Crime Zero (29 page)

"I suggest you come out from behind that tree," said the voice with the light. "If we have to come and get you, we can't guarantee your safety."

"Yeah, right," grunted Decker. "Like our safety is their big concern." He looked to his left and, shielding his eyes, could just make out Rocky's pen but not much else. All he knew with absolute certainty was that the voice wasn't Jack-son's. Since Jackson would almost certainly have done all the talking, he probably wasn't here. But there would still be at least two of his cronies here. And that was enough. One only had to hold the light while the other circled.

"Kathy," he said as calmly as he could, "keep your eyes peeled behind us--for anyone coming around to cut us off. Use the beam's light to see any shadow or movement."

To her credit, although Kathy's eyes were wide with fear, she was calm. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"No fucking idea, but whatever it is, I'd better do it quick." Taking a deep breath, he considered his options. But there was only one: to roll around the right of the tree and fire at the voice. He probably wouldn't hit anything, but at least it should make the man move the damn flashlight, and then Kathy could make a run for it. He guessed they would hesitate before shooting Kathy here. Even the director of the FBI would find it difficult to explain shooting Kathy Kerr in her own yard without a good reason. He, on the other hand, was going to shoot at whomever he damn well could. "Kathy," he said, not looking at her, "when I start firing, run to the left and get the hell out of here."

"But what about you?"

"For chrissakes, just this once, don't argue with me."

He heard her start to protest, then sigh. "OK."

Tensing his muscles, he gripped the gun in both hands and was just about to roll around the tree and let off as many of the seventeen slugs in the SIG's magazine as possible when he heard a fierce roar and a bloodcurdling scream.

The intense light suddenly faltered, and Luke heard the spitting thud of a silenced gun being fired. The flashlight beam now began to flail about madly, describing arcs of light in the night sky like some frenetic laser show. In the stroboscopic chaos Decker could just make out a man wrestling with a ferocious beast. A second man was sprinting toward them, training his gun on the two figures dancing their frenzied jig. The man with the gun was obviously scared of hitting his screaming partner. Not waiting another second, Decker grabbed Kathy by the arm and dragged her to her feet.

"Come on," he shouted. "Let's go."

"What about the evidence?"

Decker yanked her arm, pulling her behind him. "Forget it. Run."

"But we can't leave Rocky!"

Just then the screaming stopped, and the flashlight flew through the air and landed on the ground in front of them. Its beam pointed away, and in his rush Decker almost missed the fact that the flashlight was still held in a human hand attached to a severed arm. He jumped over it and grimaced. "I wouldn't worry about Rocky," he said, pulling Kathy past the debris, hoping she hadn't seen it. "I think he can look after himself."

But Decker knew he was mistaken when he heard the hiss of two silenced shots. Rocky groaned once and then fell silent. The sound of his body falling to the ground was unmistakable. "Come on," Decker shouted, dragging Kathy through the French windows into the house.

Outside the front of the house they passed the Chrysler of Jackson's men. After firing four silenced bullets into the two front tires, Decker ran to the rental, clambered in, and waited for Kathy to climb into the passenger seat. Calmly he placed the key in the ignition and gunned the motor. As Decker turned his car around and accelerated down Mendoza Drive, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a figure emerge from the house and raise his arms into the firing position. Suddenly Decker felt a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. But it wasn't the shots that worried him. It was the fact that the attacker would have seen his car and now could easily trace the rental to him.

What if his involvement had already been discovered? The fact that he would be in danger didn't bother him. The novelty of that had long worn off. But he wasn't worried about himself.

This was getting out of hand. Way out of hand.

He turned to Kathy beside him. She looked pale. "We've got to hurry," he said, and pressed his foot down on the gas.

Kathy Kerr swallowed the bile in her mouth as they sped on Route 101 toward the lights of downtown San Francisco. The evidence they needed, their only hope of proving the allegations, was back at her house.

She didn't notice another gray Chrysler speeding past in the opposite direction. Every car she did see seemed to contain smiling people, living normal, unworried lives, oblivious of how hers had changed.

As they passed the sign to the airport, she turned to Decker, but he kept his face straight ahead. He drove as fast as he could, but it seemed he wasn't fleeing from their pursuers so much as rushing to somewhere. Decker slapped his hand on the steering wheel. "Shit, shit, shit. How could I be so goddamned stupid?"

"What?"

"If they find out about me, they'll use Matty to get to us. We've got to get him somewhere safe as fast as possible."

Realizing what he was saying put their situation into perspective for Kathy. This wasn't only about stopping Madeline Naylor and Alice Prince anymore. Perhaps Luke had been right when he said that she should have just walked away. What had she achieved by staying--except to put those who had helped her in danger?

In the city Decker took South Van Ness Avenue toward the Marina. They passed Pacific Heights and then turned onto Broadway. Driving in silence, Kathy saw Decker's frown deepen and his eyes narrow as they pulled up outside Matty's Victorian house. The front door was wide open; the windows were dark.

Decker curbed the car and killed the engine. His voice was hushed when he spoke. "Gramps always leaves at least one light on," he said. "And even he doesn't leave the front door wide open. Kathy, wait here while I check inside." He jumped out, ran up the steps, and disappeared into the house.

Ignoring his request, Kathy opened her door and more cautiously followed Decker inside. Inside, she clicked on the hall switch, but nothing happened. It was as if all the lights had been fused. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the gloom, using the moonlight and illumination from the streetlamps filtering in through the windows to make out her surroundings. To her left the dining room was a wreck. Drawers had been pulled out, their contents strewn over the table and floor. Chairs had been upended, and the upholstery ripped out. To her right through the open double doors of the TV room she could make out similar carnage. This either was a burglary or meant to look like one. But if this was the work of Jackson and his men, how could they have found out about Decker and Matty so quickly?

