by Blake Banner
“Who pays the bills around here, Hirschfield?”
He raised a withering eyebrow at me. I held his eye. He closed his mouth and sighed.
I said, “That’s the way we’ll do it.” I turned to Carmichael. “Are you happy with that?”
He nodded. “Yes, it will be a relief to have the whole thing settled and poor Sarah avenged.” He hesitated, frowning. “But, what about Simone?”
I held his eye for a long moment. “We’ll discuss that privately.”
He frowned, hesitated.
I said, heavily, “Later.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
Twenty EIGHT
The door was still banging a slow, dirge rhythm. The storm was showing no signs of letting up. A million voices screamed through the low, bellying clouds, tearing at the trees and hurling roof tiles, shards of ripped up fence, and clapboard like shrapnel through the gray, apocalyptic afternoon. And through it all, Carmichael’s door hammered out a rhythm of death.
We went in and I wedged it closed, and the three of us stood looking at each other in the echoing, checkerboard entrance hall, under the great, domed ceiling.
I said, “We have half an hour. Bat, will you set things up? I need a moment alone with Carmichael.”
He nodded. “No worries. I’ll get some chairs.”
He made off toward the dining room and I took Carmichael into his study and closed the door. Outside the double-glazed windows, the trees seemed to be doing some kind of crazy, silent, ritual dance. I pulled my cigarettes from my pocket, shook two out and handed one to him. His hand was steady as he took it. I flipped the Zippo and we lit up. As I blew out smoke, I said, “I think I owe you an apology.”
He looked surprised. “How’s that?”
“I’d made up my mind you had killed Sarah. My first priority was to clear Bat. If that meant taking you down, that was what I was going to do. But I misjudged you and I owe you an apology.”
He nodded. “I won’t deny you had me scared there for a while. But that’s a handsome apology and I accept.” He hesitated a moment and then added, “That’s the kind of man I had you down as, and you proved me right.” He smiled. “I hope I never get on the wrong side of you again!”
I returned the smile. “It’s not a good place to be.” I reached behind my back and pulled out one of my two Sigs. The other was under my arm. I handed it to him.
“It’s loaded and chambered. The safety is on. She killed your wife, Charles, just like she was going to kill you. I know what it means to lose the woman you love.”
He considered my face a moment, then took the gun.
I went on, “I’m not telling you to kill her, but I think you have the right to choose. If you do, use my weapon, not one of yours.”
He didn’t say anything, but after a moment, he slipped it into his waistband, behind his back. I went and sat on the windowsill.
“When they come in, we’ll all show our weapons, but not you. I’ll demand we lay them down before we talk and make the exchange. When she is half way across the room, that’s when you make your move. If you decide to kill her, Bat and I will deal with the consequences. If you decide to let her live, then we’ll take it from there.”
He stared hard at the carpet. After a long while, he said, “Thank you, Lacklan. Not many men would understand that.”
“Like I said, I’m not a good man to be on the wrong side of.”
We had a drink of whiskey in silence, then stepped out into the entrance hall again. It looked bizarre, like a scene from a modern, expressionist play off Broadway. Bat had brought four chairs from the dining room. They looked like genuine 18th century antiques in red and gold. He had put them near the center of the floor, each pair about fifteen feet from the other, and seven or eight feet apart, forming an oblong. If nothing else, the setting would unsettle them.
Carmichael blanched when he saw the chairs. He looked at me anxiously. “They won’t get damaged, will they? Each one of those chairs is worth a small fortune.”
I shook my head. “No reason why they should.” I looked at Bat. “All set?”
He nodded. “What if they try to hit Mr. Carmichael after the exchange?”
I shook my head a second time. “It’s taken care of. Besides, we are all going to frisk each other. We’ll all be unarmed.” I smiled. “And if it comes to unarmed combat, I think we can hold our own.”
He grinned. “I think so, sir.”
Outside, barely audible over the howl of the gale and the roar of the downpour, we heard the grinding of a large truck. We took up our positions in front of our chairs, Bat armed with the HK416 and I with the 9mm Sig Sauer. Carmichael was behind us, apparently unarmed. In Jackson and Ivory’s mind, he was our prisoner. It would make perfect sense that he was unarmed.
The door was shoved open and they half staggered in. The noise of the storm was suddenly magnified and echoed around the great, domed entrance hall. Jackson had Simone with a rope tied around her neck, like a leash on a dog, and her hands bound behind her back. She was barefoot and drenched from the rain. It was clear from her face that she had been weeping, but she was fighting hard to hide the fact. I ignored her and looked from Jackson to Ivory, who was forcing the door closed and wedging it shut.
Jackson had a 9 mm Glock in his right hand, and Ivory had a Colt .45 Desert Eagle. It was the kind of gun he would use. He turned from the door and they all stood staring at the weird set up that Bat had arranged for us. Before they could say anything, I spoke out.
“This is how this is going to work. If you don’t like it, you can turn around and get the fuck out here, and hope you make the gates before we close them and blow you and your truck to hell. I want to be clear about this. You are outgunned and outclassed. You’re alive because I want this settled in the easiest, quickest way. Are we clear so far?”
