His face wore a hideous grin.
It was a moment or two before Stenner, with a shock, recognized the grinning face of Aaron Stampler. By then it was too late.
'Welcome home,' Stampler hissed. The knife slashed the air as he swung it underhanded. It pierced Stenner just over his belt, its deadly point angled upward, slicing towards his heart. The two men stumbled back into the living room and crashed into the wall.
Gasping, Stenner grabbed Stampler's wrist to keep him from withdrawing the blade. Stampler, his face inches away from Stenner's, curled his lips in a leer. He shoved his other hand into Stenner's coat pocket, felt his car keys, and grabbed them.
As they burst into the room, Venable fell back against the wall. She gaped with horror when she saw the knife buried in Stenner's side. Then rage took over. She grabbed a heavy brass lamp from an end table and charged Stampler, swinging it like a club. It smashed the ridge of his jaw and split it open. Stenner slid from his grasp and fell at their feet, the knife still embedded in his side.
Stampler roared with pain. He grabbed the lamp and with his other hand hit Venable on the jaw. The blow knocked her backwards against the other wall. Stampler grabbed the lamp with both hands and swung it over-handed.
She felt the heavy metal hit her cheek, felt the bones crush and a searing pain in her eye. Blood flooded down into her mouth. Her legs gave out and she fell to the floor, looking up at the enraged killer through one eye.
Stampler turned to get the knife, but Stenner had rolled over. It was under him. The madman ran around the corner into the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel, and pressed it against the wound in his jaw. He pulled open a drawer, dumped its contents on the floor. He pulled out another and another and finally found the knife drawer. He snatched up a vicious-looking boning knife and raced back into the living room. But as he did, Stenner rolled over and, with great effort, slid his 9mm pistol across the hardwood floor to Venable. She grabbed it as Stampler rushed into the room from the kitchen. Half conscious and in pain, she swung the gun up and fired. It tore a corner off the kitchen cabinet. Stampler dived into the living room, scrambling for cover. She fired again and again. He skittered along behind a sofa. A shot ripped into it, bursting through the other side in a cloud of cotton and foam rubber. Stampler grabbed a chair. Hunched over, he ran towards a window, shoved the chair through it, dived through the shower of glass, and ran towards Stenner's car.
Inside, Venable rolled over on her stomach. She stared through her good eye at Stenner, who had the knife in his hand. He went limp and the knife slipped out of his grasp. He fell forward.
Outside, she heard Stenner's car start and roar away.
'Abel…' Venable moaned, and passed out.
When Shock Johnson arrived at Judge Harry Shoat's condominium, three patrol cars were already there. The six patrolmen had searched the grounds around the perimeter of the two-storey building, but on Johnson's instructions had not attempted to enter the condo.
'We knocked on the door and tried him on the phone,' said a sergeant who had taken charge of the small force. 'No answer from inside and no answer on the phone.'
'Shit,' Johnson grumbled. He tucked his hands in his rear pockets and stared at the house.
'What's the layout, Sergeant?' he asked, without taking his eyes off the condo.
'One-floor condominium. The people upstairs are wintering in Georgia, so he's the only one in the building right now. There's a terrace with a six-foot fence around there on the side, windows in back and on that side. The place is dark and his car's in the garage.'
'Where the hell's his goddamn bodyguard? What's his name?'
'Hicks, sir. I called him. The judge dismissed him, told him to go home. Hicks drives his car here every morning and they travel in the judge's Mercedes, that's why it's in the garage.'
'Wasn't Shoat warned?'
'Hicks said he laughed at Vail.'
'Christ. Eckling's gonna have me for lunch when he gets back from Atlanta.'
'The chief's in Atlanta?'
'Yeah, at some lawmen's convention. Free drinks and food what that's about.' He looked around, pointed to a young, athletic patrolman. 'What's your name, son?' he asked.
