William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

Ben reached the end of the wire track and clutched the final tree. He tried to take the zip line, but Fielder grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back.

Ben pressed his hands against Fielder’s chest, trying to hold him off. Fielder slammed down hard on Ben’s elbow, trying to break his arm. Ben cried out, then wrapped his arms around Fielder. Fielder twisted back and forth, trying to get free. Ben held tight. Snarling, Fielder butted Ben with his head.

Ben fell to his knees, his arms wrapped around Fielder’s legs. “I’m not letting go!” Ben shouted. “If I fall, we both fall!”

“I’ll see about that.” Fielder reached over Ben’s head and grabbed the zip line seat. Bracing himself, he drove his knee under Ben’s chin. A second blow thudded against Ben’s chest.

Ben felt the wind rush out of his lungs. He was out of breath, heaving, trying to maintain his all-important balance. Freed from Ben’s grasp, Fielder swung his leg back again and kicked hard.

This blow caught Ben in the stomach. His head slammed back against the tree. He fell to one side. At the last possible moment, he clutched a limb of the tree, desperately trying to keep from falling. He knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand another kick like that.

“You’re history,” Fielder said. He reared his foot back for the killing blow.

A gunshot rang out from somewhere below them. Fielder stopped, then, a second later, twitched strangely. Ben saw the wound on Fielder’s right shoulder.

“Stay right where you are or I’ll fire again!”

“Chicken shit assassin,” Fielder mumbled. He lurched forward suddenly and embraced Ben. “He’ll have to shoot us both.”

Ben struggled, but couldn’t break Fielder’s grasp. He raised his fist and pounded Fielder’s shoulder, just over the bullet wound. Fielder shrieked in agony and fell backward, just enough. Another gunshot rang out, this time catching Fielder dead center in his chest. He staggered backward, teetered for a moment, and fell.

Ben watched Fielder’s body plummet to the earth. He smashed onto the ground with a sickening thud.

Ben grabbed the tree behind him and pulled himself to a more stable position. He inhaled and exhaled evenly, trying to slow his racing pulse.

“Are you planning to stay up there all day?” Mike called out. He was standing on the ground, bracing himself against a tree trunk.

“Just for a little while,” Ben said between gasps. “Till I’m certain I’m not having a cardiac arrest.” He took a few more deep, drinking breaths. “I thought you were going to the hospital.”

“While you rushed out and played the daring young man on the flying trapeze? Not a chance. I gave the paramedics a rain check.”

“Just as well, under the circumstances.”

“So, are you planning to come down or what?” Ben wiped a quart of sweat from his forehead. “Maybe. Someday. No hurry.”

“I thought you were afraid of heights.”

Ben tried to smile. “I’m becoming acclimated.”

PART FOUR

What We Can

52

BEN POURED CUPS OF coffee for himself and for Christina. The Apollo legal staff meeting had already ran over an hour long and they weren’t done yet. Mercifully, Chuck had suggested a break.

Ben picked up the two hot Styrofoam cups, then winced. His hands were still raw and tender from his race through the High Course.

“Here’s the Java,” Ben said, passing Christina her cup. Because of the importance of the subject matter of the meeting, legal assistants had been invited for the first (and probably last) time.

“Thanks. How are your hands?”

“Not bad. Sore enough to give me an excuse to retire from the High Course forever.”

“Retire? Just when you were getting the hang of it?”

“Believe me, I was awful.”

“Ben, last week you couldn’t complete the High Course in full regalia. Two days ago, you completed it without any belay support. I’d call that significant progress.”

“Well, my progress was forced somewhat by the circumstances.”

She grinned. “Are these meetings always so gloomy?”

“Only when the main topic of conversation is how one member of the staff murdered another member of the staff and five other people as well.” During the past hour, the staff had been informed of the horrible secret buried inside their department. Mike was the official leader of the meeting, but Ben was filling in most of the details. Ben had tried to explain the whole plot as he now understood it—how Fielder had formed the Kindergarten Club, how he’d enlisted Hamel as secretary, and how together they had raked in the dough.

Ben noted several macho grins and sneers as he talked about teen prostitutes and kinky group orgies, but the snickers faded when he began describing the multiple strangulations and dismemberments. He told them how Fielder panicked and began killing off the girls, one after the other. How that had caused Hamel to download the address list so he could turn state’s evidence. How he’d been caught in the act by Fielder, which had caused Hamel to become Fielder’s next victim.

Christina nudged Ben’s shoulder. “Look at Shelly.” Shelly was solemn and silent, even more so than usual. “She really seems to be taking this hard.”

There may be a good reason for that, Ben thought, but he kept it to himself. “Herb seems a bit upset, too.”

“Yeah, but that’s probably because all these orgies were going on and he never got invited.”

Ben smiled, but again he could think of another possible explanation. He noticed that Herb and Candice were not seated together, and had not spoken to (or shouted at) one another since they entered the room.

Crichton was sitting at one end of the long conference table opposite Mike. Crichton appeared to be taking the news worse than anyone. Understandable, Ben thought. Not only had he lost another member of his staff; he’d been made to look a blundering fool. He was staring down at the black enamel table. His coffee cup was empty, but he hadn’t even called for Janice.

“If you don’t mind,” Mike said loudly, “I’d like to finish this up.” Mike had looked better himself. Despite everyone’s entreaties, he still hadn’t checked into the hospital. He insisted that he wanted to “put this case to bed” before he took any time off.

Everyone resumed their places around the table.

“There’s one detail we omitted,” Mike continued. “When Fielder spotted Ben on the streets searching for Trixie, he went after him. He didn’t find Ben at home, so he tore the place apart, just to send a message. Maybe he thought he might find the picture Ben and I retrieved from Hamel’s attic. I don’t know. He didn’t find anything. But of course, that’s because there wasn’t anything to find.

“As you all know,” Mike continued, “Fielder was killed in his fall. That concludes this investigation. Chief Blackwell has declared this matter closed”—he looked pointedly at Ben—“a fact that will no doubt come as a considerable relief to many of you.”

Amen to that, Ben thought.

“I have a question,” Chuck asked loudly. “I understand everything you’ve said, but what I don’t understand is who cut Mr. Crichton’s belay line? That’s the creep I’d like to take apart.”

Count on Chuck to be the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, Ben mused. Especially when an opportunity to do some quality sucking-up presented itself. “I’d rather not go into that right now,” Mike replied.

Chuck pounded on the table. “Damn it, I want to know. If someone’s after our mentor, we need to take action.”

Ben scanned the faces around the conference table. He saw a mixed array of reactions. All of them were uncomfortable, just in different ways.