Tears streaking her cheeks, Lou read the final sentence several times. Then she closed the diary, which contained the answers to so many questions, some she’d had all her life, and some she’d never even known to ask until just a few days ago. It also raised some new ones.
She shook her head, murmuring, “My father is a monster.”
The only other living thing in the room, her kitten Anthony, raised his head up from her lap and gave her a golden-eyed blink. Absently, Lou scratched around the kitten’s ears and stared into the fireplace. She wished it could warm her; she was chilled through and through.
What she’d spoken aloud was the truth, and it hurt; her father was, at minimum, an amoral and egocentric human being. It was also possible that he had, quite literally, gotten away with murder.
And now she had to decide just what to do about that.
She reached for her martini glass and took a sip, hoping the clear liquid would make its way down to her stomach and accomplish what the fire didn’t seem to be able to. Oh, how Will would love to get his hands on this diary, Lou thought. He would probably sell his soul for it.
If he had a soul left.
Will. Just the thought of him brought up another kind of pain, this one tinged with bitterness. Other women didn’t seem to have her rotten luck with the male sex; why did she keep choosing the ones that proved untrustworthy?
Cut it out, warned that inner voice, one that had been keeping tabs on her emotional state all her life, it seemed. Lou was dangerously close to self-pity and she hated that quality in anyone. She was alive. She was free from want. She had many blessings—a good career, lots of friends, good health…
A sudden noise snapped her out of her thoughts. It was faint at first, barely audible over the percussive sound of raindrops beating against windows and on the roof shingles above her. It was a whining sound, and it came from the floor below, which housed her veterinary clinic. They were currently boarding five dogs and one of them, Boris, was just recovering from surgery. Alonzo was on overnight duty—he’d begged for the extra hours to help his growing family.
The whining noise came again, louder now, followed by a yelp of pain. Human pain, this time.
Lou stood, slightly off balance from the drink. Her heart rate began to speed up. What was going on? Where was Alonzo? She raced to the hallway, pulled open the door that led to the inside staircase connecting the clinic below and the living quarters upstairs. Dashing down the stairway, she called out, “Alonzo?”
There was no answer. She pushed through the door at the bottom and stopped dead in her tracks. Alonzo lay on the floor, unconscious, blood pouring from a wound on his forehead. Next to him was Mr. Hyde, also lying still. Whether the dog was dead or unconscious, she didn’t know.
Standing over them both was the patrician-looking, silver-haired man she’d met for the first time just recently. He was pointing a gun at her, aimed at her chest. The look in his eye was hard and cold.
The man was her father.
And she had no doubts, none at all, that in a matter of minutes, seconds maybe, she would be dead.
Chapter 15
The tail of the hurricane proved to be devastating. All flights out of D.C. had been canceled, so Will had driven through the night and most of the next day. He took planned and unplanned detours, managed to avoid fallen trees and being blown over a cliff by howling winds, to finally arrive at his destination of Susanville. He was scared, he was exhausted, he was sick with worry about Lou.
On instinct, he parked a block away and came upon the clinic stealthily and from the rear. He was glad he had. Bert Schmidt stood outside the rear door, near the garbage bins, beneath the overhang. For once, there was no cigar in his mouth, and he’d wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. He kept glancing at his watch, then at the rear door.
DeWitt was in there, Will knew it. And Schmidt was outside keeping watch. Which he did not look happy about.
Will approached the portly man from the side and tapped him on the shoulder. The other man whirled around and stared at him. “Hi, Bert. Long time no see.”
Schmidt’s reply was to shove Will out of the way and make for the back door. But Will had been ready for him. Using the side of his hand, he whacked him at the base of his neck, a disabling technique that a Secret Service buddy had shown him. Sure enough, Schmidt fell over onto his side, unconscious. Will would have tied him up if he’d had any rope, but he figured the man should be out at least until the cops could get there. Whipping out his cell phone, he made the call to 911. It was busy.
How could 911 be busy?
Damn, the storm, of course. Mud slides, car wrecks, traffic signals out, downed power lines. It was a bad night for any emergency not having to do with the weather.
Then it was all on him, Will thought, hoping he was up to it. Carefully, he pulled open the back door to the clinic and, keeping close to the wall, made his way down the hall toward the sound of voices.
He stopped just short of the reception area, where he was able to see Lou standing over an unconscious form and listening to someone he couldn’t see. But he knew the voice, and the rage that came up in his gut was almost enough to make him do something stupid, like jump out and tackle the senator.
Instead, he ducked into the doorway of the nearest examination room and cautiously peered out. From Lou’s posture—stiff, on guard—Will figured DeWitt had a weapon of some sort—knife, gun, whatever. He wanted to signal her, let her know that he was here, but was afraid if her gaze shifted even slightly in his direction, it would warn DeWitt and make the senator do something really stupid.
So he stayed where he was and listened.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lou said, her mind racing as she tried to figure out her next move. If she kept him talking, she could put off whatever fate he had in mind for her, and maybe some miracle would happen then.
Although guns in other people’s hands cut down on the possibilities of miracles.
“Sure you do,” DeWitt said. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The diary.”
