considered that the murders had started soon after. Then coincidence became hard to explain-especially when you began to realize that with his agency job my new employee knew a great deal about our comings and goings. He would know, with his special vantage point, when to strike out.
'I wish I knew what the hell you were talking about,' Bonnell said.
Mrs. Kubek came back and handed me a Polaroid photo, which I angled into the light.
'Meet Tommy Byrnes,' I said to Bonnell, giving him the picture.
Then Bonnell proceeded to tell her about Martin's death.
TWENTY-SEVEN
One minute later I was using Mrs. Kubek's phone. But to no avail.
Either Cindy was still unconscious from the sedative, or…
I didn't like to think of 'or.' But it was obvious that Tommy Byrnes meant to get each of us in repayment for the death of his uncle.
I slammed the phone and asked Bonnell if he had a siren on his car.
I didn't even give him time to say yes. I just pushed him toward his Pontiac.
I had left home so quickly I hadn't noticed the red Mazda at the far end of my parking lot.
As Bonnell's headlights swept over the cars in the lot, I noticed the red vehicle and realized whose it was.
Merle Wickes's.
I was out of the Pontiac, running, before Bonnell had fully stopped.
I slipped on the ice as I ran toward the car, banged my knee against the pavement, swore, but kept running.
I skidded over to the Mazda, glanced inside, then quickly glanced away.
I had never seen anything like it. In the average experience of the average man, seeing a person with his throat cut is not a common experience.
Tommy had found Merle with no problem. I looked in once again, only to confirm the horrible image that had been pressed on my eyes moments before. Merle was still in there, his throat slashed-his hair, ironically, in perfect composure.
Behind me, Bonnell was saying something, but I didn't hear the exact words.
I was already on my way up the stairs. Terrified that I was too late.
I reached for the banister to help my flight be faster. Something sticky clung to my palm. I knew what it was without looking. I moved two steps at a time now.
My apartment door was slightly ajar when I reached it, the crack between door and frame dark.
I stopped, not out of fear for myself but afraid that Tommy might not have hurt her-and that my sudden presence might panic him into doing so.
My breathing crashed in my ears-I was dripping with sweat and freezing at the same time-as I eased up to the door and put my fingers on it.
I could hear Bonnell thundering into the vestibule below.
I pushed the door open and went in.
In the moonlight through the large living-room window, I saw him.
He stood silhouetted in the window, facing me, leaning against the ledge as if he were perfectly relaxed.
He held a gun and it was aimed directly at me.
'You're too late,' he said. 'She's dead.'
His statement stopped me completely. Rage, disbelief, the first wave of shock-all moved through me at the same time.
I would have lunged at him, unafraid of his weapon, but I had no strength.
All I could do was stand and breathe and try to collect my thoughts into something coherent-but something that did not face what he'd just told me.
'You killed him,' he said.
'I didn't,' I said after a time. 'I didn't have anything to do with it. Neither did Cindy.'
'Just by being who you are, you killed him,' Tommy said. 'Your kind of people…' There was a rage in his voice that matched the rage in my heart. 'They blackmailed him into helping with the robbery. They'd found out about a drunk driving rap he'd had one time-they threatened to tell his bosses.'
Tommy had started crying.
'I'm sorry, Tommy,' I said, and I was.
'He was the only thing that kept me going in the orphanage,' Tommy said. 'He would've taken me if he could've afforded it.'
'I'm sure he was a good man, Tommy,' I said. Then I thought of Cindy and my pity for him waned.
I wanted to kick him as I'd kicked Stokes earlier tonight. Only Tommy I wanted to kick to death.
'It doesn't matter anymore,' Tommy said, 'who lives or who dies. It just doesn't matter.'
In silhouette I could see him raise the gun. I heard the safety come off.
I gathered myself enough to stall him a little.
'Another killing,' I said.
'Like I said, it doesn't matter. It didn't matter to them about my uncle. They killed him, anyway.'
'Tommy-' He raised the gun.
It happened so quickly I scarcely realized what he'd done. Turn the weapon on himself. Directly to his forehead. Squeeze the trigger. Once.
Which was more than enough.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I was in the bedroom by the time Tommy had fallen to the floor. There was nothing I could do for him, anyway. Cindy was sprawled on the bed.
There was no sign of blood. But neither was there any sign of breathing.
I got the table light on and saw immediately that he'd strangled her. Probably he hadn't wanted to waken the neighbors with gunshots.
Bonnell pounded into the room.
'Let me,' he said, rushing over.
But I couldn't let go of her. I held on to her as if we would be embracing that way for eternity.
Bonnell wasn't impressed.
He wanted to help her, if that was still possible.
I can't ever recall being hit so hard in my life. He knocked me unconscious in a single punch.
Four hours later the young intern in the white smock signaled that I could go into the room. He held up three fingers-the three minutes I'd agreed to.
The window was smudged with overcast morning light. In her hospital bed she looked very white and very frail. I went over to her side and started to lean down and kiss her when her eyes came open.
'Hi,' she said, after bringing me into focus.
I sighed. It was great to hear her talk. She could have read the phone book and I would have been delighted.
'Hi,' I said back.
'I guess it all got resolved, didn't it?'
'Yeah.'
'Poor Tommy. Before he started choking me, he told me about himself. I can't help it, I feel sorry for
