“Who’s with them?”
He didn’t say anything. Neither did Nora. But Devin stared into Frank’s eyes and said, “Ballard. He’s out there with them, isn’t he?”
Frank still didn’t respond, but Devin was nodding his head, already convinced.
“Okay,” he said. “AJ, King, get them in the van. We’re close, boys. We’re close.”
29
__________
Past Madison and gaining on Stevens Point, maybe two hours away if he could keep this speed up. Grady was driving hard and staring at the clock, willing it to tick a little slower.
He wanted to call Frank, see if the kid had his phone on today, if he’d answer. There was news to share, damn it. Atkins hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d press charges over another phone call, though, and Grady had the sense that Frank was done talking to him anyhow. He had a plan of some sort, was putting something in motion.
If Duncan was good for the murder, as the fingerprint suggested, then this thing was shaping up exactly as Grady had feared: Devin Matteson was headed out to that lake to settle the score, and Frank Temple had placed himself in the way.
By the time he passed the first exit for Stevens Point he couldn’t wait for news anymore, grabbed the phone and called Atkins again.
“He’s still gone,” Atkins said, without bothering to exchange a greeting. “I’ve also tried to find the guy you mentioned, Ballard, but he’s MIA as well. Thing is, there’s a boat down here now.”
“Where?”
“At Temple’s cabin. There was a small boat the first time I came out, little aluminum thing, but now there’s a fancy bass boat on the beach. I called in to check the numbers, and it comes back to Ballard.”
“But they’re not inside.”
“No, they’re not inside,” Atkins snapped, his tone icy. “There was a truck here this morning, too, registered to that girl at the body shop, and now that’s gone and this damn boat is here and none of them are where I can find them. This is fantastic, Morgan. I’ve got a murder warrant ready to go, and these assholes know where the guy is, and now I can’t find them.”
“You got anybody else involved?”
“Couple of the locals are running around, trying to turn the girl up. Said she was just in at some nursing home visiting her father, so I guess she’s all right. But I’m the only one out here at the lake.”
“You probably ought to have some help.”
“I’ll get help when I find out where the son of a bitch is, Morgan. And I can’t do that until your buddy shows his face again.”
“Wait there,” Grady said. “If Ballard’s boat is there, they’ll probably be coming back to it.”
“I’m going to wait for maybe twenty minutes, and then I’m going back to check Ballard’s house. But I’ll give it another twenty.”
Devin Matteson made them all ride in the van, first instructing Nora to write a note that said, Out of gas, back soon, please don’t tow, for display in the windshield of her truck. She hadn’t thought much of it then, but after she was in the van and they were in motion, the note began to disturb her. It would keep anyone who found the truck from immediate concern and imply that Nora had been under her own power when she left the vehicle behind. Those were only temporary effects, of course, but the fact that Devin had considered them made something bitter bloom in her stomach. He was good at these things, kidnapping and murder, so good that the little moves like that note came to him effortlessly, it seemed. Came the way things did after a lot of practice.
AJ was driving and sat alone in the front, Nora in the middle row beside Devin Matteson, Frank all the way in back with the man called King. Devin and King and AJ were all wearing guns. AJ had two, actually; he’d paused long enough to take Frank’s gun out of the truck before they left. It lay on the floor in front of the passenger seat now. She could hear it slide around when they took sharp curves.
Devin Matteson’s true condition began to show itself during the van ride. He’d looked bad initially, unhealthy, but once they were in the van Nora saw that he’d held it together well for that first encounter. Now he seemed to struggle with every turn and bend, wincing at the motions, patting his chest lightly with his hand. By the time they’d gone five miles his face was bathed in sweat, his breathing audible across the van.
There was nothing between her and the end of this but twenty minutes in the van, another twenty in a boat. The fear should have been intense, cloaking her, forcing her into hysterical sobbing. That seemed right, at least. Instead, she was just sitting here, swaying gently with the van’s motion, listening to the rasping breaths of the man with the gun beside her, numb.
