INTO THE DARK : A TOM DEATON NOVEL

by Richard B. Schwartz

  Tom braced himself on the wall of the passageway; Diana’s blazer hung over his shoulder like a bloodied serape. As he approached the final door he saw the boulders beyond and the hard-packed yellow gravel of the path. As he got closer he could see Diana in the distance, running toward the black Town Car. He tried to call out to her but there was no breath behind the words.

  Emerging into the full sunlight of midday he fell back against the side of the largest boulder. His face, which was splattered with blood, was suddenly warm in the bright sun. He tried to wipe his forehead and eyes, but he couldn’t raise his right arm. Leaning back toward his left he suddenly saw something beyond the shrubs.

  Leaning his back against the boulder and pushing off in short steps, he made it to the far side of the rock. There he saw the body. It was Karl. Resting comfortably behind some scrub, out of sight of anyone on the road above and anyone on the nearby street across the open area, the body had been sprinkled with dirt and dry grass for light camouflage. The arms were at the sides, the legs extended, the clothes all in place. All was in order except for the fact that the head was nearly severed from the body. A clean cut extended from ear to ear, the blood now stilled after its first, even wave. There was no sign of a struggle, not even a bent branch or a footprint.

  As Diana approached the Town Car she realized that the motor was running. She ran faster, her body now damp with perspiration, her hand gripping the pistol even more firmly, her heart racing. She saw the license plate and stopped for a moment, scratching the number into the dirt in case she did not survive to report it. Then she ran to the side of the car, the pistol extended, pointing directly beyond the smoked glass at the shape in the driver’s seat.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  San Clemente

  Tuesday, 12:27 p.m.

  The electric window had begun to move the moment she raised the pistol.

  “Dr. Bennett,” a voice said.

  “Hector?” she answered.

  “Of course,” he said, turning toward her. “I saw you running, but I knew you were safe and I didn’t want to leave my friend here.”

  Alec was in the front passenger seat, his hands cuffed to the handle above the door. There were pieces of wire around his thighs and calves. In the back seat was a uniformed driver. There was an angry bruise on his forehead, a sponge rubber ball wedged in his mouth, secured by a double ring of duct tape. His hands were behind him, his feet raised in the air, tied to the courtesy handle on the opposite door. There was wire around his knees and ankles.

  “I believe you’ve already met Mr. Alec,” Hector said. “We’ve been having a very interesting conversation.”

  The ring tone came from Hector’s cell phone. Excusing himself, he picked it up, listened, and spoke. “Yes . . . yes . . . good,” he said. “How soon? . . . good . . . and Tom? . . . good . . . yes . . . no, we’re fine . . . thanks for the message . . . OK . . . right.” Diana was impatiently shifting from foot to foot. “Turn around,” he said to her.

  She turned and saw a dozen armed men. Tom was being lifted onto a stretcher by two officers in plain clothes.

  “They just took the Chief and the Lieutenant to the hospital,” Hector said. “They’re both pretty chewed up but they should be OK. They’re both type B’s; I called for blood and some ambulances as soon as we thought there might be trouble. I’m surprised you didn’t see anybody inside. They must have come in just as you were going out.”

  “Do you have blood for Tom too?”

  “Yes. He’s an O. They’ll put him in the second ambulance. They say he’s conscious. He’s shot up, but it doesn’t look as if anything important’s been hit. The EMT said that he’s in better condition than the Chief and Lieutenant. The Lieutenant’s left lung collapsed and the Chief came within a pint or so of buying it. My friend here has a good bit to answer for.”

  “You’ll never convict me, you stupid man,” Alec said, his head turned vaguely in Hector’s direction.

  “He keeps talking like that,” Hector said. “I call that true optimism. What do you think?”

  “He killed my brother,” Diana said. “He killed them all, directly or indirectly.”

  “No, he says that’s all part of a plot to steal his artworks. He says that he bought everything fair and square and that someone is buying forgeries to put in the place of his treasures.”

  “How would he know they were forgeries? He can’t see them,” Diana said.

  “Exactly,” Hector said. “That’s what I keep telling him. If anybody wanted to steal his stuff they could just load it on the truck and shove him over the side of the hill.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re devoted to me,” Alec said.

