True Evil

Kaiser hung up, leaned over the pilot's helmet, and spun his forefinger in a circle. 'Turn around!'

As the 430 banked over I-55, Kaiser dialed the Jackson field office and demanded to speak to a technical specialist.

'Yes, sir?' said an even younger voice than he'd expected.

'I need GPS coordinates on a cell phone. As fast as you can get them. Call the cell company and tell them lives depend on it.' Kaiser read off Alex's cell number, then said, 'I think it's a Cingular phone. Call me back the instant you have the coordinates.'

'Will do, sir.'

As soon as he hung up, the pilot leaned over and said, 'Where are we going?'

Where the hell was Alex going? Kaiser wondered. Did she not believe that the man towing Rusk's boat toward the Gulf Coast was Tarver? Could someone have called and told her that? He didn't think so. Chris Shepard certainly had no way of knowing that. Was Will Kilmer still working the case? Could the old ex-cop have discovered something at the last minute? Possibly. But then again, Alex's reason for bailing might be something completely unrelated to Tarver-something that overrode her concern for the murder case. What could possibly be that important?

'Hover!' he said to the pilot. 'Keep us where we are!'

As the 430 slowed to a hover, Kaiser sensed that desperation was blocking efficient thought. He'd seen the phenomenon many times: people in emergencies couldn't make the simplest logical connections. No one was immune, not combat veterans, not astronauts, not-His phone was ringing.

'Hello? Hello!'

'I've got the coordinates, sir. That phone is at thirty-two degrees, twenty-five minutes and some-odd north; and ninety degrees, four minutes-'

'Just tell me where they are, son! Lay a map over those numbers!'

'We already did. It's Coachman's Road, near the Jackson Yacht Club. Right on the edge of the reservoir.'

'The Ross Barnett Reservoir?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Would Rose's Bluff Drive be near there?'

'Yes, sir. Right there. And whoever has that phone is even closer to there now.'

'Damn it! That's her brother-in-law's house.'

'Sir?'

The pilot looked over at Kaiser, his eyes questioning behind his faceplate.

Her nephew, Kaiser thought angrily. Is this some kind of custody crap? Jamie Fennell was the reason Alex had worked this case so hard and so recklessly. But…what if it was something else? What if the kid meant something to Tarver, too? Was that possible? Could Bill Fennell somehow be helping Tarver to escape? Not if the pathologist was driving down to the Gulf, he couldn't. But what if he wasn't? What if someone else was driving that truck?

CHAPTER 53

Bill Fennell lived on the southwestern bank of the Ross Barnett Reservoir, fifty square miles of water that could kick up ocean-sized whitecaps in a storm like the one that was on its way. Despite their proximity to the Jackson Yacht Club, most houses here were older than the McMansions on the eastern shore. Bill had solved that problem by buying four contiguous lots just north of the yacht club, then tearing down the houses on them and building his vision of nouveau riche paradise.

Alex and Will were less than five minutes away from the result, roaring along Coachman's Road in the blue Nissan Titan Will had substituted for his Explorer, which was recovering from the explosion at the primate lab. Will's.357 magnum lay on the seat between them, and a 12-gauge shotgun was lying on the backseat. Alex's borrowed Sig was in the glove box, and she had a Smith amp; Wesson.38 strapped to her left ankle.

'You get any more text messages?' Will asked.

'No. I just hope they haven't left yet. They've got to come out this way, right?'

'Not necessarily. There's half a dozen ways out of that old neighborhood.'

'Great.'

The turbulent waters of the reservoir came into sight. Will turned south, heading along the spit of land that held the yacht club and the Fennell home. 'How do you want to play it?' he asked.

'We're going to ask nicely for Ben,' said Alex. 'Then we're going to take him out of there. Bill should be arrested for murder before the day is out.'

'Bill can be a cranky son of a bitch,' Will said. 'He almost went to jail for beating up a guy on the side of the road one time. Road rage.'

'I didn't know that.' Alex let her left hand fall on the magnum. 'But I'd say we're prepared to deal with that.' She pointed to a tall, wrought-iron gate fifty meters ahead. 'Slow down.'

Will pulled up to the gate and stopped.

'Chained shut,' Alex said, pointing at a heavy padlock.

Will got out, climbed into the bed of his truck, opened the shining toolbox, and removed a long pair of bolt cutters. He cut the chain easily, then tossed the cutters into the truck bed and climbed back behind the wheel.

'You're handy to have around,' said Alex.

Will looked hard into her eyes. 'Before we go in, let me ask you one thing. What's the chance that we're walking into some kind of trap?'

She had tried not to focus on this possibility, but rather to prepare herself for whatever might happen. But now Will had given voice to her fear.

'That's why you're here,' she said softly. 'If I knew for sure it was just Bill, I wouldn't need anybody to help me deal with him.'

Will sighed like an old man in need of a nap. 'That's what I figured.'

'I can go without you,' Alex said, meaning it. 'You can wait right here.'

The detective cocked his head and looked over at her, his watery eyes like those of an old hound dog. 'Honey, your daddy pulled me out of so many tight spots I couldn't begin to count 'em. I'm here now because he can't be. And I'm gonna do exactly what I know he'd do.' Will put the truck into gear and rolled forward. 'Let's go get that boy.'

He drove through the gate and around the long, sweeping drive that led to the rear of the Fennell mansion, an oversize copy of a Louisiana plantation house, with tall, white columns and a wraparound porch. He stopped when they were still a hundred meters away and parked behind a thick stand of trees.

'This is far enough,' he said.

As he switched off the engine, the rain that had been threatening for hours finally swept over the property like advancing waves of gray-clad soldiers. The first drops hit the truck like shots from a pellet gun, and then the aggregate blotted out the mansion. Through the gaps in the trees, Alex could just make out the leaden surface of the reservoir. She opened the glove box and took out the Sig-Sauer Will had given her two days ago, then got out and walked up to an oak tree. Will carried the shotgun loosely along his left leg, his pistol gripped in his right hand. When he drew up beside her, they turned together and surveyed the house and grounds while the rain soaked their clothes.

The mansion had been built facing the reservoir. Hundreds of trees and shrubs dotted the twelve-acre lot, with gardens and ponds placed throughout in the English style. The landscaping alone had cost more than the houses around it. To their left stood a tennis court, to their right an infinity pool with a serpentine slide for Ben.

In front of the house, Alex knew, a broad pier ran far out over the reservoir. A boathouse stood at the end of it, and it held twice the boat that Andrew Rusk owned. A Carrera bowrider, she remembered, with twin outboards