by Julie Cave
Sharp ignored the jibe and said, "You have to get them earlier, before they start wasting resources, before they even get picked up by the police."
"I see," said Dinah. "What about Benjamin? He wasn't going to prison. Neither was Ashleigh, and certainly not Billy."
"It's not just those that break the law," explained Sharp loftily. "It's the diseased, disabled, and pathetic, too."
"You do realize that you've joined the ranks of those who've broken the law?" Cage inquired.
"That's different," Sharp snapped.
"So how did your father feel when the sterilization laws were repealed?" asked Dinah.
"He was disappointed," conceded Sharp. "Civilization was the verge of doing something vital to its own survival. Imagine how much better off we'd be in even one more generation if society had adhered to this vital eugenic concept."
"Have you even heard of the Holocaust?" Dinah asked. "You think that was a progressive society?"
Sharp simply shrugged. "As a result of the changes to legislation, my father taught me that we had to take matters into our own hands. I'm not going to stand idly by while society self-destructs because the ignorant and poor are out-breeding the educated, while institutions are crowded and taxpayer funds are being eaten up by defective, diseased individuals and our health system is struggling under the weight of conditions self-imposed by drug addicts and alcoholics." He looked pointedly at Dinah as he finished.
Cage laughed. "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard. You should visit the million-dollar mansions in Kalorama Heights and see how many of their kids are taking ecstasy every weekend. Or visit Wall Street and see how many high-flying professionals use cocaine just to get through the week. The rich and educated know how to get in trouble just as well as the poor and marginalized do. They just manage to hide it better."
Sharp's face was flushed. Viciously, he said, "I must have forgotten to mention that he also taught me that Africans aren't much more than half-evolved apes!"
Cage remained composed, although Dinah wanted desperately to give the professor a good smack. "If you're trying to get a reaction out of me," he said calmly, "you won't. I've heard much worse in my time."
"Actually, Dr. Sharp," added Dinah, "if you'd bothered to do any decent research, you'd realize how ridiculous that statement is. Racial characteristics such as skin shade account for only a very small percent of biological variation. So that kind of shoots down your theory, doesn't it? If people with darker skin really were less evolved, there would be a greater degree of human biological variation."
Cage glanced over at Dinah and gave a brief smile.
There was silence for a few moments. Then Sharp said, "Well, if you need any verification of eugenics, you need only look at Henry Black. He was one of life's losers — drifting around on state welfare, in and out of prison, addicted to drugs. How much money did the state spend on him before he committed suicide? Too much. We should have taken care of the problem back at Albans."
Dinah felt herself grow hot and her vision darkened and tunneled so that she could only see Sharp. "Sterilization not enough for you?" she demanded acidly. "It's not enough that a small boy was terrorized and traumatized by being beaten, humiliated, and abused at the hands of adults who were supposed to be taking care of him? It's not enough that he loses both parents, and while still deep in grief and shock, is sent to a place not much better than hell? Do you think that maybe if he hadn't experienced so much violence and trauma as a kid that he might've turned out okay? Did you ever think that his experience at Albans played a role in contributing to Henry's shiftlessness, drug addiction, and suicide? If that boy had remained living with his parents, or at least with a loving family, he might have been fine. Instead, his life was wasted by hateful, selfish, horrible adults. You make me sick. I'm ashamed to be sitting in the same room as you, breathing the same air as you."
Sharp had become very still. Dinah could almost see the latent violent force idling in his arms as he approached her. "You worthless drunk," he spat. "I'm going to enjoy killing you."
Dinah stared straight into his cold eyes. "You think you can intimidate me? I am not scared of you."
Cage hastily intervened, seeing that Sharp was about to lose control. "So when did you spend time in Thailand?" he asked.
Sharp flexed his shoulders and seemed to be inwardly fighting for calm. Finally he took his eyes off Dinah and replied, "I taught over there for seven years."
"Is that where you learned Lerdrit?" Cage continued, shooting a warning glance at Dinah, trying to caution her against provoking the professor.