  “Now there you go again,” Hector said. “If they were devoted to you, why would they steal from you?”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said.

  “Because of the art?” Hector said. “Because they were obsessed with the art? They had it anyway and they knew you weren’t going to be around too much longer. All they needed was a little patience. In the meantime they could see it every day. After you’re planted they would have it outright. I don’t see any motive. Like I said, all they needed was to be patient. It took a long time to put the collection together. I’m sure they could wait a little longer. That’s something you’re going to need, by the way. I hope you’ve given some thought to that.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, curtly.

  “Since I joined the force I’ve acquired some experience in this area and the detectives and I have had many discussions about what educated persons such as yourself would call the contemporary system of justice. For a number of years you’re going to be one hell of a bother, but eventually there will come a day when the system will run its course and you’ll hit the high wall, the one you can’t get over, the one you can’t get around. I figure with the trial and all the appeals and all the lawyer whining, you may have five or more years to wait before they move you to the cell at the end of the block, maybe even ten or more, but believe me, they will move you. You’ve been running around the world, killing people, hiding out in your big house with your cave and all your little secret rooms and chambers—let me tell you something, my little friend, the chamber that’s waiting for you is bare except for a center table with some straps and a side table for the needles and the poison. There’re no windows, no rugs, no flowers, no artworks, not even any color except for the white along your knuckles and the yellow and green mess that may come up from the pit of your stomach. First they’ll strap you down. Then they’ll have to find the vein. With you shaking and screaming it can be a little tricky, but they’ll hold you down until they find it and then they’ll slip in the pointy steel. If you listen real hard you might even hear the puncture. It’s louder than a simple pinprick. Think about a 6 or 8-penny finishing nail being shoved into the thick peel of an orange. But when that time comes, don’t worry if you can’t hear it, because you won’t have any trouble feeling it. You’ll know it’s there. A little conduit, your last link to the outside before they turn loose the poison. It will hit your veins and arteries like an angry river. Then, in little more than a matter of seconds, your lungs will feel like they want to come through the front of your blue shirt. The veins on the side of your head will be popping and your mouth will be gulping for something that’s no longer there. You’ll feel heat down your throat and your heart will suddenly be banging like a thick wooden stick against a tin drum. You’ll want to scream out but there won’t be any breath. You’ll just gasp and struggle and whimper and finally collapse into yourself, into the silence.”

  Alec was straining against the wire around his legs. His hands were jerking against the cuffs. The Lincoln was rocking slightly as he thrashed back and forth.

  “I would like to ask you for a favor,” Hector said. “Would you do a favor for me?”

  Alec sat silent.


  “When that time comes, I would like you to remember the details of this little talk we’re having. You’ll be yelling and cursing and wrenching in pain and fear and you won’t want to say what you should say, namely, that that Latino man whose friends you tried to kill was speaking the truth when he told you that the state would collect on every outstanding debt. And they will collect. You can be sure of that. You think about the pain you’ve caused. You think about the greed and the arrogance and the betrayals and then you think about that table. And that needle. And that poison flowing into your body. And the hollow screams that no one will ever hear.”

  “You fool,” Alec said, his lips shaking. “Do you think someone like you could ever be capable of frightening someone like me with cheap threats and half truths?”

  Diana walked around to Alec’s side of the Town Car as Hector lowered the window. She reached in and ran the tip of her fingernail over the inside of his elbow, across his veins.

  He bolted and twitched, sweat now covering his face as his body started to convulse. There was drivel at the corners of his lips.

  “I believe the answer to your question is yes,” Hector answered, “and remember—those weren’t empty threats or lies. Those were promises and each of them will be kept.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Saddleback Memorial Medical Center

  Three Weeks Later, Tuesday, 9:45 a.m.

  “You’re here,” Tom said.

  “Of course I’m here,” Diana answered. “How do you feel?”

  He reached out for her hand and gripped it hard when she offered her own. “Terrific, but they won’t let me out of this thing,” he said. The orderly pushing his wheelchair was impassive. “It has to do with liability. Once they put me in your car I’m your problem.”

  Diana smiled. “You look like somebody who’s had a skiing accident. Lots of bandages but you’re still smiling, trying to find some happiness in the fact that you’re still on vacation. How’s your leg?”

