by Неизвестный
Eve Lord said slowly, her eyes on Emma, "You three were supposed to be in that car, not Louey Santera."
"It was that bad man," Emma said. "He came back to get me, but he killed Daddy instead."
She looked at her smashed piano, and gently laid it on the grass. "Look at all the broken keys." She came down on her knees beside it and gently pressed the middle C. A sharp tinny sound pinged out. Her face went very still. She picked up the piano again, clutched it to her chest, and walked back into the house. Molly caught her in a moment, and pulled her up into her arms.
"I'll call the police," Ramsey said to Mason Lord.
"There will be no police on my property."
"Oh, yes, there will."
* * *
MOLLY didn't make a sound as Mason Lord's own personal physician, Dr. Theodore Otterly, sewed up her arm. Ramsey felt the ripples of pain, the tensing of her muscles, but she didn't complain. He'd put two chairs together, sitting on the back one to support Molly in front of him. Dr. Otterly asked him to help support her, so Ramsey put his arm around her, under her chin, his hand cupping her shoulder. She leaned her chin on his arm. Emma was holding her hand. Her wounded arm was resting on the kitchen table. All of Dr. Otterly's medical stuff was spread out on the table. Molly flinched, then drew a deep fast breath.
Suddenly Emma made a small mewling sound. Ramsey said easily, "I know, Em. This is tough, but your mom's hanging in there. If you want to say something, say it."
"Are you all right, Mama?"
Her voice was small and thin, her fear stark. Molly didn't know where she got a smile, but she managed to manufacture one. "Hey, Em, this is nothing. I'm mean and tough, just like Ramsey. I can take these little hits. I'm a macha. Don't you worry, kiddo, I'm just fine."
He felt her shudder again and tightened his arm around her. She leaned back, letting him support her weight. Dr. Otterly had helped him off with his jacket, probed at his shirt a moment, then said he'd deal with Molly first. He was vastly relieved. He didn't want an injury that would shut him down for even a short time. Events had gotten out of control, and he couldn't afford to be out of control as well. But damn, his back hurt.
He was aware that Mason Lord was standing back by the kitchen door, his arms folded across his chest. He hadn't said a word, just stood there. Miles was seated beside Emma, holding her other hand. He knew the police had arrived. He'd heard sirens and voices, running feet.
"Ramsey, your back is all black. I mean your shirt is all black. I hope you're not black underneath."
"Dr. Otterly just grunted when he saw it, told me not to whine, that he wanted to see to your mom first. He knows I'm okay, Emma." Ramsey was glad he couldn't see exactly what that crashing piece of upholstery had done to him.
Dr. Otterly set the last stitch in Molly's arm. He wet a thick cotton ball with alcohol and dabbed it against the stitches, getting off the last of the blood. He straightened. "That's good, Mrs. Santera. All over now. Just a couple of shots. Let me get you bandaged up and then we'll see to Judge Hunt."
Molly ended up with a sling. "To keep those stitches from pulling even a little bit," Dr. Otterly said.
When it was Ramsey's turn, he felt Emma take his hand. "I'm here, Ramsey. It's okay."
"Thanks, sweetheart. I need you to be here."
The pain was bad, but he managed to keep himself still. It felt as if a year had passed, a very painful one, before Dr. Otterly got his shirt off and his back cleaned. He said, "It's not as bad as I thought it would be. Your jacket saved your bacon. You've got a small second-degree burn on your back which means it'll blister and take a little bit longer to heal. You've also got some bruising. I'm going to apply some antibiotic ointment and put a bandage over the area. Leave it be for a day or two. You'll be just fine, Judge Hunt.
"If either of you has any problems, just give me a call. Oh yes, here are some more pain pills like the ones I've already given you. Mrs. Santera, you'll need them for the next three days or so."
Dr. Otterly smiled down at Emma. "Now, young lady, I've got a treat for you."
