moved here and bought your house, like what a hyoid bone is. You know what a hyoid bone is, Earl?”
“I’m not interested in speeches, Walker. I’m here for the diary.”
“The one where she writes about how you used to take her panties off and spank her while you jerked off, you sick fuck?” I’d been waiting a long time to call him that personally. “How you raped your stepdaughter? That diary?”
“Give it to me, Walker. Don’t be a fool.”
“Going to send more of your goons after me? Were you there when they killed Detective McDade? No—you wouldn’t have the balls. You have people to that do that for ya, don’t you?”
“I have people that do lots of things for me, Walker. This conversation is over.” He held out his hand. “The book.”
“Yeah, it’s still here on my lap. Want me to read you the last part? The part where you raped her? She was so dead inside that she didn’t even protest. She pretended you were Ben. Did you know that?”
I could see his face turning purple, even in the dim light. The congressman had looked like a handsome candidate when I’d first seen him. Now he was just a dark, evil entity, emitting an ugliness that was palpable.
“That’s enough,” he snarled.
“Hardly. Thomas told me about that night. How Anne caught Casey on the beach with Ben. Thomas said it was an accident, that Anne didn’t mean to kill Casey.”
He took a step toward me. He started talking through teeth clenched so tight that I could hardly hear him. “That’s right, you piece of shit. It was an accident. She snapped when she saw Casey with that white trash—”
“Oh! So it was all right for Casey to fuck her stepdaddy but not her boyfriend?”
“You’re a dead man,” he growled.
If he could have, I know he would have killed me himself right then.
“Why’d you kill her, Earl?”
“She killed my daughter!” he bellowed. “That jealous bitch killed my daughter!”
“You’re a sick fuck, Stone. Casey was your stepdaughter, so luckily she didn’t have any of your fucked-up DNA. I’m gonna love watching you get the needle.”
“You’re not going to see anything. Anton!” he bellowed.
A large man appeared from around the side of the house, carrying a pistol. He was followed by another man, who was also carrying a gun.
That was when I heard Agatha’s voice. “Mister Cory? Is that Earl I hear out there with you? Earl? Is that you?”
Agatha Miles walked into my yard in her pajamas, holding her oversized cat. “Oh my, it is you! Earl! It’s been so long!” She approached him, her eyes open wide. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. He whispered to the big man in front to get the diary.
“Agatha! Stop! Turn around and go home!” I said, as controlled as I could.
“Cory? Is everything all right?”
“Go home!”
The cat leaped from Agatha’s arms and disappeared into the bushes. She stood still, looking confused as the mountain named Anton stepped forward and raised his pistol at me. When I heard the gunshots, my heart was pounding through my chest like a freight train. I waited to feel the same pain I had felt in Afghanistan.
Anton dropped to the ground, with multiple holes in his chest and face. The man behind him also dropped, dead before he hit the ground.
The Feds started charging through the brush, guns drawn. I could see Earl’s face. He stood by himself below the angels. He knew it was over.
“FBI! Don’t move, Earl Stone! FBI! Freeze!”
Agents were appearing out of nowhere, the red dots from laser sights dancing on Earl’s face and body. I held up the book for him to see and smiled.
He reached down for Anton’s gun.
“Don’t do it! Freeze! Stop or we’ll shoot!”
Earl Stone looked into my eyes and continued reaching for the gun. It seemed strangely quiet in the yard at that instant. I was aware of everything around me, like the old days in combat. I could see Agatha standing in my yard, in total shock and horror. I could see Ronnie and George and other agents charging out of the bushes in black combat gear, guns drawn. I could smell cordite from the shots that had been fired. It was all happening in slow motion, and total silence, and I was totally at peace.
The last thing I remember was George’s voice commanding Stone to stop. Stone picked up the gun and aimed right at my chest. Then the loudest noise, like submachine guns, started popping off.
One of the rounds went through Stone’s neck, and the arterial spray shot up so high it sprayed the angels’ faces. He dropped into the flowers at the base of the statue, his own blood dripping down those cheeks, like the angels were crying blood. I think maybe they were.
They seemed so tall and majestic over Stone’s bloody corpse.
Chapter Forty-Eight
And Just Like That…
I’d never been in shock after a firefight, never been frozen in combat. I’ve seen some shit. I had always been totally cool. But as I sat on the bench watching the blood run down the faces of t
hose angels, my legs wouldn’t move when I told them to stand.
Earl Stone, United States Congressman and Presidential hopeful, was lying dead in my flower garden, under the statue of his girls. I watched as the Feds scrambled around, checking vitals and calling for ambulances. I heard Ronnie yell that they had the driver in custody. But I just sat there, hearing it all somewhere far away in the distance, feeling like I was on a different planet. It was Agatha’s voice that snapped me back.
“Cory? Cory?”
I looked over and saw her standing there, helpless and terrified, and I remembered how to walk again.
I stumbled off the bench, the diary falling at the feet of Earl Stone, and ran to Agatha. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug. “It’s okay, Agatha. We’re gonna be fine.”
“Is that really Earl? Earl S-S-S…?” She was stammering.
“It’s okay. It’s all over now.”
A female agent wrapped a blanket around Agatha to walk her home.
“But my Timothy…”
“Her cat,” I said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find your cat,” the agent promised her as she led her into her own backyard.
* * * *
My yard was crawling with state police. Light towers with generators flooded my property like it was daytime. The locals were complaining because they weren’t being allowed into the rear yard, but the state police and the FBI were already having a pissing match about jurisdiction, and the Sheriff’s Department wasn’t going to trump either of them.
George pulled me inside my house and took my bug off. He got a cold beer out of the fridge and handed it to me. “You earned this one.” He handed me his cell phone. “Just press send. It’s ready to dial. Take it into your room, if you want. It’s Amanda over at Lejeune.”
He was a solid guy, that George Bauman.
Amanda was frightened, upset, mad and exhausted, but when I told her Stone was dead and it was all over, she broke down, cried and somewhere in her hysterical-sounding rambling, she did tell me that she loved me.
“Me too.”
I told her to go to sleep, and I’d make sure she got a ride over to Harkers Island as soon as she was ready in the morning.
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