They were going to die. While she believed the story Devin had told, at least the portion about Vaughn, she couldn’t believe that meant any change in her fate. She’d seen these men face-to-face, watched them commit crimes. After all that, they weren’t going to simply head home after finding Vaughn, trusting that she and Frank would pretend none of this had happened.
So we’re going to die. She almost nodded as if confirming the silent, internal voice. It was true. If things went according to plan for these men, there would be more killing before the end of the day, and it wasn’t going to stop with Vaughn.
All this over a murder, she thought. No, wait, it wasn’t even a murder. He didn’t kill Devin, he just tried. And now how many others will die because of that? How many innocent people are going to atone for one man’s attempted killing?
The interior of the van darkened as they drove north, the sun pushed beneath ivory clouds that looked a good deal more ominous to the west. She watched the shadows play across the seats and tried to think of a way to stop this. The moves that came to mind were all in hindsight, though, things she could have done and had chosen not to do. Atkins of the FBI sat somewhere in Tomahawk, awaiting her call. If she’d called him instead of getting in the boat with Frank and Ezra . . .
Ezra. The thought of him was the closest thing to comfort she could come up with. He was capable, always in control, and, if what Frank had said about him was true, the sort of man who could deal with these bastards. The odds weren’t with Ezra, though. He was without warning, he was without preparation, he was without the support of favorable numbers. He was also all she had to hold her hope.
The van rumbled over a stretch of rough pavement, and she looked back out the window, saw with surprise that they were already on County Y, minutes from the cabin. It was all going to happen fast now, too fast. She sat up straighter, wanting to turn and look at Frank, but King’s hand came down immediately, pressed hard into her shoulder, brought her back into the seat.
The van came to a stop, and she looked up again and saw the lake through the windshield, the water darker and tossed by a gusting wind. For a moment the lake held her attention, but then she heard AJ swear softly, and when she leaned to the left for a clearer view she saw that there was a car parked beside Frank’s cabin. A white Buick sedan, nobody sitting inside.
“Whose car?” Devin said, leaning close to her, his face shiny with sweat.
Silence.
“Whose car?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Frank didn’t speak. Maybe he knew who it was. Someone he’d arranged to meet at the cabin before all of this had started.
That idea died an immediate death when Atkins, the FBI agent, walked around the corner of the cabin. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand, and when he saw the van he folded the papers and tucked them into his back pocket, cocking his head and studying the van and AJ behind the wheel.
“Who is that?” AJ said.
Nora didn’t answer, just stared at Atkins as if he were the ghost of a loved one, someone you’d known you’d never see again no matter how badly you hoped for it. At that moment, Atkins reached into his suit jacket. AJ tensed, but then Atkins’s hand was back out, with a badge in it. Nora’s muscles went soft, liquid. What was he doing? Don’t pull a badge, pull a gun.
“Handle it,” Devin said, and then he press
ed the gun into Nora’s stomach as AJ opened the door.
“Not a sound,” Devin said. “King? Don’t let either of them make a sound.”
AJ stepped out into the wind, said, “Is there a problem, sir?” and then slammed the door.
“No,” Nora said softly. She couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let AJ talk his way out of this, send their best chance at rescue off in that Buick, oblivious. King’s hand descended onto her shoulder again, tightened into the nerves, held her against the seat.
AJ was walking toward Atkins with a leisurely stride, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other cupped to his ear as if struggling to hear over the sound of the wind. Atkins walked forward to meet him, still holding the badge in the air, waving with his free hand at Frank’s cabin.
“Oh, shit,” Frank said, and King’s hand left her shoulder and went to Frank’s throat as AJ closed the gap to a few feet and Nora finally realized what was about to happen, that AJ’s goal had never been to fool Atkins with talk. She screamed then, and Atkins jerked, looked toward the van and took a fumbling step backward and AJ’s hand came up out of his jacket and into the FBI agent’s stomach.