Emma didn't believe that for an instant. She took a step back. He laughed. "No, no, I promise nothing horrible. I just want you to drink some orange juice." He nodded to Miles. In a couple of minutes Miles handed her a half glass of orange juice. "Now, Emma, you need to drink it down."
She clearly didn't want to.
Ramsey said, "How can you make sure that your mama and I take care of ourselves if you're not in top-flight form?"
He saw she wasn't sure what that meant, but it was enough. She drank down the juice. Dr. Otterly patted her head, nodding to Molly.
"Em, will you see me upstairs? I'm a little bit shaky. No, I'm all right, but I've got to say that my arm isn't very happy with me. I'm also kind of worried about Ramsey. Yes, I need to lie down for a little while. Will you come with me?"
After Molly and Emma left the kitchen, Mason Lord said, "Will my daughter be all right?"
"I didn't lie to her, sir. The metal didn't slice that deeply, so I didn't have to repair the muscle. I gave her a tetanus shot and an antibiotic.
"Don't get me wrong. Although Judge Hunt's back wound isn't as severe as I feared it would be, your daughter's wound is bad enough. I'd say they were both very lucky with all the burning car fragments hurtling around."
"And Molly's daughter? What did you give her in that orange juice?"
Dr. Otterly had to think a moment, then nodded. He said, "Oh, you mean your granddaughter. Emma's okay. I slipped a bit of a sedative in the orange juice. She'll start feeling sleepy in just a little while."
He turned back to Ramsey. "Both you and Mrs. Santera need to rest. It's the best thing for both of you. No heroics. As I just said, take the pills. Rest." He eyed Ramsey's back, frowned, and pressed down another strip of tape over the bandage. "There, that should hold it. I hope you've got a good psychologist for the little girl?"
"Yes, we do. We were on our way to see her when all this happened. One other thing, Dr. Otterly. I got a gunshot in my left thigh some two weeks ago. Do you think you could take a look at it?"
"Here I thought that a judge's life was pretty staid. Drop your pants, Judge Hunt, and let me take a look."
When Dr. Otterly was done prodding and probing, he said, "You're just fine. Whatever you did, it worked. The flesh has grown together nicely, not even much of a scar. Have you got full strength back yet in the leg?"
"Not all of it."
"Another week or so and you'll be running again. I wish you luck, Judge Hunt. Call me if there's any sort of problem." He nodded to Mason Lord.
Ramsey thanked him again and held himself still while Miles helped him on with a clean shirt. It didn't hurt.
Thank God Emma had escaped being hurt. Only she hadn't escaped, not really. It was another blow, a really big one.
Ramsey walked slowly with Mason Lord to the living room where Eve was answering questions for the police until they got there. Ramsey was relieved that Mason Lord hadn't put up much of a fight about their coming, had even agreed to speak to them. Not even he could try to kiss them off through his lawyers after a homicide. Neither Ramsey nor Molly had seen the police yet. He wasn't surprised that Molly had gone straight upstairs with Emma to try to keep her from the police. He just wished he could have gone with her, too.
Three plainclothes officers sat on the edges of their chairs, looking uncomfortable, as if they had hemorrhoids, amid the stiff opulence and, naturally, in the company of Mason Lord's gorgeous young wife. All three of them rose when Ramsey and Mason walked into the living room.
Mason introduced himself, nodded coolly to each of the three men, then sat down beside his wife. He looked down at his fingernails and began to swing his leg.
Immediately, one of the men turned to Ramsey. "Judge Hunt? I'm Riley O'Connor. It's a pleasure and an honor to meet you, sir." Detective O'Connor was at least fifteen years older than Ramsey, skinny as a one-sided board, and bald. His dark eyes glittered with intelligen
ce and humor. "We're very pleased that you're all right." The two men shook hands. Detective O'Connor introduced the other two officers, Sergeant Burnside and Detective Martinez.
Mason Lord cleared his throat. "Do you have all the information you need, officers?"
