on a terry-cloth robe, and his curly black hair was in disarray. His eyes were glassy and red, and I wondered if he had been drinking that night, if Lemouz had been celebrating.
“Madam Inspector,” he said in a throaty whisper, “you’re beginning to wear out your welcome. It’s four A.M. This is my home.”
I didn’t bother to exchange unpleasantries with Lemouz, and neither did Molinari. “You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder,” he said, then pushed his way inside.
Lemouz’s wife and two children appeared, entering the living room behind him, which was unfortunate. The boy was no more than twelve, the girl even younger. Molinari and I holstered our guns.
“Charles Danko is dead,” I told Lemouz. “A young woman you know named Annette Breiling has implicated you in the murder of Jill Bernhardt, all of the murders, Lemouz. She told us that you were the one who set up Stephen Hardaway’s cell. You delivered Julia Marr and Robert Green into the cell. And you controlled Charles Danko—you knew how to push his buttons. His anger seethed for thirty years, but you got Danko to act on it. He was your puppet.”
Lemouz laughed in my face. “I don’t know any of these people. Well, Ms. Breiling was a student of mine. She dropped out of the university, however. This is a huge mistake and I’m calling my lawyer right now if you don’t leave.”
“You’re under arrest,” Joe Molinari said, making the obvious official. “Want to hear your rights, Professor? I want to read them to you.”
Lemouz smiled, and it was strange and eerie. “You still don’t understand, do you? Neither of you. This is why you are doomed. One day your entire country will crumble. It’s already happening.”
“Why don’t you explain what we’re missing?” I spat the words at him.
He nodded, then Lemouz turned toward his family. “You’re missing this.” His small son was holding a handgun, and it was obvious that he knew how to use it. The boy’s eyes were as cold as his father’s.
“I’ll kill you both,” he said. “It would be my pleasure.”
“The army that is building against you is massive, their cause is just. Women, children, so many soldiers, Madam Inspector. Think about it. The Third World War—it’s begun.”
Lemouz walked calmly to his family and took the gun from his son. He kept it aimed at us. Then he kissed his wife, his daughter, his son. The kisses were tender and heartfelt. Tears were in his wife’s eyes. Lemouz whispered something to each of them.
He backed out of the living room; then we could hear running footsteps. A door slammed somewhere in the house. How could he hope to get away?
A gunshot sounded loudly inside the house.
Molinari and I ran in that direction.
We found him in the bedroom—he’d killed himself, shot one bullet into his right temple.
His wife and children had begun to wail in the other room.
So many soldiers, I was thinking. This won’t stop, will it? This Third World War.
Chapter 108
Charles Danko didn’t spray me with ricin. That was what the doctors were saying, hovering over me all morning at the toxicology unit at Mof?t.
And the vice president wasn’t going to die. Word was that they had him two floors below me, that he had even been on the phone to his boss in Washington.
I spent several hours with a maze of tubes and wires sticking out of me, monitors reading my blood and chest scans. The contents of Danko’s canister were identified as ricin. Enough to kill hundreds of people if he had gone undetected. Danko had ricin in his lungs, and he was going to die. I wasn’t sorry to hear it.
About noon I got a phone call from the president, as in the president. They stuck a phone to my ear, and in my daze I remembered hearing the word hero about six times. The president even said he was looking forward to thanking me in person. I joked that maybe we should wait for the toxic glow to settle down.
When I opened my eyes after a snooze, Joe Molinari was sitting on the corner of my bed.
He smiled. “Hey. I thought I said ‘no heroes!’”
I blinked and smiled, too, a little more groggy than triumphant, embarrassed at the tubes and monitors.
“The good news,” he said with a wink, “is the doctors say you’re fine. They’re just holding you for observation a few more hours. There’s an armada of press waiting for you out there.”
“The bad news?” I said, hoarsely.
“Someone’s gonna have to teach you how to dress for these photo ops.”
“New fashion look.” I squeezed back a smile.
I noticed that he had a raincoat draped over his arm and was wearing the navy herringbone suit I’d seen him in the first time. It was a very nice suit, and he wore it well.
“The vice president’s recuperating. I’m heading back to Washington tonight.”
All I could do was nod. “Okay …”
“No”—he shook his head, inching closer—“it’s not okay. Because it’s not what I want.”
“We both knew this would happen,” I said, trying to be strong. “You have a job. The interns …”
Molinari scowled. “You’re brave enough to go after a man holding a canister of deadly poison, but you’re not ready to stand up for something you want.”
I felt a tear creep out of the corner of my eye. “I don’t know what I want, right now.”
Molinari put down his raincoat, then drew close and put a hand to my cheek, brushing away the tear. “I think you need some time. You have to decide, when things calm down, if you’re prepared to let someone in. Like a relationship, Lindsay.”
He took my hand. “My name’s Joe, Lindsay. Not Molinari, or Deputy Director, wink, wink. And what I’m talking about is you and me. And not trying to joke it away because you’ve been hurt before. Or because you lost a really close friend. I know this’ll come as a disappointment, Lindsay, but you’re entitled to be happy. You know what I mean. Call me old-fashioned.” He smiled.
“Old-fashioned,” I said, doing exactly what he accused me of, making jokes when I ought to be serious.
Something was stuck inside me, the way it always seemed to stick when I wanted to say what was in my heart. “So, you get out here how often?”
“Speeches, security conferences …a couple of national crises factored in …”
I laughed. “We can’t help the jokes, neither of us.”
Molinari sighed. “Even you must know this by now: I’m not one of the assholes, Lindsay. It can work. The next step is yours. You have to make a move to try.”
He stood up and brushed his hand over my hair. “The doctors assured me that this is perfectly safe.” He smiled, then leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips. His lips were soft, and mine, chapped and dry from the night, clung on. I was trying to show him how I felt, knowing I’d be crazy not to tell him and let him walk out that door.
Joe Molinari stood and draped the raincoat over his arm. “It’s been a privilege and an honor getting to know you, Lieutenant Boxer.”
“Joe,” I said, a little scared to see him go.
“You know where to reach me.”
I watched him head to the door. “You never know when a girl might have a national emergency…”
“Yeah”—he turned and smiled—“I’m a national emergency kind of guy.”
Chapter 109
