Third Degree: A Novel

by Greg Iles

Auster was about to speak again when the telephone rang. Warren made no move to answer, so the machine in the kitchen picked up. Laurel’s greeting played, and then a panicked woman’s voice reverberated through the house.

  “Please pick up, Dr. Shields! Please! This is Nell from the office. Everything’s gone crazy! Everything blew up! Vida’s hurt bad. She might die. Hello? Hello . . . ? Are you there?”

  “Everybody into the kitchen!” Warren shouted, bounding for the answering machine. He looked back to make sure Laurel and Kyle were following, then stabbed a button on the machine, putting it into speakerphone mode.

  “Nell, this is Dr. Shields.”

  “Thank God!” Nell sobbed, and then a car horn sounded in the kitchen.

  “Where are you?” Warren asked.

  “A pay phone. I’m scared to go to my apartment. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Calm down, Nell, and tell me exactly what happened.”

  Suddenly everything tumbled out of her in a frantic rush. “Vida tried to burn the patient records at the office, the computers, too. She lit everything off with me and Agent Biegler in the room with her. Everything just exploded! Gas, alcohol, they almost didn’t get the fire out. The whole building could have gone up!”

  Kyle had gone pale. He leaned over to Warren’s ear and whispered, “Ask her if the records were destroyed.”

  Warren angrily shoved him away. “Where’s Vida now, Nell?”

  “The ICU at St. Raphael’s. I haven’t seen her since the explosion. I called the hospital, and a nurse told me they’re going to fly her to the burn center in Greenville, if they can get her stable. What should I do, Dr. Shields?”

  While Nell talked, Laurel had been studying Warren’s pocket, the one that held his gun. The butt had sunk completely out of sight, but she wondered whether she might be able to get it out with a quick grab. Should she call Kyle’s attention to it? Kyle was stronger, but then his hand was bigger. He might not be able to get it into the pocket before Warren flattened him. She considered grabbing a pot from a cabinet and trying to hit Warren over the head, but something stopped her. Maybe it was Nell’s story, which was obviously affecting him deeply. Or maybe it was her memory of the attack with the can of beans, which hadn’t worked out so well.

  “You mentioned an Agent Biegler,” Warren said. “He didn’t try to arrest you?”

  “When the fire blew up, something hit him. One of his men said I was arrested, but they didn’t have handcuffs or anything. I don’t really get it, because I was closer to the explosion. Biegler was trying to save me, but . . .” Nell sobbed once, then went on, “Something knocked him down, and then this other guy came charging in, but he was trying to take care of his boss. There was so much smoke . . . and blood. I tried to get Vi up, but she was knocked out, and . . . she’s burned really bad, third-degree for sure. Oh, God . . .”

  “Slow down, Nell. Take your time.”

  “When I saw that Vida couldn’t move, I crawled into the hall for some air. Then I just kept crawling, and suddenly I was outside. When I realized I was by myself, I started running. The fire engines were coming then. I shouldn’t have left Vi, but I was so scared, Dr. Shields—”

  “It’s all right. Anybody would have done the same. Where are you now?”

  “Not far from the office. Should I turn myself in or what?”

  Auster shook his head violently.

  “Do you think you can get downtown?” Warren asked.

  “I think I can get a ride, maybe.”

  “Okay. Go to my lawyer’s office on Bank Street. Don Billings is his name. Tell him I sent you to him, and he can call me to verify. Tell him I said I’d pay all your bills.”

  Kyle was gaping now.

  “What should I tell him?” Nell asked. “What should I say and not say?”

  “Once you’re with Billings, he’s your attorney. Don’t waste time trying to protect Kyle or me. You’re the important one. You’ve got your whole life in front of you.”

  Kyle looked as if he were about to stroke out, but he was obviously afraid to speak on a line that might be tapped.

  “I wouldn’t lift a finger to help Dr. Auster,” Nell said. “That cheating bastard screwed my sister over so bad . . . I hate him.”

  “I know what you mean,” Warren said, looking back at his partner. “Don’t worry. Kyle’s going to get what he deserves before this is over.”

  “Don Billings?” Nell repeated, her voice shaky. “Bank Street?”

