Savich looked at Sherlock, who whispered, “He’s only a couple of blocks ahead, driving slow.”
“You got Claudia with you? She listening to us?”
“My little cutie’s right here.”
“Is she holding a box of Kleenex for you to catch the blood you’re spewing? Too bad about your tuberculosis, Moses.”
“I’m going to blow up your house, boy, you hear me? I’m going to blow you and your little wife to hell.”
Moses clicked off.
Savich saw the dark blue van at the same time Dane and Ben did. Moses was driving around Jackson Park, a small square dotted with old maple trees, deserted now in the cold winter night. Only a few lights were on in the houses surrounding the square.
Dane whispered into his cell, “We’ve got him dead ahead. Everyone come in silent. Wait for my signal.”
The van suddenly accelerated. They realized they’d been spotted, but it was too late. It was way too late.
“Gotcha, old man.” Savich punched down on the gas, heading straight for the van. Ben and Dane leaned out, fired multiple rounds at the van’s back tires.
Both tires exploded.
Claudia leaned out the passenger window, returned fire.
The van swerved madly, struck a parked Toyota, then bounced off. Moses jumped the curb and turned the van into the park, skimming between two skinny maple trees. The doors flew open and he and Claudia leaped out, carrying what looked like AR-15 assault rifles. They ran in opposite directions through the small park, taking cover behind trees.
FBI vehicles started pulling up all around the park, tires screeching, headlights filling the park with glaring light.
Savich was out of the Volvo, yelling, “Down, everyone down!”
Automatic gunfire from the park sprayed the area in a wide circle. Savich heard a grunt, yelled without hesitation, “Bring them down!”
For a minute the gunfire was intense, blasting into the park from all directions. Savich heard Claudia yell, watched the AR-15 spin out of her arms as she fell to the ground. She tried to crawl away, holding her side.
They were close enough to hear Moses coughing, curses spewing out of his mouth as he fired. There was a brief silence when they heard him slam in another clip, and he fired again. Lights came on in the houses around the square. There were no shadows left anywhere. Claudia hissed out a yell and crawled back to her assault rifle. As she grabbed up the weapon, one of the sharpshooters found her in his sights. There was a loud report as her head exploded and she fell back, dead. The shooting abruptly stopped because Moses was no longer firing and was no longer in view. He wasn’t anywhere.
Savich began to run to where he’d last seen Moses bent nearly double with the force of his coughing, fanning his assault rifle, firing until another clip was empty.
He yelled, “Hold your fire!” He was within six feet of where Moses had stood, saw the spent shells but nothing else. He heard a cough and turned sharply to his left, ran toward it. “I can hear you, Moses. In a second I’ll be able to see you, too. You’re not as good as Tammy was.”
A bullet fired, went wide. Savich saw Moses Grace in the next moment, the assault rifle hanging limply in his hand, bent over, moaning, hacking up blood. A large bloodstain was spreading across his belly. Suddenly a fountain of blood gushed out of his mouth. Savich walked over to him and took the rifle out of his hand. “Everyone can see you now, Moses. It’s over.” Savich yelled over his shoulder, “All clear.”
The old man heaved up more blood. He was covered with it now, streaming down his chin. Savich watched him weave, then fall hard to the ground on his side. He groaned as he rolled over onto his back. His eyes stared straight up, locked onto Savich’s face.
His face twisted as he tried to speak, his bloody chest pulsing in frantic breaths. Savich came down on his knees beside him. His blood-drenched mouth opened, and when Savich leaned down close to him, he tried to spit on him. But he no longer had any breath. If he was still aware of where he was, the last thing he saw was twenty FBI agents standing over him.
Savich felt for a pulse in his neck, then shook his head. For a long moment, he stared down at the mad old wreck of a man.
Jimmy Maitland dropped to his knees beside Savich. “Dear Lord, I didn’t know there was this much blood in a human being. Thank God it’s over. Step away, Savich, he’s infected.”
