by Jeff Gunhus
As always, his dictatorial style rankled her and made her argue the other side more vehemently than she felt. By the time they agreed to sleep on it and make a decision the next day, Allison had convinced herself that Charlie had told the truth and that her cover was intact.
Allison lay on her bed, staring up at the plastered ceiling. It didn’t make her feel much better. Her real doubts were less about her cover and more about the nagging feeling Arnie was being set up for a fall he didn’t deserve. It wasn’t the first time she had wrestled with this self-doubt. She knew the risks of being too close to a case and acknowledged that she had long ago lost any semblance of objectivity. The logical part of her worried she’d pushed too hard to make the facts fit her theory. That the patterns of Arnie’s behavior, which fed her intuition, were weaker than she wanted to admit. Not a single piece of evidence to take into a court of law. Only her gut telling her that her long search was near an end.
She thought through the case against him and didn’t like what she found. It was paper-thin, nothing more than circumstantial evidence piled on top of coincidences and fused with an overactive imagination that tended to see pathologies everywhere it turned. On top of it all had been a level of emotion that typically didn’t factor into her thinking.
Sure, Arnie had used the call girl who was later murdered, not exactly a noble act on his part, but he was a single man, and it was a minor transgression compared to the other crimes with which he was suspected. And then there was his liquidating his assets and preparing to leave the country. Not against any law but suspicious given the circumstances.
She just didn’t know what to think. If he was guilty, cover blown or not, going to his house was a dangerous proposition. When a serial killer has made arrangements to leave the country and invites a woman over for dinner, Allison reasoned that it was usually not a good thing. Still, if he was the killer she suspected, this was the chance she’d been working toward her entire career. Not only that, but if he got away and someone else died because she was too scared to do her job, she would be responsible for the death too.
But what if she had it all wrong? If Arnie was innocent, she was bringing an awful experience into his life, but more importantly, into the life of his son. The quick bond she had formed with them filled her with guilt that she had taken things too far.
Given all that, she knew what she had to do. And she knew exactly how to get Richard to agree to it.
The knock came at her door early the next morning. She opened the door after checking the peephole and a pissed-off Richard slid inside.
“Guess who I just had a call from?” he asked.
Allison shrugged.
“Clarence Mason just called to tell me I should let you follow your instincts on this case,” he said, his voice level in a controlled rage. “That I shouldn’t hold you back. I thought we were going to talk about this together. Decide together.”
“Richard, you made it clear yesterday that you were not going to allow me to do this. I know you, and once you draw the line in the sand like that it takes a hurricane to erase it.”
“Well, you called in a hurricane, all right. You’ve got your way. Now we’re both in danger here. I hope you’re satisfied.”
“You don’t have to stay. Mason even offered to send someone else out if—”
“Shit, Allison, tell me you didn’t—”
“—if you aren’t comfortable working with me on this.”
Richard took a quick step toward her. “Let’s get something straight. I’m still the SAC here. I call the shots. You’re working for me, you got it?”
“You can call yourself special agent in charge or Jesus Christ on a pogo stick for all I care, just as long as you’re there if things go south tonight. I need to be able to count on you, Richard.”
They locked eyes, neither backing down. Slowly, a smile spread across Richard’s face. “Jesus Christ on a pogo stick?”
Allison returned the smile and felt the tension melt away. “I don’t know; it just kind of came out. Conjures an image, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, one that says you’re a freak.” Richard plopped himself down in the overstuffed chair by the window as if the conversation had exhausted him. “I’m still pissed you went behind my back to Mason.”
“I should have tried again with you first. I’m sorry.”
“An apology? Wow, that might actually be a first.”
She grabbed a wadded up T-shirt from the chest of drawers and threw it at him. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t sincere.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll take what I can get.”
Allison sat next to him and took a deep breath, knowing he deserved an explanation. “I just know this is the right thing to do. If we called it off and it turned out we were right about him, and he killed someone else, I’d always know I could have done something about it.”
“No regrets, right?”
She caught a small change in Richard’s tone of voice. A softness she hadn’t expected. “No regrets,” she agreed, wondering if they were still talking about Arnie Milhouse. “No regrets” had been their mantra when their relationship broke up and they had gone their separate ways.
“Well, you were right. I never would have changed my mind.” He paused and then added quietly, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Allison turned away at the words. They had come out full of tenderness and . . . something else . . . maybe expectation? It suddenly felt like the old days. The fights. Shouting. Apologies. The tender words. Then the makeup sex. And that had always been great.
She realized they had gone through most of the cycle, and she wondered if she heard a question underlying his last words.
It would be so easy. A simple nod of the head. Just the right look and she knew they would be on the bed in seconds, tearing off each other’s clothes. She remembered the feeling of his hard body against her own.
