John Miller - The Last Day

“Tell me everything you can remember about the young woman.”

“I don't really know any more about her than I've told you. I don't know her name, but I think I saw her in a dark- green or maybe black Porsche Cabriolet with a woman driving.”

“That could be a helpful detail.” Hartman placed the check into his briefcase and closed it. “I need your contact numbers. Home, cell.”

“Where do you start?” Ward asked, handing Todd a card with his numbers on it.

“Talking to some people I know and tickling the keys on my computer,” Todd said, putting Ward's card in his pocket. “Often as not this all hinges on contacts and following tracks left on servers as they go through life. You'd be amazed what you can discover about anybody in a few minutes with very little information.” Hartman placed his own business card on the conference table and closed his briefcase, and Ward showed him to the door.

Since the legal system had failed to punish drunk driver and murderer Howard Lindley Watcher had decided to handle the matter personally. Killing the man, or making him disappear, presented a problem since Watcher would be the sole suspect with motive and he was not a man who had any desire to live out his life in a cage. So Watcher had to make sure the death looked like an accident. With time on his side, Watcher monitored Lindley and waited until the timing was perfect before making a move. The Army had trained Watcher to be not only a killer but a thinking professional.

On a cool Friday night, after a football game, Watcher trailed Lindley and three of his buddies to a liquor store. After they bought two quarts of vodka the boys went to a cabin on Lake Norman that belonged to Lindley 's father. Watcher knew everything he could find out about the Lindleys, but far more about their son, who was a killer and Watcher's target.

At nine o'clock the boys arrived at the large cabin and immediately started in on the vodka. At ten- thirty five college- age girls arrived and joined the festivities. As the evening progressed, and the vodka bottles lost volume, Watcher studied the kids from the dark wooded lawn outside the house. As Watcher stood there he saw the girl Howard was trying to put the make on rebuff his advances. Howard, being the spoiled brat he was, slapped her, and one of his friends took her side, whereupon Howard and the boy wrestled around in the living room and threw a few drunken punches. Losing the bout, Lindley gave in and his friend released him. After standing, Lindley picked up a baseball bat from the corner of the room and brandished it to intimidate his friends, saying he'd bash their brains in. At that point the girls decided to call it a night, and despite pleas from the other boys, they left in a Honda sedan filled with cigarette smoke and loud music. Watcher smiled grimly as an idea cemented.

Howard and his friends rapidly adjusted to the loss of female companionship and sang along with their too- loud rap music until after three in the morning, when a man in a robe came rushing out of the next house and across the lawn to pound heavily on the front door.

Howard answered the door with the baseball bat in his hand. The man demanded that the boys cut off their music and get to sleep before he called the cops and lawyer Lindley Howard kept the weapon at his side but told the neighbor there was no sense waking his father. After the man left, the boys, deprived of their music and out of vodka, decided to go to bed.

By four, the boys were all passed out in their beds. The only light was from a television set in the living room. Watcher waited half an hour before going to his vehicle and getting a bottle he kept in his work satchel. After putting on latex gloves, he entered the house, took a washcloth from the bathroom, and doused it with chloroform. Moving to Lindley's bed, Watcher placed the cloth over the drunk kid's face and held it tight until he stopped resisting, which took minimal effort. That done, Watcher put the cloth in his coat pocket, took a look at the unconscious young killer, and stripped off his own clothes. He took Howard's clothes-piled on the floor-and put them on. Howard wore ridiculous, loose-fitting clothing, so they fit the much larger man reasonably well. Sitting on the side of the bed, he slipped on Howard's flip- flops to cover the footprint angle. Taking up the aluminum baseball bat, he went from bedroom to bedroom making an unbelievable mess of the other young men's heads. The boys were so drunk they didn't awaken at the hollow wet smacking sounds Watcher made.

When Watcher returned to Howard's room, he flipped on the lights and, looking in the mirror, admired the amount of gore covering Howard's clothes. The wet shoe patterns stood out on the hardwood. He wiped blood on Howard's hands and he put the bat in them so the kid's bloody fingerprints were clearly printed on the handle like words on the pages of a Bible.

In the bathroom, Watcher stripped off and dropped the saturated clothes onto the floor, covering the bat. Watcher ran a bath, got in, and let the water grow pink with the blood of dead boys. He dried off, and laid out the towel before stepping onto it. After dressing he placed the towel in a plastic Wal- Mart bag he'd brought along in the back pocket of his jeans.

The last thing he did was carry the naked Howard Lindley into the bathroom and place him in the tub, washing him and using a plastic glass to rinse his hair. Lindley remained unconscious the entire time.

His work done, Watcher slipped from the cabin, and, after removing his surveillance equipment from young Lindley's Tahoe, he returned to the lake house, raised the windows in the den overlooking the neighbor's house, and turned on the stereo full blast. He slipped out the back door and crossed yards stealthily until he came to his truck.

Even now, fifteen months later, Watcher found himself smiling at the totally impromptu plan, spurred by the sight of the bat Lindley had been using to threaten his friends.

He gave little thought to the dead boys in the cabin.

They should have chosen their friends better.

When Ward got home at five- thirty there was a message on the answering machine from Natasha. “I won't be home before eight, so I guess you better fend for yourself for dinner.” He replayed the message twice, listening closely. Each time her clinical delivery left him cold. These days she left messages, even though she knew he always carried his cell phone.

Ward took a long cool shower, changed into a T-shirt and shorts, and turned on the television to the local news.

Ward's cell phone rang at a few minutes past seven. The caller ID showed a number he wasn't familiar with.

“Ward McCarty,” he said.

“Mr. McCarty, it's Todd Hartman. I hope this isn't a bad time.”

“No, it's a good time.”

“Just wanted to let you know I've tracked the young girl down.”

“That was fast,” Ward said.

“Alice Palmer. That's her name. She's eigh teen. Five five, ninety pounds, blond hair, green eyes. Her license picture fits your description. At tends UNCC, math major, with a petty rap sheet that points to a troubled, not a criminal, young woman. She lives with her mother in a three-quarter- million- dollar home in Dillworth. Her mother, Delores Palmer, sells high- dollar residential real estate and she makes mid- six figures. Drives the Porsche you saw to impress prospective clients, and has a large BMW to ferry clients around in. Alice travels to Vegas to see her father a few times a year. She probably doesn't know the monetary value of the car. This was probably for attention from someone. Maybe the parents.”

“What do you do next?”

“I'll catch her in the A.M. on her way to classes on campus. Lots of people around so it's a safe atmosphere for her. I'll talk to her and I'll know where we are.”