Detective O'Connor arched a very black eyebrow. "No, sir, we've actually just gotten started. We've got a murder on our hands, a particularly violent murder. Mrs. Lord hasn't really had time to tell us much. And you just got here. However, I'd like to speak to Judge Hunt first. Then perhaps you'd be free, sir?"
Mason gave Detective O'Connor an infinitesimal regal nod, rose, and walked to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy.
"Fine," Ramsey said. "Let's go to Mr. Lord's study. Is that all right, sir?"
Mason didn't look happy. But he had no choice. He nodded. The other two detectives rose to go back out to the burned-out Mercedes, to join the forensics team combing the remains. Ramsey overheard one of them say, "I heard there isn't much left of him, after the blast and fire."
Detective Martinez said to Sergeant Burnside, "The three of them were lucky beyond belief. This is a weird one, Tommy, really weird. That guy, Gunther, didn't tell us a thing. I've got this feeling that we're not going to find out anything at all from anyone who works here."
"Yeah, and I wonder what Judge Hunt is doing here, with a guy like Mason Lord? Talk about a straight arrow."
Ramsey couldn't make out any more words. A straight arrow, was he? He rather liked that.
Beside him, Riley O'Connor laughed. "This is really something for us, Judge Hunt. I'm really sorry, but it's all going to come out now, everything about the kid's kidnapping, you guys being followed all over the West, and now this. Yeah, both fact and supposition. But I guess you know firsthand what the media spotlight can do. You can be a devil or a saint, depending on the reporters' likes and dislikes, and how nice you've been to them. As for the photographers, I'll bet you've wanted to slug some of them."
"Oh yes," Ramsey said, remembering the paparazzo outside hiding in his bushes, the final straw that had sent him to the Rockies where he'd found Emma and discovered that he really hadn't had any problems worth a damn. "On the other hand, this does need to come out. I want the press to have a field day. I'll personally cheer them on."
"Why?" Detective O'Connor cocked his head, his eyes trained on Ramsey's face.
"One reason: to protect Emma. Maybe the people who are after her will back off once everyone knows there's some sort of conspiracy afoot and that the press is going to plunk themselves in the middle of it."
"Conspiracy?"
Ramsey just smiled at him. "Just a moment, Detective."
They went into the study and Ramsey closed the door. His back was beginning to ache. He must have winced because Detective Riley O'Connor said, "I heard it was a nasty hit you took in the back."
"Yeah, a slice of burning car upholstery. It's not so bad as the cut Mrs. Santera took on the arm. It landed flat on me, didn't slice the skin. She's with her daughter." Even as he was saying the words, there was a knock on the door. It opened. Molly appeared, pale, her arm in the sling, her hair a wild nimbus around her thin face. Her eyes were large, calm, and very green, not even a speck of gray. He noticed, for the first time, that she had a faint line of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He liked them.
He realized she was near the edge. He took a step toward her, then stopped. "Molly, what are you doing here? Is Emma all right?"
She raised her hand and lightly touched her fingers to his mouth. "It's all right. Emma's just fine. She's asleep or I wouldn't have left her. Miles is keeping watch over her. I wanted to meet the police, tell them everything I know. There's no reason for them to have to repeat everything separately with me. Besides, I imagine that you and I will be the only forthcoming witnesses in this household. When we tell the detective the whole story, maybe I'll remember something you forget and vice versa." She walked forward, her hand out. "I'm Molly Santera."
Detective O'Connor looked at a loss. "The dead man- Louey Santera, the rock star-he was your husband?"
"Ex-husband. Louey and I had been divorced for two years."
"Molly, would you like a brandy?"
She started to shake her head, then paused. "You know, that might just work some magic."
Ramsey poured all three of them a small amount of brandy and handed it around. Detective O'Connor smiled at him, gave a mournful look at the brandy, and set the glass down on an end table. "Thank you," he said. "Perhaps later."
"This will take some time, Detective."
