When Harper’s stitching was done, Lavonne appeared in the recovery room, and Harper told her about Bonnie’s phone call to Naff. Lavonne asked her a few questions, but Harper could only repeat the little she’d heard from Naff’s end of the conversation. Lavonne drew out her cell and called Zurich’s criminal investigation unit, advising them to dispatch a team to check on Albion and the girl.
Forty-five minutes later, Lavonne’s phone rang, and she had a long conversation with a representative of the Swiss authorities, most of it spent listening. She relayed their story to Harper:
Shortly after Lavonne had called the Swiss cops, around eleven o’clock, three police officers arrived at Albion’s front door. When no one responded to their repeated knocking, the officers moved to the back entrance, where they breached the door, and after clearing the downstairs and finding no sign of life, they moved upstairs and went room by room until they discovered Lester Albion lying on the carpet at the foot of his daughter’s bed. He had been fatally shot in the heart. Three rounds.
Bonnie lay in bed, a pistol in her hand and a cat on her lap.
The female squad member spoke quietly to Bonnie, asking if she could describe what had upset her so.
“I couldn’t leave Miriam alone with that man. He kicks her when he thinks no one’s looking. Kicks her hard. And he confessed to the transfusions.”
Bonnie explained that Albion had been stealing her blood, using it to boost his own body’s chemistry so he could add muscle and improve his chances with a woman. Further, Bonnie believed Ms. Bixel and an Albion corporate nurse were accomplices in the scheme.
After a long exchange with the female officer, Bonnie handed over the weapon. Bonnie’s mother was contacted, and it was decided that the girl would be placed in the mother’s custody. Whether or not charges would be filed against her would be up to local prosecutors. But if Bonnie’s claims proved to be true, charges were highly unlikely.
“Does that disappoint you, Harper?”
“That Albion’s dead but I didn’t get to pull the trigger? Hell no. I wanted justice. It was never about bloodlust.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I wanted justice. This will do fine.”
“Well, personally, I’m thrilled the man’s dead. I’m only sorry that little girl has to carry the weight of it.”
“I’ve met Bonnie. If there’s any little girl who can handle the weight, it’s Bonnie Albion.”
“Hope that’s the case.”
“And Gerda?”
“From here on, Gerda Bixel will have to be content with prison gyms.”
Harper nodded at Lavonne and was silent.
“You haven’t asked about Naff.”
“I don’t care about Naff.”
But Lavonne brought her up-to-date anyway.
Hours earlier, when Lavonne’s team swept into the Bari Milling Works, they found Adrian Naff still conscious. He was treated on-site by one of Lavonne’s men, then whisked to the same university hospital as Harper. He’d taken three slugs, one in the right forearm, another in his left biceps, and one in the hip.
After hours in surgery in the operating room on the floor directly above Harper’s, Naff was still alive. His hip injury appeared to be the most grievous wound. The slug had struck the hip bone, shattered it, then ricocheted upward, where it tore through his spleen, liver, and part of his small intestine. Multiple surgeries would be required. He was in critical condition, and it was likely to be touch and go for days.
“Screw him,” Harper said.
Lavonne said, “You got it wrong, kid.”
“I don’t have it wrong. Naff was handing me over to Bixel. It was a betrayal, and I fell for it.”
“You fell for it, all right.”
Harper touched the bandage that covered her right ear. A pane from Knobel’s glass wall had sliced off a chunk of it. The tissue had been retrieved, and a plastic surgeon had reattached it. The damn wound throbbed like hell, but it was the itch beneath all that gauze that bothered her most.
“Yeah? Okay, so tell me, what did I fall for?”
“How do you think I wound up at the mill? Like that was an accident? It was my doing.”
“I assume you’ve got good intel.”
“Yeah, I do. And Naff was it. He kept me posted every step of the way. I gave him the okay on each detail.”
“Punching me in the face? Cuffing me so tight I still can’t feel my fingers?”
“Look, Harper, as good as you are at some things, I’m sorry, but your acting skills . . . well, you’re no Meryl Streep. If you tried to fake being Adrian’s hostage, Naff and I knew Bixel would see right through your act. If she had, you and I wouldn’t be having this talk. Soon as she read the con, you’d be dead.”
“He played me? You played me?”
“Did it work? That’s what matters. And yes, it worked.”
“Out on the street when he gagged me, the look he gave me—cold, dead eyed. That was fake?”
“Adrian’s good.”
“That punch, he could’ve broken my nose or my jaw.”
“He could have, but he didn’t. As I said, he’s good.”
“Shit.” She fingered one of the bandages on her arm. “Shit.”
“Okay, now I need to move. I’ve got irons in a few other fires. And a Gulfstream G550 to catch. But one more thing before I go.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m supposed to come back to work.”
“No, not yet. Here’s the deal. I want you to go home, back to Miami. Find a place to live—a nice, big, airy place, a place that makes you happy. Settle in, restart your business life, the photography. Maybe set up a couple of high-profile photo shoots with luminaries, rock stars, an ex-president, whatever, do an exhibit, a show, anything you can put together. Get your name in the news. People need to know you’re back at work, and you’re doing flashy stuff. If you need suggestions, I can help. I know some people.”
“I don’t need that kind of help.”
“Six months, maybe more, whatever it takes. When you’re a hundred percent settled and the career’s back in high gear, then we’ll talk about what’s next. Sit down, pick a target.”
Harper nodded. Hard to picture going home, hard to imagine being so close to ground zero, where her old life had been reduced to ashes.
“And there’s one more condition.”
“Always one more with you,” Harper said.
“You’ll work with him.”
“Who?”
Lavonne looked up at the ceiling, the floor above, where the operating rooms were.
“Naff?”
“That’s right,” she said.
“I don’t have a say?”
“No, not on this you don’t,” Lavonne said. “Okay, you heal up. I’ll be in touch.”
After Lavonne shut the door, Harper waited awhile, then spoke his name again, listening to the sound of it aloud.
And she may have repeated it one more time as she was drifting away into the deepest sleep she’d had in months. His name on her lips.
Adrian Naff.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2007 Maggie Evans Silverstein
A winner of the Edgar and Shamus awards, James W. Hall is the author of more than twenty novels, including The Big Finish, the latest in the Thorn Mysteries; When They Come for You, the first book in the Harper McDaniel series; as well as four books of poetry, two short story collections, and two works of nonfiction. Born in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, Hall holds a BA from Florida Presbyterian College, an MA from Johns Hopkins, and a PhD in literature from the University of Utah. He divides his time between North Carolina and Florida. Visit him at www.jameswhall.com.
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When You Can't Stop (Harper McDaniel Book 2) Page 29
