by Jeff Gunhus
“And Natalie. That wasn’t Harris, was it? You killed her and then you killed him.”
Mike stood over her, head cocked to one side.
“And you were going to sleep with me,” he said, laughing. “Can you imagine? I mean, how screwed up is that?”
“You used me,” she said. “Just like you’ve been using Garret all these years.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. That idiot gave me everything I needed to kill over a dozen people and not be caught,” Mike said. “You just gave me Natalie.”
Allison felt her throat constrict and her eyes sting. The words rang true. She had given him Natalie. She’d led him right to her.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked. “Obviously, I have to kill you. But how?”
Allison didn’t reply. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“A bullet to the head might be fine. Here’s the story. FBI agent, distraught after the death of someone she swore to protect, gets overburdened by the job, takes her own life at the site of the fire where a second person she tried to save had died the day before. Pretty compelling, don’t you think?”
Allison stared back at him, defiant and unbending. She wondered if he’d noticed the bulge around her shin where her ankle holster was tied. With the gun pointed at her head, maybe he’d noticed it but didn’t feel threatened.
“But before that, I need to know how you figured it out. What made you suspicious? Who else did you talk to about me?”
Allison remained silent.
Mike shook his head, feigning disappointment. Then his posture changed and he smiled. “You know what? I was just thinking earlier today just how much I enjoyed meeting your dad.”
He was baiting her, but she couldn’t help but react. “Turns out I was right about you from the beginning, Mike. You are an asshole.”
He looked away as if considering something. “True, but your dad liked me. I think I’ll pay him a visit.” When he looked back at her, there was a wild, hungry look in his eye that made her skin crawl. “Trust me, I’ll enjoy the visit more than he will. And it won’t be short. I’ll take my time. Go slow with him. Unless you tell me what you figured out and who else suspects anything.”
Allison glanced over her shoulder through the trees. There was no one coming to her rescue. “It started with the fact that you had so much time right before Harris shot me, but you didn’t stop him. You were right there, gun in hand. You had the means to save me, but you didn’t pull the trigger.”
“A civilian freezing in a life and death situation,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Easy explanation. I can see that being disappointing but not enough to make you suspect me.”
“Then I started to think about motive. What if you didn’t shoot because you had actually wanted Harris to finish me off? As wild as that sounded, was there a reason you would do that?”
Mike held up the computer bag.
“Exactly,” Allison said. “The videos. And Harris told us he had the hard drive already. And a backup on a laptop. Natalie was tied up in the car at one point, so he was obviously prepared to drive off. With him dead, there’s no reasonable explanation why the crime scene guys didn’t turn up the hard drive. That leaves opportunity. You were the last man standing. If Harris was telling the truth and the hard drive and laptop existed, then you had to have grabbed them for yourself before Sheriff Frank got there.”
“If Harris was telling the truth,” Mike said. “And there’s no evidence he was. Did you tell all this to Garret?” He laughed. “No, I bet not. He would have thought you were crazy.”
“Then there were little things,” Allison continued. “When we did the enactment, you held out your right hand pretending it was the gun,” Allison said. “Then when you signed your statement, you used your left hand. I thought back and you’ve been going out of your way to use your right hand. You knew from Maurice that I suspected the killer was left-handed.”
“Again, hardly evidence.”
Allison shrugged. “It was the small things that added up. So when I found your phone in my bag I suspected it was a tracking device. I’d recently had some experience with people tracking my movements through a phone, so it was the first thing I thought. But the second thing I thought was how great it was that you gave me the perfect opening to fake my own departure from the scene so that I could track your actions to see if my instinct was right. Honestly, I was hoping it wasn’t.”
Mike shook his head. “Sorry it didn’t work out for you.”
Allison laughed.
Soft at first, but then a little louder.
Mike squinted, confused.
“You know what?” Allison said. “I’m going to really enjoy studying you while you rot in prison. You’re fascinating for none of the reasons you think you are.”
Mike laughed, but he looked nervous. “You don’t have anything on me. Even if you told all that to Garret, there’s nothing there.”
She reached into her pocket and he waved the gun at her. “Hey now.”
She slowed down and pulled out a phone, pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. “Garret, are you there?” she said.
The color drained from Mike’s face as he stared at the phone. There was a long pause. Too long. Allison felt her stomach roll over. What if Garret had hung up? Or if she’d turned the phone off by accident in her pocket? She stood with the phone held out in front of her, feeling increasingly foolish as the seconds ticked away. Mike began to smile.
“Guess it’s just the two of us,” Mike said.
Allison turned the phone toward her, dreading the idea of seeing a dead screen there. But just as she did, the answer she wanted finally came from the phone.
“I’m here,” Garret said, sounding like someone had punched him in the gut. “On our way to your location.”
Mike smacked her hand and the phone went flying into the bushes. If Garret tried to say anything else it was lost to them. When she turned back to Mike, his smile was gone.
“I don’t know why you look so smug,” he snarled.