"Gramps? Where are you?" Decker's voice came from the next-floor landing. Kathy went up the stairs after him. Before she got to the top, she heard Decker call his grandfather again, but this time it was less a question than a cry of disbelief.

At the top of the stairs Kathy ran to her left, to the music room that overlooked the bay. There was something on the landing ahead of her. Looking down, she saw it was Matty's golden Labrador, Brutus. His tongue hung out of his mouth; his eyes were wide open and glassy. Two red holes punctured the glossy fur of his neck. A shiver ran through her. The bastards had shot a goddamn guide dog. Stepping around Brutus, she saw that the door to the music room was open, as were the large French windows looking out onto the balcony and the bay beyond. A brisk breeze was blowing into the room, seeming to carry the moonlight in with it. Light streamed through the open windows, forming a ghostly trapezium on the rug. The rest of the room was in shadow, but she could see the debris: photographs knocked off the piano; a violin thrown to the floor, the metronome shattered beside it.

In the moonlight in the center of the rug she saw Decker crouching down, tears of silver on his cheeks. He cradled his grandfather in his arms, studying the man's hands. When Decker spoke, his words were so choked that she had to put her hands to her mouth, to stop herself from crying out. With her horror came fresh guilt. They had done this to find her.

"They broke his fucking fingers," Decker said, turning to her, his eyes almost luminous in the light. "Even the goddamned Nazis didn't do that to him."

He gripped his grandfather tighter to him, trying to contain the grief and fury welling up inside him.

Acid guilt seared through him when he thought of how this brave old man had suffered and died alone, trying to protect him, this man who had already endured and given so much. Jackson must have uncovered his involvement with Kathy's escape and then sent one car to check on her house while he had come here. But how had Jackson found out about him? Dr. Peters couldn't have told him; Peters didn't know who he was. And they couldn't have traced his car this quickly. The only answer that made sense was that Hank Butcher had talked.

Decker's rage and guilt were nothing compared with his feeling of loss. He wanted to scream it out loud. Without Matty he felt cast adrift, anchorless in a fickle sea, his compass gone, and with it a lifeline to his own decency. Matty was the antidote to the knowledge that Axelman's blood ran in his veins; just knowing he was descended from him gave Decker hope.

But now Matty was dead.

Looking down on his lined face, Decker closed the staring blue eyes. He stroked Matty's smooth scalp and vowed that he would avenge him, make some sense of his death.

He heard Kathy kneel close beside him and felt her arms move around his shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Luke," she whispered in a small voice. Her soft hands moved to his neck, caressing him with the same gentleness with which he stroked his grandfather. "If you hadn't helped me, perhaps this would never have happened."

"But it has happened," he said. He turned and looked at her; the hurt in her eyes. "Kathy, you were right. This has to be about more than just Conscience. We've got to find out what they're really doing, and we've got to stop them. I couldn't stand it if Matty died for nothing--"

Then he heard the sound. Decker froze, and he could tell from Kathy's sharp intake of breath that she had heard it too.

A footstep. No more than a yard or two behind them.

Then a man's voice, deep and smooth. "You'll need help" was all it said.

Swiveling around, Decker saw an enormous figure step out of the shadows and tower over him. Two other men stood behind the figure. It took Decker a moment to recognize the blue-black hair and strong patrician nose of Joey Barzini. The man knelt, but he was so tall he still appeared to be standing. In the moonlight his clear blue eyes were moist and his chin was set in a determined cast as he looked at Matty's crumpled body. Like a father tentatively touching his firstborn, he reached across and gently inspected Matty's broken fingers. Decker watched the big man wince and shake his head. "My friend, my friend, what have they done to you?" he whispered. Then he turned to Decker, his voice suddenly harsh. "Your grandfather called earlier and told me you were in some kind of serious trouble. He explained the problem, and I said I'd come around tonight to see if I could help." He paused. "I wish I'd come earlier."

Joey Barzini looked at Kathy and then back to Decker. "The only way I can help Matty now is by helping you two. Come with me. I need to know more about what's going on." The man paused for a moment, and Decker considered what he really knew about him. Although Barzini was supposed to be legitimate, his list of friends and family read like a who's who of organized crime. Still, his grandfather liked and rated him as highly as anybody, highly enough to call Barzini for help when he and Kathy were in trouble. If Barzini was good enough for Matty, he was certainly good enough for him.

"Luke," Barzini said, as if reading distrust in his look, "I know from Matty how you feel about my family connections. I'm often not too proud of them myself." Suddenly his noble face creased into a smile, a momentary flash of gleaming white teeth. "But trust me, at times they have their uses."

Chapter 27.

Alexandria, Virginia.Friday, November 7, 2:30 A.M.

FBI Director Naylor was annoyed that a group of them had somehow escaped detection. She pulled the trigger and then moved on. It infuriated her that however fast she killed them, they always came back. She could never totally eradicate them.

Brandishing her insecticide spray like a pistol, she patrolled the neat rows of yucca plants, African violets, and rare orchids in the conservatory garden of her house in the exclusive Washington suburb of Alexandria. Above the glass roof of the climatically controlled room a frigid moon looked down from a cloud-riddled sky. The interior garden was effectively another room of her house, adjoining the spacious living room. Entirely made of glass, it allowed her almost total control over everything that grew there.