"Yes," said Sharp, resuming his pacing around the room. "You have to admire a martial art that can kill a man in less than four moves. There is something about living in an impoverished country. It's like watching evolution in action, right before your eyes. They have to fight to survive, and the strong flourish. It galvanized me into action. I came back to America at times and I saw the streets full of people not willing to help themselves, supported by the American people, wasting their lives. Put them on the harsh streets of Bangkok and they wouldn't last five seconds. So while I was still in Thailand, I started to formulate my plan."
"Lerdrit was part of that?"
"Right. I use a gun, you people can trace them, use ballistics and so forth. I use a knife and you can match blade marks and velocity arcs and left- or right-handedness. Then there is blood spatter and having to clean up. Frankly, needless violence turns me off. The techniques taught in Lerdrit are quick, efficient, and effective. There is no need to spill blood. It leaves behind virtually no clues. You need only learn how to control your strength and energy. So I suppose Lerdrit was a very big part of my plan."
"Did you know that we met Ricky Srisai?" Cage asked.
Sharp flinched, a tiny motion he almost succeeded in hiding. "One of the few masters here in the States who is willing to teach the authentic Lerdrit techniques."
Cage just stared at Sharp, willing the other man to buckle and ask if his master had betrayed him. Sharp simply stared coolly back at the big detective.
Finally, Dinah said, "And what do you do here in this workshop? Do you use polyurethane furniture finish?"
"Yes, it's a hobby," confirmed Sharp. "Why?"
"You left flakes of polyurethane all over Ashleigh Colter's body and through the van you used. We found the van, obviously, at the airport."
Sharp shrugged. "I thought you would eventually. Matching polyurethane flakes has to be pretty circumstantial evidence, wouldn't you say?"
"What made you decide to begin your killing spree now?" asked Cage curiously. "I mean, I get that you wanted to master Lerdrit, but what made you choose to begin now?"
Sorrow filled the other man's otherwise soulless eyes. "My father died, and I made a promise to him on his deathbed that I would carry on the traditions that he'd taught me. I'd already planned what I would do; I was waiting for his blessing."
Dinah just smiled at him. "Why don't you tell me about Billy?"
Sharp turned away. "What about him?"
"I want to know why you couldn't go through with it," said Dinah. "Even you, a cold-blooded killer, couldn't break poor defenseless Billy's neck, could you?"
Sharp chewed furiously on the side of his cheek for a moment. "I found out that I didn't need to," he said. "Billy was already looking for ways to commit suicide. Our society would be so much better if everyone in his position felt as he did. So I helped him."
"How compassionate and thoughtful of you," snorted Dinah. "Other human beings might talk to Billy, get some counseling for him, and get him involved in activities so that he wasn't so lonely. Not you. No, you decide that suicide is exactly what he needs and you help him do it."
"I would've helped you do it, too," said Sharp cruelly.
Dinah tried to tamp down her anger, knowing that another outburst might lead to some unpleasantness from Sharp. She hadn't even figured out how they were going to get out of this alive yet.
&nbs
p; "So how is this going to end, Sharp?" Cage asked quietly.
Sharp considered. "It doesn't end, don't you see? It can't end. I'll keep going until I die or am sent to jail. How can I live in a society that is sliding backward without doing something about it?"
"You know," said Dinah, "you won't change society. You could kill a person every week and it wouldn't change a thing. The only person capable of changing our society is God."
"Oh, right," said Sharp derisively. "God wants us to treat everyone with compassion and charity. That's going to move our society forward."
"That's because we're all created in God's image," Dinah said. "Every human being has intrinsic value in God's eyes, even those who are homeless or disabled or weak."
Sharp rolled his eyes. "I didn't know you'd joined in and become a God-botherer."
"Does God bother you, Professor?" Dinah asked smirking.
"If I believed in one, I suppose he might," replied Sharp. "What really bothers me are the backward Christians who insist that we shouldn't use all our technological and scientific advances because human life is somehow special."
"As I said," answered Dinah wearily. "Because we are created in God's image, we have an eternal spirit. That makes us very different from every animal on the planet."