Jackson curled his lip and started to speak, “Quit waving your dick around, Walker…”
“Ivory, you and Bat will lay down your weapons. You will meet in the middle of the floor. You will each frisk the other to make sure you are unarmed. You will then return to your seat and sit down. Then, Jackson, you and I will do the same, return to our seats and sit down. We will discuss terms and conditions, and when we are done, we will exchange hostages. You will then leave with Carmichael. Understood?”
Ivory flapped his hands at us. “Yeah, whatever, man.”
He and Bat carefully placed their weapons on the floor and walked to the center of the hall. Bat raised his hands and Ivory frisked him thoroughly. He found nothing, because there was nothing to find. Ivory then raised his hands and Bat frisked him. He found a switchblade in his pocket, placed it on the floor, and kicked it out of reach.
Ivory grinned. “Take it easy, man. That has sentimental value for me. My ex-wife gave it to me ten minutes before she died.”
He walked back to his chair, wheezing a laugh like a smoker’s cough and walking like a dancing chicken.
Then Jackson and I repeated the performance. We laid down our pistols out of reach, then walked to the center of the floor. He told me with his face that he wanted to kill me right there and then. I told him with mine that I was going to kill him, a little later on.
He frisked me and found nothing. I frisked him and found the same. I said, “Go and sit down, Jackson.”
We returned to our chairs and sat. Carmichael was standing behind us. Ivory had Simone on her leash, standing by his side. Jackson was the first to speak, like a spoiled child demanding an ice cream.
“OK, hand over Carmichael.”
I smiled. “Why are you so keen to get your hands on Charles Carmichael, Jackson?”
I caught the quick glance. Then, “That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“I disagree. He employed me to find his wife’s killer. I am responsible for whatever happens to him if I hand him over to you.”
“Quit stalling, Walker. If you don’t hand over Carmichael, we don’t hand over Simone. Stalemate.”
<
br /> I shrugged. “All I’m asking for is information, Jackson. I don’t see why that’s a problem.”
Again the glance. “OK, I am the detective in this town. A lot of stuff has gone down in the last couple of days. Me and Ivory had an arrangement. Everything was cool and everybody was happy. Then you had to show up and everything went to pieces. All I want is assurances, guarantees, that when you get the hell out of here, things will go back to normal.”
“What about the case against Bat?”
“We’ll drop the charges. We’ll produce a confession from one of the guys you killed.”
I stared at Jackson a long time. Then, I said, “OK, Jackson, you have the .38 with Bat’s prints on it. I have the recording of your discussion at the Full Moon last night, of your admission that you killed Sarah, and of you torturing me.” I shook my head. “If you decide to play hardball, we could all go down.”
I saw him and Ivory frown. They were both trying to remember what they had said that night, what they had admitted. I smiled.
“We both have insurance. It’s a stand off. Now I need to know that you will not hurt Carmichael when we hand him over to you.”
They both smiled and exchanged a glance. Then, Jackson shook his head. “No, we won’t hurt him.” He shrugged. “We need him alive and well, right, Ive?”
“Yes, sir. That we do.”
“OK, we both release our hostages at the same time. They cross at the center of the floor and you leave. Then we leave. Once the storm eases, Bat and I get out of town. You’ll never see us again.”
Jackson was frowning. He was confused, but he was keen to get the deal done, so he didn’t question the arrangement. All he wanted, all they both wanted, was to get their hands on Carmichael. He nodded. “OK, deal.”
Charles Carmichael came around and stood in front of us, staring at Simone. Ivory let go of Simone’s leash. Both hostages started to walk toward the center of the floor. After four steps, they were level with each other. One more step and they were almost back to back, six feet apart. Carmichael didn’t hesitate for a second. Jackson and Ivory watched him, surprised but not yet alarmed, as he turned toward her and pulled my Sig Sauer from his waist band. He took aim at her retreating form, practically point blank. At that moment, Bat leaned forward and reached under his chair. I did the same.
Carmichael pulled the trigger.
It was a very small sound in a very large, echoing hall. It should have been drowned by the wild, raging noises of the storm, but instead it echoed loudly around the cold, tiled space. The repeated, empty click of a weapon with no firing pin.
Bat’s aim was surgical. He double-tapped because that was his training, but both rounds smacked square in the middle of Ivory’s forehead. Then he was on his feet, striding toward Jackson, and I moved over to Carmichael, who was gaping, uncomprehending, at me and at his gun. I levered it out of his hand with my left and smashed my right fist into the side of his jaw. He staggered three steps sideways and fell to the floor.
Simone was staring at me, at the gun, at Carmichael sprawled on the floor. I looked her hard in the eye. “Not now. Keep it together.”
I went and stood over Jackson. Bat put his weapon in his waistband and walked away. He dragged Carmichael to his feet and led him and Simone toward the study. Jackson was staring at me. There was real terror in his eyes.
“You’re a lucky man, Jackson. I’m going to give you a choice. You can spend the rest of your life as a black cop in prison, or you can die now, fighting for your life.” I jerked my head toward his weapon on the floor and laid my own down at my feet. I said, “Go ahead.”
