He wasn’t going to say another word, never again was he going to spurt all his thoughts out like a shaken soda bottle. “When I left Judge Hunt’s room, it’s true, she looked at me like I was a steak.”
Sherlock laughed. “Talk about a positive sign. Harry, come sit by me and let me tell you what I’ve found out about Charlene.”
Dr. Kardak came in ten minutes later to hear Sherlock say, “You wouldn’t believe Sean, Harry. He made his grandparents both promise to let him use their cell phone cameras so he could take lots of photos of El Capitan in Yosemite to show his three girlfriends. Hello, Dr. Kardak. Sorry for the delay.”
“I’d like to meet this pistol,” Dr. Kardak said waving away her apology. “I hope there aren’t any more emergencies, Agent Sherlock, and you won’t be haring out of here again.”
Harry rose to excuse himself, but Sherlock smiled up at him. “Nah, Dr. Kardak won’t make me take off my clothes to see a head wound. Harry, please supervise, make sure he does things right.”
And so Harry watched Dr. Kardak push back Sherlock’s hair, remove the small bandage with a light hand, and probe around the stitches.
He did a quick neurologic exam, asked her a few questions, and pronounced her free of him. He looked down at his watch. “That took all of five minutes, and no emergencies to interrupt either of us. Call me if you have any concerns, Agent Sherlock, and do let me meet that son of yours sometime.”
Sherlock was glad to be done with it all as they walked to the elevators. Done with the medical part, that is. Harry watched everyone, checking out any man or woman who even looked in her direction. They were far from done with the rest of it.
Sherlock said, “The hotline is getting reports of Charlene sightings from Fresno up to Redding and reports of Xu from as far away as Montana. They’re following up on as many leads as they can.
“One thing worries me, though, worries me a lot. We still don’t know who was driving that second car that screeched out of the Skyline Motel Thursday night.”
Harry had fretted over this loose thread as much as Sherlock had. Everyone he knew was thinking about it. “No. We don’t have a clue.”
“According to Maria Conchas, Charlene is a guided missile. My gut says she won’t stop until she’s shot down. Probably she couldn’t call a halt even if she wanted to. She’s got herself hardwired.”
Harry said, “Charlene Cartwright’s crazy. Xu isn’t. I don’t know who’s more dangerous.”
“I guess I’m more afraid of crazy, since Charlene’s the one who shot me and Ramsey.”
Sherlock saw the same tech who’d had the misfortune to come into the CT waiting room on Wednesday walking toward them, whistling. He saw her, saw Harry, who was staring at him as if he was measuring him for a hole in the ground, and stopped in his tracks.
What was his name? She finally remembered. “Mr. Lempert, it’s okay. This is Agent Christoff. Harry, this is Mr. Lempert. The thing is, Harry, last Wednesday Dillon was a little hard on Terry.” The use of his first name brought him back, and he even managed a tentative smile. He came one step closer to her, shot a glance at Harry, and cleared his throat. “You’re looking good today, Agent Sherlock. You must have come from Dr. Kardak’s office.”
He darted a look at Harry. “I’m not a killer—well, unless I feel threatened, that is.” He cleared his throat when Harry didn’t change expressions. “That was a joke, Agent. Really.”
“And a good one, Terry,” Sherlock said, and patted his arm. “I’ve got to tell you, I sure hope I don’t have to see you again for a while—professionally, that is.”
She spotted a women’s room near the elevator and excused herself. “Harry, maybe you want to message Deputy Marshal Barbieri? See if everything’s okay on the steak front?”
He grinned. “I’ll message Eve after I see you’re safe upstairs.” He stuck his head in the door, didn’t see anyone. He walked in, looking beneath each of the three stalls. He saw two feet in sandals with bright red toenails, young feet. He watched one of the feet tap to the sound of music he couldn’t hear. Okay, then. When he came out he said, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
As Sherlock stood at the counter washing her hands, a woman came in. Sherlock automatically went on alert until she got a look at her. She was older, quite heavy, a scrub nurse in a loose green top and pants, down to the green booties covering her shoes. A surgical mask hung by its ties around her neck. She wore a name tag. Harry wouldn’t have let her in otherwise, Sherlock thought. A green scrub hat was perched on her thick black hair. She wore black-framed glasses.
