Michael Prescott: In Dark Places

"Badly."

"That's what I thought."

"Just let me brush my teeth. I intend to do a lot of smiling today."

Robin thought that was good. Her daughter was due a few smiles.

The Saab had been repaired and repainted. At first Robin hadn't liked driving a car that Gray had used. It seemed to be imprinted with his presence. Finally she'd taken it fifty miles up the coast with the windows open, the sea air whipping through. The trip had cleansed the car, expelling whatever psychic residue had lodged there.

She drove Meg the short distance to the Gainesburg School, where other parents were letting off uniformed kids with backpacks and bookbags. The scene appeared so normal, just a part of everyday life. And so it was, but Justin Gray was part of life, too. The miracle was not that the two parts ever intersected, but that they intersected so seldom.

"Mom? You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been kind of brooding and uncommunicative all morning."

"I'm preoccupied, that's all."

Meg made a move to get out of the car. She hesitated. "You're not worried about me, are you?"

"Going into the lions' den? Nope. I know you can handle it."

"That's not what I mean. You're not amp; well, you're not worried about me being on my own again?"

And screwing up like I did last time; Robin heard the unvoiced words. Screwing up with Gabe .

There had been many long talks between them on that subject, and Robin knew there would be many more.

"I'm not worried," she answered. "It's funnyI used to worry all the time. About you and me and amp; well, everything. Not anymore. Not since that night. What do you think that's about?"

Meg smiled. "Delayed reaction to stress? Post-traumatic dissociative depersonalization with delusions of happiness?"

"If it's a delusion, I'll take it. Get going now. Good luck."

"Won't need it," Meg said, leaving the car.

Robin watched her walk into a crowd of students who clustered around her. When Meg was lost to sight, Robin put the Saab in gear and drove away, checking the dashboard clock.

Her morning wasn't as open as she'd said. She had an appointment at ten a.m.

Downtown.

Gray was waiting for Robin in the interview room on the eighth floor.

It had taken him six weeks to recover from gunshot wounds to the groin and abdomen. Four bullets had hit him out of the sixteen she'd fired, emptying the Beretta's magazine. His condition had been critical for the first few days, but gradually he'd improved, and now he was healthy enough to be reinstalled in his old cell in Twin Towers.

The doctors had told Robin that Gray demonstrated a remarkable will to live. She hadn't been surprised. Whatever else he might be, Justin Gray was a survivor.

He was seated at the table, secured with handcuffs and leg irons. He smiled when the guards escorted her inside.

"What's up, Doc?"

She took the seat opposite his. The guards remained with them, standing silently by the door.

"How are you, Justin?"

"Took a licking, kept on ticking. Got me some fine scar tissue. It's like body art. I'd give you a look, but I don't think the Deputy Dawgs would appreciate me undressing in front of a lady."

"Probably not."

"You shot me up good, Doc. Regular Dirty Harriet, you are. Bona fide Jane Wayne."

"It was amp; instinct."

"Killer instinct." He said it with a smile.

There was silence, neither of them knowing what to say.

"Been watching the TV," Gray offered. "Nasty little conspiracy them crooked-ass cops had going."

"Yes, it was."

"That motherfucker, Wolper, and that other dudewhat's his name?"

"Banner."

"Looks like they're ratting each other out. DA's playing one against the other to see who can squeal the loudest."

"That's about it."

"Couple of prize scumbags, ain't they?"

"Yes," Robin said. "They are."

Banner had begun manipulating Meg after meeting her at the awards dinner. He had a wife and a teenage daughter of his own, but he also had a secret obsession with young girls. He enjoyed impressing them by pretending to be a tough street cop, though he'd worked only Traffic and media relations. He'd had clandestine relationships with many girls, and Meg had been just one more, chosen at random, for convenience, not as part of any grand design. Only later, when Brand was assigned to Robin as a patient, did Banner begin to think about using his connection with Meg to gain leverage against her mother.

According to Hammond, Banner had tried to discourage him from taking over the manhunt. The reason was fairly clearBanner hadn't wanted to be tied up with the investigation, because it meant he was unable to return to the factory and kill Meg. Wolper had been forced to draft Tomlinson for the job.

When the cell phone trace led Hammond to the factory, Banner became increasingly nervous. He knew that Meg would identify him instantly if she was somehow still alive. His last chance to silence her had failed when she saw him coming and ambushed him with Tomlinson's syringe.

"Buncha other assholes are implicated," Gray was saying, "but they're all low on the totem pole." He leaned forward. "You want my take on it? I say there's higher-ups involved, and they're getting protected."

He could be right. "I don't know," Robin said.

"That's how it always is. Fucking cops take care of their own. The big ones will walk away. Always do. It's the little guys that get it up the ass, every time."

"Are you one of the little guys, Justin? Are you a victim now?"

"Shit, no. Me? Never. Just telling it like it is. So why are you here, Doc Robin? Want me to take another turn as your lab rat?"

"No, Justin."

"Then what's the deal?"

"I wanted to ask you a question. It's something that's been on my mind."

"Ask away. I got all kinds of time."

"You killed Tomlinson with one shot," she said slowly. "He was all over Meg, and it was dark in the cellarthere was only one flashlight to see bybut you hit him on your first try."

"Damn, I'm good."

"You killed Brand with a head shot in the middle of a car crash."

"He was a foot away. No big thing to nail your mark at that range."

"Brand didn't nail you ."

"I was faster."

"You were better."

He didn't deny it. "What's your point?"

"When I was diving into the cellar, you fired right at me. And you missed."

"Then I guess them two kill shots was just luck."

"You know what I think, Justin? I think you had no problem killing in self-defense or to save Meg. But when it came time to kill me, there was a split second of hesitation. A flicker of doubt."

Gray was quiet for a long moment. Then he smilednot a warm smile, not friendly.

"Still wanna believe, don't you?"

She said nothing.

He leaned forward, his manner calm and conversational and wryly amused. "Doc, here's what happened. You whacked me on the head with that wooden board. Cost me a shitload of stitches, by the waythanks very much. All that blood, it was running into my eyes, fucking up my aim. I was shooting blind."

"I see."

"But even if I hadn't been blinded, I still might've missed, 'cause I ain't no sharpshooter. Got lucky with Tomlinson, like I said. With you, I wasn't so lucky. And you know what else?"

Her voice was low. "What, Justin?"

"Every night I lie awake on my rack, wishing I hadn't missed you. I wish I'd put you down hard. You and your cunt daughter. I wish the both of you was dead meat, six feet under. That's the cold truth."

She nodded, taking this in. "All right."

"Not what you wanted to hear?"

"I thought we might have made just a little progress."

"No such luck. Got news for you, Doc Robin. That brain machine of yours ain't gonna save the world. And it sure didn't save my fucking soul."