The Good Killer Page 25
And a pair of binoculars. He raises them now and aims them across the river at the house. A lodge, Matthew called it. It’s big: two stories, four bedrooms on the top floor, according to the diagram he made the kid draw. The house is set back from the shore, and there’s a porch that runs from one end to the other. There are five wooden steps leading down from the south end of the porch and then another series of steps cut into the earth and shored up with old railroad ties.
Those steps lead down to a deck that overlooks the water.
By quarter after eight the sun is up, and the mist is starting to burn away.
Jimmy is still watching from the cover of the trees when Lincoln Reed comes out of the house with a big red coffee mug and walks down to the deck. Reed stands there with one arm braced on the railing and looks at the river.
Jimmy brought an AR-15 rifle with a scope. He could take Reed out from here, one shot, but not without alerting the others. That would defeat his purpose. He’ll have to get closer, which means hiking back to the car and driving three miles north to the nearest bridge. Crossing the river and approaching the house from Sand Hill Road.
One good thing: the yard around the house is relatively small. The woods come up close, within twenty feet on either side. And since he has Nick and Kelly with him, they can come at the house from different directions.
Time to go. Jimmy turns to Kelly, who’s been restless, shuffling around, tromping over dead leaves. In a low voice, Jimmy tells him to head back to the car. He gestures for Nick to do the same, but Nick shakes his head and points across the river.
When Jimmy looks again, he sees that Lincoln Reed has left the deck and is climbing the steps back to the house. But there’s someone else coming down: Adam Khadduri, carrying a tray laden with food. He brings it to the deck and puts it on a table there.
Breakfast by the water.
He won’t be eating alone. As Jimmy watches, Reed reaches the back entrance of the house. There’s a screen door, and he holds it open. Molly walks out, in handcuffs, with Tom Clinton right behind her.
Molly Winter
They cuffed her to the bed frame last night.
Left her alone in the room and looked in on her every hour or two. She slept on her back with her arms stretched over her head. Not the best sleep she’s ever gotten. But they look well-rested: Clinton and Reed.
There’s a chill in the air when Clinton brings her out. Molly sees dew on the wooden steps and on the railroad ties farther down. This might be the place to fight, where the ground is uneven. But not yet. Not with Reed watching from the porch.
She marches down to the deck with Clinton behind her. He pulls out a chair for her, like a waiter at a restaurant. Adam Khadduri is smiling.
“Good morning,” he says. Like he means it.
And it is, if you go by the glimmer of sunlight on the water.
“I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk,” Khadduri says. “I’ve been busy.”
He wants to act as if they’re having a normal conversation. Molly is willing to play along.
“I’ve wondered what it would be like to see you again,” she says.
“What’s it like?”
“Not what I hoped for.”
Khadduri laughs and waves a hand at the food spread out between them. “Help yourself,” he says. “You must be hungry.”
She is. Clinton and Reed have been feeding her, but nothing like this. There’s bacon and hard-boiled eggs. Buttered toast. Blueberry muffins. Oranges and grapes and slices of melon.
“Finger foods,” Khadduri says. “No metal implements, they told me. Or hot drinks. Nothing you could use as a weapon. I hear you’re a fighter now.”
He’s amused. As if it’s the funniest thing in the world. Molly takes a glass of orange juice from the tray. She could break it and slice an artery in his neck. But it wouldn’t get her out of here. Reed has gone into the house, but Clinton is standing only a few feet away.
“Poor Lincoln said you tried to shoot him,” Khadduri says. “Is that true?”
Molly drinks from the glass before delivering her answer.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Khadduri claps his hands, delighted. “Oh, I like this Molly. I really do.”
He’s leaning back in his chair, laughing, repeating the line. Can’t blame a girl …
She pops a grape into her mouth, starts to peel an orange. “You’re in a good mood, Adam. Not like the last time I saw you.”
He turns serious suddenly. Looks away at the water, then back.
“I owe you an apology,” he says. “There’s no excuse, except that I was wounded then. You wounded me. You see, I fell in love with you. I didn’t realize it until I lost you. A foolish thing, getting attached to a woman. It wouldn’t happen now. I’ve had so many. I’ve learned that no single one of them makes a difference. You can always find another.”
He pauses, as if he’s said something profound. Molly keeps her eyes on him, but she’s listening to the rush of the water flowing by.
“I bear you no ill will,” Khadduri says. “All this”—he holds up his left hand and wiggles the fingers—“unpleasantness will soon be over. I’ve spoken to Sean. He says he has all the stones. He’ll meet us in a few hours and we’ll trade. I have no desire to keep you or harm you. I only want what’s mine.”
Khadduri’s voice sounds dull and his eyes are hard to read. He might think he’s telling the truth. But Molly doesn’t believe he’ll let her go or let Sean walk away unharmed. Not in the end, when the time comes to keep his promise.
