by Jonas Saul
“I killed my brother.” He swallowed as if the thought of it bothered him. “It made me feel real good. Now, open these damn things.” He raised his cuffed hand.
“Why kill your brother?”
“Because he wanted to stop me. Once I talked to my one true god, Lucifer, the plan was revealed to me. With my brother dead, I could disappear and exact my plan of revenge. Killing him was my test. Kill my own flesh and I could kill anyone I wanted without remorse. It worked.”
She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why not just disappear? Why’d your brother have to die?”
“He was my identical twin. When the family performed the positive ID at the morgue, they’d think it was me. Helps a man disappear.”
“Skeptically, I have to ask why they wouldn’t be looking for him?”
“Wait a second. I thought you were some kind of psychic. How come you don’t know any of this and yet you showed up here?”
“I’m not psychic. My dead sister tells me things once in a while. That’s it. Sometimes those things are about bad people like you.” She smiled crookedly. “That’s how I showed up here. She gave me the name, Trumpeter Road. So tell me, why wouldn’t everyone be looking for the twin brother?”
“Because he left a decade ago and has been living in Italy. For many years, he was incommunicado. When he called to come attend the funeral, he spoke only to me. I picked him up at the airport. He helped me for several hours and I told him what I wanted to do. When he told me I couldn’t go through with the plan, I killed him and dumped his body. It was genius. Everything worked flawlessly until now.” He pulled the cuffs, his hand in the air. “Unlock this and let me finish what I started.”
“I’ll make you a deal.” Sarah held up the cell phone. “Give me the six-digit deactivation code. I’ll stand up and unlock the cuffs. Then you do what you have to do and I’ll do what I have to do.”
“No way. You’re fast. You’re strong. I can’t fight you. I’ll never let you out of that chair.” His face scrunched up. “Wait a second. Earlier you said the cuff’s keys were in your car.”
“I lied.” She sat back and let her head rest on the chair. “Then we die together.”
“No,” he yelled.
“Then give me the six-digit code.”
“Never.”
“Who’s the sharpshooter?”
“Sharp shooter?” he asked. A smirk widened his mouth, showing teeth. “Oh, you mean the glassy-winged sharpshooters.”
“The what?”
“Little bugs that fuck up a winery by spreading a disease in the vines.”
Sarah sat up and focused on him. There was no sniper in her future. She hadn’t needed the BAE vest after all. She sure wished the messages could evolve over time to be a tad more specific.
“What kind of disease?” she asked.
“It’s called Pierce’s Disease. The sharpshooter feeds on the vegetation at the winery. They inject the bacterium which blocks the movement of water. It kills the vine. Once it’s in your winery, you’re toast. They can’t cure Pierce’s Disease.”
“And you’ve brought these bugs here to Kelowna?”
“I brought them to the Campbell Winery. They’ve been busy since Julia’s death. The Campbells will be ruined soon enough.” He had a smug look on his face. The kind that Sarah would love to smack off. “The sharpshooter spreads the disease at an aggressive rate. They’re quite the little voracious eaters.”
“You really are a horrible person, aren’t you?”
The privileged-kid attitude, the spoiled boy turned man, was Thirio’s consummate makeup. He wasn’t better off in life. He wasn’t contributing to his family business by attacking the Campbells. He was wreaking havoc on his family’s neighbors, supposedly doing it in the name of Satan to justify the behavior.
The time for talking was over. An idea came to her regarding the dead man who had been haunting her ever since she arrived in Kelowna. Each time he showed up, his arm gestured wildly as if attempting to communicate something to her. A number. Nine, five, six, two, or something like that.
She stared at the cell phone. “What happens when the code is entered?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll never give it up.”
She forcibly yanked the cuffs toward her. He was jerked out of his cross-legged position and had to grab the edge of the chair to avoid smashing into it with his face.
“Just tell me what happens. It won’t matter if you never tell me the code.”
“You’ll hear an audible click as the ignitor is released and placed back where it belongs.” He took a deep breath and tried to massage his wrist. “It’ll only happen once, though. Once you stand up, if you were to apply pressure to the top of the landmine again, there’s no code.” He looked into her eyes. “Kaboom.”
“Last question. And don’t even try to lie. Your life depends on it.”
He frowned and pursed his lips, then nodded.
“Is it six digits or can it be five or four?”
“Six digits. Nothing less. I swear.”
Sarah distinctly remembered the old man gesturing out four digits, not six. She allowed her cuffed arm to relax. Thirio sat back down beside the chair.
“What next?” he asked.
“I’m going to type the code into the phone in a few minutes.”
“How’s that?” His voice cracked. Thirio seemed nervous. “You can’t guess at that sort of thing. I have a three-try limit programmed into it.”
