FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Savich pulled the Porsche into his garage. Sherlock punched in the code to disarm the security system, saying over her shoulder, “I’m bushed. Nothing’s as tiring as waiting for someone who doesn’t show.”
Savich rubbed her shoulders as they walked into the kitchen. She turned on the overhead light.
“Bed never sounded so good,” Savich said as he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator, unscrewed the lid, and took a long drink. He wiped his hand across his mouth and said to his wife, who was leaning against the counter, “Gunter is crazy, no doubt in my mind about that. Given the risks he’s taken to date, I was betting he’d take this one too. But he fooled me.”
“Maybe he’ll show in the middle of the night.”
Savich shook his head. “Too quiet. Too empty. He’s crazy, but he’s not stupid.”
He drank deeply again.
His fingers tightened slightly around the bottle when he heard a whisper of movement not ten feet away from the dark dining room.
Sherlock caught his eye. She picked up a dishcloth, wiped down the island surface, and turned to face him, looking relaxed, her arms crossed over her chest. “Even though Gunter’s crazy, he must have realized his luck couldn’t hold out. He’s an old man, Dillon, old and used up. Quantico was his last hurrah. He’s got no more in him. So why is he here now?”
A man’s deep voice came out of the shadows, a bit of a slow Southern pace to his words. “Because I knew you flat-footed morons were setting another obvious trap at Bethesda, just like at Quantico. I’ve been waiting for you here, Savich, for quite some time. And now you’ll tell me where you’ve hidden Elaine LaFleurette.”
“I believe we have a guest, Sherlock. Gunter, come into the light, no need to be shy.”
A tall barrel-chested man walked into the doorway, a SIG-Sauer held in his left hand. As soon as Savich saw he wasn’t hiding his face, he knew Gunter intended to kill them. He was dressed in black, even his hands were gloved in black leather, a black cap pulled down to his ears. He looked fit and strong, but his face was deeply seamed, his mouth small and deeply grooved. He looked old, like he’d lived through too many long nights planning too much death. Did he look crazy? His eyes did, Savich thought, cold and empty.
“Gunter Grass,” he said, savoring the sounds. “You found out that name very quickly. I haven’t used it for years.”
Savich asked as he walked slowly toward the man, “You came here even though Fleurette is in Bethesda?”
“Keep your distance, Savich, don’t try to rush me. I know you can fight.” Gunter backed up so that he kept ten feet between them. “Both of you, drop the SIGs now and kick them over here.”
Savich and Sherlock both eased their guns from their belt holsters, laid them on the kitchen floor, and kicked them over to where Gunter stood.
Gunter pointed his SIG directly at Sherlock. “Both of you, come into the living room. Savich, keep her between us.” When they were in the living room, Gunter motioned them to sit on the sofa. He walked to the living room archway, his SIG still pointed at Sherlock’s chest. “Enough now. Where’s Elaine LaFleurette?”
“At Bethesda,” Sherlock said. “In the surgical ICU. Don’t you remember? You shot her.”
Gunter fired. The shot was deafening in the quiet living room. Sherlock sucked in her breath as the bullet grazed the outside of her arm and buried itself in the wall behind her. She jerked at the shock of it, but didn’t cry out. She clapped her hand to her arm. Savich was on his feet, in motion.
“Stop or I’ll kill her!”
Savich was breathing hard, adrenaline and rage pumping through him. He wanted to kill Gunter, but he had his gun on Sherlock. He reined himself in and sat back down, heart thudding hard against his chest, afraid now. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m all right, Dillon. I’m all right.”
Gunter was smiling. “You don’t screw with me, you hear? I am as much a professional as you are. When I ask you a question, you don’t smart-mouth me, you got that?”
“Yes, I’ve got that.” Sherlock knew the numbness would fade soon and her arm would be on fire. But the wound wasn’t bad, he’d just wanted to scare her. His quiet threat of more violence scared her more than the bullet that had already torn through her flesh.
Savich said, “Put the gun down now, Gunter. There are a dozen more FBI agents surrounding the house. It stops here, now. There’s no way out for you.”
Gunter stared at him. “You set me up at Bethesda? And here in your own house?”
“Yes, that’s right. I underestimated you once. I wasn’t about to do it a second time. Put down the gun and we can end this without any more killing.”
Savich saw the instant Gunter believed him, the instant he knew it was over for him. Something in his eyes went dead and flat. He was suddenly afraid that Gunter would shoot both of them before he could be stopped. He had to keep him talking. “Tell us why you murdered Justice Califano, Gunter. Why you murdered Danny O’Malley and Eliza Vickers. Why you still want to kill Elaine LaFleurette. This is your chance to tell us and the world. Tell us who was working with you, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Gunter continued to hold his gun locked on Sherlock’s chest. “You want the truth? All right, I’ll tell you a bit of truth.”
He paused, his eyes calm now, resigned, and Sherlock would swear she saw relief there as well. He continued in a slow voice. “I am actually impressed with you, Agent Savich, as one professional to another. But the end must come for all of us, me, Califano, you—the difference is that while you have chosen it for me, you did not choose this ending for yourself. But I have. I knew some time ago my life was coming to an end. The only question was, how to end the drama, how to make the exit?
“Do you know why I chose the name Gunter Grass? Because my father was born in Danzig, as Grass was, and Grass wrote
“I called myself Gunter in a long-ago life. Let me tell you about that Gunter. For a very long time he killed to earn his bread. It was the only thing at which he was truly skilled, the only thing he had a taste for. All of his targets deserved to die—they were evil people, drug dealers, revolutionaries, fanatics, terrorists, or just simply criminals who’d corrupted those around them. And of course there were the dishonest judges who accepted payoffs, who kept mistresses. But he tired of cleaning up society’s mess and being hunted for it all the while. And so Gunter ceased to exist, and I came here and became an American.
“I thought it an act of fate—the complete turning of the wheel, if you will—when I saw Justice Califano kissing a young woman in the middle of the day in a small park, the two of them standing in the shade of an oak tree. There was no one else around. Except for me. She was laughing, kissing that old man’s mouth, her hands pressed against him, between them. This man was not just any corrupt judge like my stepfather—he was a Justice of the Supreme Court!
“I watched them, and felt my rage build until I wanted to kill both of them right there in the park, but I knew that would be foolish and dangerous for me, and because I must be sure. And so I followed them to a condominium. I found out the young woman he was taking advantage of was one of his law clerks. I saw soon enough that he had obviously turned this young woman into a whore, just like my mother. I loved killing her, loved her futile struggles, knowing you were hearing it all. And I saw my mother’s face when the life went out of her. Killing her was almost as gratifying as choking the life out of that corrupt justice. He disgusted me. He was a filthy, common little man, as bad as any of the garbage I killed in Europe. I savored the instant when Califano realized he was dying, realized he was paying the ultimate price. It was my destiny to end his life, or die trying.
“You want a bit more truth, Agent Savich? It surprised me that I actually succeeded, both at the Supreme Court and at Quantico. You really did a very poor job of damage control, don’t you think?”
Savich said, “And so you killed three people because two of them were having an affair?”