Mr. Maitland rose, Savich coming up slowly to stand beside him. They watched all the men and women high-fiving each other. Mr. Maitland shouted, “Okay, boys and girls, let’s get this nightmare wrapped up.
”
They could hear sirens in the distance. Mr. Maitland said to Savich, “The media will be here any minute. I hope to God they never find out how you pulled this off. You know what? Even I don’t know how high up the chain of command this one went.” He clapped Savich on the shoulder. Savich grinned at him. “Worked like a charm, didn’t it?”
Ten minutes later, Jimmy Maitland watched the forensic team carefully bag the bodies of Moses Grace and Claudia Smollett. The police cordoned off the area to keep the homeowners away. Men and women tumbled out of media vans, armed with microphones and cameras. Mr. Maitland watched Savich hug Sherlock and help her into the Volvo. Then he walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He imagined Savich wincing as he turned the key on that solid car that was a universe away from his Porsche, and smiled. Then he squared his shoulders and turned to deal with the media.
CHAPTER 36
MAESTRO, VIRGINIA SUNDAY NOON
THE BOYS HAD wolfed down their first hamburger and baked potato before they stopped talking about the lineup at the Richmond Police Department. It wasn’t until they were building their second hamburgers that Rob started a new topic. “The ice was great on the pond this morning, Dad. We all raced and I won, easy.”
“You only beat me once, Rob, and that’s because you cheated. And the other kids were all twelve years old.”
“What about Pete? He’s a senior, older than me.”
“He’s a spaz, can’t figure out which foot is which.”
Ruth and Dix sat back, half listening, watching the boys eat and argue, mostly both at the same time. Dix said, “The amazing thing is I can remember when I ate just like that with my brothers.”
She nodded, but she was thinking, and Dix saw it. “We did a lot of good work this morning, Ruth. Give your brain a rest for a while.”
“I can’t.”
Rob said, “Hey, Ruth, do you skate? You think you can beat my little brother? If you do, you can race against me.”
“And the winner of that race will go against me, right?” Dix asked.
“Okay, Dad, with maybe a handicap.”
“And maybe a blindfold,” Rafe said.
“You’re that good, are you?” Ruth asked him.
“Beat my boys and see.”
Ruth grinned as she passed the mustard for the new round of burgers. Dix noticed that Rob didn’t dig into his hamburger right away, and that was unusual. “What’s up, Rob?”
Rob carefully laid his fork down on his plate. “I don’t know, but something’s wrong, Dad, with you. I think you’re all wound up. You and Ruth both.”
“I suppose that’s the truth,” Dix said. He imagined he knew where this was going, and he didn’t want to stop it. He said nothing, only nodded.
“Rafe and I were talking.” Here Rob shot a warning look at his brother.
“Yes?”
“Well, maybe—Nothing, Dad. We can talk about it later.” Rob pushed his chair back, grabbed his hamburger, and shot up. “We’re going to go sledding now.” He waved his hamburger. “I need my strength. Thanks for lunch.”
“Wait for me, Rob!”
“Be careful,” Ruth called after them.
Dix opened his mouth to demand to hear more, but he didn’t. They heard things, and they must be imagining even worse things. Rob was right, both he and Ruth were wound up. A discussion with the boys could wait until they were all ready for
it, and he wouldn’t be ready for it until everything was resolved.
“They must blame me,” Ruth said, surprising him. “It’s easy to think that if I hadn’t come here, none of this would have happened.”
“Well, if they think that, they’re wrong and they’ll come to realize it. They’re fair and they’re bright. The best thing we can do for them is to put an end to all this as soon as we can. Then we’ll help them deal with it, Ruth. It’ll just take some time.”
His cell phone rang.
“Sheriff Noble.”
Ruth watched Dix’s face as he listened. When he punched off, he said, “That was Cesar Morales. He doesn’t have a name for us.”
“That sure makes me want to pop out with a profanity. All right, Dix. Cut the tease. Why did he call?”
“It turns out Dempsey’s girlfriend has been spending lots of cash. They pinned her with it and she finally told the detective that Tommy gave her nine thousand dollars in cash to keep safe until he and Jackie got back from a job.”