He stood, cautiously, and moved over to his gun. He was slow and out of shape. He lunged, stooped, scrabbled with his fingers. By the time he had a hold of the weapon and was upright again, I was standing in front of him. I didn’t bother to collect my weapon. I didn’t need it.
I took a hold of the barrel with my left and twisted, and slammed hard against his inside wrist with my right hand. The Glock came out easily. From that position, it was also easy to slam my right elbow into his jaw. I did it automatically, without thinking. As he staggered and sank to the floor, I followed him down and knelt on his chest. I put the Glock back in his hand, held the muzzle against his temple, and did what he should have done a long time ago.
It was the best thing for him, the best thing for his family, the best thing for everybody.
The Buddhists say that your dying thought conditions how you will be reborn. I figured Jackson would come back as a vaguely confused rat.
I went to the study.
Carmichael was in his chesterfield with his head in his hands and a glass of bourbon by his side. Bat was in front of the cold fireplace, stacking logs over screwed-up paper and firelighters. Simone was on the sofa holding a glass of whiskey in both hands, staring at Bat. She looked a wreck, but she was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
I walked to the tray with the decanters and poured myself a large measure of Irish. “You got a drink, Bat?”
“Not yet, sir.”
I poured him a thirty-year-old Scotch single malt. I figured he deserved it. There was the scratch of a match and the slow, gentle roar of flames taking hold of dry wood.
I went and handed my old friend his drink.
He took it and went to the window. “I think the worst might be over, sir.”
“You might be right, Bat. I think you might be right.”
He sat on the windowsill and I eased my aching, exhausted body into the other chesterfield in front of the fire. Carmichael looked at me with the flames dancing in his resentful eyes. Simone just looked curious, and very tired. Oddly, it was Bat who articulated the question they were both wanting to ask.
“So, can you explain now what the hell is going on, sir?”
I looked at him and smiled.
“I’ll try, Bat, but it’s kind of complicated.”
Twenty NINE
I poked a Camel in my mouth and lit up, took a deep drag, and exhaled smoke at the fire. Then, I took a generous slug of old, Irish whiskey and allowed it to spread its warmth through me while I gazed at the fire and gathered my thoughts. Behind me, the door opened and closed quietly. Carmichael and Simone looked and frowned.
Carmichael said, “Hirschfield? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello, Charles. May I help myself to a drink? I was in the dining room. While you and Lacklan had your little chat, Mr. Hays taped the guns from your cabinet under the chairs, and I set up a little arrangement with a web cam and a microphone. We managed to record…” He paused and glanced at me with disapproval. “…most of what transpired.” He poured himself a drink and sat next to Simone on the sofa. “Don’t let me interrupt you. I am keen to hear exactly how this whole thing plays out.”
I took another drag and started to speak.
“I have to admit that I was pretty confused myself until this morning. Then I remembered something, and everything else fell into place.
“Hirschfield, you said not so long ago, that the motive for murder is always either money or love…”
“Actually, I said sex.”
“Let’s be generous and say love. This murder was all about money and love. Am I right, Carmichael?”
He shrugged and shook his head, not in denial, but refusing to answer.
“When Charles Carmichael and Sarah D’Arcy met, they fell in love. She was, by all accounts, a beautiful woman, not only in appearance, but inside. She was kind and charming and, what is most rare, honorable. She genuinely cared about the world and the people around her. And back when they met, I believe you were like that yourself, Charles, only maybe not quite as wholeheartedly as Sarah. Because there was another great love in your life, wasn’t there? The love of wealth; not just money, but wealth in its deepest sense. Land, houses, and above all, beautiful things of incalculable value. I am guessing that this is something that was handed down to you through your father, and his father before him.
Carmichael was still engrossed in the flames, but Simone was watching me like a hawk. I paused and took a sip.
“There were two great loves in Sarah’s life. She had lost her mother at an early age, and I’m prepared to bet that family was important to her. She loved her stepsister, who was also her best and closest friend, and she loved her husband, though with time, that love began to change. She began to see you not so much as a husband and a lover, as father figure, a guide and a protector. And that was a position that you began to abuse. I don’t think you ever consciously admitted to yourself that that was what you were doing, but it’s what ended up happening.
“She was much richer than you were, and that is something that you never told me. She brought to the marriage a real fortune in property. At first, because of your skill and know-how, you both agreed that you, Carmichael, would administer your joint estate. And you did it well, and you both became very rich.
“But where you could never quite satisfy your need for wealth, there came a point, a few months ago, where she wanted something more. She wanted to put something back. Where your instinct was to hoard, hers was to share, to love and care for those around her.”
Simone had stopped staring at me and was looking at the floor, nodding. Carmichael’s face twisted with sudden rage.
“It was this bitch who changed her. She started filling her head with crazy ideas about ‘fulfillment’ and ‘integrity’ and being ‘one with her environment’. Bullshit! All she ever wanted was to get her hands on our wealth! She twisted her mind! She twisted her soul!”
Simone looked at him with dead eyes. “You mean I helped her to break free from your paralyzing prison.”