Madman on a Drum (26 page)

I didn't answer. Instead, I holstered the nine and went to Nina's side. I carefully removed the tape from her mouth. She spoke breathlessly. Her first words surprised me.

“Don't worry about the window,” she said. “I'll take care of it before Erica gets home.”

“Are you all right?”

“He didn't hurt me,” Nina said.

“Good.”

Nina managed a smile and didn't complain when I tore the rest of the duct tape from around her arms and ankles. Tension and fear had caused her to perspire; her shirt was glued to her body and her perfume had a sour smell. Yet she didn't seem frightened. Perhaps she was pretending. I do it all the time. When I finished with the tape, she slipped off the chair into my arms. We held each other tight. I could feel the heat of her body. It was as if she had just completed a marathon and hadn't had time to cool down.

Schroeder was on his cell, calling the police. “Take your time,” he told the emergency operator. “Fucker ain't going anywhere.” He saw me looking at him, and he moved toward the front door, giving Nina and me some space. I yanked the headset off and dropped it on the floor.

“I knew I would be all right,” Nina told me. “I knew you would get me out of this.”

That's more than I knew,
I thought but didn't say.

“It was because of Erica,” Nina said. “He threatened her. He said if I didn't call you, he would find Erica. He would kill her. I would have told him no, except for Erica. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. You did the best, perfect thing.”

I held her face with both my hands. Nina was still smiling, but tears were running down her cheeks onto my fingers. “I don't know what to say,” she told me.

“Don't say anything.”

“It really isn't that much fun, what you do. Is it?”

I could hear the whining sound of distant sirens coming closer and closer as I kissed her and held her and told her how much I loved her and how sorry I was that she had been put in jeopardy and asked her to forgive me. She blew it off. I could have canceled a date because my car broke down for all the resentment she showed me.

“It's not your fault” was all she said. Yet it was my fault—I couldn't shake the truth of it—and I told her so.

“Everything's messed up,” I said.

“You did what was necessary,” she said. “I can see that. Anyone could see that. What he did, Teachwell, what he did to Victoria and to me and to all the others, no one should be allowed to do that.”

I kissed her again. “I must have been a helluva a guy in a previous life to find you in this one,” I said.

We held each other for a long time, even after the sirens were silenced and the house began to fill with serious men demanding answers to serious questions.

Finally Nina said, “How did Teachwell know about Erica and me, about us, that we were together?”

“Someone told him.”

 

It was a small house and not as well kept up as it should have been. I rang the doorbell, and when nothing happened I rapped on the door. Karen opened it slowly. She was wearing a clingy blue robe that looked good on her and nothing else that I could see. “McKenzie,” she said. She tightened the cinch on her robe. At the same time, she threw a glance at the room behind her as if there were something she didn't want me to see.

“I'm happy to see you,” she said, but I didn't believe her. “What brings you here?”

“Hi,” I said. “I hope it's not too late.”

“Not at all.” She swung the door wide. “Come in. Please excuse the mess.”

There didn't seem to be much of a mess. Only a large soft-sided suitcase standing alone in the living room.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

Karen casually wheeled the suitcase against the wall. “No,” she said. “I've been getting my winter clothes out of storage, my sweaters and long-sleeve blouses and other things, and packing away my summer clothes before the cold weather sets it. It's getting colder.”

“So it is.”

“I'm glad to see you.” This time she smiled brightly when she said it. I still didn't believe her. “What have you been doing since we parted? Have you found the T-Man?”

“Yes. He's dead.”

“Dead? What happened?”

“Another ambush. The same as with Joley Waddell. Only this time, he was holding Nina hostage. I got the drop on him and I killed him.”

“Just like that? Jesus, McKenzie. You killed him just like that?”

“No, not just like that. We talked a bit first.”

“You talked? About what?”

“About why I was killing him. About how things got to that point.”

“Is everyone else okay? Are you okay? Nina?”

“Yes.”

“That's good, anyway.”

“Sure.”

Karen folded her arms across her ample chest and looked me hard in the eye. “Why are you here, McKenzie?” she said. “I'm glad you're here. I really am. But I've been flirting with you since we met and you've resisted all my charms. So why are you here now? You could've called me.”

Oh, my, she's good,
my inner voice told me. I paused, trying to see the words in my head before I spoke them. I didn't want to be excused later of leading or confusing her.

“The T-Man,” I said aloud. “His name was Thomas Teachwell. Did you know him?” She shook her head, but that wasn't good enough for my purposes. “Did you know him?” I repeated.

“No,” she said.

“Ever hear the name?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure. Why do you keep asking?”

“A lot of little things, they all make sense now. Scottie returning to the halfway house the evening we went looking for him. I think you called him. While I was in Lehane's shooting pool and you were outside, I think you called him.”

“What are you saying?”

“The next day we didn't hear from the kidnappers at all. Yet the morning of the following day, when Scottie called, he didn't ask if we had the ransom money. He already knew. He knew because you told him, because I told you when you called me while I was at the remote vault.”

“That's crazy.”

“Teachwell knew he could ambush me at Joley's because you told him we were friends.”

“I didn't tell him. Scottie must have told him.”

“He knew he could ambush me at Nina's for the same reason—you told him. Neither Scottie nor Teachwell could have possibly known about Nina, but you knew about my relationship with her.”

“That's crazy talk. How can you blame me for this? I tried to help you.”

“No, you were helping them. Victoria said there was a woman involved, a woman T-Man called ‘babe' when he spoke to her on the phone. You're a babe. You told me so yourself.”

“Not me.”

