Allie screamed.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Mark was getting impatient. He’d been sitting at the shop with Lynette for over an hour, and nothing had happened. Sweating from anxiety, he paced the room back and forth, back and forth.
“You should sit down,” Lynette said. “You need to rest.”
“Where is he?” Mark asked. “Stan was so sure he would come.”
“Maybe his wound has slowed him down. Maybe it was even fatal. We’ll find him eventually, dead or alive, Mark.”
“That’s not good enough,” he said. “I want Allie out of danger now.”
“She is out of danger. She’s safe.”
“Wish I was as sure of that as you are.” He picked up the phone and dialed the number again. Just hearing her voice would give him some peace. But this time, he got an obnoxious honking sound, more abrasive than a busy signal. The phone was out of order.
He suddenly felt nauseous. “The phone isn’t working. Something’s wrong over there.” He slammed the phone down and frantically punched out Stan’s number.
“Shepherd,” Stan answered.
“Stan, the phone is dead at the safe house. I want to get over there right now.”
Stan hesitated for only a second before he said, “All right, Mark. I’ll be there to pick you up in less than a minute.”
Allie heard a faint pop, then the sound of a bullet smashing through the wooden front door. She hit the floor. Sid fell virtually on top of her, his gun drawn, guarding her with his body. R.J. was in front of them, aiming his gun with one hand while, with the other, he reached for his radio.
There was another shot and the door flew open, letting in a dim ray of light from the streetlight at the end of the driveway. Allie screamed, scooted out from under Sid, and crawled to the bedroom nearest them. She flattened herself under the bed and slid as far back against the wall as she could, knowing even as she did that it was one of the first places he’d look, since there weren’t that many places to hide. She hoped the darkness would shelter her, that dawn wouldn’t come soon and bring deadly light to expose her. Panicked, she closed her eyes and began praying.
She heard another gunshot, and someone’s body thudded on the floor. She closed her hand over her mouth, muffling a sob. Another shot, another thud.
She heard footsteps coming into the room, saw a flashlight beam scanning the hardwood floor. From under the bed she could see the fire boots and bunker pants he wore, and the fumes grew stronger as he poured more diesel around the room.
Suddenly the bed slid, and she was exposed against the wall. She looked up into the light blinding her and closed her eyes, waiting for the gunshot that had been meant for her all along.
A convoy of police cars headed with sirens blaring and lights flashing to the street where Pat Castor’s old house was. Mark sat in the front seat of Stan’s unmarked car, holding onto the dashboard to keep from being flung around the car as Stan tore through town.
They had heard R.J.’s frantic radio call that he’d been shot, and that he needed backup, and now Mark prayed desperately that Allie would be spared. But did Craig have her already? Had he already shot her and started the fire that would consume her?
They rounded the corner in a power slide, and came to a stop in front of the house. “Stay here!” Stan ordered Mark.
“No way!” Mark said. “I’m going in with you.”
In the bedroom, Craig heard the sirens. He cocked the pistol. It wasn’t too late to shoot Allie and start the fire. In fact, it would be perfect. Mark was probably standing out there now, and he’d have to watch while the house burned down around her. Craig couldn’t have planned it better.
But what would he do about Susan?
He was sweating and shaking—not from fear but from weakness, for he’d lost too much blood. His whole side ached from the festering bullet wound, and he didn’t have much energy left. He needed to get Allie and Susan both, and quickly, or his redemption would be forever lost.
But if he killed Allie here, the police would descend on him, and he’d never get to Susan. He froze for a moment, thinking.
“Don’t do it, Craig,” Allie pleaded. “Amanda wouldn’t have wanted it. She was a good person. It won’t bring her back.”
The fact that she knew who he was, though the light blinded her, registered vaguely in his mind. She was crying, sobbing, and he wondered if Mari had cried when she’d realized her house was on fire. Maybe she’d never awakened at all. His energy revived when he thought of how casually the firefighters had fought the fire, as if there wasn’t a human life involved, as if Amanda had meant nothing to anybody. He wondered if they’d treat this fire as casually.
Or the one at the hospital.
He heard more sirens, heard tires squealing to a halt outside, and through the windows saw the reflection of dozens of flashing blue lights. No, this wouldn’t work. He should have gotten Susan first. But then they might have caught him at the hospital, and he wouldn’t have gotten to Allie. He had to get them both. There had to be total redemption.
“Get up.” His words were weak, breathless, and he hoped they didn’t make him seem less in control. Allie had to fear him. “Get up!” he shouted, and she scrambled to her feet.
“Craig, please. I trusted you. I never would have thought—”
“Shut up!” He looked out the back window and saw cops scrambling into position. The house was surrounded. “You’re coming with me,” he said.
“Where?” she cried.
“To the hospital,” he said. “I’m taking you with me. I can’t let them stop me before I get there. If I have you as a hostage, they’ll let me go.”
Her face flashed on and off like a blue strobe light, flashing like the lights on the cars outside, and he felt as if he was about to pass out.
“Yes,” she said. “The hospital. You need a hospital. I’ll help you get there. Just give me the gun.”
