An Eye for an Eye

by Irene Hannon

  “Mr. Sanders, is Emily all right?”

  With an effort, he pulled himself back to the conversation.

  “I hope so, Mrs. Martelli. Another agent and I are about ten minutes away. Do you have a key to Emily’s condo?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’d like to take a look around. She may have left some clue about where she was going.”

  “Of course. I’ll be waiting for you. And I believe I’ll say a few prayers.”

  A good idea, Mark thought somberly as he slipped the Black-Berry back onto his belt. A very good idea.

  “Joe Smith. But that is not his real name.”

  Maria’s response to Mark’s question confirmed his growing suspicion. Dale Edwards had seen Emily as a patient, using an assumed name.

  Closing his eyes, Mark tightened his grip on his BlackBerry and tried to rein in his escalating panic as Kevin sped toward Emily’s condo. “Are you sure, Maria?”

  “Yes. Randy Miller, the EAP rep, told me. He said the guy didn’t want anyone to know he was going to counseling. Loco, huh?” There was a brief pause, followed by a worried question.

  “Emily . . . she is in trouble, sí?”

  “I hope not. We’re checking it out now. What companies does Miller represent?”

  She reeled off several—including Aiken Concrete.

  Suspicion became probability.

  “Maria, I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll be in touch later.”

  Without giving her a chance to respond, he switched lines.

  “Sanders.”

  “It’s Steve. We reached Aiken, and through him the EAP rep.

  Edwards saw Dr. Lawson last week under the name Joe Smith.”

  Probability became certainty.

  “We’re pulling up in front of her condo now. I’ll get back to you.”

  “I’ll put some agents on standby. And I’ll alert Carl. We’ll find her, Mark.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  There was no question in his mind about that.

  He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  21

  The light was fading quickly, but Emily spotted Joe Smith as soon as she pulled into the parking lot. He was leaning against his car, a drink in each hand. He lifted one cup in greeting when he saw her, and she swung into the empty space beside him.

  As she gathered up her purse, she was glad she’d exchanged the dress she’d worn to church for a jean skirt and knit top. She hoped the casual attire would be less intimidating to her skittish patient than her typical office garb had been a few days ago.

  But the change of clothes had left her rushing to get to their rendezvous in the allotted fifteen minutes, and she’d forgotten to retrieve her cell phone from the recharger. She knew Mark would worry if he called and got no answer, considering she hadn’t ventured out alone in the evening since the shooting incident.

  But he was tied up with the bank robbery arrests. In all likelihood, she’d be back long before he had a chance to call. Besides, she didn’t need to bother him with this. He had enough on his mind. And the situation was straightforward. She was meeting a patient, in a public place, with lots of people around. What could be safer?

  With the setting of the sun, the heat was dissipating, but the steamy weather had taken a toll on the older man, Emily concluded as she joined him beside his car. His cotton shirt was limp, his slacks wrinkled, his hair matted down with sweat.

  “Thank you for coming. The place is crowded, though, and I’d rather not talk about personal things in there. So I got us each a drink and hoped we could visit in your car. Double chocolate chip frappuccino, right?” He held up one of the cups.

  “That’s right.” She’d never conducted a counseling session in her car, but if it put her patient at ease, she was willing to give it a try. “Sure, we can talk out here.” She reached for the cup, but he withdrew his hand.

  “I’ll hold it until you get in.”

  Acceding with a nod, she moved to the passenger side of her car and opened the door for him. Once he was seated, she closed it, circled the hood, and slid behind the wheel. Flipping up the covers on the cup holders, she took her frappuccino.

  “A perfect drink for a hot night.” She took a sip and opened her notebook. “I’m glad you called, Mr. Smith. I’ve been thinking about you. When people experience a great deal of stress, it’s easy for them to lose perspective. Often talking to friends, or a third party, can be very helpful. Have you talked about what happened with anyone?”

  “No. It’s hard to find the words.”

  “I understand.” She took another sip of the cold drink and set it in the holder. “When bad things happen, our feelings are often confused and muddled. It can be difficult to sort them out. That’s why counselors can help. We’re able to look at the situation more impartially and can offer guidance to help people work through their feelings and get their life back on track. I’d like to help you do that, if you’ll let me.”

  “I think that’s what Mr. Miller had in mind when he recommended you. He said you were very good at what you do.” He glanced down at her cup. “Your frappuccino is melting.”

  “If you do the talking, it will give me a chance to drink it.” She smiled at him and picked up her cup again.

  “Deal.” He waited while she took a sip. “I thought I might tell you about my brother, John.”

  “Okay.”

  “You asked me if there was any history of depression in our family. Well, my older brother lost his wife four years ago. After that, he wasn’t the same. He lived down in Arkansas. I always wished he was closer, but I called him two, three times a week.

  And I tried to get him to go to church, to read the Bible. But he kept slipping further and further away.”

  “Did he seek any professional help?” She kept sipping, keeping up her end of the bargain.

  “Yes, ma’am. He went to a psychologist. Things got worse after that.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Was he on any medication?”

