Fifth Victim

Neese. Where did you find that one? Doesn’t quite have the ring of your old name, does it?’

As I spoke, I turned sideways, leant back and rested my elbows on the rusted steel handrail that bordered the walkway. I let my hands droop, and hooked one heel onto the lower railing, keeping it all very casual, relaxed. And all the while hoping he wouldn’t notice that one arm was now half a metre closer to him, and I had a solid object behind me to launch from.

‘Had to pick something.’ He flashed his teeth quick enough for it to be more grimace than grin. ‘Too many people in my … position go for names that stand out, for one reason or another. Or they keep a hold of their initials.’ He paused, as if not sure he should be telling me so much, but realising it didn’t matter either way. ‘I used one of those random-name generators you find online.’

‘Clever,’ I agreed sedately, nodding. ‘I heard Epps sent you after one of the militia groups linked to Fourth Day. What happened – did being a double agent not do it for you?’

I kept my voice comparatively quiet, so the background roar of traffic overhead would make it harder to hear. And as I watched, he shifted his stance a little, unconsciously edging closer.

‘You think I ever intended to spy on those crazy bastards?’ he asked, almost incredulous. ‘Let me tell you, they do not take kindly to that kinda thing. And paranoid? They make guys like Epps look real trusting.’

‘He must have been, to turn you loose on a solemn promise to be a good little boy, cross your heart and hope to die.’

He ignored the mockery in my tone and shook his head, the barrel of the Glock starting to drift downwards. ‘You just don’t get it, do you, Charlie?’ he demanded. ‘I’m hardly a blip on his radar. In fact, Epps is better off with me off of his radar altogether, because then he’ll never have to answer for the errors he made in California. Errors that caused the deaths of his own people.’

‘The way I remember it,’ I said tightly, ‘that was down to you.’

‘Semantics,’ he dismissed. He paused, gave me a pitying look. ‘You really think I didn’t know they were coming for me tomorrow? You think, even if I wasn’t planning to be gone by then, that I won’t be loose again a month from now?’

I tried not to show how hard that set me reeling, was suddenly glad of the railing at my back. ‘But you didn’t know I was coming for you today.’

He laughed. ‘You forget – I spent some time with you, Charlie, and you’re one of the good guys. I had a feeling you might come with them, want to be the one who slapped on the cuffs with a self-righteous air. Didn’t expect you to spring for an advance flight, though. You’ve been tailing me since – when? Saturday morning?’

So, my surveillance skills really did need improvement. ‘Friday night, actually,’ I said, as calmly as I could manage.

He smiled. ‘Should change your looks some, if you’re gonna do this professionally. Once seen, never forgotten.’ His eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Epps told me Meyer survived, so what’s this all about, huh?’

The implications of his false assumption flashed through my brain as fast as the synapses could fire. For reasons of his own, Epps hadn’t told him Sean was still in a coma.

So use it.

‘You really don’t know?’ I murmured. ‘Never mind about me – you think Sean would be happy to let a little shit like you get away with taking him down?’ I deliberately softened my voice still further. He leant close enough for me to smell his aftershave, strong enough to remind me that he was not a field operative, or he wouldn’t wear something so distinctive in still air. I smiled. ‘You really think I’d come out here after you, alone and unarmed, for any other reason than as bait?’

I saw the convulsive jump of his Adam’s apple. ‘Bait?’

I let my eyes slip past his face to a point behind his left shoulder. ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

His head snapped round, knees ducking his body as he turned, as if to avoid a blow. I kicked away from the railing and jabbed my knuckles hard into the rigid tendons at the back of his right hand. The hand sprang open immediately, a completely involuntary reaction. The gun clattered onto the planking and spun away behind him.

I followed up with a fast elbow to the throat, both to disable and to silence him. He crashed backwards, scrabbling for the collar of his polo shirt as though the soft cotton was responsible for his lack of breath, and I realised I’d put all my pent-up rage and heartache into that single blow.

By the time he’d got his senses back under him, I’d picked up the Glock, checked the magazine and was pointing it in his direction. He shielded his head with his arms, palms outward and fingers spread, while he gulped for air and speech.

‘Wait,’ he managed at last, rasping. ‘I’m on a boat – in the Riverside Marina. I have money on board! I can pay—’

‘Pay?’ I heard my voice crack, harsh and raw, and something else seemed to split open inside my head, my heart, and come pouring out like poison. ‘Do you honestly think there’s enough money on a boat – on a whole fleet of fucking boats – to begin to make up for the damage you’ve caused?’

Smoothly, easily, I stepped back a pace, brought the muzzle of the gun up until the sights were aligned on the centre of his forehead.

‘Charlie, wait! Please—’

‘Too late,’ I said, and pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Twelve hours later, I found myself alone in a police interview room, having been temporarily relinquished by the Omaha Homicide detective who was in charge of the case.

On the scarred desktop by my elbow was a cup of tepid coffee. It had been barely drinkable when it was hot, and was even less so now. In front of me lay a yellow legal notepad with a few scrawled notes written on it.

I sat with my hands folded in my lap and stared back into myself, trying to work out how I felt about what I’d done.

Sean had once told me that killing without hesitation or fear was something you got used to. Something that got easier over time. That the danger sign was if you started to enjoy it.

I had not, I decided objectively, enjoyed killing the man pretending to be Roy Neese. It had seemed necessary and I’d done it, that was all.

And the fact remained that if I’d killed him months ago – right after he’d taken Sean down, while he was fleeing the scene with the weapon still hot in his hand – there would have been few questions asked.

But I’d wanted more, and I’d been naive enough to expect the justice system would provide it.

Not the first time I’d been wrong about that.

Behind me, to my left, the door to the interview room opened and I turned my head, expecting to see Detective Kershner return. Instead, it was Parker Armstrong who stood there, almost hesitant, as though he’d had to steel himself to face me. He closed the door quietly and moved further into the room, onto the opposite side of the table.

‘Charlie,’ he said gravely. ‘You OK?’ He seemed to ask me that a lot.

‘Surviving.’ I shrugged, realised I couldn’t read his eyes, and added carefully, ‘I didn’t expect you to come.’

‘How could I not?’ He paused. ‘The identity of the … victim has been confirmed?’

‘Yes.’

He closed his eyes a moment, rubbed his temple. ‘They gave me the gist,’ he said. ‘Single gunshot wound to the head, gun alongside him. Any chance it was self-inflicted?’

‘Would be nice to think he’d finally developed a conscience, wouldn’t it?’ I said, regretful, ‘but you know as well as I do that’s an unlikely scenario.’

Apparently casual, Parker leant against the wall in the corner right under the camera, where its view was poorest. His gaze was on me fully now, intense to the point of pleading. ‘Why not?’

‘The location of the body, for one thing,’ I said. ‘He was probably on his way to the little marina at Riverside, where he had a boat moored. The walkway is neither one place nor another. Suicides tend to go somewhere