He managed to laugh and didn’t lower the gun. “Not for me. I need to get there for Susan.”
He put the gun in his right hand, which was growing weaker, and grabbed her with the other. “We’re going outside,” he told her. “We’re going to get into one of the cars out there and head for the hospital. And I’m going to hold you close. They won’t dare shoot me, or you’ll die, too.”
He pulled her against him and hoped she didn’t sense how weak he was. “They’re going to kill you,” she said.
“Come on.” He pulled her toward the front door. “If you make a move to get away, I’ll blow your head off.”
He could feel her trembling. That was good. She would be too frightened to try anything.
They reached the living room, and in the flashing blue lights still coming through the window, he could see the two cops he had shot, still lying there. He stepped over them, making her do the same, and headed for the door.
He pushed the door open with his foot and yelled, “I’m coming out!”
He could almost taste the tension in the air as he pushed her through the doorway ahead of him. Dozens of police officers stood with guns drawn, waiting. “I have a hostage!” he shouted. “Don’t make a move or she’s dead.”
“Allie!” It was Mark’s voice, and he heard the struggle behind one of the cars as someone wrestled Mark down.
“We’re going to go out to get in one of your cars,” Craig yelled. “And if anybody makes a move, she’s dead.”
He held her tightly beside him, as he headed out toward a squad car at the outer edge of the cluster of cars—the one that seemed easiest to get out. He moved slowly as cops with guns drawn and trained on the two of them slowly fell back and took new cover. When they finally reached the car, he opened the passenger door and pushed Allie in first. “You’re driving,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Crank it up.”
She did as she was told, and he leaned close to her and pressed the gun against her ribs. “Head to the hospital,” he said. “As fast as you can drive.”
S
he put the car into drive and skidded forward. He looked back and saw Stan and the others jumping into their cars and pulling out. They would follow him all the way—but that was all right. As long as he had Allie, they wouldn’t try to stop him.
In the safe house, Sid Ford heard the cars pulling away. The blue flashes faded. Had they forgotten him? Had they assumed he was dead?
The door flew open, and Issie Mattreaux and Bob Sigrest burst in, carrying flashlights. “Sid?” Issie asked. “Sid, where are you?”
“Here,” he groaned.
Behind her, two more paramedics ran in.
“R.J.?”
No answer. He prayed that R.J. wasn’t dead.
Issie fell to her knees beside him and began checking out his wound. “Were you shot more than once, Sid?”
“No,” he managed to get out.
“R.J.’s alive,” Bob yelled. “But he’s losing a lot of blood.”
Issie had a cuff around Sid’s arm and was taking his blood pressure. He grabbed her shirt and pulled her down to him. “Susan. He’s goin’ after Susan.”
“Calm down,” she said. “We’re gonna get you to the hospital. Your BP is real low.”
“Susan,” he said again. “Radio. He’s headed for the hospital.”
Issie hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Radio. Have to warn Ray.”
She pulled her radio out of its sheath on her hip. “Simone, this is Issie,” she said to the dispatcher. “We have two police officers down at 232 West Lake Avenue. Sid Ford is conscious, and says that Barnes is headed for the Slidell Hospital to get to Susan Ford.”
There was a moment of static, then, “Copy, Issie. I’ll get the word out.”
Before Sid could be sure that Ray had been warned, they were moving him onto the gurney and carrying him out to the waiting ambulance.
Traffic seemed to part for Allie as she drove down Highway 90, headed for Slidell. Craig kept that gun in her ribs, and she feared that it would go off at any moment, if only accidentally. Behind her was a convoy of police cars with flashing lights, and she worried that one of them would try to shoot Craig and hit her instead.
Next to her, Craig seemed to be getting weaker, and she prayed that she’d be given an opportunity to disarm him once they got to the hospital. Somehow, she would have to stop him from shooting Susan.
Perspiration trickled down her temples, and her hands trembled as she gripped the wheel. “Craig, you don’t think they’re going to let you waltz into that hospital and kill Susan. Every cop in Newpointe is behind us, and probably every one in Slidell will be waiting for us. They’ll kill us both to stop you.”
“No, they won’t.” He was panting hard. “They’ve lost too many already. They won’t risk losing you.”
She hoped he was right. She glanced at him, saw how pale he was, how he shivered with chills. His bullet wound must be causing him significant pain. Maybe if she just talked to him…
“I understand what you’re doing, Craig,” she said, tempering her voice. “I understand how angry you were that Amanda was killed. It wasn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t. But I’m making it fair.”
“What’s fair about three women dead? Five if you kill Susan and me? How will that even things up, Craig?”
“That’s how it has to be,” he said. “It’s the only way I can redeem myself to her.”
“She’s dead, Craig. You’re not thinking clearly. She can’t give you redemption.”
“But I can get it for myself,” he said.
“No, you can’t. You’ll only multiply your guilt. Craig, you’re sick. You need help.” She tried to calm her voice, tried to sound like a friend who cared. “No one knew how upset you were about her, how much you loved her. No one knew she was in that house. Killing those women hasn’t helped, has it? It hasn’t brought you peace.”