“Hey,” the nurse said, looked around, then walked toward a stall.
The nurse was suddenly behind her. Sherlock felt a gun pressing into the back of her neck. A deep voice hissed hot rage in her ear, “How did you find me, bitch?”
This wasn’t Charlene Cartwright; she knew her photo as well as she knew her own. She willed her fear and her pounding heart to the back of the bus. “Xu, I can’t believe you came here. Why? Are you trying to get your manhood back?” She felt her breath clog in her throat. Was this the way to play him? What would he do?
She heard a sneering laugh. “I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to be alone with you, with that big guy outside following you around. But you had to visit the bathroom, didn’t you? The only reason you got me on the ground was because I was hit real bad.”
Good, he was talking to her, trying to justify how she had gotten him down. She sneered back. “Yeah, an arm wound’s all you had, nothing to write home about. And you’re still whining? I thought above all, Xu, that you were a professional, that you were doing only what you had to do to clean up the mess you’d made. But look at you, here, trying to show me up.”
His left hand moved up to grab her throat. He whispered next to her ear, “You and your people destroyed my life by finding me when it shouldn’t have been possible. You’re going to be my prize at the end of this wretched assignment. Tell me now. How did you find me so fast?”
She held his hot eyes. “Turns out you’re not so special, Xu. Our profiler guessed you liked to treat yourself well and thought the Fairmont would be right up your alley. Before she died, Cindy told us about Lampo, Indiana. We found you within two hours of accessing your old Indiana driver’s license.”
His hand was shaking.
Pedal back. “Would you look at you now, Xu, no one would guess who you are. And you’ve succeeded in getting me alone. Who made you the ugliest nurse in the universe?”
Sherlock hadn’t realized her voice had risen. He moved the gun fast, shoved it against her ear. He hissed, “Keep it down. If that bodyguard of yours comes in here, I’ll blow his head off. You want him to die with you?”
She shook her head, whispered, “No, I don’t want him to die. I don’t want to die, either.”
He laughed.
“You want to know who helped me?”
She nodded at the fat bedraggled scrub nurse with coarse black hair and puffed out cheeks and smeared dark mascara looking back at her. He met her eyes in the mirror, used his nose to push aside her hair and whispered against her ear and the Beretta’s gun barrel, “No one looks at ugly people. That’s what she told me.”
“Who?”
“Crazy Charlene. She told me this getup was my best chance of killing you.”
Charlene? For a moment, Sherlock couldn’t get her brain around it. “Charlene was driving the second car out of the motel parking lot?”
He grinned at her, worked the gun barrel a bit deeper into her ear. “She found me, took care of me. She’s crazy as a loon, but the weird thing is, I like her. She’s committed. She’s got exactly two minutes to get to the roof. Then we can get this done.”
The gun in her ear hurt, but it was the fear roiling in her belly that was threatening to bleed panic into her brain. No, you can’t let fear kill you. Time, you need time.
She whispered, “Charlene is here? Did she kill Jerol Idling at the Skyline Motel?”
“Yep. That gunshot brought down the house, and so we had to move out fast. I thought my arm was going to fall off running to the car. That’s when I first thought of killing you, of watching the light go out behind your eyes. I gritted my teeth and knew before I left I’d come for you.” He shoved the Beretta in hard. She couldn’t help it; she made a small yipping sound of pain.
She didn’t look away from his face next to hers in the mirror. He was standing so close she felt his hot breath on her cheek, saw his flat, dark eyes, eyes that had watched dispassionately as he’d killed. She knew she’d see death in them if she looked closely, knew she’d see her own death. She thought of Dillon, of Sean, of a stranger walking through the bathroom door and Xu calmly shooting her. She said, “Why isn’t Charlene here wanting to kill me?”
“Charlene’s got other plans. I promised her I’d provide a nice big distraction soon so we can both take care of business.”
“Charlene won’t get near Judge Hunt.”
“Goes to show what a tiny little imagination you Feds have.” His voice lowered. “You don’t have much time, so I might let you in on it. You won the first round, I’ll admit it, but the game goes to me.”