  “That’s right. Everything’s going to be all right, Nell.”

  “Thank you so much, Dr. Shields. I knew you’d help me.”

  “Good-bye, Nell. Be careful.” Warren hung up and confronted Auster, who was backing toward the foyer. “Did you tell Vida to burn our records?”

  “Hell, no! You know Vida. She spearheaded every scam I ever tried up there. She told me this afternoon that the records had to disappear, but that’s all. Man, she’s the one who told me to come over here and get the bonds and ledgers. She even put these damn rags on me!”

  “Let’s talk about Vida and Nell for a minute.”

  “We don’t have a minute!” Kyle cried, his face blotched red. “You heard Nell. They arrested her. You can bet your ass they have warrants out for you and me. Biegler’s liable to pull up here any second, now that you answered that phone.”

  “If he does, so be it.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t care if I go to jail, so long as I go knowing the truth.”

  “The truth? About what?”

  Warren turned on his heel and walked back down to the great room. Laurel knew he was going to check the Sony again. She said a silent prayer that the program hadn’t cracked her password, then grabbed Kyle’s stinking shirt and pulled him close.

  “He changed the code for the safe room, but it doesn’t matter. The bonds and ledgers are on the guest room bed. Go!”

  Auster was already moving, but he looked over his shoulder and whispered, “What about you?”

  “I’ve got to get my kids out.”

  As Laurel started for the stairs, she saw a blur in the corner of her left eye that might be Warren moving. She sprinted up to the landing, but paused when Warren screamed, “Put that box down, Kyle!”

  “Can’t do it, partner,” Auster replied. “Let me pass.”

  Laurel peered over the rail of the landing. Kyle stood in the hall below, just within her sight, while Warren waited at the intersection of the hall and the foyer, blocking his exit. They were separated by less than ten feet, with Warren’s pistol pointed at the box covering Auster’s belly.

  “Move aside, Warren,” Kyle said with surprising force. “I’m not your problem.”

  “Put the bonds down,” Warren repeated. “Right now.”

  Laurel wanted to continue up the stairs, but if one step creaked, Warren would hear her. She waited without breathing, terrified that Kyle would try to bluster his way past Warren to the door. After about five seconds, Kyle sighed, then bent and set the box on the floor. “At least Laurel got away,” he said.

  Stunned, Warren looked around in panic, then up the staircase. As Laurel’s eyes met his, she sensed movement just beyond him.

  Incredibly, Kyle now held a gun in his hand, a small nickel-plated automatic. Laurel stared in amazement as he aimed at Warren’s chest, silently urging him to pull the trigger. Then she heard herself scream a warning: “Warren, watch out!”

  Warren ducked left as Kyle fired, the sound like a solitary firecracker. A red flower bloomed high on Warren’s shoulder, and then his gun boomed twice in reply.

  Auster dropped like a sack.

  Laurel stood frozen above this surreal tableau until a drumroll sounded overhead. Grant and Beth suddenly appeared above her, looking down from the second-floor rail.

  “Mom, what happened?” Grant cried in alarm. “Are you okay?”

  Beth’s face was nearly bloodless, her eyes round and white. “I’m scared, Mama!” she whimpered. “Come get m
e!”

  A groan of agony rose from below. Laurel looked down and saw Kyle lying facedown on the floor, a pool of blood soaking his lower back. He was trying to crawl, but only his upper body was moving. Warren was looking up at Laurel and the kids, his right hand gripping his left shoulder.

  “Mama, come get me!” Beth wailed. “Mama, pleeease!”

  Warren nodded permission. “Go! I’ll take care of Kyle.”

  Laurel raced up the stairs and swept Beth into her arms without even slowing. “Come on,” she hissed at Grant. “Move!”

  “Where are we going?” Grant asked, running after her.

  “Your room.” They reached the upstairs hall.

  “How come?”

  “We have to get out of here!”

  “How?”

  “Your tree.”

  Grant’s eyes widened. “But you told me never to climb on that anymore!”

  “Today you get to.”

