Then, loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, “I’m not easily impressed, young lady, but believe me when I say I wish I had a hundred like you.”
Chapter 48Sarah Roberts-Walsh
WHAT HAPPENED next was so matter-of-fact, so casual, that it almost didn’t seem to be happening at all.
“Where are my manners?” Vincent asked. “Tommy, please bring ex-detective Walsh a glass.”
That was it. That was the signal. Tommy stepped over to a ceiling-high liquor cabinet, took a long-stemmed glass from the bottom shelf, and carried it to Sean. Then, in a single, smooth motion he pulled a bright blue nylon cord from his pocket and wrapped it around Sean’s neck.
Sean kicked, spat, flailed his arms. Tommy dragged him backward out of his chair and onto the floor. I felt myself screaming but couldn’t hear my own voice. Without knowing I would, I sprung up and flung my body at the man who was murdering my husband. Tommy’s understudy caught me in midair, spun me around, pinned my arms in a bear hug, and held me so that I couldn’t watch Sean’s last moments.
But I heard. I heard the half-formed words catching in Sean’s throat. I heard his heels knocking against the floor. I heard Tommy grunting. Worst of all, I heard the silence afterward.
Those mammoth arms let me go. I dropped to my knees, rocking back and forth and sobbing. I had no right. I knew I had no right. Not after what I’d done to Anthony. To Defoe. I shut my eyes, saw the blade cutting through Anthony’s shirt and sinking deep into his flesh, saw Defoe’s head reel back, saw the blood fly. I saw what I hadn’t really seen: my husband’s eyes rolling back, then falling shut for the last time. Things I’d done. Things I’d caused to happen. The images flew at me in 3-D, and I knew right then that I’d never be rid of them.
Anna and Serena came running over to me. I couldn’t tell them apart, couldn’t tell who was cradling me in her arms and who was stroking my hair. By the time they’d helped me to my feet, Sean’s body was gone.
It was just the three of us and Vincent in the room now. Vincent stood at the liquor cabinet, pouring two large snifters of brandy. He crossed the room, offered me one, waited patiently until I took it in both hands.
“Down in one,” he said. “Believe me, it helps.”
Then he went back to his seat at the head of the table. He was right about the brandy. I felt it moving through me, numbing me inch by inch. The trembling slowed, then stopped. Anna pulled out my chair. Serena held my arm while I lowered myself into it. Vincent sipped his drink while they took their seats. After what felt like eternity and a day, he cleared his throat.
“I suppose I didn’t have to do that in front of you,” he said, “but this is a world you chose for yourselves. All of you. There were other men to marry, other jobs to take. There were other ways to deal with my nephew. I see no reason to treat you with kid gloves.”
In other words, he knew. He knew it was us, and not Sean, who’d stabbed Anthony to death. He paused long enough for the weight of what he was saying to sink in.
“I didn’t post Sean’s bail out of the goodness of my heart,” he said. “I did it to end our partnership. You are absolutely right, Serena: he and my nephew were robbing me blind. I’ve known this for quite a while. I only played the doddering old man to buy time, get the facts in order. Some of those facts you’ve provided yourselves. Of course, Sean didn’t kill Anthony. I never believed that he did. I don’t know who wielded the knife, whether it was one of you or all of you, and to be blunt, I don’t care. The truth is, I should be grateful. Anthony’s murder saved me the hefty sum that comes with a contract killing. When I was younger, I handled these things myself. Now, I can’t afford the exposure.”
He swirled the brandy around in his glass, sniffed at it, took a careful sip.
“This may sound strange given that I break the law for a living, but I didn’t get where I am today without being a man of principle. Anthony, like his father before him, was not a man of principle. Sean had no moral character whatsoever. Both deserved to die. Your actions, on the other hand, are not so ethically cut-and-dried. As someone who thrives on vengeance, it would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for killing the man who caused you such great pain. Then again, he was, as you say, my blood. If I fail to retaliate in any way, my enemies will think I’m weak. I’ve already taxed their patience by living this long.
“Of course, there’s also the matter of Defoe. I don’t look forward to telling Nigel, but to be honest that killing doesn’t bother me so much. Defoe was a liability. He was a pure mercenary, and every mercenary is a turncoat in the making. No, I’m inclined to think you did me a favor there, too.
“So here is what I propose, and it very well may be the fairest proposition I’ve ever made. You can go on with your lives. You can prosper, fall in love, repeat your mistakes or make new ones. But you can’t do it near me. In other words, I’m banishing you, much as kings banished their subjects in the days of yore. Florida is off-limits. Georgia and Alabama are ill-advised. Seattle, Los Angeles, San Francisco—these are real possibilities. If you’re feeling frugal, I hear Portland has its charms.
“Wherever you choose to go, you have twenty-four hours to get there. I won’t pursue you so long as I don’t know where