“It's all easy to deny. No proof. No evidence. Nothing. Except— when we first started looking for the T-Man, we reviewed all the names of convicts Scottie did time with at Stillwater and came up empty. That's because T-Man, Teachwell, did his time in St. Cloud. There's no way they should have known each other, you said so yourself. But they did. How? Why? Because you were their parole officer. Both of them. I looked it up on the S3 Web site. Which makes your insistence that you don't know Teachwell a little suspect, Karen. Which makes me think you planned it all, Karen.”

Karen's bag stood open on a chair against the same wall where she deposited the suitcase. She shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing and edged toward the bag.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. That stopped her. “With the money, I mean.”

“I don't have the money.”

“Karen”—I made a big production out of sighing like the tiredest man on the planet—“I don't care anymore. Scottie's dead. Teachwell's dead. Victoria is safe and sound. Nina's safe. All I want is my money. I'll even give you a finder's fee. Ten percent.”

“Not half?” Karen moved closer to the bag. “That's what the insurance company gave you when you caught Teachwell.”

“How would you know that if the T-Man didn't tell you?”

“Didn't you tell me?”

“I don't think so.”

“Hmm.” She stopped. Smiled. Looked up to her right. Took a small step, then another. “It seems I do remember a Thomas Teachwell now. A glorified accountant who thought he was some kind of urban thug, who gave himself the nickname T-Man. He's one of the hundred or so parolees I supervise. There are so many that sometimes I forget who's who.”

“A very plausible defense,” I said.

“He was always whining about a man named McKenzie, an ex-cop who took all of his money and ruined his life.”

“What about Scottie Thomforde?”

Karen was very close to the bag now.

“Scottie,” she said. “He was another whiner who blamed all of his problems on someone else, who never took responsibility for his own actions. He moaned and groaned about a man named Bobby Dunston, who later became a big-time cop. I didn't pay much attention. They all whine, my parolees. Then one day Scottie mentioned his rich friend McKenzie and wondered how he and the cop could be so close.”

“You connected the dots.”

“Something like that.”

“Why did you do it, Karen? Why did you bring Teachwell and Scottie together? Why did you kidnap Victoria Dunston?”

“So I could have a car just like yours.”

As simple as that,
my inner voice said.

“Why didn't you just take the money, then? Take it and run. Why try to kill me?”

“That wasn't my idea, McKenzie. You have to believe me. That was all Teachwell. I didn't want to kill anybody. Least of all you. I liked you. I really did. I even thought we might be able to get together. Teachwell was desperate to kill you. That's what attracted him to the job in the first place, the chance of hurting you, and he had the money. He wouldn't give me my share unless I helped him.”

I wanted to say something—winners never cheat and cheaters never win, something like that, only pithy. I didn't get the chance. Karen dove for the bag and the .380 Colt Mustang inside it, as I knew she would. I was quicker. My Beretta was in my hands and leveled at her chest and I was shouting, “Don't you do that,” before she could get her fingers around the pocket gun. She froze for a moment, then slowly brought her hands out of the bag. They were empty.

“Please,” Karen said. “Please.”

“Where's the money?”

“You won't shoot me, will you, McKenzie? I like you, McKenzie. I told you. I wanted to go to bed with you. From the moment I met you I wanted to. I still do. I know you want me, too.”

“I said, where's the money?”

“I'm not going to tell you if you're just going to shoot me anyway.”

Another theatrical sigh, and I lowered my gun just so. “Don't worry about it, Karen.” I was going for weary resignation, trying to make her feel that nothing bad was going to happen. “Too many people have died over this already.”

“The money is in the suitcase.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured. I just wanted to make sure.”

“You said ten percent.”

“To hell with that.”

“You said—”

“You knew when DuWayne Middleton gave up Donny Orrick it was only a matter of time before I identified Teachwell. You told him that he had one last chance to get me. You offered him a trade, didn't you? You traded Nina's name for the money. Didn't you?”

“I had no choice.”

“None at all,” I said.

Karen glared at me. “Take it and go,” she said.

I brought my gun back up and sighted between her breasts. “Just leave you here? I don't think so.”

“You said—”

“People were hurt because of you, Karen. People died.” I counted seven but only listed four. “Then there was Victoria. An innocent. A child. There's a separate hell for people like you, Karen. For people who hurt children. I'm going to send you there.”

“You said you wouldn't shoot me!”

“You hurt my friend's daughter—a child I love as well as if she were my very own. Did you honestly think I was going to let you get away with that?”

“You promised.”

“I made a promise to Bobby Dunston, too. Not in so many words, but a promise just the same.”

“McKenzie, please.”

“I promised to kill the bastards who terrorized his daughter.”

“You like me. I know you do.”

“Two are already dead.”

“McKenzie.”

“You're the only one left.”

“Please.”

“Say good-bye, Karen.”

“No!”

I squeezed the trigger.

Click.

Karen's eyes were wide and unblinking, her breath a locomotive's chug. “You, you—you're insane!” she cried.

“You betcha.”

 

Five minutes later I was standing in Karen's front yard. My shirt was unbuttoned, and Harry was pulling at the tape that held the body wire to my chest.

“On the count of three,” he said. “One, two—” and he ripped off the tape.

I cried out in pain. “That was cold, man,”

“What were you thinking, pulling a gun on her, making her squirm like that?”

“She had it coming.”

“Yeah, but a good defense attorney might be able to do something with it.”

“She confessed before I pulled my gun, which was in self-defense, I might add. Besides, you have the money. Now that you know the rest of the story, it should be easy for you to put all the evidence together. You probably won't even need the tape.”

“It's already happening. The gun we took off Teachwell's body, it was used to kill both Scottie and Tommy Thomforde. And Schroeder's operative. Guess who bought it?”

“Karen?”

“It's not as easy for ex-cons to get firearms as people believe.”