John Gilstrap - No mercy

They moved through the living room into the tiny dining room with its hideously stained blue-and pink-flowered wall paper. “We found Angela, the mom, tied to that chair there at the head of the table. She was the worst one, by far. From what we can tell, she was tortured pretty brutally. Lots of deep cuts, and signs of beating, but only one fatal wound-another slashed throat.”

Jonathan saw the picture in his mind, and wished that he could make it go away. “What about the children?” he asked. Even as he spoke, he regretted asking. That he needed to know didn’t mean he wanted to.

Hastings’s eyes reddened, and he cleared his throat. “It looks like the baby was killed right away, too. But the little boy, well, we think the killer was hurting him to get information out of the mother.” He fell silent after that, and Jonathan could see his jaw muscles working hard. “Jesus, let’s get out of here, okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before he made a beeline for the back door and the rear deck. Jonathan followed closely behind. By the time he caught up, Hastings had his hands shoved deeply into his pants pockets and he was looking very sheepish.

“You okay, Detective?” Jonathan asked.

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been bit by a case.”

Jonathan smiled and shrugged. “It happens.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well, people see you being soft, and they’ll expect you to start being human and shit. God only knows what would happen then.”

Jonathan gave the cop a few seconds. A barking dog next door filled the silence. “So, how do you tie Stephenson Hughes to this murder? Just the fingerprints?”

“Him and his wife both,” Hastings corrected. “Neighbors saw their car parof business.”

Bunting’s eyes hardened. He had famously low tolerance for empty words.

“He’s at his headquarters-”

“His cult commune?” Bunting interrupted.

“Exactly.” Again Charlie opted not to sniff the bait. “He’s assembled a team, on his own dime, I might add. As soon as he knows where Hughes is, he’s going to move. Stephenson got the drop on him by surprise the first time. There’s no way Ivan will let that happen again.”

Bunting was shaking his head. Clearly, he had less confidence in their contractor’s abilities.

Charlie went on, “At least the police have connected the Hugheses to Angela’s murder. That’ll keep them from seeking help from the law. That’ll buy us some time. We just have to hope they don’t act against their own best interests and call them anyway.”

Bunting scowled and shook off the possibility. “That won’t happen,” he said. “Or if it does, he’ll wish he didn’t.”

Charlie waited for the elaboration.

“Turns out we’re not alone in this,” Bunting said. “I spoke with a friend of mine on the Senate Armed Services Committee. I explained in general terms what we were facing, and he understood the political fallout if details of PATRIOT were to leak out. He spent the day making calls of his own, and it turns out that the Justice Department is on our side, too. If Hughes surfaces, he’ll be disappeared before he can say a word.”

Charlie realized that his mouth was open, and he hurried to close it. When the word disappeared is used that way in a sentence, it only means one thing. The image of Guantanamo materialized in his head. “My,” he said. “How…fortunate.”

“What’s the plan if Hughes never gets stupid?” Bunting asked. “What’s Ivan’s plan then?”

Again, Charlie knew the answer. “Depends on how long it takes,” he said. “If it goes on for more than a week or two, I’m guessing he goes on the run himself.”

Bunting raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Seems he already accepted payment from someone who wants to buy his ”-Charlie used finger quotes-“GVX. All I know is it’s a North African ”-more finger quotes-“client who is quick to think he’s been double-crossed. If Ivan doesn’t deliver what he’s already been paid for, it’s likely to get ugly.”

Bunting smiled. He clearly liked the idea of Ivan Patrick getting a taste of his own medicine. Then the smile went away. “So, what’s this meeting about? What’s this new complication?”

Charlie steeled himself with a deep breath. “The sphere of knowledgeable people has expanded.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

A beat. “It means that a private investigator from a place called Fisherman’s Cove, Virginia, hacked into our e-mail server this afternoon and downloaded the precise e-mails that detail our initial conversations with Ivan. The security office was able to shut them out before they got everything, but they got enough to worry me.”

The redness in Bunting’s ears deepened, but his demeanor remained calm. “Do you have a name and an address about Digger,” she said.

“Don’t we all.”

“No, I mean I really worry about him. I think he’s gotten himself in over his head.” She relayed the results of her search at the Archives. “That’s seven murders, all related,” she finished. She went on to explain Jonathan’s confrontation with the sheriff who most wanted to see her boss put in jail. “He just scares me to death.”

Dom considered the details. “He’s always been a daredevil, Ven. Ever since college. In his mind, if he’s not pushing the envelope, he’s standing still.”

She gave him a look. “You sound like you admire him.”

He shrugged. “Of course I admire him. He’s the closest friend I’ve ever had.”

“Then you should talk some sense into him.”

Dom laughed. “Yeah, right after I cure world hunger, and figure out how to keep the tide from coming in, I’ll get right to talking sense into Digger Grave.” A beat. “So, when does he get in?”

“His flight arrives at ten-something at Dulles.”

Dom laughed again. “Digger flying commercial. I wonder if he even knows how it works.”

Venice allowed herself a laugh as well. “What about Box? How’d you like to be in the center seat next to him?” As if Boxers would dream of traveling in coach.

They walked for the better part of a block in silence, ascending the gentle slope away from the river before finally turning onto Pine Avenue, the world becoming a dark tree-formed tunnel where the only illumination came from porch lights receded in the blackness on either side.

“How comfortable are you with this notion that the Hugheses are a family of killers?” Dom asked.

“Not even a little,” Venice answered. “Intuitively, I can’t make it work in my mind. People who care that much about their child aren’t going to murder two children. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Maybe it didn’t happen that way,” Dom offered.

“You know what Digger says about coincidences,” Venice said. “They don’t exist. All events are linked all the time.”

Dom nodded. He could hear Jonathan’s voice saying it. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s accept that as gospel. There are no coincidences. Let’s also agree that the Hugheses would never kill two children. That means that the coincidence is linked, but we just don’t know how.”

Venice stopped. Her eyes had grown huge as Dom’s logic hit home.

The wideness of her eyes made him laugh. “Would you mind terribly if I helped?” he asked.

Fifteen minutes later, they were in the third floor of the firehouse, Dom perched in a chair behind Venice, watching over her shoulder. They worked without a break for three hours, uncovering exactly the kind of details they were hoping for. When Jonathan arrived from the airport, they’d blow him clear out of his shoes with the tidbits they’d been able to find. Dom had never seen Venice so animated.