John Miller - The Last Day

“I had to take the phone off the hook,” Natasha said, frowning. “There was a constant stream of calls. Angry strangers saying hateful things.”

“If you'd rather use someone else, my guys can stay until you make other arrangements. But my guys are good at their jobs and no more expensive than any guards would be.”

“Do we really need them?” Natasha asked.

“This is a big story,” Todd said. “The media will be under pressure to get in here to it. The guys I use are professionals. Exmilitary mostly. They'll keep the press from bothering you.”

“That's great,” Ward said, relieved. “Glad you were on top of it.”

Todd said, “I don't know what else I can do, but if your lawyer needs any work done on this, I'll make myself available.”

“If you'll excuse me,” Natasha said, “I'm going to straighten up some.”

“I'll give you a hand, Dr. McCarty,” Leslie offered.

“That would be nice, Leslie,” Natasha said. “If you don't have anything else you need to do. This is a little overwhelming.”

Leslie said, “I'd like to help in any way I can, and I'm sort of a neat freak.”

“And both of you call me Natasha, and call Ward Ward.”

After the women went off toward the bedrooms, Todd sat down. “By the way, I spoke to Alice Palmer.”

“Who?”

“The car thief from the plane,” he said. “I guess that isn't the priority it was yesterday.”

“It's less pressing.”

Ward flashed an image of Barney and what he'd said in the dream. “I still want it back,” he said. “Let's say it's a secondary priority. The virus is number one.”

“I assume this whole virus thing is a setup of some kind.”

“It has to be. Before today I've never even seen any child porn.”

“Disgruntled former or present employee?”

“We don't have any disgruntled employees that I know of. We have very little turnover because my father and my uncle Mark believed in taking care of the employees and so do I. More likely it's related to the fact that someone wants to buy RGI and I won't sell to them. The Dibbles.”

“Flash and Trey?”

Ward nodded. “It's hard to imagine why anyone would pull this kind of crap for grins. I haven't had any enemies of any kind since fourth grade when Warren Pepper beat me up after school because I pitched a fastball into his ribs.”

“If you want to tell me about it, I'm already working for you.”

Todd opened his briefcase and pulled out his notebook and pen, and for the first time since Unk's call that morning, Ward McCarty felt some small measure of relief.

Ward stood in the doorway to Barney's room disbelieving his eyes. The dresser drawers had been dumped out onto the floor and leaned haphazardly against the wall. His son's toys were piled on the twin beds; the sheets and pillows had been balled and cast into a corner. Looking at the model cars he was sickened at the thought of the scratches that would be left from their rough handling. The searchers’ actions had defiled Barney's bedroom. Natasha sat on Barney's bed looking crestfallen, a model car in her hands. Ward could hear Leslie in their bedroom straightening up the FBI's mess. She looked up and saw Ward looking in.

“How could anybody leave a child's room like this?” she asked sadly “Where do we start?”

“Maybe we shouldn't put it back like it was,” Ward said, surprising himself as much as what he'd said seemed to surprise her.

“What do you mean? We have to clean it up,” she said.

He thought about what Barney had said to him when he'd been unconscious earlier. “Barney will never be here again. I guess it's time to face that.”

Ward stepped into the room and sat on the other bed and stared at his wife.

She said, “Ward, I don't think you are responsible for the virus. I was just so angry that it happened I said things I didn't mean. Call it… displaced frustration. When I said you weren't the man I married last night, I was serious, but whatever else happens between us, I know that inside you are still that man.”

“I want to be him again,” Ward told her.

She looked at her hands, balled tight in her lap. “There's something else I haven't told you. Lately my hands have been shaking. It's probably nothing, but I'm going to see a neurologist and find out what's causing it. My colleagues have had to take over my surgery and I'm sidelined until I get it figured out. I'm sure it's just stress.”

Ward took her hands in his and held them. They trembled gently in his.

“See?”

“Why didn't you say something? Dear God, I…”

“It's all right, Ward. At the moment there's no point in wasting time worrying over that. If Dr. Edmonds tells me there's something to worry about, we can worry about it then.” She frowned. “I think there's some boxes we can put Barney's things into in the storage room.”

“When did it start?”

“Two or three weeks ago. Been getting worse.”

Ward said, “We can decide what to do with his things when we feel up to it. One step at a time.”

“Even the cars?” she asked.

“Even the cars.”

Ward knew that he had to do it before he had time to think about it, or he might change his mind.

Natasha bent over and picked up, from among Barney's clothes, a small black box about five inches long. When Natasha opened it, she gasped loudly, and dropped it to the floor and backed away as though it were a rattlesnake.

Ward knelt down and looked at the replica of a casket complete with gold handles fashioned from wire. Lying inside the casket was an effigy-a Star Wars action figure of ten- year- old Anakin Skywalker-with bold black lines crossing out each of its little blue eyes.

Ward's finances wouldn't allow him unlimited help from investigators and attorneys. His house was mortgaged. He didn't have a fortune in the bank. No gold bars, jewels socked away in a vault, or valuable paintings. He kept between ten and twenty- five thousand dollars in his bank accounts; at any given time he had maybe two hundred thousand in other stocks and bonds he could liquidate. The company had plenty of money in its various accounts, but corporate funds weren't his to spend as if those were his personal funds. The McCartys were comfortable, not wealthy. Ward thought about that when he thought about what it would cost to get his life back.

The FBI had left the storage room a wreck, but Ward quickly stepped over the debris scattered on the floor and found three boxes stored flat behind the shelves. He located a roll of clear tape and enough bubble wrap to pad the model cars.

Packing Barney's things was difficult for them both. Leslie sensed this, working in the other parts of the house, finishing up before the boxes were packed, taped up, and labeled. Ward put the small coffin in a shopping bag and that in the back of the pantry.

“Leslie lied to the FBI for you. How did you inspire such loyalty in an employee?”

“She's good people,” Ward said. “I do wish she hadn't done it, though.”

Natasha said, “She obviously admires you. This will all be straightened out and the fib lost in the shuffle. I'm not sorry she lied for you.”

“Would you lie for me?”

Natasha frowned at him and began taping closed the last box. “I suppose I would.”

Ward, Leslie, and Natasha finished straightening the rooms before they went to the kitchen, where Natasha cooked eggs, bacon, and toast. They ate a late breakfast for lunch. Ward had known Leslie Wilde for almost three years, but, as the trio talked and laughed, it was as if he was actually meeting her for the first time that evening. She and Todd seemed to have a comfortable relationship. He decided that, as soon as he could get back to work, he was going to give her a substantial raise.