Atkins hunched, as if caught by an unexpected stomach cramp, and then AJ’s hand rose higher and Atkins rocked back onto his heels and kept going, landed on his back with the handle of the knife rising out of his sternum as if AJ had planted a flag there. It was the last thing Nora saw before King slammed his rough hand across her mouth and pulled her backward, dragging her head behind the seat, telling her to shut up or she’d die, too.
It was like that, with her back arched and her neck strained to its limits, staring into the backseat upside down, that her eyes finally found Frank’s. King’s gun was shoved against Frank’s head, but Frank seemed unaware of it. He’d turned his eyes away from the scene outside for only a moment, just long enough to meet hers, and what she saw there was nothing like what he had to be seeing in her own face, not fear or sorrow but the dark shadows of rage.
30
__________
We didn’t need this. Damn it, we didn’t need this!”
Devin was standing above Atkins’s body, staring at AJ, his face now stricken by both pain and anger.
“You said handle it, man.”
“Handle it, shit, you think that means you gut the guy? An FBI agent? This is something we needed?”
AJ showed a ghost of a smile, spread his hands. “Dev . . . what can I say? You know, it’s done. I’ll deal with it.”
Frank, watching him, thought, He did it because he likes it. That was all. Devin was dangerous, but Devin had a brain. This wild son of a bitch, AJ, he was closer to the edge. Bloodthirsty, driven by it. He’d killed Atkins because it was not only what he knew to do but what he liked to do. Any guilt over his own stupidity, over the additional attention this was going to bring down around them, was buried beneath the pure pleasure he’d taken in the moment.
“I mean, I saw a badge, you know? I saw a badge, Dev, I just reacted.” AJ was watching Devin, the knife gone and the gun back in his hand. It was a Glock, and he kept rubbing his thumb over the butt as he looked at Devin. There was a strange symbol tattooed on the back of his hand. A lefty, too. Frank had only known one left-handed shooter, but that guy had been damn accurate.
“You’ll deal with it.” Devin shook his head, disgusted, and stared at the corpse at their feet for a long time. When he finally looked up, his eyes found Frank, lingered there, and then he nodded.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll make it work.”
He made Frank drag the body down to the boat, a crimson smear marking their path over the grass, the trail of blood leading right to the cabin door. That’s what the cops would see, Frank knew, and what the newspaper and TV people would use for drama. When they were all dead and the cops came up here to sort out the mess, all they’d see was that trail of blood leading to the door of a dead murderer, and the Temple name would be infamous again, Frank accepting the baton from his father. He understood that perfectly as he followed Devin’s instructions and handled the body, leaving fingerprints all over the corpse of an FBI agent who’d surely voiced his suspicions of Frank to colleagues already.
Devin hadn’t wanted this complication, but he knew how to deal with it.
“Take that anchor line,” he said, “and loop it around his neck. Make it tight.”
Frank was standing in the shallows, knee deep in the lake, the body slumped facedown in the water as he wrapped the line around Atkins’s neck. Devin stood above him on dry land, using a tree for support and studying the lake with the gun held down against his leg, checking for other boats. There weren’t any, though. The weather was on Devin’s side, rain starting to fall now and thunder crackling just a few miles west, a good storm on the way. A Sunday before fishing season, with a storm coming in, guaranteed an empty lake. Empty except for them and those on the island.
Atkins was the first of at least three victims today if things went Devin’s way. He was clearly aware of the possibilities left by making Frank handle the body, but he might not appreciate just how well this would work, might not know that Atkins was already investigating Frank, the hit man’s son. Some quick, quiet killing at the island and a fast trip out of town were the only things keeping the trio from Miami from disappearing like phantoms, leaving the police to try making sense of a situation they’d probably never understand.
Grady. Frank thought of him as he secured Atkins in the anchor line. Grady was an element Devin didn’t know about, couldn’t plan for. Grady had been putting the puzzle together for everyone, and he’d know where to start when Atkins was announced as missing or the body was found. He wouldn’t believe it was Frank’s doing. Would he?