She looked at him in the semi-darkness. “Only three tries?”
He nodded.
“Then I better make sure I do it right.”
Vivian hadn’t made an appearance yet. Sarah wasn’t going to wait all night. The dead man had shown her the numbers—she was sure of it. The first number had been a nine. She typed the nine, then snuck a look at Thirio. He gasped. The look in his eyes told her she was right. Then she typed a five. Thirio’s mouth opened.
“How could you possibly …” his voice trailed off.
“I just can’t recall if it’s a six and then a two, or a two and then a six.” Sarah closed her eyes a moment and stared at the dead man gesturing in her mind’s eye. In the future when dead people showed up and gestured wildly she would pay more attention.
She decided on six, then two. If she was wrong, she had more tries. After typing in the six, followed by the two, she was stumped. At no time did she see the dead man gesture other numbers. His hand would make a violent gesture as if to signal he was done, then restart on the nine.
“What are the last two digits?” Sarah asked.
“Never,” Thirio said. He shook his head and stared down at the basement floor. “I can’t. Not in Julia’s honor.” He looked back up. “You’re psychic. You figure it out.”
“Maybe there’s only four numbers.”
He shrugged noncommittally.
She hit the enter key to accept the four numbers. The screen flipped to the empty six spots again. Nothing else happened.
“Two more tries,” he said. “Then we’re dead.”
“And you’re not going to help me?” she asked, certain of his answer.
“You’ve thwarted me along the way and now you’re taking away my final act, my triumph. Why would I help you?”
“Fine.”
She typed in nine, five, then changed the position of the six and the two. Thirio mouthed the word wow. That confirmed it. She’d nailed the first four numbers. But what were the last two? Maybe there were only four after all.
She hit enter and listened for the audible click Thirio said would happen.
Nothing.
“With one try left, I will remind you that there are six digits in the code. Hitting enter with only the first four is a waste of your chances. You have only one more chance and I’m certain you’ll never figure it out.”
She retyped the first four numbers. Nine, five, two, six, then closed her eyes and focused on the old man again. What numbers were the last two? What had he
done before starting at the nine again? Thirio had said digits and not numbers. Were the last two entries something other than a number?
She scanned the row of numbers along the top, then stared at each option below the numbers. Back slash, semi colon, colon, parenthesis, the dollar sign, and on and on. What did that old man do with the last two gestures? Whatever the last two items were, they were the same because the man had jerked his arm sideways. Could he have been doing a hyphen, a dash? That was all that made sense. The dash.
Sarah typed the dash key, then hit it again.
“No,” Thirio said. Desperation had entered his voice. “Don’t.”
Sarah hit enter. A small vibration emanated from under her. Something clicked. Her heart doubled its beating in her chest. Did she just trigger the bomb and was seconds away from dying? Or did she deactivate it? Only one way to find out.
Sarah pushed off and rose from the comfy plush armchair.
Chapter 45
“Did you hear that?” Lee asked.
Parkman nodded. “Gunshot. Back of the house.”
Lee turned to his right. “Gossett, circle around back and see if the rear door is open.”
A muffled, Sir, came from the side of the house.
Lee knocked on the front door again, then stepped to the side. “Open up. Police. Last chance. I will blow the lock off.”
Parkman peeked inside the front window. “Can’t see anyone.”
“Someone’s in there.” Lee knocked again.
“Wait,” Parkman said. “There’s a shadow at the end of the corridor.” He watched as Officer Gossett stepped into view. “It’s Gossett,” Parkman told Lee.
Gossett paused by an open doorway, then continued toward the front door cautiously, his gun clutched in both hands. Parkman hopped up on the cement porch as Gossett neared the door. The lock clicked and the door swung inward.
“All clear, sir. Old man on the floor behind that door.” Gossett pointed. “I haven’t cleared the upstairs yet.”
Lee stepped inside the house, his own weapon held down low by his right thigh. Parkman did the same.
“Clear the upstairs. Then get back down here. We’ll tend to the man.”
“Yes sir.” Gossett hit the stairs running, ascending two at a time. The man was in stealth mode and made nary a sound as he bolted up the stairs, stunning for a man of his size.
Lee started along the corridor toward the room Gossett had pointed at. Parkman hadn’t been this active with other officers in a long time. It was usually Aaron or Sarah or even Darwin leading the way and it wasn’t as safe or organized. Those friends of his were usually more reckless.
At the opening to the room, Lee stepped in and flicked on the light.
“Shit.” He dropped to his knees and searched for a pulse while Parkman stayed at the door watching the hallway.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Faint, but he’s still with us.” Lee yanked out his cell phone and called an ambulance. Once he gave them the address he patted the man down.