  “Yes. It didn’t help. I told him he should put everything in the hands of the Lord, but he didn’t listen. He was a strong believer before his wife died. After that, he kind of fell away. Looked to the world for answers, instead of to the Lord. Like Bryan did.”

  “Bryan?”

  “My son.” He pulled a photo out of his pocket and held it out for her to see. “This is a picture of him with my wife, Ruth.”

  That was an odd coincidence, Emily reflected as she peered at the photo in the fading light, trying to focus. The troubled young caller on her teen show a couple of months ago had also been named Bryan.

  “He was a very handsome young man, Mr. Smith. And your wife was lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  Without prompting, he launched into a lengthy story about how he and his wife had met. Considering his reticence during their first session, she was surprised—but pleased. Perhaps, now that he seemed more willing to talk, he’d open up about deeper issues too.

  As he finished his story, she drained the last of her drink and set the cup in the holder. Or tried to. She missed on the first attempt, blinking in surprise. Must be the twilight shadows, she decided, taking more care with her aim on the second attempt. “You mentioned your brother earlier, Mr. Smith. What happened to him?”

  “He took his own life.”

  Jolted, she stared at him. Two suicides in one family. That could indicate a pattern. Couldn’t it? For some reason, she was having difficulty organizing her thoughts.

  “I told Bryan to give it to the Lord, but he didn’t listen, either.” “Is that what you think you should do too?” The last few words came out slurred. Frowning, she took a deep breath. Maybe the heat was affecting her.

  “I know the Lord is with me.”

  A wave of dizziness took her by surprise, and she grabbed the wheel, curling her fingers around the rim as her pen dropped, unnoticed and soundless, to the floor.

  “Are you all right?”

  �
�I . . . I don’t know.” She tried to fight down a sudden surge of nausea.

  “You don’t look very well. Why don’t you let me drive you home? I can take a taxi back here to pick up my car.”

  Before she could respond, he stepped out of the car. A few seconds later, he pulled her door open and extended a hand.

  “Look . . . I’ll just . . . call someone.” She frowned. Why were her words garbled?

  “No need. I’m happy to help.” He tugged her from the car.

  Despite his assistance, she staggered when she tried to stand and had to lean on him heavily as he propelled her around to the passenger side of his vehicle.

  She wanted to protest as he eased her into the seat and shut the door, but she couldn’t get the words out. Letting her head drop back against the seat, she heard the back door open. Shut.

  Then the driver side door opened and he slid behind the wheel.

  The engine rumbled to life, and he put the car in gear.

  “I need to . . . give you . . . my address.”

  “We’re not going there.”

  His response sounded distorted to Emily, but she understood its meaning. Or she thought she did. Confused, she turned to him, trying hard to focus on his blurry profile. Hadn’t he said he was going to take her home?

  In truth, however, she was beginning to think she needed to go to an emergency room. There was something very wrong with her. Her muscles weren’t responding to her brain’s commands.

  And she was having difficulty processing information.

  “Bryan should never have called you.”

  She tried to concentrate. Bryan was his son. No, wait, that was wrong. Bryan was the name of the distressed teen she’d spoken with several times. The one she’d worried about, who had stopped calling. But wasn’t Bryan also the name of Joe’s son?

  “I told him not to,” Joe continued as she tried to keep up. “But I found out later, after he hung himself, that he kept calling you anyway. He wouldn’t have died if he’d listened to me instead of going behind my back. You misled him, Emily. The same way that therapist misled John. And you’re responsible for Ruthie’s death too. She wouldn’t have had that heart attack if Bryan hadn’t killed himself.”

  He flipped his signal and stopped speaking long enough to complete a turn and switch on his lights in the deepening dusk.

  “I made a mistake with you in the park. Shooting was too quick. God wants you to know why you’re going to die. So he showed me a better way. A slower way. He wants you to think about dying, like John and Bryan did as the life slipped out of their bodies. You go to church. You might know that passage from Psalms: ‘The Lord is known by the judgment which he executeth: the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.’

  It’s time for your sentence to be carried out, Emily. An eye for an eye, like it says in Exodus. A life for a life. Except it’s just one life for three. Not exactly a fair trade. But it will have to do.”

  As Emily fought a losing battle to hang on to awareness, his words registered in her mind. Followed by a horrifying realization. Joe Smith—her newest client—was the shooter.

  Even under the best conditions, she knew reasoning with a sick, delusional person wasn’t likely to have much effect. And she was at a distinct disadvantage. There was no strength in her body, thanks to whatever he must have slipped into her drink.

  Her muscles had simply stopped responding to her brain’s commands. And what little control she could still exert on her mind was slipping fast. But she had to try.

  “The Lord said that . . . vengeance was his.” Her whispered words were barely audible.

  He turned to her. “And I am his instrument.”

  His steady calmness, and the absolute conviction in his tone, told her with terrifying certainty she wasn’t going to be able to dissuade him from his mission.

  As her brain began to succumb to the fog swirling around it, Emily’s thoughts turned to Mark. All along, she’d been afraid to consider a commitment to him, fearing he would leave her alone, as Grant had.

  Now, she was about to leave him.

