“You're not coming?” Leslie asked, incredulous.
Through the door the women heard the killer's muted laughter.
“Ward needs me,” Natasha said. “I won't leave him. Give me that knife and go.”
“You want the knife?” Leslie asked.
“What, are you going to fight a killer?” Alice asked.
“If need be,” Natasha said.
“But you're a doctor,” Alice said. “What do you know about killing people?”
SEVENTY-FIVE
“Nobody's coming. Hartman never made a call.” The odd, lilting voice came from the kitchen. “The doctor has to pay for murdering my son.”
A sinking feeling captured Ward when he knew that Todd hadn't made it out. But, he thought, Todd had already called for backup, and Louis had no way to know that.
“Todd called for help,” Ward called out in the darkness.
“Ward, I never made any calls. I hope you can forgive me for deceiving you. I never called my guys. But I want you to know I did tear up the check you wrote me.”
“Todd?”
The voice changed, became instantly rec ognizable. “No, I'm Louis Gismano. I've only been Todd Hartman, P.I., for three years. Hartman was a buddy of mine from Bragg. Nice guy, too, if a bit simple. He was an MP from Muncie, Indiana, who married a sweet gal from Australia and moved to Sydney. We stay in touch. I got his birth certificate and switched our fingerprints and DNA records. He's a successful private investigator because I put in a lot of legit hours, when I wasn't watching you two, or Howard Lindley.”
Ward was still aiming at the doorway, but his hand was shaking worse than before he'd fired the gun.
“You came damn close to doing me serious injury, Ward,” Louis said from the kitchen in a loud voice. The light came on in that room, star-tling Ward. “I've had worse, but for your first shot at a man, it wasn't far off, really. And in the dark and all. I'm impressed. I didn't know I was such a good teacher.”
“I'll come closer next time,” Ward said. “You can still leave.”
“And miss the sight of your intestines steaming on the floor between your wide- open legs?”
“I will shoot you,” Ward called. “And next time I'll kill you.”
“You had your chance and you blew it,” Louis said.
“But I have four more chances and you'll have to show yourself.”
“No, Ward. Take my word. That was your only chance. I just didn't think you could shoot that accurately, even accidentally. Beginner's luck, that's all. I've been bit worse, and I'll survive this little nick.”
“You've left some of your DNA on the floor, I bet. I guess that's a good thing for me, but not so good for you.”
“I'll tidy up before I leave, Ward. Amazing what a little bleach can do to mess up those DNA tests. Ward, you'll get much better accuracy if you cock the hammer before you fire again.”
“I'll try that,” Ward said, cocking the hammer, the sound remarkably loud. Louis chuckled in response. His voice sounded strained.
“Why fight it?” Louis asked. “You're no killer. Tell you what. I'll make it fast for you. What do you have to live for? Your son is dead. Your wife is a baby killer. I'm good with a knife. It won't hurt at all. Promise.”
Ward said, “Your son died, but it had nothing at all to do with Natasha. You know her. You have to know that she did everything in her power to save your son. And for all of your snooping, the only way you missed that is because you are blinded by your thirst for revenge. I will kill you to keep her safe.”
“You're an idiot, Ward,” Louis said. “And you're starting to piss me off defending that murdering slut.”
“There's only one murderer here.”
Ward knew that the longer he talked, the farther away the women would get. Maybe Louis would kill him. Hell, he probably had no chance to survive. After he'd seen that the tires were cut, he and Natasha agreed that if Louis came in, she and the others would go to the bedroom, lock the door, and go out the window. Even after Louis killed Ward, the lock was good and would slow him.
“So,” Louis said. “Should be just a minute or two, now.”
“Until what, Louis? What happens next?”
“I bet you think your wife and the girls got out the window. Don't you know I plan for contingencies? Your wife can't escape this house, Ward. You think I'd leave that to chance?”
Ward sensed he was missing something obvious. He was startled by the sudden light in the hallway and he turned his head without moving the gun from where it pointed. He saw three female figures enter the hallway together and start walking toward him. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Alice was leading the women down the hallway. Natasha was at her side, and Leslie was just behind them. They were almost in the den when Ward saw Leslie holding the knife against Natasha's side.
“Put the gun down, Ward,” Leslie said, making sure Ward could see the blade. “I will kill her.”
“What the hell are you doing, Leslie?”
“She killed Gizmo,” Leslie Wilde said, flatly. “He was our son.”
An icy hand closed around Ward's heart. That was what he'd been missing. So Louis hadn't killed his wife after all. It had been Todd who told them the authorities thought he'd killed his wife. The authorities probably weren't looking for Gismano at all.
Louis called from the kitchen, “Ward, don't tell me you're surprised.”
We're all dead, Ward thought.
SEVENTY-SIX
Special FBI Agent John Mayes was at home in Harrisburg, North Carolina, having just arrived there, when the phone rang. He looked at the ID and opened the phone.
“Where are you?” Bill Firman asked him.
“I just got home,” he said. “Where should I be?”
“You know that duct tape the techs found under McCarty's BMW?”
“What about it?”
“I'm looking at the lab report, and there was a fingerprint on it.”
“That's great,” John said, stifling a yawn.
“Maybe not. The print belonged to Todd Hartman.”
“And?”
“The lab said that tape's been under the car for a very long time. You remember how ratty and filthy it was, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The fingerprint's been there since the tape went on. It was on the sticky side. According to McCarty he hired Hartman the day before the virus thing happened, right?”
“I believe he said something to that effect.”
“That brings up some questions, don't you think?”
“I'll talk to the McCartys,” Mayes said. “First thing in the morning.”
John Mayes hung up. As he stood there looking at the plate his wife had put on the table, his mind started turning that revelation over in his head. He decided that he should call the McCartys. He dialed all of the numbers he had, and each time the phones went straight to voice mail. He put his phone back into his pocket and looked at his watch.
Maybe he should take a run out there and make sure everything was all right. And at the very least, Todd Hartman had some explaining to do.
