as soon as you’re out of X ray.”
“‘Go in?’” Des repeated, frowning at her.
“Operate. If there’s anything in your stomach, it might delay them. That’s why I’m not giving you any Tylenol.”
“I just ate a sandwich.”
“Okay, be sure they know that.”
As Des shifted her arm around inside the sling, wincing from the pain, she became aware of a faint whirring noise. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It sure wasn’t coming from Jory there across the table. Possibly it was inside her own head. Her wheels spinning away as she wondered where Mitch was, how Mitch was. If she could get to him before he got his head blown off. If she could fire one of those deer rifles with only her one good arm. Didn’t matter. She had to try. She got up out of her chair now and tottered over toward the gun case on rubber legs, fishing around with her left hand for Les’s key ring in the pocket of her beloved shearling coat, ruined now. Two bullet holes, bloodstains. Then again, maybe that all just gave it more character. What would Vogue call it, Victim Chic?
“Just exactly what do you think you’re doing?” Hannah demanded.
“My job,” she replied, wondering which key would open the case. She ought to just smash the glass open with a cast-iron skillet. “I’ve got to help Mitch.”
“Des, you can’t! You’ve go to sit still until…” Hannah fell silent, standing there with her ears cocked. She’d heard it, too. The whirring noise. She went over to the window and glanced hopefully up at the bright blue sky. “I think your helicopter’s here, Des. I think it wants to land.”
Des could hear it loud and clear now, hovering directly overhead. “Come on, we need to be out there in the parking lot when they touch down. There’s no time to waste. This is urgent.”
“Are you sure you can make it?” Hannah asked her doubtfully.
“If you don’t mind me leaning on you.”
“Lean away.”
Hannah looped Des’s good arm over her shoulders and helped her past Jory’s body and out the kitchen door. Together, they tramped their way across the courtyard through the snow. Des could not believe how hard it was simply to put one foot in front of the other. Without Hannah, she wouldn’t have made it at all. Part of it was how deep the snow was. But most of it was how wobbly she was. She felt as if she’d been laid up in bed for a week with a wicked Asian flu.
Up above, SP-One was still a few hundred feet over the parking lot, descending slowly.
“You’re the real deal, aren’t you?” she said as they plowed their way through the snow together. “As a director, I mean.”
“I think I am.” Hannah glanced at her curiously. “But why do you say that?”
“You don’t fold under pressure. You get stronger.”
“I have to be that way, if I’m going to make it.”
“You’re going to make it. I have a good feeling about you.”
“Thanks,” said Hannah, her cheeks flushing from the praise.
Ahead of them in the courtyard, Des could see footprints in the virgin white snow. And a deep depression, as if someone had taken a head-first slide into it. But there was no sign of blood. This was positive. This was good. The footprints continued on across the drawbridge in the direction of Choo-Choo Cholly’s flattened depot. As she and Hannah came around to the front of the castle, she spotted the others gathered outside the front door, waiting for the chopper to touch down. They reminded Des of frightened mice the way they were all cowered there together.
SP-One touched down smack-dab in the center of the plowed parking lot, its rotor blades gradually slowing as Des and Hannah reached the cleared pavement. The pilot remained on board as Soave and Yolie climbed out and scooted toward them in heavy-duty black ski parkas, their heads ducked low against the swirling air.
Soave, who was short-legged and bigged-up from weight lifting, looked remarkably like a bowling ball as he scooted toward them in his parka. Yolie, a four-year starter at point guard for Coach Vivian Stringer at Rutgers, moved like a gazelle in comparison. And looked way less street than usual with her braids buried under a black wool skullcap.
A medical examiner’s man climbed out of the chopper, too, and started toward them, clutching his gear.
“Yo, what’s up with that?” Soave called to Des as soon as they were within earshot. He was eyeballing her slinged arm with great concern. “Are you hit?”
“I’m fine, Rico. Don’t worry about me. Our immediate concern is-”
“She’s stable, but not fine,” Hannah interjected. “She’s been shot. She’s sustained a compound ulnar fracture and there appears to be neurological damage. The bleeding’s under control, but she requires immediate medical attention.”
“What are you, a doctor?” Soave asked Hannah.
“No, a documentary filmmaker.”
“Oh, boy, here we go again,” Soave groaned, rolling his eyes. “Already, I can tell this one’ll be a trip to unravel. Am I right, Yolie?” He frowned at his silent partner. “Yolie, you okay?”
“Not really,” Yolie Snipes replied glumly, a sickly expression on her face. “I left my stomach and toenails somewhere back over East Haddam. Or maybe it was over-”
“Will you all please shut up and listen to me!” Des shouted over them. “We’ve still got us a hot one-white male, early twenties, name of Jase Hearn. He’s armed. He’s killed three people. And he’s running. Mitch took off after him that-a-way,” she said, pointing toward Cholly’s depot. “We’ve heard shots fired. Last one was a few minutes ago.”
“Is Berger armed?” Soave asked her.
“He has my weapon.”
Soave eye’s widened at her with surprise. “Who does he think he is, Vin Diesel?”
“God, I hope not.” Des let out an involuntary sob that caught her totally by surprise. It was the bullet wound. Had to be. Because she was totally not a girlie-girl. And yet here she was, sobbing just like one. “Rico, if anything happens to that man, I swear I will just curl up and die.”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Soave squeezed her good arm reassuringly. “Not to worry. We got your boy covered, right, Yolie?”
“On it,” Yolie vowed, striding off toward the depot with her SIG drawn.
“Excuse me, where will I find the bodies?” the medical examiner spoke up.
“There’s so many locations to choose from,” Des replied, swiping at her teary eyes. “You can start in the kitchen, if you’d like. Or the woodshed…”
“There’s also two second-floor rooms,” Hannah added. “Numbers one and three.”
“Jeez, did Charlie Manson bust out?” Soave marveled, shaking his head.
“The mice can show you the way,” Des told the ME, indicating the four who were still gathered at the castle’s front door. As the ME started toward them, she said, “Rico, you’ll want to make sure you seal off that big freezer in the kitchen, okay? Jase threw some bloody clothes in there.”
“Gotcha,” he said, nodding. “You ready to go?”
“Go?” She looked at him blankly. “Go where?”
“Our pilot’s heading back up to Meriden to fetch us a load of tekkies. He’ll drop you at the hospital on his way. Hop aboard.”
“No way. Not a chance.”
“Des, you need emergency medical care right away,” Hannah said insistently. “Every minute is precious.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Des insisted, her eyes following Yolie as Soave’s sergeant marched her way past the toy railroad station and down the snow-covered tracks.
Yolie hadn’t quite disappeared from view when they heard another gunshot off in the distance. Just one.
And then there was only silence.