  She darted into Grant’s room and crossed to his right-hand window. Outside, the roof sloped steeply down to a gnarled mass of oak branches already thick with spring leaves. There was a tree house in the oak, and from its platform a zipline ran forty meters into the backyard, where it terminated over a sand pit. A few weeks ago, Grant had learned that he could sneak out of his window, slide down the roof, and climb down to his tree house using the high branches of the oak. Laurel had forbidden this dangerous activity, but that was before her husband went nuts. The only question now was, could a six-year-old girl do what a nine-year-old boy could? Laurel was betting she could, with her mother’s help. She knelt and looked Beth in the eyes.

  “Grant’s going first, okay? Then you and me.”

  “Mama, I can’t,” Beth said in a shaky voice. “It’s way too high. Let’s use the stairs.”

  “We can’t, honey bun. Daddy might see us.”

  “What’s wrong with Dad?” Grant asked. “Why is he acting psycho?”

  “Daddy’s sick, honey. He doesn’t know what he’s doing right now. We need to get away from him, just for a little while. Ready?”

  Grant pumped his fist. “Spider-Man time!”

  Laurel flipped a latch and raised the window. To her horror, their home security system chimed in response. Warren must have set the chime only moments ago, because it hadn’t rung when Kyle opened the front door.

  “Hurry!” she urged. “Go!”

  Grant climbed quickly through the window and started down the slope of the roof, using both his hands and feet. Then Laurel crawled through, keeping one hand on Beth, who was crying in terror. “Come on, baby,” she said, reaching back into the bedroom. “We’re going to be fine.” She was pulling Beth up to the sill when Warren’s feet came pounding along the hall.

  Laurel snatched Beth through the opening, banging the child’s head on the window frame. Beth shrieked in pain, but Laurel didn’t stop moving. She set her daughter firmly on her lap, meaning to skid down the steep, shingled slope on her behind. Then Warren snatched her hair and tried to drag her back through the window. Laurel screamed for him to let go, but he only pulled harder. A chunk of hair ripped out by the roots. She’d lose every strand on her head to get Beth out of danger.

  Beth squirmed around on Laurel’s lap, probably to get better purchase on her mother’s chest. Laurel had thrown back one hand to jerk Warren’s hand free, but she needed that hand to hold Beth fast.

  “You’re going to make her fall!” Laurel screamed. “Let go!”

  Warren’s other hand caught Laurel just under the chin and began hauling her into the open window. She couldn’t even draw breath. If she didn’t stop fighting, she might black out and drop Beth. With tears of frustration in her eyes, she went limp.

  As she waited for Warren to let go, she prayed that Grant had made his escape and not waited for his mother and sister.

  “Grant!” Warren shouted. “Get your tail back up here, boy!”

  The oak limbs shook as though a huge raccoon were moving in the tree below. Then Grant’s feet hit the floor of the tree house with a bang.

  “I’m talking to you, Son! You do not want to make your father angry!”

  The hand loosened slightly at her throat.

  “Pass her up to me!” Warren ordered. “Come on!”

  Laurel did. As he lifted Beth through the window, Laurel saw a saucer-size bloodstain above his left collarbone.

  “The bullet clipped my trapezius,” Warren said, noticing her gaze. “It’s nothing. As if you care.”

  She turned away, fighting a mad impulse to scramble down the roof to the safety of the oak tree.

  Then a whir like the world’s biggest fishing reel sounded from below. Laurel looked to her right and saw Grant sailing away from the house like a commando in a POW rescue movie. He was kicking his feet to make the wheel mechanism speed along the zipline. She felt like cheering out loud.

  Warren cursed in fury, and something dark moved behind her. Leaning back, she saw his gun come up and steady in his hand, as if to fire at Grant’s receding form. She knocked the gun aside and scrabbled onto her knees, facing Warren in the window like an angry mother wildcat. She was spitting mad, her skin as hot and itchy as if electricity were crackling along it. “Point that gun at him again,” she snarled, “and I’ll claw your eyeballs out. I swear to God I will!”

  • • •

  Grant hit the sand clean and started sprinting without even a hitch in his rhythm. Compared to doing a 180 off a half-pipe, it was nothing. He looked over his shoulder as he ran and saw his father silhouetted in the window of his bedroom, staring silently after him while his mother waved from the roof to keep running. The sight scared him more than anything had in a long time.

