Cody McFadyen: The Darker Side

and here's the point-still decent? For every victim of molestation who goes on to offend against children as an adult, we can find examples of victims who went on to become kind and loving parents. What is the difference between the two? Are some of us just born able to carry bigger burdens than others?

Michael and Frances had been dealt a bad hand, true, but it was hardly crippling. Not even close to the worst I'd ever heard. The fact that they'd managed to spin their misfortune into a rationalization for twenty years of murder is, for me, more a testament to their weakness and their guilt than a reason to sympathize.

"I don't really care why," I say. "I just want to put them in jail."

"I can get behind that," Alan agrees.

In the end, this is the simplicity that saves us. Looking for reasons why, trying to get down to that deep, dark bedrock, is just a serpent eating its own tail. In the end, you won't find truth, you'll just devour yourself. At some point we have to stop trying to understand why and accept that our only job is to remove them from society. It's easier with some than others.

"Let's get a current address," I say, "and give them their wish."

AN HOUR HAS PASSED SINCEthe discoveries began to come so fast and furious. AD Jones is in our offices, along with my team and the FBI SWAT.

The head of our SWAT is Sam Brady, Callie's fiance. Brady is in his mid-forties and he's a tall, lanky man, standing around six-four, with close-cropped hair and a face that can be as grim as his profession calls for. I've seen other sides to him and have come to know a man at peace with who he is. He loves Callie quietly, but he loves her deeply and he seems to bring this approach to everything in his life. He's solid and all man and utterly unintimidated by Callie. Brady has watched the last video clip of the Preacher.

"I don't recommend going in hot," he says. "I'm not the expert, but it seems to me that they want to be taken into custody. Need it, even."

"I agree," I say, "but I'm not confident enough about it to go knock on the front door. I think we should set up a perimeter and talk them out via phones or bullhorns. If they want to come quietly, we'll let them. If not. ." I shrug. "Tear gas time."

He considers this and nods. "I'll get my team geared up. Give us twenty minutes."

"We'll meet you in the parking lot."

I AM CHECKING MY WEAPONand readying my mind. We all are.

"Hey," Alan says, ratcheting back the slide on his weapon, "if you know the death penalty is on the table and you plead guilty-is that suicide?"

"I think in their case they're confident that it's martyrdom."

He holsters his weapon and sighs. "Yeah. So, do you think they meant it about coming quietly?"

"I think so. But you can never be sure at the end."

Suicide, by self or by cop, is an oft-preferred solution for a criminal when the jig's up. Most accepted from the beginning that they would die if discovered.

"Seems strange they have a house in the Valley," he muses.

"Probably drove by it once or twice and never knew."

James's cell phone rings. He answers, listens, and frowns.

"What's that?" he asks. His face goes white. "Send it to me now."

"What is it?" I ask.

"Bitch," he breathes, but it has an odd sound to it. More desperate than insulting.

"James?"

He looks at me.

"Kirby got there first. Now they've got her."

KIRBY APPEARS ON CAMERA, NAKED AND TIED TO A CHAIR.Michael Murphy stands next to her. He's furious.

"I told you we'd surrender peacefully! I didn't expect any of you to agree with our actions, but I did expect you to uphold the law." He takes a deep breath. "I am very, very disappointed."

"Oh, for God's sake, shuuuuuuuut uuuuuuuuup," Kirby says, rolling her eyes.

"Stupid fucking kid," Brady murmurs. "Can never learn to keep her mouth shut." I'd called him back once we knew what we were looking at.

Michael steps in front of her. All we can see is his back and her legs.

"You're in no position to take the Lord's name in vain," he says.

"Bite me, bozo," Kirby replies, "and your God can bite it too. Hard."

I brace myself, expecting him to slap her, but he draws his arm back and hits her in the face with his closed fist. The smack of flesh against flesh cracks through the computer speakers and Kirby goes over backward in her chair.

"Motherfucker," I whisper.

The camera had been stationary. It begins to move now, jiggling a bit with the motion. Frances must have picked it up. It zooms in on Kirby's face. She's lying against a hardwood floor, blonde hair sprayed out around her. Her eyes are having trouble focusing. Her lips have been split open in two places and blood runs freely down her chin and left cheek. She shakes her head to clear it and laughs.

"You hit like a girl."

"Oh, Kirby," Callie says. "Stupid girl. Shut up now."

She won't, I think. This is who she is.

Michael grabs her by her hair and uses it to heft the full weight of her body, to bring her back into a sitting position. Kirby turns her head to the right and spits to clear the blood from her mouth. She turns back to the camera and we all see those cold, awful killer's eyes.

"I'm going to kill you and your sister," she says. "Just wanted you to know that. And no one sent me here. One of the people you murdered was an old friend of mine." She grins. Her teeth are red with her blood. "Thought I'd return the favor."

"Murder is a sin," Michael scolds her. "We killed for God's purpose. If you kill us for vengeance, you'll go to hell."

Really? I think. What about Ambrose, the man you murdered for his identity? God's purpose?

It's a useless question; his answer would be yes, of course. Kirby shrugs. "So sue me. I'm good at it." Another torn-lipped, red-toothed grin. "You'll see."

"You really came here on your own?" Michael asks.

"I'm a solo act, asshole, and I always have been."

"Unfortunate for you," he says, "that you missed the backup security camera. We were waiting for you when you came through the door."

"Yeah, well. Nobody's perfect. You should have killed me, though. Tasers are for pussies."

"Knocked you down fast enough," Frances snarls.

Kirby smiles. "Down, but not dead, dummy. Bad move on your part."

"What's your name?" Michael asks.

"Since we're on a religious bender, why don't you call me. . Eve."

She chuckles. "I always liked her style, you know? Eat that apple. Yummy."

"Very well. Are you Catholic, Eve?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Supreme beings are for suckers. I believe in guns, good beer, masturbation when I don't have a man, and a nice hard cock when I do." She winks. "Know what I mean?"

"Blasphemous bitch," he observes.

"Why, thank you, asshole."

"Why don't you stop calling me that, Eve. My name is Michael."

"Nah. Asshole is just fine."

He sighs. "I can see getting you to confess is going to be a lot of work, Eve."

"Ohhhh, torture? Coolio."

"Why isn't this clip ending?" I ask.

"This isn't a clip," James says. "This is live."

"Sam?" I ask, turning to him. "We need to get over there now. This is your show. What's the game plan with something like this?"

He examines the video feed. "Looks to me like they're in the living room." He grabs the house plans from a desk. "There's only two ways in. Front door and back." He cups his chin, thinking. "Flash-bangs through the front windows, and we breach through the front and back doors. Go in hard, take them down while they're still reeling. Simple is the best way. Get more complicated and you increase the possibility of screwing the pooch." He nods to the computer. "They've been kind enough to provide us with ongoing video surveillance. We'll use it. Bring a laptop with wireless capabilities and execute at the most opportune moment."