“There’s no blood,” Parkman said.
“There’s no bullet wound,” Lee said.
Parkman met Lee’s gaze. “Then who got shot a minute ago?”
Lee diverted his attention back to Campbell. “Hang in there, buddy. Help’s on the way.” He got to his feet and joined Parkman at the door. “We have to clear this house before emergency services arrive.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Gossett came bounding down the stairs. “Clear upstairs, sir.”
“Stay by the front door. Watch for the ambulance. Direct them to Mr. Campbell here the moment they arrive.”
“Yes sir.” Gossett dutifully moved to the edge of the vast living room window and stared out into the street. Parkman knew the man would remain a statue until the flashing lights of the ambulance announced their arrival—he was that disciplined.
Lee moved toward the rear of the house where the door stood wide open. At the door, he flicked on the outside lights. Parkman followed his lead and moved onto the back porch.
A row of hedges lined the rear of the house. Beyond them lay darkness. Lee kept his back to the house and moved to the right. Parkman moved to the left. When Parkman got to the corner of the house, he stuck his head around and looked up toward the road. When he turned back around, he saw a pair of black boots upended on the grass behind the row of hedges.
“Psst.” Parkman hoped Lee would hear him. “Over here,” he whispered.
Lee ran toward him. As he neared, Parkman pointed. “There’s your gunshot victim.”
Lee approached the boots, his own weapon extended in front of him. When he neared the fallen man, he lowered his weapon and stomped the ground.
Parkman’s eyes adjusted to the darker area until he saw the face of the victim. It was one of Lee’s men. He had ordered them to drive closer to the Martin Winery next door, park, and circle back to surround the Campbell house. They had done as ordered, but one of their men had been ambushed.
“For fuck sakes,” Lee muttered.
Someone was running toward them. Lee hopped behind the bushes and Parkman followed his lead. A siren squealed in the distance—the approaching ambulance.
A moment later, one of Lee’s men materialized out of the darkness. All three men jolted, then lowered their weapons.
“Two men, sir. Shot Watkins here, then ran that way. I tried to see if I could revive him. I’m sorry, sir.”
“You said two men?” Lee asked.
The cop nodded.
“Recognize them?”
“Too dark, sir.”
Parkman couldn’t tell in the darkness if the man was lying. He could be telling the truth, or he didn’t want to say that he saw Mason and Calder shoot his fellow officer.
“Which way?” Lee asked.
The cop pointed.
“I take lead,” Lee said. “You stay here with Watkins. Parkman, cover me. Stay close, but whatever you do, don’t shoot me in the ass.”
Lee bent low and started for the bushes. Parkman followed close behind, but didn’t know how he would be able to locate the blue spruce in the dark. According to the note Sarah had left in his travel bag, he was supposed to hide behind the blue spruce. That was a vital part of the note. He knew Mason and Calder were back there somewhere. They had murdered one of their own in cold blood. He had to assume when that bomb went off, Mason and Calder would die—as Sarah said they would—and he needed to have Lee and himself sequestered behind a blue spruce.
It would be better if he had more light because he sure hated running blindly in the dark after two raging, murderous rogue cops. And there was a bomb to consider.
“Fuck my life,” he mumbled under his breath.
Lee didn’t seem to hear him. The darkness swallowed them as they ran.
Chapter 46
Sarah stood over the chair looking back down at it. She yanked Thirio to his feet.
“Now we take a walk to the cop shop,” she said.
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter,” he muttered, staring at the ground.
“What’s that? Something spooky to scare me?” She leaned down to get a look of his face. Thirio’s eyes were closed. “Oh wait, that’s from Dante’s Inferno, isn’t it?”
He raised his head and glared at her, his eyes roving her face, studying her. Alone, in the basement of the abandoned guesthouse at this late hour, he had the potential to freak her out. But she was tired, sore, and angry. The longer they took to leave, the more pissed off she would get.
Sarah started for the stairs, her cuffed arm trailing behind her. Within two steps, Thirio reefed on the cuffed arm, yanking her backwards. The force nearly tore her shoulder out of its socket. Sarah emitted a small screech of pain.
Before she could regain her footing, he had dropped to the floor dragging her with him. Maybe it wasn’t such a smart idea to cuff themselves together.
Braced for the fall, she brought her free arm up and ceased her descent, protecting her fac
e. Two words shot through her mind in that second. The gun! She had forgotten about it in her elation after being released from the chair’s landmine.
Thirio must have seen it. That was why he wrenched her back to the ground. Before she could yank her arm back and get control of the situation again, Thirio gripped the weapon and rammed the tip up under Sarah’s neck.
