He went robotically to his study. The search had been even more exhaustive and destructive here: not a single book was left on the shelves, the computer was a piece of space junk, the desk drawers were everywhere. The Monet reproduction, curiously, remained untouched. Ted went over and took it down, as he had done so often before, and contemplated the safe, thinking that such a silly hiding place might fool somebody in a hurry, but not the perpetrators of this atrocity. A perfect quarter-inch hole through the center of the lock confirmed his suspicions. He pulled the handle and the safe swung open. The little bit of money he had set aside for emergencies had disappeared, but not Lynch’s two file folders, which still lay where he had left them, in a neat and provoking pile. When Ted opened the file on Wendell, he saw that only a few pages remained. All the rest were gone.
The false information.
Who did you kill?
“They must have missed something,” Ted said aloud. He was almost certain there weren’t any hidden microphones, but part of him wanted to be heard.
Tomorrow I’ll settle accounts with Lynch.
He didn’t care if Lynch was only a hired hand for them, just a bit player. Ted had anticipated this possibility and felt that it was more than likely; otherwise, why had the handsome lawyer given his real name? Why not provide a false identity? Ted had thought of a fairly simple reason. The Organization must have foreseen that he might try to find out something about a man who came knocking at his door with such a proposal. What better disguise than a real name? If Ted had taken the initiative to look up Lynch beforehand, through Robichaud or any other way, he would have found him easily enough, and that would have lent credibility to the rest of the story.
Walking back down the hall to the living room, Ted stopped for a moment in front of the stairs. He frowned, knowing that going up to check on his and his girls’ bedrooms would be hard, but he’d have to do it to find out whether the destruction continued up there. He went to the sofa and impatiently swept aside everything piled on top of it: a pizza box, knickknacks, a lamp, two pillows. He flopped down, exhausted, mentally reviewing the list of things he had to do, to which he now added cleaning and straightening up the entire house. His wife would have enough to contend with after he died; the least he could do for her was see to it that she had a clean and orderly place to do it in.
He smiled at how stupid that sounded. He pulled out his phone and swiped a finger across the screen to turn it on. He had last spoken with Holly on Tuesday morning, holding back his tears and faking a casual tone. He had told her he was going fishing in Travis’s boat for a few days, until she and the girls got back. Holly briefly scolded him about it, since the reason Ted hadn’t gone to Disney with them was because he had to be at a series of urgent meetings (pure fiction, of course). He replied that one lunch with his client had been enough to close the deal, though everyone had thought it would take them all week to hammer it out. Holly was sorry, but, she said, this way she’d be able to spend more time with her boyfriend in Florida. Cindy must have overheard, because she immediately shouted that her mommy didn’t have a boyfriend in Florida, and she demanded to speak with her daddy. Ted talked with her, and then with Nadine, who, after the requisite complaints about the behavior of her sister who doesn’t help Mommy at all, gave him a detailed report on everything they’d done that day, which Ted listened to with pleasure.
Holly was a phone call away. He ran down his contact list until he got to her name, and stopped. The screen began to fade and almost grow dark, but not so his desire to talk with her. He lifted his thumb and gave two quick taps.
Holly’s voice was like a breath of air for a drowning man.
“What happened to your fishing trip?”
“The girls canceled on us at the last minute.”
Holly laughed.
“I’m not surprised. They must have seen your photographs.”
A pause. Ted hadn’t turned on the lights, and the daylight filtering from outside was growing faint in the living room. The shadowy chaos around him found its proper counterbalance in Holly’s voice.
God, how I miss you.
“Hi, sweet.”
“Hi, Ted. Today it was sweltering. The girls won’t tell you this, but they’re starting to get tired of this blazing heat.”
He could hear Cindy in the background.
“Liar!”
“I’m sure they just miss their daddy,” Ted said, and immediately regretted it.
“I doubt that’s it. The girls hardly even mention you.”
In the background: “She’s lying, Daddy!”
“Travis and I decided to come back this afternoon,” Ted said, returning to the fishing trip. “I didn’t think I could take another night of listening to my business partner’s snores in a fifty-square-foot cabin.”
“Listen, we’re about to eat dinner. The girls didn’t want to go out; they asked me to order room service, like in the movies. The truth is, they don’t want to leave the air-conditioning.”
“Mommy!”
It was Nadine.
“What?”
There was a short conversation between mother and daughters, and then Holly came back on.
“Ted, the food’s here. We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Enjoy those burgers.” Ted didn’t have to ask. He knew his girls had ordered hamburgers.
“Bye, Ted. Girls, say good-bye to your father.”
“Bye, Daddy!”
Ted said good-bye, but nobody heard him. The arm holding the cell phone dropped to the sofa. Once more he hadn’t been able to say a proper farewell to Holly, tell her how much he loved her, if only so that she’d remember it later, when she found his body slumped in his office with a bullet in the forehead. He wondered if fate was trying to send him some sort of message.
The room was totally dark.