Shit, what would it matter? If nobody was left but Grady, let them think what they wanted.
Devin was weaker than Frank had thought at first, hardly able to stand. He’d taken a long time just to cross the short stretch of yard to the tree he leaned against now, and his pain was visible even from down here in the water, his face pale and shiny, his mouth always hanging open to help with breathing. The day’s killing would be done at his whim but not by his hands. That was fitting.
Frank finished tying Atkins to the line and set the anchor back into the stern, the body now tied in the middle of the line. Then AJ waved at Frank with the gun.
“Get in.”
Frank climbed into the boat, and then Nora and King followed suit and AJ turned back to look at his boss. Devin pushed off the tree, took a wavering step toward them, and then leaned backward and clutched for the tree again, used it to regain his balance.
“Dev . . .” AJ started toward him, but Devin was already in motion again, trying to walk toward them. He made it four steps before his legs buckled and he went down. AJ caught him by the shoulders, helped him up.
“You got to get out of here, man,” AJ was saying as Devin struggled for his breath. “Got to get to a—”
“Shut up.” Devin had his hands on his knees. “You know what I’m here to do.”
“I’m telling you, we can do it for you.”
“No.”
AJ looked back at the boat, then down at Devin. “Dev, you aren’t going to make it in that boat. You aren’t. And it’s starting to rain, man. Gonna turn ugly soon.”
Devin didn’t respond, just took in fast, panting breaths.
“We’ll go get him,” AJ said. “We’ll get him, and we’ll bring him back to you. All right? Him and Renee. We’ll bring Renee back, Dev. You got to stay here, though. Out in that boat, man . . .”
Devin rose slowly, stared at the group already waiting in the boat, his eyes lingering on Frank the longest.
“All right,” he said. “You go out there and bring them back, and do it fast, damn it, do it fast.”
“Right.” AJ was nodding. “Out and back, man, nothing to it.”
“Take them both,” Devin said. “This crazy old shit that’s out there, he’s good.”
“He�
��s nothing, Dev, don’t worry about—”
“No.” Devin shook his head. “He’s good, okay? That’s why you need them. You make sure he knows you’ve got the girl, too. Make that good and clear.”
“We got it, Dev. Now let me get you inside.”
AJ left Devin there in the yard and walked back to the boat, extended his hand to Frank, and asked for the key. Frank reached in his pocket and took it out, the key to the last place of clean memories he had with his father, and then he passed it over so Devin Matteson could go inside and wait for somebody else to finish his bloody work.
AJ took the key and went back to Devin, helped him across the yard and into the cabin, Frank watching them go, thinking, I’ll be back for you, you son of a bitch. It won’t be these two coming back. It’ll be me.
Ezra was on the island, and whether he’d gotten Frank’s aborted phone call or not, they would not be surprising him, not by approaching in a loud boat in the middle of a storm. He’d be waiting, and he’d be ready, and then it would be done. Let Ezra handle these two, and then Frank would come back for Devin.
The door reopened and AJ stepped out, started in their direction, then pulled up short and returned to the van, opened the driver’s door, and leaned inside to grab the extra gun, Frank’s father’s gun. It was the second time he’d gone back for it—the first, he’d made sure not to leave it in the glove compartment of the truck—and each time Frank had felt relief. He wanted the gun to travel with them, as if it somehow represented protection no matter the hands that held it.
They were close now, the island no more than twenty minutes away. He had no grand plan, no idea how to stop this from happening except to run directly to Ezra and hope for the best.
“Start the motor,” AJ said, stepping on board and coming back to sit behind Frank.
The big outboard fired at once, smooth and powerful and as loud as a damn train. Ezra had more horsepower on the back of that boat than was in most cars. Frank put the motor in reverse and kept the throttle low until the prop had pulled them into deeper water, then spun the wheel and slammed the throttle forward.
Envy the Night Page 25