Sharp narrowed his eyes at her. "Whatever. Is your God going to save you from me, now?"
Dinah shrugged. "That's up to Him."
Sharp suddenly chuckled. "Do you realize how ironic, how perfect it is, that you will become my next two victims? On one hand, I have a worthless alcoholic who will pass her addiction genes down to any children so that the cycle is never finished."
Beautiful Sammy's face flashed before Dinah, her sweet, boisterous little boy who hadn't lived long enough to find out if he'd inherited her addiction. She flushed hot and her vision darkened with anger. Nobody brings my son into this.
"On the other hand," continued Sharp. "I have a fine example of an inferior race, riding the ladder of evolution much slower than the white man."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," snapped Dinah. "If you're going to spew forth hatred, at least try to make it accurate. There are no 'races.' I'd have thought that someone as educated as you would know that more and more scientists are finding that the differences between us are cultural, not racial, and that the term 'race' should be abandoned because it's meaningless."
Sharp looked at them both with such contempt that it filled the room with its noxious presence.
"You know what? I've had enough of your blabbing. I've got other things to do than mindlessly debate with a moron."
He flexed his knuckles and Dinah, grasping the gravity of their situation, tried to think. Sharp had a weapon and was skilled in martial arts. Dinah and Cage were unarmed and less skilled, but outnumbered him.
Dinah sensed Cage thinking the same thing. As Sharp approached her, still pointing the gun directly at her chest, she could almost feel the imminent violent energy from it coursing through his body.
Then Sharp opened his mouth to speak, Dinah jumped to her feet, and Cage rushed at the professor. And chaos erupted.
****
What Cage lacked in weaponry and martial arts knowledge, he made up for in size and strength. Outweighing the professor by 50 pounds, he launched himself directly at Sharp and knocked the man backward off his feet.
Sharp slid backward on the ground, but he didn't lose his grip on the gun. With reflexes honed by years of training, he pressed the trigger, and the room erupted with a deafening explosion.
Cage cried out, clutched at his leg, and collapsed on the ground. Dinah had been rendered frozen by the gunshot and in horror saw blood coming from underneath Cage's hand, pressed to the wound in his thigh.
Sharp smiled, climbed to his feet, and moved closer to the detective to finish the job. Dinah knew she had to act. She threw herself at Sharp just as he prepared to shoot. Startled, he turned toward her and she landed on him with her arms grasping his shoulders. With a fierce yell, she used every ounce of strength to kick, hit, and scratch at him.
Sharp cursed, and with deceptive power, threw her off him. She landed squarely against a wall, and the blow to her head stunned her. A heavy feeling settled itself over her limbs, a roaring sound filled her ears, and her vision sparkled, shimmered, and blurred. Blinking furiously to clear her head, she could see the two shadowy figures, one standing over the other, and she saw Sharp raise his hand and slam the butt of the gun into Cage's head. The detective slumped and was still.
An urgent, distant voice in her head told her she must move. But her limbs felt like they weighed at least a hundred pounds each and she tried and failed to stand. Yet she knew that the insistent voice was right.
Shaking her head to free it from shadowy cobwebs, she half-slithered and half-crawled in what she thought was the direction of the door. Thankfully, she seemed to gather more clarity with every passing moment, and her vision began to clear.
But she was too slow, and Sharp roughly grabbed her arm and pushed her back against the wall.
Dread poured through her veins like dry ice. This couldn't be how it ended!
He smiled bleakly at her. "Nice try. I think I already told you that neither of you are any match for me." He pointed the gun at her forehead.
Time stood still.
Dinah's senses were hyper-alert. She could see the mad fire dancing in Sharp's gray eyes. She could see the individual droplets of sweat standing in stark relief on his upper lip. She could smell copper in the air from the blood pooling beneath Cage's leg. She could taste her own fear, heavy and bitter. She could hear herself, imploring distantly as if from another place: "Please, no, God, please, no!" She could hear the inexorable scrape of steel against steel as Sharp drew back the trigger.