12
A few hours of sleep disturbed by nightmares was all he managed. He showered downstairs, put on the same clothes he had worn the day before, and at five in the morning was scrounging in the kitchen for something to eat. Jack Wilson’s voice was the backdrop to his normal morning ritual, but today Ted doubted that the Channel 4 newscaster would make good company. He figured that Wendell’s murder would be the lead story today, and he was especially afraid that the weeping family would be the main focus of coverage during these early hours. He pressed the remote control button with resignation. When the TV came on, he remembered the cracked screen, which placed a gray splotch the size of a football across the newscaster’s face. It was easy to see from her low-cut dress that she wasn’t Jack Wilson. Underneath her image, beyond range of the gray splotch, a running caption stated that the voice speaking was that of the first police officer on the scene at the lakeside home.
“…was patrolling the area when the call came in from dispatch. I’ve lived in the area all my life, and I know the best ways down to the lake, so I was here in under ten minutes…”
Ted was distracted: something in the living room had shifted. From the corner of his eye he’d seen a dark shape disappear behind a piece of furniture lying on its side.
“Officer, is it true that there may be security camera footage of the murderer?”
A floor lamp toppled noisily. Ted cringed.
Fucking animal!
“Well, with an investigation in progress, all I’m at liberty to confirm is that the owner did have a security camera system installed, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
The rolling caption changed to “Murderer caught on security cameras.”
Ted had walked up to the screen almost without realizing it, partly mesmerized by the story, partly wrapped up in what was going on in the living room, where the possum was managing to keep out of sight, though its progress through the piles of debris was plain to hear.
The newscaster was speaking.
“…from Officer Garnet, who we heard just moments ago, on the discovery of Wendell’s body by his wife and two daughters. They survived, we are told, thank
s to the family’s bulletproof car. The motive for this tragic crime remains at this time unknown…”
Ted feared the worst.
“A family, torn apart: the lives of his wife, Holly, and his daughters, Nadine and Cindy, will never be the same. Later in the hour: more on this breaking story, with live coverage from your on-the-ground Channel 4 news team.” Pause. “In other news, Channel 4 Weather tells us to slather on the sunscreen: today’s going to be a scorcher, as the heat wave…”
Holly, Nadine, Cindy.
13
Nina was coming in to work fifteen minutes late this morning. She had brought doughnuts and was hoping Lynch would be more interested in them than in his secretary’s punctuality. She’d been working here for six months and still couldn’t predict how he’d react to anything. Lynch was a mystery to her. Her friends assured her that sooner or later he’d try hitting on her, but he hadn’t made a move yet, which threw Nina. She’d tried low-cut blouses, seductive poses, subtly suggestive comments—but nothing. Lynch was fifteen years her elder, but he looked nice, and if Nina needed anything at this point in her life, it was a man with his feet on the ground.
She opened the office door and bent to pick up the doughnut box that she had set on the floor. When she stood, she noticed the dark shadow on her right spreading, rushing toward her, taking on the form of a man. In less than a second he was on top of her, waving a gun that looked enormous to Nina.
“Come in,” Ted ordered. “Leave the box and your handbag on the desk. Good. Don’t turn around yet. Do what I tell you and you won’t get hurt.”
Nina couldn’t remember ever being so scared in her life. She was afraid to see the man’s face. She knew what that meant.
“Don’t kill me,” she begged.
“Where’s Lynch?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“You can turn around.”
“I’d rather not.”
Ted wasn’t happy at all with this situation. He’d been expecting Lynch, and instead this girl had turned up, his secretary, no doubt, and he’d been forced to move quickly, acting on instinct. What was he doing? Threatening defenseless secretaries with a pistol? The girl was scared to death and she had nothing to do with it.
“I’ll put the gun away,” he said in a calmer voice. “Don’t scream and you have my word I won’t hurt you. All I want is to talk to your boss. It’s a matter of life or death.”
His words seemed to have the right effect on the girl, who kept her hands in the air and whimpered.
“What’s your name?”
“Nina.”
“I apologize for this situation, Nina. You can turn around now. Trust me. I don’t care if you see my face. Your boss and I know each other.”
Nina turned around, slowly. She wasn’t crying, but she’d been about to. She looked Ted up and down, confirming that the gun really was out of sight.
“Sorry for the rude introduction. That was very tactless of me.”
She nodded. The fear hadn’t left her face.
“No need to worry. Is this your desk?”
“Yes.”
“You sit there. I’ll take this chair, and we’ll both wait here for Lynch. Is that okay with you?”
Nina walked around the desk, very slowly. She sat down.
“Hands on top of the desk, please.”
She complied.
“Have you been working for Lynch long?”
“No. I started a few months ago.”
“I see.” Ted nodded. “Is anyone in the office next door?”
Nina hesitated.
“Tell me the truth, Nina.”
“The other suites on this floor are vacant.”
“Better.”
“You gave me your word before…”
“I won’t hurt you. I should have introduced myself differently to you—I can see that now. I wasn’t expecting you to come in then. I don’t know why, but it didn’t occur to me that Lynch would have a secretary. That was stupid of me.”