“Why would Charlene follow you? Take care of you?”
He kept his voice low, whispered, “Charlene apologized to me for not killing you, but I didn’t mind. It meant I’d get to kill you myself. All the others, they were just business, but not you. You’re my bonus.”
Ramsey’s safe; no way can Charlene get to him. “What’s your distraction?”
“A nice big boom, like at the Fairmont, but you won’t hear it, you’ll be dead. You think Charlene’s going for that judge? Even though her brain visits Disneyland a lot of the time, Charlene realizes Judge Hunt is a no-go for now. She’s willing to let the judge lie in bed, suffer for his sins. She’s going to kill another man she blames for her son’s death, and that’s Agent Savich, your husband. Talk about hate, Charlene lives for it. I don’t think she can live without it. She seriously wants him dead.”
Sherlock’s vision blurred, and her heart stuttered. She felt Xu’s hand touch her hair. “A pity this pretty hair will be covered with your blood and your brains soon. Say good-bye to your hubby, if you want. You think Charlene’s telling him right now to say good-bye to you?”
Savich was leaning against the corridor wall, a couple dozen feet from the guards outside Ramsey’s room, speaking on his cell to Jimmy Maitland at the Hoover Building. Maitland put him on hold to connect him to the director, who wanted a status report directly from Savich. Great, Savich thought, and what am I going to say? All I can tell you, sir, is that everyone you’re worried about is still alive and at large, but there are lots of dead people, too, one of them a doctor who never hurt anyone in his life, and one a young kid who loved video games and worked with his mom in a motel.
As he waited, Savich decided that as soon as he finished his attempt at raising Director Mueller’s spirits he would put an extra guard on Emma. They had kept Sean safe from Charlene, and he would make sure she couldn’t turn her attention to Emma. At least right now, she was safe in her father’s hospital room.
He’d just finished giving Director Mueller a rundown when a skinny tech came slouching toward him in a long white coat and high-top sneakers. He had thick blond hair on the long side, and a stethoscope around his neck. Savich registered in that second that something wasn’t right. Despite all that blond hair, the guy was older than he’d originally thought, lots older. The man looked at his watch, and Savich saw his wrist. It wasn’t a man’s wrist.
He wasn’t fast enough. The man already had his gun jammed into Savich’s side.
He leaned close. “No, Agent Savich, I don’t think you want to do much more than breathe and accept that your trip through life is coming to a dramatic end. Long overdue, I’d say.”
Savich didn’t move. He said, “Hello, Charlene. Pretty good disguise, except that all that hair doesn’t match how old you are. Why didn’t you wear a white wig?”
The gun shoved hard into his side. “Smart mouth on you, but you’re right, I could have done better than this wig, but I didn’t have much time. Turns out it didn’t make a lick of difference, now, did it? I might be older than you, baby boy, but I’ve got lots of experience handling punks like you.”
“No,” Savich said, “I don’t think you do.”
She gave a low laugh as she jerked his SIG out of his belt clip and slipped it into her coat pocket. “Now, don’t you move or you’re dead where you stand.” She leaned closer. “I can tell you want to have a go at me. I read all about your martial arts demos and how everyone oohs and aahs over you, but you move a muscle and I’ll shoot you, and then I’ll kill those guards in front of Judge Hunt’s room, then all the nurses down at the nurses’ station. If one of the guards shoots me, who cares? I don’t.” The gun jammed hard again against his kidney. Savich didn’t make a sound, even though the shot of pain nearly sent him to his knees.
“Now, you and I are going to take a little walk to the stairs at the end of the corridor. We’re going to walk up those stairs to the roof. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I decided I’d like to see you do a lovely swan dive from seven floors up.”
She moved behind him, kept the gun pressed into the small of his back. “Don’t forget, I can pull this trigger faster than you can do any of your fancy kicks. You’re real quiet, aren’t you? You’re thinking about going for it? Be my guest. At the very least you’d be strapped in a wheelchair for the rest of your days. That’d be okay, but I’d rather see you lying splattered on the ground seven floors down. You wanna know something really ironic?”
“Yes.”