She was ready with her answer. But when she turned back to look at him, expecting his questioning face, he was gone.
He had gotten up and crossed the room to the door while she had looked away. She realized that he’d taken her body language as a denial. And now, with him leaving, she wanted to scream, “Yes!” She wanted to chase him down and drag him to the bed, but she couldn’t do it.
“I’ll grab us some lunch. We’ll eat here and plan out tonight. You want sandwiches or pizza?” he asked.
“You’re the special agent in charge. You decide.”
“You kill me, you know that?”
Allison smiled. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Richard left the room and Allison exhaled slowly, feeling both relieved and conflicted about his departure.
No time to think about that, she decided. Tonight was her command performance as freelance photographer Allison Davenport, and she had to be perfect.
CHAPTER 37
Across the Bay, on his Eastern Shore estate, Arnie Milhouse walked his son out to the waiting car. The driver grabbed the boy’s two suitcases and placed them in the trunk.
“I still don’t understand why I can’t just wait for you,” Jason said.
“I told you, Jason. A few things popped up, and I already made these flight arrangements. I can’t cancel them so we might as well put them to use.”
“But I don’t—”
“Enough. I’ll be down there in a day, two at the max. This will be good for you anyway. It’s good for you to have responsibility. You’re not a little kid anymore.”
Jason shrugged and looked down at his feet. “I guess.”
Arnie kneeled next to him. He took one of Jason’s hands and put a sealed envelope in it. “Now, I want you to listen carefully. If I’m not down there in two days and you don’t hear from me, I want you to open this envelope. Inside are some phone numbers of people you can call, all right? Don’t call anyone else except the peopl
e in this envelope. Not your friends, not the house, not anyone. Understand?”
“Why wouldn’t you show up? Is something wrong?”
Arnie tousled the boy’s hair. “No, your dad’s just a worrier; you know that. Just dotting the is and crossing the ts. You have this?”
Jason nodded. Arnie pulled him into a hug and then watched him climb into the car. He poked his head through the door. “Stay away from the women down there, OK?”
“Dad,” Jason protested, flushing red.
“Be careful. I love you.”
Jason nodded and gave him a halfhearted wave. Arnie shut the door knowing that was all he was going to get. He watched the car until it drove the entire length of the driveway and turned onto the main road to start the journey to Baltimore-Washington International. A charter plane would take his son down to the Florida Keys, where a small, nondescript aircraft would take him to a private island arranged by Giancarlo. From there, he and Jason would assume their new identities and decide together where to spend the next part of their lives.
Instead of going back into the house, Arnie walked to a small shed on the side of the garage. He took a solitary key from his pocket, inserted it into the padlock, and pulled the heavy chain through the door handles.
Once the chain was removed, the door creaked open a bit on its own and Arnie felt a wave of heat pour out of the small space. He suddenly feared that he’d miscalculated, and the small holes in the shed had not provided enough ventilation.
He swung the door open completely and light poured into the shed. He breathed a sigh of relief as the form on the floor wiggled around spastically. Still alive. Perfect.
Arnie flipped open a small knife and cut the rope wrapped about his prisoner’s legs. The bindings on the arms and the blindfold he left in place. With a prod of his knife, he convinced his unfortunate guest to walk to the main house under his own power.
If this was his last night as Arnie Milhouse, he wanted it to be perfect. He went through a mental checklist of what he had to do before eight o’clock. The list of preparations was extensive, and he couldn’t afford a single mistake. This chance for a clean break was an unexpected gift, and he meant to take complete advantage of it.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with having a little fun in the process.
Arnie poked the stumbling person in front of him and elicited a short scream as the knife left a small bleeding puncture wound on the left shoulder blade. Arnie grinned.
This was definitely his brand of fun.
CHAPTER 38
Just past seven thirty, the summer sun still filled the sky with a bright twilight, but it didn’t stop everything from seeming ominously dark as Allison made the final bend in the driveway. Light filtered through the towering elms and cast flickering shadows as she drove her rented car slowly over the gravel road.
The house loomed in front of her, a traditional brick monstrosity with a symmetrical balance of windows and dormers. Enormous trees on either side of the home provided enough context to make even the third-story gables seem a fitting proportion for the property. The driveway veered to the right and looped around to create a circle in front of the house. Allison stopped the car on the opposite side of the circle and sat there with the engine idling.
She rubbed her hands back and forth across the steering wheel and chewed on the inside of her lower lip. In a slow burn of fear, she wondered if Richard hadn’t been right after all. Maybe she was pushing the edge too far on this one. But they didn’t have enough to arrest Arnie. If they brought him in for questioning and searched the house, they might find some piece of evidence connecting him to the murders. But if her profile of Arnie was correct, there was no way he was that sloppy. No, they wouldn’t find anything that easily. She had to catch him in the act. The best way to catch a predator was to dangle meat in front of its nose and wait until its true nature was revealed. Only in this case, the prey would fight back. And if she couldn’t handle it, the wire she wore would signal to Richard to ride in and help her. Still, even with backup in place, the whole idea was ridiculously risky.
