William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“At least let Staci talk to me for a minute before you kill me,” Travis said finally.

“I—I’m sorry, no. I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“Then let me talk to her. Let me kiss her goodbye.”

“I—I don’t know—”

“I won’t even remove her gag. All I’m asking for is one minute. Surely you owe me that.”

Travis could see the confusion and despair in Dan’s face. He was tearing himself apart, unable to decide what to do. “All right,” he said finally. “One minute.”

Travis approached Staci in calm, measured steps. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said. He could see her eyes tearing, her hands shaking. She was scared to death.

“Sure I can’t loosen her gag?” he asked Dan.

“I guess—I don’t—” He swallowed. “No, I don’t think I should let you do that.”

“Suit yourself.” Travis moved closer to Staci and crouched down to her level. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he said to her quietly. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Staci rocked back and forth. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t get free.

“When you get out of here, Staci, I want you to look up a friend of mine. Her name is—well, Cavanaugh. That’s her last name. She knows who you are, and she’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I think you’ve been with Aunt Marnie long enough. Cavanaugh will help you make other arrangements. I don’t think Marnie will protest much.”

Tears spilled over the rims of Staci’s eyes and trickled down onto her gag.

“You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Really.”

“Thirty seconds,” Dan said.

“All right, all right.” Travis winked at Staci. “How about one last trick, just for old times’ sake?” He reached into his pocket. “Don’t panic, Dan. These are just marbles.” He slowly removed the marbles from his pocket, then opened his palm so that Dan could see that was all he had. “Two harmless oversize aggies. That’s all.”

He placed the marbles in his left hand, then held out his hands before Staci, knuckles up. “All right now. Watch closely.” Travis’s hands were a blur. They crossed, crisscrossed, turned upside down and right side up, one palm over the other, faster than the eye could follow.

“All right, Staci. Which hand are the marbles in?”

She shrugged. Travis knew her eyes were so blurred with tears she could barely see.

“What about you, Dan? Which hand do you think the marbles are in?”

“The left,” he said, his voice squeaking. “They never moved.”

“Well, let’s just see.” Travis extended his left hand to its farthest point and slowly unfurled his fingers, one by one.

The second he saw Dan’s eyes divert to his left hand, he swung his right arm around and hurled the marbles at Dan’s face. Dan instinctively raised his hands to block them. The gun fired; the shot went high. A second later Travis tackled him and knocked him onto the parquet floor.

Travis sat astride Dan trying to wrestle the gun from his hand. Dan did everything he could to aim the gun in Travis’s direction. Neither was making any progress; it was a stalemate.

Suddenly Dan raised his knee into Travis’s chest. The impact was not that hard, but it struck Travis exactly where he had been pounded by Kramer. The numbing pain returned, worse than ever. If his rib wasn’t broken before, it certainly was now. Travis gasped, and in that moment Dan rolled away from him.

Travis grabbed at Dan’s arm. He didn’t stop him, but he did knock the revolver out of his hand. It skidded across the floor and under the desk. Dan ran for the front door.

Travis hauled himself to his feet. Every movement increased his pain a thousandfold. He forced himself to block it out, ignore it. Staci’s life depended on him. Gritting his teeth, he lumbered across the room after Dan.

When he was almost through the room, Dan stumbled over the weapon Travis had left on the floor. He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. Travis grabbed Dan by the collar and slung him forcefully down on the floor.

Travis grabbed his gun and pointed it at Dan’s chest. “Don’t move.”

Perspiration dripped from Dan’s face. He attempted a grotesque, unconvincing smile. “Travis, you—you wouldn’t shoot me, would you?”

“Why not? You were going to kill me.”

“Kill you? Oh, no—you misunderstood. I just wanted to delay you—”

“Save it, Dan. It’s over.”

“Over?” The smile faded from Dan’s face and was replaced by something else, something far worse. “Over? My life over? Just because some stupid fat policeman is holding a gun on me?” He began to laugh, a thin, nasty laugh. “You’re pathetic. This is Dan, remember? I know everything about you. And I know you don’t have the balls to fire that gun.”

Travis’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. He could feel the pounding of his heart, the aching of his chest. This was the man who had ruined his life, who had manipulated him from the start. The man who had lied to him, who had tried to kill him. The man who had terrified and threatened Staci.

This was the man who was truly responsible for Angela’s death.

Travis’s hands clenched the gun tightly. If ever he was going to recover his life, this was the time.

He wrapped his finger around the trigger and fired.

Henderson and Cavanaugh burst through the front door of Dan’s house barely a second after Travis’s gun sounded.

“What the hell …?” Henderson scanned the foyer, then led the charge into the library. He saw the door standing open and entered, Cavanaugh close at his heels.

“ Travis !” Cavanaugh ran to him. He was leaning at a tilt, clutching his chest. His gun hung limply from his right hand. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” he said, oddly quiet. “Take care of Staci.”

Cavanaugh saw the young girl tied to the chair. Taking Travis’s pocketknife, she carefully cut the ropes that bound Staci to the chair and cut the gag off her mouth.

She planned to ask the girl how she was, but she never had a chance. Before she could speak, Staci leaped out of her chair and ran to Travis. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged tightly.

“He’s hurt,” Staci said.

“Travis,” Cavanaugh said, “no more excuses. You’re going directly to the hospital. Do not pass Go. Do not—”

She froze when she noticed Dan’s body lying motionless on the floor.

She approached slowly, dearly afraid of what she might find. “You … shot him.”

“Believe me, he deserved it,” Travis replied. “I’ll explain everything later.”

“But—you shot him. I mean—you pulled the trigger.”

The corners of Travis’s lips tugged upward. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.” He threw one arm around Staci and the other around Cavanaugh. “Come on. Let’s go to Denny’s or something. I’d like the two of you to get to know one another. We’ll let Henderson buy, as soon as he finishes cleaning up here.”

Cavanaugh went along with him, but her eyes jack-knifed to the body on the floor. Dan’s body was splattered with red.

Red paint.

TUESDAY

May 14

76

4:30 P.M.

“AND SO, LADIES AND gentlemen of the jury, despite what you may think of my client Alberto Moroconi, despite the desperate flight that interrupted this trial, and despite the great sympathy you and I share for Mary Ann McKenzie, the fact remains that the prosecution has not proven his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Travis leaned against the jury rail. “The prosecution has failed to come forward with any positive identification linking Mr. Moroconi to this crime. They have not even proven he was in the neighborhood, much less that he was one of the vile perpetrators who tortured and abused Mary Ann McKenzie. With as little proof as that, can you sentence this man to a lifetime behind bars?