Jeffery Deaver - The Bodies Left Behind

WITH A GRIMACE toward the empty gun lockbox, Brynn ran into the hallway and stepped into Joey’s room and took him by the shoulders.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” His eyes were wide.

“Listen to me, honey. We have a problem. You know how I tell you never to lock your door?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, today’s different. I want you to lock your door and not open it for any reason. Unless it’s me or your stepdad or Grams.”

“Mom, you look funny. I’m scared.”

“It’ll be okay. Just do what I tell you.”

“Sure. What-”

“Just do it.”

Brynn closed the door. She ran down the stairs as quietly as she could, intending to get to the only guns nearby: the ones in Graham’s truck, sealed in evidence bags.

On the second-to-the-bottom step Brynn stopped. The bathroom door was open. No sign of Michelle.

Go for the truck or not?

“Tea’ll be ready in just a moment,” Anna called.

Brynn stepped into the ground-floor hall.

Just as Michelle walked through an archway four feet away. In her hand was a small black automatic pistol. It was known as a baby Glock.

Their eyes met.

As the killer spun toward her, Brynn snagged a picture off the wall, a large family photo, and flung it at her. It missed but as she dodged, Brynn launched herself forward. The women collided hard, both grunting. Brynn fiercely gripped Michelle’s right wrist, digging her short nails into the woman’s skin as hard as she could.

Michelle cried out, striking Brynn’s head with her free hand.

The gun discharged once, then, as Michelle lowered it toward the deputy’s body, it fired three times more. All the slugs missed.

Anna screamed and called for Graham.

Brynn slammed a fist into Michelle’s face. She blinked in pain and spit flew. Eyebrows narrowed, her mouth a taut grimace, Michelle kicked Brynn’s groin and elbowed her in the belly. But Brynn wasn’t letting go of the gun, nothing could make her do that. The anger of the terrible evening, fueled by this betrayal-and her own gullibility-burned within her. She flailed and kicked and growled the way she had when the wolf approached them in the woods.

The women grappled, knocking over furniture. Michelle fought furiously-no longer the helpless dilettante in the thousand-dollar boots. She was crazed, fighting for survival.

The gun fired again. Then several times more. Brynn was counting the rounds. Baby Glocks held ten bullets.

Another sharp crack-and the weapon was empty, the slide locking back automatically, awaiting a fresh clip of ammunition. The women went down on the floor, Brynn pounding the woman’s head, aiming for her throat. Michelle fought back just as fiercely, though-muscles toned at a health club, if that story was true, and backed by pure desperation.

Still, there was no doubt in Brynn’s mind that she was going to stop this woman, kill her if she had to, no doubt whatsoever. Using hands and teeth and feet e… she was pure rage, pure animal.

You should’ve killed me…

Well, this time I won’t make the same mistake.

Her fingers found Michelle’s throat.

“Jesus, Brynn-” A man ran through the door and for a tiny portion of a second Brynn thought it was Hart. But by the time she realized it was her husband the distraction had had its effect. Michelle broke free and slammed the gun into Brynn’s wounded cheek. The pain was so intense her vision clouded and she retched.

Michelle hit the lock on the gun and the receiver snapped shut. Though the gun was empty it appeared loaded and ready to fire. She aimed at Graham. “Keys. To your truck.”

“What are you-? What?”

“Emmy, Emmy,” Brynn muttered, clutching her face, clawing futilely at Michelle.

“I’ll kill her.” Shoving the gun into Brynn’s neck. “The fucking keys!”

“No, no! Here, take them. Please! Just leave!”

“Emmy!”

Michelle grabbed the keys. And ran outside.

Graham dropped to his knees, pulling his cell phone out, and dialed 911. He cradled Brynn, who pulled away and climbed to her feet. She started to black out, swayed against the stair rail. “Emmy…”

“Who’s Emmy?”

She forced herself to speak clearly through the pain. “Empty. The gun was empty.”

“Shit.” Graham ran to the door as his truck skidded down the street and vanished.

Brynn rose, then heard a soft voice from nearby: “Could somebody-”

Both Brynn and Graham turned toward the kitchen door, where Anna stood, her hands covered with blood.

“Please, could somebody…Look. Look at this.”

And she spiraled to the floor.

ROWS OF ORANGE plastic chairs in the corner of the brightly lit room. Walls and tiles scuffed.

Graham sat across from Brynn, knees close but not touching. Their eyes were focused mostly on the linoleum and they looked up only from time to time when the double doors swung open. But the doctors and employees pushing through them were dealing with matters unrelated to Anna McKenzie’s life.

Twining her fingers together, Brynn stared at her untouched coffee.

Sick with horror, sick with exhaustion.

Her phone quivered. She looked at the screen and muted the ringer, because she didn’t want to take the call, not because of the No Cell Phone Use sign nearby.

A patient walked from the admitting window into the waiting area, sat down. Squeezed his arm and winced. He glanced once at Brynn and returned to his waiting state of numb silence.

“Been an hour,” Graham said.

“Nearly.”

“Long time. But that’s not necessarily bad.”

“No.”

Silence again, broken by cryptic announcements over the hospital PA. Then Brynn’s phone was vibrating again. This call she took. “Tom.”

“Brynn, how’s your mother?”

“We don’t know yet. What do you have?”

“Okay. Michelle got through the roadblocks somehow. They haven’t found your husband’s truck.”

Brynn hunched forward and pressed her injured cheek, as if the pain were payment for her misjudgment.

Dahl continued, “You were right. We found that friend who drove up from Chicago this morning. She was the only one coming to visit. Michelle, we guess, is a hit man… Well, hit woman. ”

“Hired by Mankewitz or one of his people.”

“What they’re figuring,” Dahl said.

“So Hart and Comp were supposed to be the bodies left behind.”

“The what?”

“The bodies left behind… She was going to make it look like they were the only killers and they got into a fight between themselves after the Feldmans were dead. So we wouldn’t bother to look further. But it went bad. Hart reacted too fast or her gun jammed, who knows? She had to run. Then I found her in the woods.” Brynn pinched the bridge of her nose. Her laugh was bitter. “And rescued her.”

Another doctor came out, through the double doors. Brynn stopped talking. The physician, wearing blue scrubs, kept going.

Brynn was reflecting on the look that passed between Hart and the young woman at the interstate.

You came close, Michelle. Real close…

Hart’s words to her by the highway had a whole different meaning, now that Brynn knew the truth.

And she recalled Michelle’s shocked reaction when Brynn told her about meeting Hart in the van beside the meth cookers’ camper. The woman would have been terrified that Hart had mentioned Michelle’s real identity.

“And somebody from Mankewitz’s crew was probably going to come pick her up when it was over. Hell, that’s who was taking shots at us when we were on that cliff.”

Brynn was aware that Graham was staring at her, taking in the conversation.

She continued to the sheriff, “She needed the evidence I’d brought with me-the guns and clips, the map, the boxes of ammunition. Her purse. That’s why she was so willing to come back with us to our house. Something probably had her prints on them. Or trace evidence that might lead us to her. She’d planned to collect it at Lake Mondac after she’d killed Hart and his friend… Wait, Tom. What about her shoes? A pair of women’s shoes at the Feldmans’ house? In the yard. Any prints?”