  The irony of it cut deep.

  Regret pooled in her heart. If she had it to do over again, she’d make a different choice. She’d acknowledge that everyone’s hold on life was tenuous, at best. That each day was a gift to be cherished and fully lived, without fear, as Mark had told her not long ago. She’d remind herself often of a saying she’d once read: “Yesterday’s the past, tomorrow’s the future, but today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.”

  Lord, I’ve been foolish. I should have embraced the gift Mark was offering. I can’t help myself now. I put my life in your hands.But if it’s your will, please give me another chance. And if today is the day you call me home, please give Mark the courage to accept it without turning away from you.

  “Hey, David, look at that!”

  The excitement in his friend’s whispered comment caught David’s attention. Ever since those FBI agents and that detective had visited his house, his friend Eric had been a whole lot less bossy. And when David had recruited him for surveillance, Eric hadn’t argued about who was going to be in charge, using his six-month age advantage as rationale, the way he usually did. They both knew the optimal place to keep an eye on the street was from David’s tree house—now known as their command post. Besides, it was logical for David to be in charge of this mission.

  He’d talked to the FBI.

  “What do you have?” David scooted over to Eric and peered into the darkness.

  “Look at that car. The driver turned off the lights as soon as he came around the corner.”

  Lifting his binoculars, David studied the car, wondering if it might be the same one the FBI agents and detective had asked about. But no. This was a different make. And it was a dark color.

  There weren’t any eights in the license plate, either. Shoot. He’d been hoping to spot the car the police were looking for.

  Still . . . it was kind of weird that the guy would turn his lights off. At least, he was pretty sure it was a guy. It was kind of hard to tell in the dark. And there was someone with him. He couldn’t see the person’s face, but from the longer hair he figured it was a lady. Her head was twisted kind of funny, though. Like she might be using the corner of the seat to prop it up, the same way he did when he wanted to sleep on long car trips.

  “What do you think?”

  Eric was asking his opinion, he realized. Way cool!

  Instead of answering, David watched as the car turned into the church parking lot and disappeared. It might not be the same car he’d seen that Saturday they left on vacation, but it had some connection with the church. Like that other car did.

  Goose bumps broke out on his arm despite the heat. Something was going on here. Maybe something big.

  “David! Did you see that? He turned in at the church! What should we do?” Eric was growing more agitated by the second. It was time for an executive decision, David decided. He’d heard his dad use that term at dinner, when he was telling David’s mom about something he’d decided at work. David figured it meant he’d taken charge. And that’s what he was going to do.

  “We wait.”

  “Wait?” Eric sounded confused. “What for?”

  He had no idea. But he wasn’t about to let Eric know that.

  Swatting at a mosquito, he propped his elbows on the wooden railing of the rustic tree house and glued the binoculars to his eyes. “We’ll know when we see it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just keep watching, Eric. You cover the far exit; I’ll watch the one where the guy turned in.”

  “What are we watching for?”

  “Anything that looks weird.”

  “But what if we actually see something weird?” Eric sounded nervous now.

  “I’ll tell my dad.”

  “Okay. Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

  David knew that would appease Eric. Passing the buck to adults was always the easy way out of
a sticky situation. All they had to do was become kids again and leave problems to the grown-ups to sort out.

  But if the information they uncovered helped those FBI guys, they might pay David another visit.

  And if they did, he might even invite Eric to come over and meet them.

  Maybe.

  If he felt really generous.

  Getting Emily from the mall parking lot to the church had been a piece of cake. The ease of it convinced Dale that God looked with favor on his plan.

  He glanced at Emily. Her eyes were open, but she was slumped in the corner of the front seat, unmoving. The drug had worked exactly as the article had said it would. Once it had taken effect, she’d offered no resistance. And she’d understood why she was being punished. Her comment about vengeance had told him that. He hoped there was enough awareness left in her brain that she’d know she was dying. And that she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. That was important.

  As he turned into the parking lot he’d visited three weeks ago, he scanned the street. It was a stifling night. None of the residents were sitting on their front porches witnessing his clandestine visit. That was a sad thing, how no one sat on front porches anymore. When he was a boy, the family had congregated there every night in the summer. He and Ruthie had followed that practice too, when they were first married.

  But then things changed. People had gotten soft with air-conditioning. Nobody wanted to sweat anymore. The boob tube had replaced porch-sitting and conversation. That was one of the reasons he and Ruthie had moved to the country. They might not have had any close neighbors, but the air was fresh and clean, and they’d had each other to sit with on the front porch each night. It had been a good life.

  Until a couple of months ago.

  His face hardened as he drove toward the far corner of the lot and backed the car into the shadows of the surrounding woods, up against the underbrush. If he was lucky, no one would notice the car until morning. But he didn’t need that long. It would all be over in an hour, perhaps much less. By the time anyone got suspicious, Emily Lawson would be dead.

  Reaching up, he flipped off the dome light, then released the trunk. The latex gloves he’d pulled on when he’d retrieved his tote bag from his car back at the mall would preserve his identity this time, just as they had on his first visit here, he thought in satisfaction.