“It wasn’t peace I was looking for,” he said in a dull monotone. “It was revenge. Retribution. An eye for an eye.” He began to weep, a deep, guttural, wailing sound, and she found that she felt compassion for him even while she feared him.
“Craig, I’m sorry for your pain.”
Her kind words seemed to calm him somewhat, and he wiped his tears away. “It’s not personal, Allie,” he moaned. “It’s not about you. This is to hurt Mark. I’m not a cruel man. I’ll make it be over quick for you. Not like it was with her.”
Tears pushed to her eyes again, and she realized that there might not be a way out. He fully intended to kill her.
“What if you turned things around?” she asked, her voice quivering. “What if you found that peace you’re looking for by giving Susan and me a way out—just what you would have wanted for her? What if you changed the ending, Craig—if you were the hero who saved lives instead of the killer who destroyed them?”
He was still weeping, but he kept the gun aimed at her. “If it was just you, I would. But then Mark would never learn. Ray would go on feeling no remorse.”
“They’ve seen what it feels like, Craig. They’ve been afraid. You put them through it. You did. And you shot Mark and Susan. They’ve felt the pain. You accomplished what you set out to do. Isn’t that what you really wanted?”
He was quiet, looking out the windshield, and she wondered what he saw. Was he weighing her words? Thinking about listening?
She saw the hospital up ahead. Her time was running out. “Craig? You don’t have to go through with this. You can rest. You can go into that hospital and have them treat your wound. You can turn over your gun—”
“Pull up to the emergency room door,” he said.
She didn’t know if that meant that he was going to heed her words and get himself some help, or if that was just the only entrance he knew would be open.
The parking lot was noticeably clear of people, and she saw the scattering of police cars waiting for them. She put the car in park and closed her eyes, praying that God would watch over all of them, that no stray bullets would hit the innocent, that no one else would have to die…
“Craig, if you give me the gun right now, no one will have to know. We can go in, just like I’m your hostage, and once we’re in, we can get you treatment. Don’t you want help?”
He grabbed her arm. “Open your door.”
She was trembling so badly that she could barely grasp the handle. “Craig—”
“Open it and get out.”
She opened the car door and slid out, Craig’s fingers still tight around her arm. Dozens of police officers crouched behind their cars, weapons drawn. Someone was going to shoot—some trigger-happy rookie would fire, and then Craig would fire, and there would be bloodshed all around.
Craig got out of the car, keeping his gun pressed into her ribs. As he put his arm around her neck, she tried reaching him again.
“Give me the gun, Craig. Give me the gun, and I’ll walk you in. You don’t have to kill anyone else, and you don’t have to die. You know you’re not ready.”
He stood frozen beside her for a moment, holding her in an embrace of terror. For a split second, she felt how weak he was and thought he might drop the gun or give it over to her. Then she saw him shaking his head. “I have to keep my promise to Mari,” he said. “I have to finish my list.”
Mark crouched behind Stan’s car, watching as Allie stepped out of the car. Then Craig came out beside her, staggering like a drunk man.
“He’s weak,” Mark said. “Somebody could get that gun away from him.”
“He’s expecting something like that. He’ll be ready for it.” Stan lifted a megaphone to his mouth. “Craig, this is Stan Shepherd. Don’t go any further.”
Craig didn’t listen. He kept walking toward the entrance, with Allie tight against him.
Mark knew that if they disappeared inside that hospital, Craig would kill her. He looked around at the cops staked out in firing position, and realized that not one of them had the means to protect his wife once they were inside.
But he could.
He burst through, and two police officers stopped him. “Don’t go any further,” they warned him.
“I’m Mark Branning,” he said. “My wife is the hostage. What’s the fastest way to the emergency room from here?”
“You can’t go any further,” one of them said.
“Watch me,” he said, and headed down a hall.
He followed the maze of corridors from admissions, to the lab, to the radiology department, past a number of other doors and a dozen other halls. Finally, he saw a sign that said “ER,” and an arrow pointing east.
There were several police officers already up ahead crouched in the corridor, watching the emergency room doors for Craig to come in with Allie. Mark tried to think. If Craig had come here to kill Susan, he would have to go to her floor. He wouldn’t dare take the elevator—someone might cut power to it. No, he would take the staircase. He looked around for an exit sign, and saw it near the elevators.
Quickly, he ducked into the stairwell and waited.
Allie waited for something to happen. A gunshot, or another warning from Stan’s megaphone…
Craig was leaning partly on her as he held her with one arm and kept the gun against her waist with the other. The emergency room doors opened automatically, then closed behind them, cutting her off from those outside who could have saved her. The security people normally stationed at the door were conspicuously absent. They had been warned to stay out of the way or risk getting shot, she realized. She hoped the police were hiding, waiting to disarm him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Stairwell,” he said. “Third floor.”
She looked down at the gun pressing into her side. Craig kept that elbow against his side. He was clearly in a lot of pain, and Allie realized that he couldn’t move his arm very well. If she hit him in that arm, it would send pain radiating through him, and maybe he would drop the gun…
Private Justice Page 31