Nina didn’t reply. “You can have a doughnut if you want,” she finally said, pointing at the box with her chin.
Ted couldn’t help laughing.
“No thanks. So Lynch usually gets here at nine?”
Nina couldn’t remember having said that, but maybe she had. The last few minutes were registered in her brain as a chaotic whirlwind of events and emotions.
“Yes,” she replied curtly.
Ted leaned all the way back in the chair, sticking his hands in the pockets of the sports jacket he had chosen, the better to hide the gun. He felt the pistol butt and closed his eyes for a moment. He asked himself the same question he’d asked a little while before: What was he doing?
14
Lynch saw the Dunkin’ Donuts box on Nina’s desk, went over, and lifted the top with his index finger. He looked at the contents with a slight frown. He was wondering if the girl had gone to the bathroom when he heard a noise in his office. Was she up to something in there? He hoped not, because otherwise he might be forced to hold an uncomfortable discussion about limits with her. He opened the door and found her sitting at his desk, stiff as a board, eyes wide-open. She wasn’t dressed provocatively, and her pale face made it clear that she wasn’t up to some game of seduction. Lynch saw Nina’s eyes turn toward a corner of the office, where a man stood.
“What’s going on in here?” Lynch asked.
Ted stared closely at him. He couldn’t get over it. Amazing. It really was Lynch, but he looked years older than the young man who’d visited him at home. His forehead was thinly lined and his hair was going gray. He hadn’t lost his handsome looks; age had been good to him. But the youthful patina was entirely gone. Ted raised his hand and held it over his eyes for an instant. When he removed it, nothing changed.
“He’s got a gun,” Nina said.
“But I’m not planning to draw it, so long as we can talk like civilized people.”
“Has he hurt you?” Lynch asked his secretary.
“No.”
“Sit down,” Ted ordered.
Lynch walked around the desk and sank heavily into the chair next to Nina’s.
“Did you see the news this morning?” Ted asked as he went to the door and locked it, deliberately turning his back on his two hostages.
Lynch smirked. “Are you asking me or her?”
“From now on, all my questions are for you. The girl is collateral damage.”
“Why not let her go, and we’ll work it out between us?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
Ted leaned against the office door.
“I haven’t seen the news,” Lynch said.
“Wendell’s dead.” Ted studied the lawyer’s expression but saw no trace of surprise. “Murdered.”
“Why can’t we talk this over like civilized gentlemen?” Lynch said while glancing to his right, where Nina sat.
“Don’t even think of it.”
“She’ll keep quiet,” Lynch pointed out. “Won’t you, Nina?”
The girl had missed part of the dialogue but she vigorously nodded.
“I won’t say a word.”
“Now that you see that Ted and I already know each other,” Lynch went on, “there’s no reason for you to call the police or anything. Meanwhile, Ted and I have a bit of pending business to clear up.”
Ted thought it over. It was true that he couldn’t discuss Wendell’s death openly with the girl here. He couldn’t confess to a murder in front of a perfect stranger.
“Get out, go home,” Ted suddenly said to her.
Nina sprang from her chair, ran around the desk, and stopped when she came to Ted, who still blocked the door. Nina clutched her purse and looked at him beseechingly. Ted kept his eyes on Lynch, who understood what he was thinking.
“Nina, not a word about this, to anyone,” Lynch said. “Ted and I really do have to settle some affairs.”
Ted stepped aside. Nina ran out and didn’t even bother to close the door behind her. Ted
shut it for her.
“Now you’re going to tell me the whole truth, Lynch. You set a trap for me, you miserable little bastard.”
“I admit that I concealed some information, but believe me, it was necessary.”
Ted bounded forward. Leaning with both arms on the desk, he brought his face close to Lynch’s.
“‘It was necessary,’ he says! You neglected to mention that Wendell was married and had two daughters. Ever since I found out, I haven’t been able to stop thinking of them as my own family.”
“If I’d told you he had a wife and kids, you never would have done the job,” Lynch said coldly.
Ted stuck his hand in the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the Browning.
“And you, Lynch? Do you have a wife and kids? Be careful how you answer, because I can blow your head off any second.”
“Please, Ted, put the gun down and allow me to explain.”
“You already did explain it to me, you son of a bitch.” Ted scratched his head. “It’s all so confusing…”
“What are you talking about?”
Ted lowered the gun. He put it back in his pocket. He pulled up a chair that was by the filing cabinets and collapsed into it.
“Tell me what you have to tell me, Lynch. Stop playing games, okay?”
The lawyer nodded.
“I gave you my real name, Ted. I knew you’d come see me sooner or later. It’s time to be honest with you.” Lynch settled back in his chair and dropped a devastating tidbit. “Wendell didn’t want to commit suicide.”
As soon as Lynch uttered those words, something stirred inside the filing cabinet. To be more precise, in the bottom drawer. Ted instinctively turned to look. The sound was gone. Lynch showed no sign of having heard it.
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