Jeffery Deaver - The Lesson of Her Death

"Sayles was a witness," Corde said. "Gilchrist had to kill him."

Kresge said, "But, Bill, we didn't need Sayles to convict him, did we? We had enough other evidence. And Gilchrist would've known that."

Corde considered and said that was true. "Go ahead, Jim, what's your thought?"

"His life's over with. He's never going to teach again, never have a professional job. The best he can do is make it to Canada or Mexico and the first time he runs a red light, zippo, his butt's extradited. I think he's around the bend and wants to get even. He's just killed again. My bet is he rented that car to send us off to Texas but he's staying around here somewhere. He's got some scores to settle."

Kresge said, "Maybe we should check out the hotels around the county. Maybe he used Sayles's name there too."

Slocum said, "Hotels'd be easy to trace. I was thinking maybe cabins or a month lease somewhere nearby. It's getting near season so nobody'd pay much attention to someone taking a vacation rental."

Corde said, "Let's start making some calls."

It was just a half hour later that Wynton Kresge hung up the phone after a pleasant conversation with Anita Conciliano of Lakeland Real Estate in Bosworth. He jotted some notes on a piece of the recycled newsprint the department used for memos. He handed the sheet to Corde.

The detective read it twice and looked up from the grayish paper. He found he was looking at Jim Slocum, who stood in his office doorway leaning on the frame – the same place and the same way Steve Ribbon used to stand.

"We got him. He's in Lewisboro."

Corde grinned at Slocum. Then he saluted. "Thanks, Sheriff."

Sevan's tavern was sixty miles north of New Lebanon in Lewisboro County, edged into a stand of pine and sloppy maples, and just far enough back from Route 128 so you could angle-park a Land Cruiser without too much risk of losing the rear end. Today four men sat in one of the tavern's front booths, drinking iced tea and soda and coffee. A greasy plate that had held onion rings sat in front of them. Lewisboro County Sheriff Stanley Willars said, "How do you know he's there?"

Bill Corde said, "Wynton here tracked him down. He called must've been a thousand real estate companies. Gilchrist used Sayles's name and rented it for two months." Corde wanted more onion rings; he hadn't eaten a meal in eighteen hours. But he counted up that he'd had twelve rings himself so far, with ketchup, and decided not to ask if they wanted another round.

Wynton Kresge said, "He doesn't have any family that we've been able to find. And no other residences. We think he's there and…" Kresge looked at Corde then added, "… we want to hit him."

Corde continued, "It's your county, Stan, so we need your okay."

"Never heard of a professor killing anybody before," said Assistant Sheriff Dudley Franks, who was lean and unsmiling and reminded Corde of T.T. Ebbans. "You'd think they'd be above that or something."

Willars said wryly, "So's Hammerback's providing all the firepower?"

Corde grinned. "Okay, we'd like some backup too."

"Uck."

Corde added, "Fact of life, Stan."

Willars said, "You boys want more rings?" Corde said sure quickly. Willars ordered. He was laughing as he looked out the window at Corde's squad car. "Look at that Dodge. It brand new?"

Corde said, "We got 'em this year."

"You got that damn university down in Harrison. No wonder you got new wheels." He turned to Franks. "What year are we driving?"

"Eighty-sevens."

Kresge said, "That's pretty old."

"That damn university," Willars said. "Remember those old Grand Furies? The Police Interceptors."

"That was quite a car," Corde said.

"Had a four-forty in them, I believe," Franks offered.

Willars said, "What I wish is we had one of those emergency services trucks. You should see the wrecks we get along 607."

Franks said, "Sedge Billings near to cut his little finger off with his chain saw trying to get somebody out of a Caprice that went upside down. There aren't but one Jaws of Life in the whole area. Sedge had to use his own Black and Decker."

The waitress brought the onion rings.

"No," Willars corrected, "that wasn't a Chevy, was a Taurus."

"You're right," Frank said.

Corde said, " I don't think Ellison'd have it in his heart or his budget to buy you boys one of those vans. The one they got in Harrison is secondhand. I know we don't have the money in New Lebanon." There was silence as they dug into their rings.

Willars said, "It's just a shame you couldn't loan it to us from time to time. Like a week we've got it, three weeks you've got it."

Corde said, "I don't know the citizens of Harrison'd be too happy to see that. They're the one's paying."

"True," Willars said pleasantly, "but I don't know the citizens of Harrison're real happy about what this Gilchrist fella's done." With cheer in his voice he added, "And the fact he's still at large."

Franks said, "And the fact that it's election time come November."

"I'd guess," Corde said slowly, "Hammerback'd be willing to work out a sharing arrangement. But only if you're talking a limited period of time. And I've gotta clear it with him."

Willars said, "I think of the families of some kid rolls his car off that bend on 607. You ever seen that happen?"

"It's pretty bad?" Kresge asked. "How come you don't put up guard rails?"

Willars looked mournful. "Fact is we're a poor county."

Corde said, "I think we could work something out."

Sheriff Willars said, "That's good enough for me. Let's pick us up a couple M-16s and go catch ourselves a dangerous professor."

Warning. No trespassing.

Bill Corde and Wynton Kresge stepped out of a stand of trees and found themselves looking at the summer house Leon Gilchrist had rented in his latest victim's name. A dilapidated two-story frame home on whose south side paint was peeling like colonial-red snake scales. The whole place was settling bad and only the portion near the chimney had good posture. The screen door on the porch was torn and every second window was cracked. A typical vacation house in the lake district of Lewisboro – not a two-week dream rental but a badly built clapboard that had been foreclosed on.

Up next to them walked Willars, Franks and a crew-cut local deputy, a young man bowlegged with muscles. Corde and Kresge had their service pistols drawn and the Lewisboro lawmen held battered dark gray military rifles, muzzle up.

Kresge looked at the machine guns and said, "Well, well."

"Peace," whispered Willars, "through superior firepower. Your show, Bill. Whatcha wanta do?"

"Ill go in with Wynton and somebody else. I'd like somebody on the front door and the back just in case."

Willars sent the stocky deputy out back and he took the front door. He said to Franks, "You be so kind as to accompany our cousins here?"

"Look," Corde whispered. A light was flashing in an upstairs window. "He's there…" The men crouched down.

Kresge said, "No, look. It's just the sunlight. A reflection."

"No, I don't think so," Franks said with a taut voice. "I think it's a light."

"Whatever it is," Corde said, "let's go in."

To his men Willars said, "Check your pieces. Load and lock. Semiauto fire." The sharp clicks and snaps of machined metal falling into place filled the clearing then there was silence again. They started forward. A large grackle fluttered past them and a jay screamed. Once out of the brush they ran, crouching, to the front porch and walked up the stairs, keeping low to the steps, smelling old wet wood and decaying paint.

They stood on either side of the door, backs to the house. Near Kresge's head was a sign: Beware of Dog. Kresge tested the door. It was locked.