“Because you’re finished.”
“You think I’m not prepared for this? I’ll be gone before Garret gets here and they’ll never find me.” He aimed the gun at her head. “But they will find you.”
Allison slowly kneeled down and pulled up her pant leg, showing him the gun there. “Remember you told me I wasn’t nearly as smart as I thought I was?” She reached for the gun. “Well, it might not be saying much, but looks like I’m smarter than you.”
Mike pulled the trigger.
Click
Click
Click
Allison didn’t even blink. She knew the gun was empty. From the beginning, it’d been bait to see whether Mike was a reporter who’d overstepped his bounds, or a killer who needed to be taken down.
She pulled out her ankle gun and pointed it at him. “This is over.”
“No!” Mike roared and lunged at her.
She shot twice. Once in his leg and the other in the shoulder.
He spun in the air and fell to the ground, grabbing at his wounds.
Allison watched him closely, his face twisted in agony. She didn’t know whether it was more from the two bullets in his flesh or knowing that he’d been had.
He struggled to his feet, growling and drooling like a rabid dog. He came after her again.
She put another bullet in his other leg.
He dropped to the ground, howling in pain.
“Stay down,” she yelled.
But he pulled himself up on his elbows, then dragged himself to his feet.
“You’re going to have to kill me,” he said, stumbling at her. “I’m not going to prison.”
She dodged easily and kicked him off balance. He fell to the ground hard, screaming in pain. And he appeared ready to stay there.
Allison walked closer, careful to keep her distance in case he lunged again. “Remember I told you I wanted revenge more than justice?” she said. “Seeing you r
ot in prison like a caged animal…that’s the best revenge I can think of.”
“They’re all still dead,” he said. “Doesn’t…ch—ch—change…anything.”
“Maybe,” Allison said. “Neither does this.” She stepped on the gunshot wound in his shoulder and he screamed in pain. “But damn if it doesn’t make me feel better.”
She heard voices coming through the forest. It would be the fire inspection guys first, then Garret and his team would come next. There would be a lot of questions to answer over the next few weeks. Uncomfortable ones about how a serial killer had essentially infiltrated the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, including Allison’s own involvement in bringing him to Harlow. But there was one question she didn’t want answered publicly.
Minutes later, as Mike was read his rights in front of a flustered Garret Morrison and carted off on a stretcher under armed guard, there was no sign of the laptop or back-up drives that had caused so much pain to so many people.
That was something Allison intended to take care of personally outside of official channels.
54
Libby stood up when Summerhays walked into the room. He had a fleeting mental image of serious men and women standing up in the Cabinet room, or of generals and admirals rising in the situation room in deference to the Commander-In-Chief. Libby realized that Summerhays probably spent his entire life feeling that people ought to stand up for him whenever he arrived, only now he could envision it with the sound of “Hail to the Chief” filling the air.
Bile rose in the back of Libby’s throat and he had to grab the back of the upholstered chair to steady himself. His palms were slick and he felt the trickle of sweat down his rib cage.
“Libby, my man,” Summerhays bellowed, generating jealous looks from the staff accompanying him. It was the way on successful campaigns. Once victory seemed inevitable, talent flocked in and vied for the candidate’s attention. It was a zero-sum game and the stakes were no less than having the ear of the man clearly on track to become the next leader of the free world.
“We need to talk,” Libby said softly.
“Sure, sure,” Summerhays said, turning to an aide handing him a stack of papers.
Libby cleared his throat. “I mean now.”
“In a minute.”
“No, now.”
The words came out louder than he meant them to, so loud that they seemed to nearly echo in the large hotel suite. Libby felt his heart pound in his chest. The flurry of activity by the entourage slowed noticeably, going from frenzied action to just enough to appear busy while waiting for the train wreck about to happen.
Summerhays hardly looked up from the paper he was reading. After a couple of beats where Libby considered that perhaps the man actually hadn’t heard him, Summerhays quietly said, “Can you all give us the room please?”
Libby marveled at the way people stumbled over themselves to be the first out of the room. Twenty-thousand-dollar-per-week consultants nudging interns out of the way to squeeze through the bottleneck at the main door. No one wanted to be the one Summerhays looked at and wondered why his direct order hadn’t been followed faster.
The last staffer left the room and closed the door with a bang.
The second it shut, Summerhays threw down the paper in his hands. “What the hell was that?” he asked. “You can’t talk to me like that. Not anymore.”
“It’s Harris,” Libby said. “I told you not to use him.”
Summerhays looked pale. “The video. It is…is it going to…”
Libby shook his head. “No, it’s not that.”
Summerhays exhaled heavily. “Thank God. Jesus, don’t do that to me.”
“This isn’t about some goddamn sex tape,” Libby said. “Harris left a trail of bodies behind him. I told him he wasn’t to hurt anyone. Under any conditions.”
“Then good thing he was working for me instead of you, isn’t it?” Summerhays said. “Christ, Libby, don’t go losing your edge on me. Not now.”