  “Much better since they took all the tape and gauze off. You know what the doctors say about problems with skin: ‘If it’s wet, dry it; if it’s dry, wet it. If all else fails, prescribe steroids.’ Personally, I think the fresh air is the best medicine.”

  “The last time I saw you you had more tubes in you than I could count. I was there for three hours and you slept through it all, even when I whispered in your ear.”

  “It’s great to see you.”

  She was still holding his hand as the orderly rolled the chair toward the entrance of the hospital. “I understand Chief Dietrich responded immediately to the transfusions,” she said. “I saw him last night and he was smiling.”

  “Yes. I told him he was like my old high school Plymouth. Everything else was as good as it was ever going to get, but a change of oil could work wonders.”

  “They had to move Brighton to another room.”

  “Yes, they work well together but neither of them was designed to share the same space around the clock. They both wanted to reorganize the stuff on the chest between them and they kept fighting over the TV remote. Also, they couldn’t hear themselves think because the other was always on the telephone obsessing about something back at the station.”

  “You know something,” she said, “you’ve said more in the last few minutes than you usually say in a day.”

  “Nobody’s shooting at us now. Did I mention how good it is to see you?”

  “Yes, and for me too. Hector told me that you had some special meals brought in for the three of you.”

  “Yes,” Tom said, “I actually got reprimanded by the hospital administrator, the head nurse, two surgeons, and the lawyer for the people with the cafeteria concession. Not bad for one day’s work.”

  “I don’t think people who have had major surgery are supposed to be eating pastrami and swiss cheese sandwiches and drinking Bull’s Breath beer. I understand the dill pickles were the size of zucchinis.”

  “I thought they needed something to motivate them to get well. What really made the whitecoats mad was the fact that they couldn’t wrestle the food away from them. See, that’s the problem. The patients start giving them some indication that they really are getting well and it makes them mad. Better they should lay there with their behinds sticking out of their gowns, trying to suck on ice chips as they get in the mood for the rust-colored jello and the fruit cocktail with the pieces of stem left in the grapes. I gave them hope and what did I get in return—snotty phone calls from doctors and not-very-subtle threats from lawyers.”

  “What did Brighton and Dietrich say?”

  “They wanted to know what happened to the cheesecake.”

  “I also saw Professor Roberts the other day. Here, in the hospital.”

  “I recommended they use him to authenticate the Beowulf manuscript,” Tom said. “They couldn’t prosecute Alec for art theft without verifying that the works were legitimate. There’s no crime in owning forgeries. I figured Roberts would like to return to California for awhile. We had a nice chat. In the meantime the people at the British Library have sent an armed guard for the manuscript, but, officially, they’ve put it in Roberts’ personal care. He looks like somebody who just hit the PowerBall lottery.”

  The doors opened automatically and the orderly pushed Tom to the side of Diana’s car.

  “This is where I get off,” Tom said.

  The orderly handed him a clipboard with a form to sign.

  Two and a half hours later they were on the 101, heading toward Carpinteria.

  “What’s our first stop?” Tom asked.

  “Santa Barbara, I thought. Maybe a day or two of rest there. I’ll prop you up on the beach, replenish your fluids. Then maybe Carmel. Somewhere up in the mountains.”

  “And then?”

  “Do you always have to plan things this carefully? They’re not shooting anymore, remember?”

  “I remember it all,” he said. “Your brother would have been as proud of you as I was.”

  As they drove into Montecito Tom could feel the warmth of the sun against his face. “What are you going to do with the horses?” he asked.

  “They’ve been taken as evidence for the time being, but when they’re returned I’ll keep them. Despite the memories they’re David’s last work. He painted them to save me. They’re like a final wish or a last message. Somehow I can’t get them out of my mind. I thought that if I continued to look at them I’d dream about the cave and the violence, but I really haven’t. They’re so very beautiful.”

  “How could they not be?” Tom said, as he reached for her hand. “How could they not be?”

  * * *

  Contents

  DEAD SO SOON

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE GREEN DISEASE

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  TENEDOS

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

 
Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  HEATH STEPPER

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  THE FIFTH CHAMBER

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four