Ruth’s heart speeded up. “Did she give up anything that would help us find out who gave Dempsey the money?”
“As I said, Cesar didn’t have a name. But Tommy told his girlfriend it was for a job he was doing for a woman.” He paused, and grinned. “What he said, exactly, was that the job was for a crazy bitch at the music school in Maestro.”
CHAPTER 37
MAESTRO SUNDAY EVENING
DIX PULLED INTO Gordon’s driveway at six o’clock that evening. He turned to Ruth as he unfastened his seat belt. “You armed?”
“Oh yes.”
B.B. climbed out of his cruiser to meet them in the driveway. “Sheriff, Agent Warnecki. Somebody with the boys, Sheriff?”
“The boys went over to the Claussons’ for dinner and Foosball with their friends.”
“Are you going to arrest him, Sheriff?”
Dix said, “We’ll see, B.B.” He turned to scan the house as he murmured to Ruth, “When Christie disappeared, everyone in the department became the boys’ substitute mothers.” He turned back to B.B.
“We’ve got all our ducks in a row. Now, where did he go this afternoon?”
“He drove to Tara about two o’clock, then came back here maybe an hour ago. Looks like he turned on every light in the house.”
It did indeed, Dix thought, scanning the house. “I want you to stay in your car, B.B. If for some reason Dr. Holcombe leaves the house before we do, give me a call.”
“Especially if he’s running around waving a gun,” Ruth added.
Dix took Ruth’s arm, and they walked up the stone pathway to the front door. Gordon answered the door looking like an aristocrat in a gray cashmere turtleneck sweater and black slacks. Elegant and worldly, but exhausted, his eyes hooded and dull.
He knows we’re here for him, Dix thought, he knows.
Gordon paused in the doorway, staring at them. “Dix, Agent Warnecki. It’s Sunday; to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We’d like to speak to you, Gordon.”
Gordon looked over Dix’s shoulder. “I’ve seen your deputy outside. I hope you don’t want to bring him in, too.”
“No, my deputy is guarding our backs.” Dix walked into the entryway as Gordon gestured them in.
“We’ve got some things to discuss with you, Gordon, like who hired Tommy Dempsey and Jackie Slater.”
“Who? Oh, those men you killed in the car chase. Oh, all right. Come on in then, it’s not like I can stop you.” Gordon waved them into the living room.
Dix and Ruth watched Gordon walk to a drink trolley on the far side of the room, lift a brandy bottle, an eyebrow arched. “Either of you want a drink?”
Ruth and Dix shook their heads. Dix said, “No, we’re fine.”
Ruth looked around the large open space, all windows and rich oak, dominated by a large grand piano at the far end of the room. The walls were covered with musical scores, beautifully framed—all of them, she knew, originals penned by the composers themselves. It was a comfortable room, elegant and subtle, filled with earth tones and oversized leather furniture. A fire burned brightly in the stone fireplace. They watched Gordon pour himself a liberal amount of brandy, splashing some of it over the side of the snifter, as if he’d already had too much.
“You have a lovely Steinway, Dr. Holcombe. I noticed it when we were here before.”
“Yes, you saw everything, didn’t you, when you searched my house?” Gordon walked to the eleven-foot black grand piano and laid a hand lightly on the keys. “Did you know that Steinway fought at the Battle of Waterloo?”
They shook their heads, and Gordon sighed, sipped his brandy. “Who cares?”
Dix said without preamble, “I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet, Gordon, that we know who hired Dempsey and Slater. Or perhaps you already know?”
“How would I know? Tell me, Dix.”
“Helen Rafferty.”
His hand jerked, and more brandy spilled out of his snifter. “Helen hired those two thugs? Why, for heaven’s sake? To kill Agent Warnecki here? Helen didn’t even know her last Saturday. That makes no sense, Dix.”
“No, Helen didn’t hire them to kill Ruth. She hired them to kill Erin.”
