Jeffery Deaver - The Devil's Teardrop

He'd learned these from a right-wing Web site on the Internet about protecting yourself from blacks, Jews and the federal government. Despite the snow, which would have revealed any intruders, he checked them carefully. Because that was what you did when you committed the perfect crime.

He unlocked the door, thinking of his next steps. He'd only be here for five or ten minutes-long enough to pack the money into boxes that had contained children's toys, collect his other suitcases then drive, via three safe cars already planted along the route, to Ocean City, Maryland. There he'd get on the chartered boat and be in Miami in two days. Then a chartered plane would take him to Costa Rica and that night he'd fly on to Brazil.

Then he'd-

He wasn't sure where she'd been hiding. Maybe behind the door. Maybe in the closet. Before Fielding even had time to feel the shock of adrenaline flooding through his body the pistol had been ripped from his hand and Margaret Lukas was screaming, "Freeze, freeze, federal agents!"

Fielding found himself not freezing at all but tumbling forward and lying flat on his belly, under her strong grip. Gun in his ear. The cash was pulled off him and his hands were cuffed by two large male agents. Fingers probed through his pockets.

They pulled him to his feet and pushed him into an armchair.

Cage and several other men and women walked through the front door, while yet another agent inventoried the money.

He had a completely mystified expression on his face. She said, "Oh, those trip wires and things? You do realize we bookmark the same Web site as everybody else-that Aryan militia crap."

"But the snow?" he asked. Shivering now from the shock. "There were no footprints. How'd you get in?"

"Oh, we borrowed a hook and ladder from the Bethesda Fire Department. The SWAT team and I climbed in through your upstairs window."

Just then Parker Kincaid walked through the front door. Lukas nodded toward him and explained to Fielding, "The fire truck was his idea."

Fielding didn't doubt that it was.

Parker sat down in a chair opposite Fielding and crossed his arms. The detective-Parker couldn't help but think of him that way still-looked older now and diminished. Parker remembered wishing earlier that the unsub were still alive so that he could see how the man's mind worked. One puzzle master to another. It seemed he'd gotten his wish. But now he felt no professional curiosity at all, only revulsion.

Puzzles are always easy when you know the answer.

They become boring too.

Lukas asked him, "How's it feel to know you're going to be in an eight-by-eight cell for the next ten years-until they give you that needle?"

Cage explained, "You wouldn't last very long in general population. Hope you like your own company."

"I prefer it to most people's," Fielding said.

Cage continued, as if Fielding hadn't spoken. "They're also going to want you in Boston and White Plains and Philadelphia too. I guess Hartford as well."

Fielding lifted a surprised eyebrow.

Parker asked, "The Digger was the patient in your hospital, right? The hospital for the criminally insane? David Hughes?"

Fielding didn't want to seem impressed but he was. "That's right. Funny guy, wasn't he?" He smiled at Parker. "Sort of the boogeyman incarnate."

Then Parker suddenly understood something else and his heart froze.

Boogeyman…

"In the command post… I was talking about my son. And not long after that… Jesus, not long after that Robby saw somebody in the garage. That was the Digger!… You called him, you sent him to my house! To scare my son!"

Fielding shrugged. "You were too good, Kincaid. I had to get you off the case for a while. When you went off to raid my safe house-finding that was very good, by the way-I stepped outside to make a call and left a message that my friend should go visit your little fella. I thought about killing them-well, and you too, of course-but I needed you to be at headquarters around midnight. To make my deductions about the site of the last shooting more credible."

Parker lunged forward and drew back his fist. Lukas caught his arm just before it crashed into Fielding's cringing face.

She whispered, "I understand. But it won't do anybody any good."

Trembling with rage, Parker lowered his hand, stepped to the window, watching the snow. Forced himself to calm. He believed if he'd been alone with Fielding now he could kill the man. Not because of the host of deaths tonight but because he could still hear the hollow fear in Robby's voice. Daddy… Daddy…

Lukas touched his arm. He looked at her. She was holding a notebook. She said to Parker, "For what it's worth, he did the same thing to me." She flipped through the pages, tapped several entries. "My house was broken into a few months ago. He's the one who did it. He took notes about my life."

Fielding said nothing.

Lukas continued, speaking directly to the killer. "You found out all about me. You found out about Tom… "

Tom? Parker wondered.

"You cut your hair the same way as his. You said you were from outside Chicago, just like him. You read his letters to me…" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "'Right as rain.' You stole his expression! And then you told me about having a wife in a coma. Why? So I'd keep you on the team-when everybody else-me included-didn't want you interfering with the case."

"I needed to get inside your defenses, Margaret. I knew what kind of adversary you'd be."

"You stole my past, Fielding."

"What's the past for but to use?" he asked evenly.

"But how could you kill so many people?" Lukas asked in a whisper.

"Appalled?" Fielding asked. He seemed exasperated. "But why not? I mean, Jesus Christ, why not? Why is one death less horrifying than a million? Either you kill or you don't. If you do, then death is just a matter of degree and if it makes sense, if it's efficient, then you kill whom you have to kill. Anyone who doesn't accept that is a naive fool."

"Who's the guy in the morgue?" Cage asked.

"His name is Gil Havel."

"Ah, the mysterious Gilbert Jones," Parker said. "He rented the helicopter, right?"

"I had to make you believe that I was really going to try to get away with the money from the drop on Gallows Road."

"Where did you find him?"

"In a bar in Baltimore."

"Who was he? Havel."

"He's just some loser. A bum, more or less. I promised him a hundred thousand dollars to deliver a note to City Hall and help me with the helicopter and rent the safe house. I made him think he was my partner."

Parker said, "And you had him walk back to the Metro or bus stop along a particular route. Where you were waiting with the van to run him down."

"You had to believe that the mastermind was dead. So you'd bring the money back to the evidence room…"

"What about Kennedy? You sent him to the Ritz."

"The mayor?" Fielding asked. "That was a surprise-when he called me. And a risk. But it worked out well." He nodded analytically. "For one thing, I had to keep you focused on the Ritz-Carlton, not the Ritzy Lady. And then my penance for the betrayal was bringing you the bone about the Digger's name… You know, you really are something, Kincaid. How'd you figure it out?"

Parker continued, "How did I find out you were the unsub? Because of your handwriting. I had a sample-when I dictated to you from the yellow sheets Tobe saved."

"I was worried about that," Fielding said. "But I couldn't very well balk when you asked me to take notes, could I? But I tried to improvise-I tried to disguise my writing."

"The dot on your lowercase i gave you away."

Fielding nodded. "Oh, that's right. The devils teardrop. I didn't think about that… What did you say? That it's always the little things."