“My edge?” Libby said. “He killed people.”
“Do you know how many people do that for a President? The military does it every day.”
“Oh my God, you’ve lost it,” Libby said. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?”
Summerhays shrugged. “I knew Harris wouldn’t leave any loose ends. If that meant a few nobodies had to die, then so be it. Sacrifices have to be made. For the greater good.”
“You knew I’d call Harris,” Libby said. “You even suggested it later, even though you already had him working on this. You were directing him personally, but you still got me involved. Why would you…” He watched Summerhays cross the room to a liquor service and pour a drink for himself. The smug bastard didn’t even offer him one. “Now I see. If they trace Harris back somehow, it’s to me, not you.”
“Like I said, sacrifices have to be made,” Summerhays said. “The important thing is Harris neutralized a threat. That’s all that’s important.”
“Who are you?” Libby asked.
“I’m the next President of the United States,” Summerhays said, raising a glass toward Libby. “Thanks to you.”
“I need some air,” Libby said, crossing the room toward the door.
Summerhays grabbed his arm as he passed.
“We’re in this together, Libby. To the end.” He squeezed painfully. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
Libby nodded. He opened the door and the swell of the campaign washed over him. Staffers pushed past, filling the void he’d left in the room behind him, all lining up to do the bidding of the great Mark Summerhays. He took one glance back and saw Summerhays take a seat on the couch, glass in hand, calmly holding court over the madness.
Libby pushed his way through the throng of people in the hallway, past the Secret Service guards afforded Summerhays due to his front-runner status and into the elevator. He went down to the third floor and got off. This seemed like a wasteland compared to the hustle and bustle of the top floor but he thought the silence was appropriate. It was a funeral after all.
He knocked on room 312 and his father opened the door. Libby had been to the room earlier, it was where they had set him up with the wire, the same wire that had just exonerated him and ended a man’s presidential run.
They shared a moment, just the two of them, father and son.
Mason reached out his hand and Libby took it, shaking it slowly.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
“Yeah? Well, I’m not so proud of myself,” Libby said.
“The team is going to make the arrest now. I don’t think you want to be here for it.”
“No,” Libby said. “I’m all right. I own part of this. I’m going to see it through.”
Mason nodded and opened the door for him to come into the room. Libby walked through and immediately heard the playback of his voice on the speakers. He looked at a monitor and saw video from the tiny camera they’d installed in his suit collar. It wasn’t lined up perfectly on Summerhays but it was close enough.
A young woman he didn’t know stood watching the monitor, leaning heavily on crutches, one of her legs wrapped in a heavy brace. When she turned to look at him, he was struck that someone so beautiful could look so angry.
Mason waved her over.
“Special Agent McNeil, this is Libby Ashworth. My son.”
The agent extended her hand and he shook it.
“Turns out a video was the man’s undoing after all,” she said.
“So the other videos were never found,” Libby said.
Mason looked to his junior agent, a mysterious smirk on his face. “I think Allison is the only one who knows the answer to that question,” he said.
Allison shook her head. “We found a video of the killer, Mike Carrel, but that was the only one ever recovered.” She looked at Mason. “It’s probably better that way, don’t you think?”
Mason smiled. “Probably.”
“Excuse me,” Allison said. “The
Attorney General is about to make the arrest. I’d like to be there for it.”
“Of course,” Mason said. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you,” she said, handing Mason an envelope. “This is for you.”
Mason took the envelope and opened it as Libby watched her leave. “What’s her story?” he asked.
“She’s young,” Mason said, grinning as he read the letter. “But she has real promise in the Bureau.”
Libby indicated the paper Mason held in his hands. “What did she give you?”
“Her resignation letter,” Mason said.
“Really,” Libby said. “I guess you were wrong about her future with the Bureau.”
“I’m often wrong, but rarely about people.” Mason put a hand on Libby’s shoulder. “Sometimes it just takes them a while to come around.”
55
“You all right, love?” Jordi asked, turning his wide girth in the driver’s seat to look at her. The fact that he’d ventured out into the real world at all was a testament to his concern for her.
“Sure,” she replied. “Just a little tired is all.”
“You sure about this? Quitting and all?”
Allison looked at her dad’s house and nodded. She’d been home to check on her dad since coming back from West Virginia but only for an hour at a time when she could. Mike Carrel’s capture and then the circus around Summerhays had taken all of her endurance. Matching wits with Clarence Mason on a good day was hard enough but the relentless, if cordial, questioning by him about what really happened in Harlow sapped her of all her strength.
In the end, she had no doubt that Mason knew she had the videos. It was too convenient that she had recovered the video of Catherine Fews/Tracy Bain’s murder and nothing else. The first responders on the night Allison was shot were questioned again and still nothing. Finally, Mason had asked her the only question worth asking.
“If you had the videos, would you give them to me?”
Her answer was quick and unequivocal. “No.”