It wasn’t only the risk that caused Richard to object, but the clothes she chose that night hadn’t thrilled him either. She wore a sleek black dress with straps, the hem short enough that Richard had taken a hard look at her when she came down the stairs at the Calvert House. She’d done her hair so that it fell to her shoulders in soft curls instead of in the usual ponytail she wore. Makeup gently highlighted her eyes and cheekbones in a way that accentuated her natural beauty and telegraphed that she was making an effort to look her best. She was playing to type in the seduction ritual ahead of her, and Richard didn’t like it one bit. A fact she secretly enjoyed.
She felt confident that she looked the part but did miss the comforting feeling of the ankle holster she usually wore. She’d considered a pantsuit so she could wear the gun but didn’t think showing up looking like a career FBI agent was a great idea. A shoulder holster wouldn’t work either—too hot and humid for a coat. Instead she had a small purse stocked with makeup, tissues, loose change, and a Glock 44 with a chambered round. She reached into her purse and slid her fingers around the cool metal and felt a little better.
CHAPTER 39
Arnie saw the car stop at the head of the circular driveway. He peered out from behind the plantation shutters in his private office on the main floor and wondered what his guest was doing.
For a second, he worried she was losing her nerve and would turn around and head back to whatever backup was waiting for her on Hawkins Road, the main road outside his property.
He glanced over at the bank of security cameras aligned along the wall behind his desk. One showed the metal gate slowly closing at the main entrance; the others viewed different parts of the property and each direction down Hawkins Road. It was an encrypted wireless system that used cameras smaller than a pinecone. He was certain even a trained FBI countersurveillance squad would miss his setup.
Two cameras particularly interested him. These were at the two small open lots less than a quarter mile south on the main road, the logical staging ground if the Feds were planning a full-scale storming on the property; that is, if they didn’t simply close down Hawkins and stage themselves right outside his entrance.
But the lots were empty, and there wasn’t a single other car on Hawkins Road. It looked as if Allison had come on her own, still unaware that he might know who she really was.
Arnie grinned. It looked as if he would be able to take his time tonight.
The car started to move forward, and he backed away from the shutters. He walked quickly through the house, checking everything for the last time.
He wanted everything to be just perfect.
He took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped outside.
“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” Arnie asked, standing on the front steps as Allison walked up.
“No, the directions were fine. I’ve taken pictures in the area before so I am pretty familiar with it.” She craned her neck back. “You have a beautiful house.”
“A little too big, if you ask me. But it was a distress sale and I couldn’t pass up the deal.”
“Divorce?”
“You guessed it. This couple had just finished building the house when the guy found out that his wife and the builder had already christened most of the rooms.”
“That’s got to hurt.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the breaks, huh? You look amazing, by the way.”
Allison looked self-conscious. “It was this or muddy jeans.”
“I would have taken either, but I’m glad you chose this. Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
She walked into the house, and Arnie noticed the barest shiver passing through her as she did. That slight quiver across her skin, that tangible sign of the fear inside her, gave him a rush of excitement. He turned
and followed her inside.
CHAPTER 40
Two miles from the house, Richard sat at the communications console in an unmarked van. Two technicians with headphones monitored the audio feed from the small microphone sewn into the side of Allison’s dress, toggling the bank of controls to sharpen the sound.
Richard held his own headphones to his ears as he followed the conversation. Right after Arnie’s invitation to come inside, a piercing screech blasted through the feed and all three men ripped their headphones off at once.
“What the hell was that?” Richard demanded.
The technicians set to work on their equipment. “I don’t know,” one of the men said.
“Get her back online. Now! Or you’ll be tracing wire intercepts in the Wichita field office this time tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 41
Allison jumped as Arnie slammed the door behind her. She turned, half expecting him to come charging at her. But he stood by the door and looked embarrassed.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “The wind took it. Did I scare you?”
“No, just surprised me.”
“Come on in; let me get you a drink.”
She followed Arnie deeper into the house. The open floor plan led to a sprawling two-story great room with a gourmet kitchen off to one side. A wall of glass showcased a spectacular panoramic view of the Chesapeake Bay from the thirty-foot cliff where the house was perched. A thin line of fog obscured the far shore, giving the impression of being on the edge of the ocean. The last remnants of the summer sun poked through the cloud cover and painted the water in bold strokes of light. A single container ship made its way up the main channel toward Baltimore, but the rest of the water was empty. Allison remembered there was a severe storm warning out, a warning recreational boaters took seriously if they knew what was good for them.
“God, that’s a gorgeous view,” Allison said.