She closed her eyes. It's funny what flashes through your brain when you realize you're about to die, thought Dinah. In equal measure, she saw the good that she'd accomplished together with the mistakes she'd made. She saw the faces of her dead husband and son and heard their musical laughter. She felt a tiny, chubby hand on her arm, and a bigger, stronger hand on her shoulder. She could almost feel their presence right next to her. She saw the first flicker of hope in a young gang member's life as he saw a future that didn't have to be filled with murder and fear.
She saw the memory of the joint funeral she'd held for Luke and Sammy, staring in disbelief at the tiny coffin of her son. She saw herself passed out in the living room, a vodka bottle rolled carelessly next to her. She felt the chasm of self-hatred swallow her when she awoke from her stupor and realized what she'd done. She felt the stark, crushing isolation her life had become.
And then she saw the bright star of redemption. She felt the seed of hope flower in her chest, the sudden sensation of relief and the wonder of finally belonging. God saved me. I am a child of God. I am not alone!
Then — a huge silhouette holding a plank. A sudden rush of air, a dense thud, a grunt of pain. Another shocking explosion as the gun fired.
Dinah's ears rang and her vision went black. It seemed that she was floating in suspension, unable to see, hear, touch, smell, or taste anything. She didn't understand what had happened. Had she been shot? Why couldn't she feel it? I must have died.
"Dinah! Talk to me, please! Are you okay?"
Well, that's stupid, thought Dinah. If I'm dead then surely God would know whether I was okay or not!
She opened her eyes and saw the sweetly familiar face of Cage leaning over her, anxiety written all over his face. As the realization that she was alive and probably hadn't been shot dawned on her, her thoughts swam into focus. "What happened?" she asked, sitting up with shaking hands and looking around wildly.
Sharp lay prostrate on the concrete floor, a blood-encrusted two-by-four plank next to him.
Suddenly Dinah remembered that Cage had been shot and struck in the head. Frantically, she turned to him. "Your leg!" she exclaimed. "How…?"
He had fallen back to the floor, grimacing. Dinah saw th
at he was very pale. He'd been hit just above his temple, and there was a short, vicious wound there.
"I guess I just did what I had to do," he said. "I saw Sharp about to shoot you and I had to do something." He shrugged. "Maybe it's a miracle."
He pushed his cell phone over to her. "Do you mind calling backup? I don't seem to have much energy left." He lay back and closed his eyes.
Dinah called the paramedics, too.
****
Detective Samson Cage had been injured more severely than anyone realized. The leg wound had missed his femoral artery by a millimeter, miraculous in itself. The blow to his head above his temple, resulting in a subdural hematoma, should have rendered him unconscious and closer to death with every passing moment. Yet somehow he'd remained conscious and had been able to save Dinah's life.
Emergency surgery followed by an induced coma for several days meant that Dinah couldn't visit Cage in the hospital. In the meantime, she learned that Dr. Nelson Sharp had not been injured badly and had confessed to the four murders. She spent several days giving her statement to the police and going over the entire case, matching her knowledge to Cage's thorough and meticulous notes.
Finally, Cage was well enough to receive visitors and she took a bunch of roses.
Somehow, the hospital bed managed to diminish the big detective. He lay with his head swathed in bandages, machines still monitoring him with tubes and lines. For a moment, Dinah stood in the doorway, her breath caught in her throat, halfway between a nightmare and reality. Her husband had lain in a similar room, where doctors had worked feverishly to resuscitate him after the car accident. By the time Dinah had arrived at his room, it was too late and he was still and pale. She remembered that her heart had begun to crumble at that moment.
This time, there was no mistaking Cage's dark eyes moving, looking at her.
"Detective Cage!" she exclaimed, moving to his bedside, her heart still hammering from her memory. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"Hi," he said weakly. "You're okay?"
"Yes, just a small bump on the back of my head," Dinah said, arranging the roses inexpertly in the vase by the side of his bed. She cleared her throat awkwardly. She wasn't very good at emotional scenes. "So, uh …just wanted to say thanks. For, you know, saving my life."