Lou shrugged, trying for total innocence. “If I could help you I would, but I honestly don’t know anything about a diary. What was in it?”
Eyes narrowed, DeWitt studied her, assessing if she was telling the truth. Bitterly, she wondered if he would recognize the truth if it hit him in the face.
After a moment, he nodded. “Let me tell you, then. Rita wrote down some sort of account of what she thinks happened over thirty years ago. It concerns the circumstances of your birth.”
She stuck her chin out. “I know you’re my father.”
“Yes, Will mentioned that he let that little tidbit drop.” For a brief moment, she saw a look of something less harsh in his eyes. “I wish I’d known you all these years.”
“What would you have done? Gotten rid of me?”
He seemed taken aback. “No. Helped you, maybe.”
“But you killed my mother. You threw her down the stairs!”
No! Lou thought, as her hand flew to her mouth. Stupid, stupid move. She’d responded out of pure emotion, furious that this man could play the caring parent after all he’d done. Huge mistake.
“How do you know that?”
“Know what?”
DeWitt waved the gun at her threateningly. “She wrote about it, didn’t she, in that diary of hers. And you do have it.”
Lou pressed her lips together. Shooting off her mouth without thinking had just put her in further jeopardy, and she didn’t trust herself to say another word.
Now the look in DeWitt’s eyes was calculating. “I didn’t kill her, you know,” he said conversationally, “but what did Rita say happened?”
Again, Lou refused to answer.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a brief flash of movement, but some instinct kept her from glancing in that direction. It came from down the corridor near Room Three. What could it be? One of the animals
? No, they were all in cages or behind closed doors. A trick of the light? There was no light back there; the entire area was in shadows.
It had to be a person, and the fact that he wasn’t making his presence known was a good sign—for her.
She sincerely hoped.
“If you’ll put that gun down,” Lou said, raising the volume of her voice slightly, “I’ll answer your questions a lot more easily.”
“If I put the gun down,” DeWitt said, “you won’t have any reason to answer them at all.”
Again, there was that flash of movement, and this time Lou groaned, bent over and held her stomach, as though it were hurting…and so DeWitt couldn’t see her eyes. With a quick sideways glance, she saw a head poke around the corner of the doorway, then retreat once again.
It was Will. Will was here!
It gave her strength to go on, and a new direction for her brain to travel. How could she distract the senator, give Will enough time to get the gun away from him?
“What is it?” DeWitt was asking.
She stood upright again, her hand still splayed across her midsection. “I’m terrified, if you want to know the truth. And when I get scared, I always throw up.” She swallowed, as though trying to keep back the bile rising in her throat.
If she thought he would be moved by her plight, or if the man whose seed was responsible for her existence cared one whit about her, his next words took care of that little fantasy. “Vomit or swoon or cry, Lou, it doesn’t matter. I want that diary. And you have it, so cut the crap.”
It was silly to keep up the pretense any longer. Keeping her hand to her stomach, she swallowed again and said, “Yes, I do.”
The silver-haired man nodded, pleased that he’d guessed right. “I always wondered if Rita was bluffing. And I always wondered where she was. The last I heard of her was twenty years ago.”
“Twenty years?”
“That was when she blackmailed me.”
“Blackmail?” Lou was shocked. “My mother? I mean, Janice? I mean, Rita?”
“Yes,” he said, his expression one of world-weary cynicism. “Janice, as you knew her. Rita, as I did. Out of nowhere, she got word to me that she had witnessed what happened that night and that she had written it down and it was in a safe place. If I didn’t get money to her, she would let the world know. She also swore, on your life and her own, that if I gave her this money this one time, I’d never hear from her again. I tried to track her down, but she was good, real good. So I had no choice. I did as she said, wired money to an offshore account.”
Again, Lou was astonished. This was so…James Bondish, so calculating. “Offshore account?”
“Yes. Fifty thousand dollars.”
Once again, her hand flew to her mouth. “My God, so that’s how—” She didn’t finish the sentence.
DeWitt waved the gun again. “That’s how what?”
“That was just about the time we moved here and bought this house. I wondered where she’d gotten the money. She said she’d inherited it. And later on, there was enough for me to go to college, and she said she’d made investments.”
“Damned right. She invested in blackmail. Okay, enough tap dancing. Where is it?”
“The money?”
“No. The diary.”
“In a safe place,” she bluffed. “Where you can’t get at it.”
At that moment, Mr. Hyde emitted a small moan of pain and began to stir. DeWitt pointed the gun at the dog. “I’ve been patient, Lou, I think you’ll agree. But now, if you don’t tell me, I’ll shoot this one and then every animal in the place.”
Terror struck her heart. Her animals! Do what you want to her, but never harm her animals. “Upstairs,” she said.
Mr. Hyde lifted his head, gazed around through brown eyes glazed with misery, saw a man with a gun and began to bark, weakly.
“Stay,” Lou commanded, which shut the dog up immediately. Whimpering, he lowered his head to his paws and gave her a look of hurt accusation.
“Good move,” DeWitt said, indicating the stairs with his gun. “Go. I’m right behind you.”
