“I assume this whole virus thing is a setup of some kind.”
“It has to be. Before today I've never even seen any child porn.”
“Disgruntled former or present employee?”
“We don't have any disgruntled employees that I know of. We have very little turnover because my father and my uncle Mark believed in taking care of the employees and so do I. More likely it's related to the fact that someone wants to buy RGI and I won't sell to them. The Dibbles.”
“Flash and Trey?”
Ward nodded. “It's hard to imagine why anyone would pull this kind of crap for grins. I haven't had any enemies of any kind since fourth grade when Warren Pepper beat me up after school because I pitched a fastball into his ribs.”
“If you want to tell me about it, I'm already working for you.”
Todd opened his briefcase and pulled out his notebook and pen, and for the first time since Unk's call that morning, Ward McCarty felt some small measure of relief.
THIRTY
Ward stood in the doorway to Barney's room disbelieving his eyes. The dresser drawers had been dumped out onto the floor and leaned haphazardly against the wall. His son's toys were piled on the twin beds; the sheets and pillows had been balled and cast into a corner. Looking at the model cars he was sickened at the thought of the scratches that would be left from their rough handling. The searchers’ actions had defiled Barney's bedroom. Natasha sat on Barney's bed looking crestfallen, a model car in her hands. Ward could hear Leslie in their bedroom straightening up the FBI's mess. She looked up and saw Ward looking in.
“How could anybody leave a child's room like this?” she asked sadly “Where do we start?”
“Maybe we shouldn't put it back like it was,” Ward said, surprising himself as much as what he'd said seemed to surprise her.
“What do you mean? We have to clean it up,” she said.
He thought about what Barney had said to him when he'd been unconscious earlier. “Barney will never be here again. I guess it's time to face that.”
Ward stepped into the room and sat on the other bed and stared at his wife.
She said, “Ward, I don't think you are responsible for the virus. I was just so angry that it happened I said things I didn't mean. Call it… displaced frustration. When I said you weren't the man I married last night, I was serious, but whatever else happens between us, I know that inside you are still that man.”
“I want to be him again,” Ward told her.
She looked at her hands, balled tight in her lap. “There's something else I haven't told you. Lately my hands have been shaking. It's probably nothing, but I'm going to see a neurologist and find out what's causing it. My colleagues have had to take over my surgery and I'm sidelined until I get it figured out. I'm sure it's just stress.”
Ward took her hands in his and held them. They trembled gently in his.
“See?”
“Why didn't you say something? Dear God, I…”
“It's all right, Ward. At the moment there's no point in wasting time worrying over that. If Dr. Edmonds tells me there's something to worry about, we can worry about it then.” She frowned. “I think there's some boxes we can put Barney's things into in the storage room.”
“When did it start?”
“Two or three weeks ago. Been getting worse.”
Ward said, “We can decide what to do with his things when we feel up to it. One step at a time.”
“Even the cars?” she asked.
“Even the cars.”
Ward knew that he had to do it before he had time to think about it, or he might change his mind.
Natasha bent over and picked up, from among Barney's clothes, a small black box about five inches long. When Natasha opened it, she gasped loudly, and dropped it to the floor and backed away as though it were a rattlesnake.
Ward knelt down and looked at the replica of a casket complete with gold handles fashioned from wire. Lying inside the casket was an effigy-a Star Wars action figure of ten- year- old Anakin Skywalker-with bold black lines crossing out each of its little blue eyes.
THIRTY-ONE
Ward's finances wouldn't allow him unlimited help from investigators and attorneys. His house was mortgaged. He didn't have a fortune in the bank. No gold bars, jewels socked away in a vault, or valuable paintings. He kept between ten and twenty- five thousand dollars in his bank accounts; at any given time he had maybe two hundred thousand in other stocks and bonds he could liquidate. The company had plenty of money in its various accounts, but corporate funds weren't his to spend as if those were his personal funds. The McCartys were comfortable, not wealthy. Ward thought about that when he thought about what it would cost to get his life back.
The FBI had left the storage room a wreck, but Ward quickly stepped over the debris scattered on the floor and found three boxes stored flat behind the shelves. He located a roll of clear tape and enough bubble wrap to pad the model cars.
Packing Barney's things was difficult for them both. Leslie sensed this, working in the other parts of the house, finishing up before the boxes were packed, taped up, and labeled. Ward put the small coffin in a shopping bag and that in the back of the pantry.
“Leslie lied to the FBI for you. How did you inspire such loyalty in an employee?”
“She's good people,” Ward said. “I do wish she hadn't done it, though.”
Natasha said, “She obviously admires you. This will all be straightened out and the fib lost in the shuffle. I'm not sorry she lied for you.”
“Would you lie for me?”
Natasha frowned at him and began taping closed the last box. “I suppose I would.”
Ward, Leslie, and Natasha finished straightening the rooms before they went to the kitchen, where Natasha cooked eggs, bacon, and toast. They ate a late breakfast for lunch. Ward had known Leslie Wilde for almost three years, but, as the trio talked and laughed, it was as if he was actually meeting her for the first time that evening. She and Todd seemed to have a comfortable relationship. He decided that, as soon as he could get back to work, he was going to give her a substantial raise.
THIRTY-TWO
Watcher held the knife up and ran his eyes over the curve of the gleaming blade. On a cold October night in Afghanistan, he had killed three men with this knife in the space of thirty seconds, give or take. They became notches on the hilt.
He thought about another day when he'd used the same knife.
Watcher crouched among trees, silent, listening. In the late afternoon light, he could see the lake, fractioned by the trees, and he heard the drone of speedboats. He had been sitting with his back against a pine tree when he saw the boy leave the tent and step out near the still-smoldering campfire. The boy picked up a stick, squatted, and began prodding curiously at the coals. The child was a beautiful creature-a tow-headed boy of three, and Watcher