  He ran toward the creek first, because it was downhill, but then he cut left and started making for the Elfmans’ house. As he did, Christy broke out of the trees below and raced to catch him, elated to have someone to run with. The corgi circled Grant as he ran, smiling as she always did. All he could think was that he needed to get to a telephone. He wasn’t sure whom to call, and he had no idea what to tell Mrs. Elfman. My dad’s sick? My mom needs help?

  He swerved around some azaleas and kept pumping toward the Elfmans’. He could see Mrs. Elfman herself, standing in her backyard by the pool, wearing a big flowery dress. It looked like she’d already seen him. A second later, her yardman appeared beside her. Grant liked George a lot better than Mrs. Elfman. He was glad George was there. Grant figured he must look pretty scared, because a second later George started running toward him, and even Mrs. Elfman started walking fast in his direction. He was scared, too.

  He wasn’t sure what was wrong with his father, but he knew his mom was terrified. He’d never seen her face so white or her hands shaking, and he’d sure never seen her wallop his dad in the face. But what scared Grant most of all was what he’d seen in the TV room upstairs. It was hidden in his dad’s pocket, but the outline was plain as day. Grant’s throat had been tight ever since he realized what that outline meant, and when he heard the shots later, they’d come as no surprise.

  “Whoa there, little man!” George called, dropping to his knees so that Grant would be eye to eye with him. “What you running from so fast?”

  Grant was breathing so hard that he couldn’t talk. By the time he found his voice, Mrs. Elfman was coming up. She took his hand and looked down at him with all the kindness in the world.

  “What’s wrong, Grant Shields? You have to tell us, if we’re going to help you. Did some little boy blow his finger off? I heard firecrackers over there.”

  Grant shook his head, trying not to cry. “It’s my dad,” he panted. “My dad’s sick!”

  “Sick how?” asked George. “Did he grab his arm or his chest? Is he awake?”

  Grant pointed at his own temple. “He’s sick up here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s got a gun, and I think he shot somebody. My mom tried to get us out, but only I got away.”

  “Dear Lord in heaven!” Mrs. Elfman exclaime
d. “You poor child. Run call the sheriff, George. Double quick. Tell him to bring every man he’s got.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  Danny McDavitt was sitting on the elevated deck at the Athens Point Airport, drinking a lukewarm Schaefer and listening to Marilyn Stone give him an informal legal assessment of his custody situation. No alcohol was sold on the premises, but a mechanic friend had come up with a cold six-pack for Danny. He and Marilyn had been talking for over an hour, but he was in no hurry to get home. The only other thing on his mind was what might be happening with Laurel, but he’d checked his cell phone a dozen times, and she’d sent no text messages.

  “Bottom line?” said Marilyn. “Starlette can get physical custody of Michael, and she can probably limit you to minimum visitation. Every other weekend. It all depends on the judge. But she will not be able to institutionalize Michael if you’re willing to take him on. No judge is going to warehouse a special-needs kid when there’s a parent ready and willing to take on that responsibility.”

  Danny nodded. “Every other weekend’s not good enough. Michael needs one-on-one attention, all the time.”

  Marilyn was obviously sympathetic. “What about his teacher? Laurel Shields would make one hell of a witness for us, if she’d get up and tell the truth about Starlette.”

  Danny sipped his beer but said nothing. He was trying not to think about Laurel. After Marilyn landed the Cessna, he had broken down and sent Laurel a third text message, this one an almost panicked plea to alert him as soon as the encounter with Warren was over. But she still had not answered.

  “What’s the problem there?” Marilyn asked. “You don’t think Laurel would do it?”

  “She probably would. I’ll have to talk to her about it.”

  “You do that. Every day counts, Danny.”

  He forced a smile. “I sure appreciate you taking this time.”

  “Oh, I expect a free lesson in return.”

  “I’ll make it two.”

  “One’s enough. How’s Starlette acting now?”

  “You don’t want to know. Bitch city. Running up my credit cards like the Germans are about to roll into Paris.”