“What did you say? Kill Erin? That’s crazy. Why would Helen do such an insane thing? No, I was thinking it was that boy lover of Marian’s, Sam Moraga. I heard he wanted Erin but she didn’t want him.
” He stopped dead, stared at them. “Wait a minute, here, Dix. This means you no longer think I killed Erin? You think I’m innocent?”
Dix said, “We know you didn’t hire them, Gordon. Our apologies for believing you did.”
“We also know Sam Moraga had nothing to do with Erin’s murder, either,” Ruth said.
“So you’re blaming Helen? I don’t understand any of this, Dix.” He leaned heavily against the grand piano.
Dix said, “We’re cops, Gordon. It’s our job to keep asking questions until all the pieces fit together. And for a while there, all the pieces pointed right at you. But in the end, they didn’t fit when it came to your killing Erin and Walt. Truth be told, Gordon, we think you really loved Erin.”
“Yes, yes, of course I did, Dix. She was filled with light, filled with love.” For a moment, they were afraid he would burst into tears. He got hold of himself and managed to look contemptuous. “So you’ve been going down the list. Very well. Tell me what you think Helen had to do with it.”
“Ruth and I spent the afternoon combing through Helen’s bank records. We found three large withdrawals she made in the past three weeks, in cash. We’ve been through her telephone records as well. She called Richmond twice, Tommy Dempsey’s number specifically. There was one call from Dempsey’s number to hers, last Thursday. Helen may have been a good receptionist, but she wasn’t an experienced criminal. She left a trail.”
“She hired those men to murder my Erin? But that can’t be right, Dix. She always supported me, helped me. I think she loved me. Why would she do such a thing?”
Ruth said, “It’s not so hard to figure out, is it, Gordon? Helen saw that Erin Bushnell wasn’t like the other students you took as lovers. She realized that Erin was the first woman you really loved, the one who might be with you for the long term, not just until she graduated. Helen had made herself accept that you turned her away because of your infirmity—that’s what she called it—your need for stimulation and even inspiration from those talented young women. So Helen was able to accept them, because they were temporary. Only she was a constant.
“But then you met Erin and everything changed.”
Gordon gulped down brandy, coughed, wiped his brimming eyes. “I would have given Erin anything. Anything.”
“Yes, we know, and so did Helen. And she couldn’t live with that. She snapped.”
“I still can’t believe it. How could someone like Helen find two criminals?”
Ruth said, “We called Helen’s brother, Dave Rafferty. We asked him if Helen ever mentioned ei
ther of the men. He’s a high-school teacher, and he remembered he’d had Dempsey’s younger brother in a class. He was a troubled kid whose older brother was in and out of prison. Dave thought he’d probably talked to Helen about him. So she must have tracked the older Dempsey down.”
Dix continued, “We think it was Helen who told them about Winkel’s Cave, as a good place to hide Erin
’s body. Otherwise, they would have had no way of knowing about it. Did you or Chappy ever take Helen there?”
Gordon said, “I don’t remember. Maybe Chappy took her there. I never liked that cave when we were boys, it was Chappy’s place.”
“Helen knew about that entrance, she knew about the cave chamber. We think they chose how to kill Erin all on their own, though. Did you know they used a hallucinogenic drug to disable her, and after they killed her, they embalmed her and posed her? Did you know that, Gordon?”
He looked like he was going to faint. “They embalmed her? Like morticians do?”
Ruth nodded. “Morticians and insane people. We know that Dempsey’s stepfather worked in a funeral home. He must have hung around the place, watched the process. So Dempsey did something to really confuse things. He and Slater embalmed her, and as a final touch, posed her to make it look like a ritual killing rather than a contract killing, in case she was found too soon. And that part of it worked like a charm. It was an excellent distraction. We were led to believe a ritual serial killer might have murdered Erin Bushnell. We thought there might be other victims, and spent some time and effort looking for them
—including all your former student lovers. And because they are all alive and well, it didn’t really settle comfortably that you were some maniac serial killer.”
Gordon’s face went white. “You believed I was capable of that? A killer who did that over and over?”
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