O'Connor took a small tape recorder out of his coat pocket. "May I record our conversation? That'll be best." They listened to him identify himself, them, the date, the place. Then he said clearly, "What I was saying about the media, Judge Hunt, is that with Mr. Santera's death, there'll be almost as many TV vans here as there were in L.A. covering the O.J. trial. When all the stuff about your daughter's kidnapping gets out, the good Lord only knows what will happen."
"It can't be helped," Ramsey said. "Now, I think we should all start with you, Molly. Detective O'Connor needs the whole story. Whoever blew up Louey Santera meant to kill the three of us."
"Yes," she said, her voice just a whisper of sound. She drank some more brandy, and set the nearly empty snifter on a side table. She cleared her throat. "It started with Emma's kidnapping. Goodness, Ramsey, that was only about three and a half weeks ago."
"Emma was taken from your house, Mrs. Santera?"
"No, from the small park just behind our house. I was photographing there." She stopped, just stopped cold. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her knuckles white.
Ramsey said, his voice sharp, "It wasn't your fault, Molly. Just tell Detective O'Connor exactly what happened."
Just then the door opened again.
Special Agent Dillon Savich and Special Agent Lacey Sherlock Savich, both of the FBI, walked into the room.
Savich said, "Hi, Ramsey. I'm real happy to see you in one piece. Things have really turned ugly. We heard about the explosion on the ride in. You remember Sherlock, don't you? Everyone remembers Sherlock."
Dillon Savich looked over at Riley O'Connor, smiled, and stuck out his hand. "We're with the FBI. Don't worry. We're not here to bigfoot you. We're friends of Judge Hunt's. We just want to help."
DR. Loo looked at Emma's new piano, fresh out of its box. She plunked a couple of keys. She smiled. "Do you know how to play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'?"
"Yes, Dr. Loo. But it's been a long time."
Ramsey grinned at Emma. "Why don't you give her the theme and some variations, Emma?"
Emma gave him a small smile before she looked down at her new piano. The finish was so glossy she could see her face in it. She swallowed hard. She laid one finger gently over F. She didn't press the key down. Slowly, she turned to Dr. Loo. "I'm sorry, but I can't play right now. It doesn't feel right. My old piano just died."
Ramsey thought he'd cry. Oh, shit. He beat Molly to it. He picked Emma up, leaving the piano on the small table, and gathered her to his chest. "You're right, sweetheart. You need to mourn your old piano for a while. Dr. Loo can hear you play on your next visit."
Dr. Loo, who'd heard from Molly exactly what had happened, didn't mention the violent death of Emma's father. Rather, she said, "Mason Lord sent an artist over, Emma. We would like you to describe that man who kidnapped you, that same man you saw look in your bedroom window at your grandfather's house. Can you do that?"
Emma looked worried, then, slowly, she nodded. "I can try, Dr. Loo."
An elderly bald man was shown into Dr. Loo's office by the receptionist. His name was Raymond Block and he'd been a police artist for twenty-seven years. "Don't worry," he said to all of them. "I've worked with children all my career." Then he sat down beside Emma and opened his drawing pad.
"Are you ready, Emma? No, wait a moment, Mr. Block. I need to scratch inside my cast."
Dr. Loo didn't leave them until it was done
. It took Mr. Block forty-five minutes of drawing, erasing, widening, elongating, more drawing, more erasing. Finally, Emma said, "That's him."
Mr. Block turned the drawing so that Dr. Loo, Ramsey, and Molly could see it.
"Oh, dear," Molly said, staring at the excellent drawing. "Are you sure that's the man you saw at the window, Emma? The man who kidnapped you?"
"Yes, he was the man who stole me. And then he came back and he smiled at me through the window."
Ramsey just shook his head back and forth, quelling a weird desire to laugh and cry at the same time. "Well, this fellow isn't any pool man who works down the street from your house in Denver, Molly. No, I think he resembles someone who lives in a much more prestigious place."
It was an excellent rendering of President Clinton, only he had very bad teeth.