“Your little wife is enjoying herself with Joe Keats—you call him Xu, I think. Only he doesn’t look like Xu right now. No, he’s a butt-ugly scrub nurse with lots of black hair and glasses. I even put some lipstick on Joe, stuffed his cheeks to fatten them up, strapped a pillow around his middle, smeared on some eye shadow. Think it’ll fool your little wife?”
Savich lost the spit in his mouth. No, Harry will take care of Sherlock. No one’s going to get past Harry, but Harry isn’t expecting Xu. No, let it go, focus. You’ve got to get out of this alive before you can get to Sherlock. Pay attention.
“Yep, Joe called me a few minutes ago. He should have her away from her guard by now, and in a couple of minutes we’re going to hear a big honker boom—this floor’s going to turn to dust and ashes. That will roust and rumble all your buddies, make them think Judge Hunt’s under attack. Joe’s good with bombs. Then Joe and I are going to walk away.
“Hey, I wonder if she’s bitten the big one yet? He was stone-cold pissed that she brought him down since she’s half his size, not to mention she’s a woman. She humiliated him. Joe told me a professional has to take pride in his work or he isn’t worth spit. She stomped on his pride. A man like Joe shouldn’t have to suffer humiliation like that unless he’s as mean as a snake like that vicious bastard of a husband I had to shoot in the face—” She paused, shook her head. Stop it, shut your mouth. He doesn’t need to know all this, STOP IT.
She snapped back and focused. “For what you did you deserve this. I’d say that sounds real good, don’t you? Has a real ring to it. Killing you is going to beat shooting that judge who murdered my boy, because you’re the one who made it happen. Keep walking. Up the stairs, boy. Move out.”
A nurse called out, “Agent Savich, wait a moment. Judge Hunt asked to speak to you.”
Savich saw the gun jerk in her hand and wondered if he or the nurse would be dead before he could answer her.
A toilet flushed. Both Xu and Sherlock froze. The stall door opened, and a hugely pregnant woman squeezed out the stall door. She was pulling out earbuds blasting the end of Barenaked Ladies. “Twins,” she said. “Isn’t that—”
She saw Sherlock, saw the gun, saw the ugly guy who was dressed like a woman and a nurse, and she opened her mouth and screamed as loud as she coul
d, and didn’t stop. Xu’s gun jerked toward the woman. Sherlock pivoted, brought up her knee hard in his crotch, and slammed her fisted hands down on his wounded arm as the bathroom door burst open and Harry came flying through.
The woman didn’t stop screaming, she kept it up, a lovely ear-splitting blast, but those screams were lovelier than the “Hallelujah Chorus” to Sherlock. Xu was trying to raise his arm from the floor to shoot Sherlock or the pregnant woman or Harry, she didn’t know which. She kicked him in the head and stomped her boot heel down on his hand, heard the bones crack. The Beretta clattered across the linoleum. Xu was cursing her, an odd mixture of Mandarin and English, and she kicked him in the ribs.
Harry fell to his knees beside Xu, turned him on his stomach, and grabbed his hair, only to have it come off in his hand. Xu’s hand came out of his pocket fast, a knife clutched in his fingers. He slashed out at Harry once and again, trying to break free. Harry wanted to kill him, wanted it very much, but instead he jumped back and raised his SIG. “Xu, if you don’t throw that knife away and put your hands on your head I will shoot you in one second.”
Xu froze. He didn’t release the knife.
“You die holding a knife, that’s rich.” Harry brought his SIG down against Xu’s face. “Hey, you got another flash bang with you?” Harry smiled. “Three, two—”
Xu let the knife fall. Harry kicked it against the counter. Harry was cuffing Xu as Sherlock grabbed her cell and punched in speed-dial. Dillon’s cell rang once, twice, and kept ringing four times until it went to voice mail. Charlene had him, otherwise he would have answered. She had to get to him, but the pregnant woman was choking, gasping for air, she was so scared looking down at the man lying handcuffed on the floor moaning and cursing. She grabbed Sherlock, hugged her as hard as she could, and began, of all things, to pat Sherlock’s back. She cleared her throat. “You’re the greatest kicker.”
Harry yelled, “Look what I found, a damned detonator.” Harry disarmed it. “So much for this part of your plan, Xu.”
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