Will watched them head up the stairs. Retreating farther into the exam room, he tried 911 again. This time he got through, and when he was done, offered a silent prayer of thanks. Then he left his hiding place, walked quietly over to Mr. Hyde and offered his hand. The animal sniffed it, recognized his scent and licked his hand.
When Will whispered “Come,” the dog got clumsily to his feet and waited for him. Carefully, Will made his way up the staircase, which—good news—was carpeted, Mr. Hyde right behind him. As he neared the top stair and saw Lou positioned near the fireplace so DeWitt’s back was to the stairs, several things happened seemingly at once.
The piercing wail of sirens rose over the sound of pounding rain.
DeWitt grabbed for the diary and tossed it into the fire.
Lou cried out “No!” and tried to pluck it out.
Mr. Hyde began to howl from his position behind Will on the stairs.
DeWitt whirled around, saw Will and aimed the gun at him.
Ducking, Will tackled him at the knees, throwing the senator to the floor.
The gun, now pointed straight up but still in DeWitt’s possession, went off. The bullet hit the ceiling and spattered plaster all around.
Will, on top of DeWitt, struggled with him for the gun. But the older man was strong as an ox and managed to elbow Will away.
Lou yelled out, “Attack!”
Mr. Hyde stopped his howling and leapt on DeWitt, growling ferociously, his strong front legs on his chest, his lips peeled back in a sneer.
“Get him off of me!” DeWitt screamed, to no avail.
The sirens were heard to stop in front of the clinic.
DeWitt screamed one more time, “Get him off,” then managed to move his arm and shoot the gun.
Lou cried out, “No!” again, as the dog collapsed on top of DeWitt.
Footsteps pounded up the outside staircase.
Heaving the animal’s body away, the senator made for the interior staircase, but Will went for him again, this time grasping the arm with the gun and making the senator lose his balance.
There was loud knocking and yelling at the front door.
The two men on the floor struggled for several moments.
The sound of the front door shattering was quickly followed by another gunshot, this one in the vicinity of the two struggling men.
Lou watched in horror as both DeWitt and Will fell back onto the rug, breathing heavily. Then, as though in slow motion, the senator’s hand opened, his fingers unfurled, and the gun fell to his side.
His shirt turned red as blood poured from a wound in his abdomen.
Three policemen, guns drawn, entered the room, Kevin in the lead. Quickly assessing the situation, he motioned to one of the deputies to retrieve the gun lying by DeWitt’s hand.
Lou was on her knees examining Mr. Hyde, checking for a pulse. There was one; it was faint but steady. The bullet had entered the animal’s shoulder.
Sounds of gasping came from the silver-haired man on the floor right to her left. Her father, she thought with dull disgust. The entire front of his shirt was now bright red. She felt for his pulse, which was weak and getting weaker, then gazed down on him with so much hate in her heart, that she imagined if he hadn’t been dying already, she would have wanted to finish him off.
“Please,” he said, his eyes fluttering open and glassy with pain.
At first, she ignored him, the hate filling her like black venom.
“Lou,” he said again, more weakly now.
She wanted to spit at him, wanted to tell him to just die. But no, she couldn’t do that. Not as a doctor, not as a human being. She’d regret it the rest of her life.
“What?” she asked, gazing down on him, pale now and nearly gone.
“I…I wish…it could have been…different,” he managed, then closed his eyes and let out a final whoosh of breath. She felt for
his pulse, but knew it was useless. Senator Jackson DeWitt was dead.
Lou lowered her head to her chest, sat back on her heels and breathed in and out, once, twice. Then, she turned to Kevin. “Can I have a couple of your men help me here?”
“With what?”
“If they can carry the dog down the stairs, I’ll take X-rays and see if I need to get that bullet out of him.”
“Can’t that wait?”
“No, it can’t,” she snapped.
Will managed to lift his head from the floor. “If you want to find out what happened here, Kev, you’d better do as the lady says.”
Later on, in the hospital waiting room, Will watched as Lou rubbed at her eyes, then managed a weak if impersonal smile for him. He sat on the adjacent chair, his own eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. According to his calculations, he hadn’t slept since Wednesday morning, thirty-six hours ago.
“Have I thanked you for coming to the rescue yet?” she asked him.
“Not really,” he said. “But you’ve been kind of busy.”
An understatement. Lou had operated on Mr. Hyde, who’d come through with flying colors, then called one of her assistants in to the clinic to watch over him. After that, she’d insisted on coming to the hospital to check up on Alonzo and had informed Kevin that if he wanted to talk to her, he’d have to do it there.
Kevin, not pleased but knowing when to give in to necessity, had agreed and had interviewed both her and Will in a quiet corner of the waiting room. After he’d closed his notebook, he’d told them he’d like them to come in the next day to make official statements and that there would probably be some government types who would want them to do the same.
After he’d left, Will sat with Lou while she called Mr. Hyde’s owners at their vacation spot and told them what had happened, assuring them that the Doberman pinscher would be good as new in a few weeks. Then a doctor had come in and told Lou that Alonzo would be fine, full recovery, and she’d nodded and thanked him.
Whispers and Lies Page 21