She doesn’t believe in this version of Adam Khadduri. The magnanimous version. She’s seen his other side. She’s not going to trust him.
She’s heard all she cares to hear, and the only thing left is to get away. But first she eats, because she knows she’ll need the energy. She eats the orange she’s peeled and three strips of bacon and two hard-boiled eggs while Khadduri talks to her as if they’re friends. He talks about his business. He’s been branching out into modern art: abstract sculptures and paintings and installations. He shied away from that stuff before because he didn’t understand the market. Now he has studied it, and he’s more confident. It’s a larger and larger share of what he sells.
All she hears is the boasting of a mobster: In a few years all my business will be completely legitimate.
He rambles on for twenty minutes, until she’s wondering how to excuse herself. He saves her the trouble, pulling out his phone, saying he needs to make some calls.
He tells Tom Clinton to take her back inside the house.
Molly picks up a slice of toast as she rises from her chair. Bites into it as she’s walking up the steps. They’re broad and shallow, the ones that are cut into the hill and reinforced with railroad ties. Six steps and there’s a swath of grass and a forty-five-degree turn before the next one.
Five steps in the next group. Clinton follows close behind her. She counts them silently—five, four, three, two, one—then drops the toast and throws herself backward.
It doesn’t unfold the way she imagined it. She imagined Clinton falling like a tree and landing on his back. Her landing on top of him, knocking the breath out of him. Then, before he could recover, driving her elbow into his throat.
But Clinton is bigger than her and stronger. When she throws herself into him, he wraps his arms around her middle. He loses his balance but not the way she hoped. They topple over sideways together into the grass. The elbow she aims at his throat hits his chin instead. She pulls away from him and tries to scramble up the hill.
He grabs her ankle, tripping her. She rolls onto her back and tries to kick him, but then he’s on her, straddling her stomach. Pinning her arms above her head. He grabs one of her thumbs and bends it until she screams.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” he says.
His face is inches from hers. Until it jerks back suddenly. Molly has time to register a hand that’s not hers or his. It’s tangled in his h
air. Another hand appears, drawing the blade of a hunting knife across his neck.
She turns her face away, feels blood spurting onto her cheek. Then Clinton’s weight is lifted from her. When she turns back, she sees Jimmy Harper standing over her. The knife is gone. He has a gun in his hand.
“You’ve got some moves,” he says. “I’ll give you that.”
Nick Ensen
Nick hears Molly scream, but she’s Jimmy’s problem, not his. He’s focusing on Adam Khadduri.
Khadduri is running from the deck, trying to make it to the house. He doesn’t use the steps, because the steps would take him toward Jimmy. He climbs the grassy slope at the north end of the house. When he sees Nick coming down the same slope, he freezes.
The only place Khadduri has to go is back. He retreats to the deck and, when he reaches it, boosts himself onto the railing. He’s going to jump over, into the river.
If he goes in, Nick will have to go in after him, and Nick is not a great swimmer. He fires a warning shot that strikes the railing, breaking off a splinter of wood. Khadduri changes his mind and hops down. He looks sullen.
Nick is on the deck with him now. Tells him not to move or he’ll blow him away.
Which is bullshit. Jimmy wants Khadduri alive.
Nick gets between Khadduri and the river and holds the muzzle of his pistol against the man’s back. He looks around and sees that Clinton is lying motionless on the ground and Jimmy has Molly under control.
Which leaves Reed. Who’s walking along the north side of the house with his gun drawn.
Kelly was supposed to take care of Reed, but Kelly is nowhere to be seen. Just like him to turn chickenshit at the last minute, to hang back in the woods.
Nick grabs Khadduri by the collar and moves him between himself and Reed. He holds his pistol to Khadduri’s head. Reed is yelling at him, telling him to drop it.
Jimmy has Molly on her feet now, but he’s at the south end of the house. He can’t see Reed, and Reed can’t see him.
Reed creeps forward, staying close to the side of the building. He’s holding his gun with two hands, aiming at Nick. For a moment Nick feels sure that Reed is going to take the shot. That he doesn’t care about hitting Khadduri.
The shot, when it comes, sounds as loud as a cannon. It makes Nick close his eyes. He opens them again to see Reed leaning against the house, clutching a wound on his thigh.
And there’s Kelly Harper, stepping out of the woods. Kelly takes a second shot that slams into Reed’s shoulder and a third that hits his stomach. Reed falls against the house and tries to raise his gun, but Kelly fires a fourth shot that tears off the top of his skull.
35
Jimmy Harper
Jimmy takes them inside: Molly and Khadduri. Puts them in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Nick brings him the key to the handcuffs from Tom Clinton’s key ring and Jimmy makes use of it, uncuffing Molly’s wrists and recuffing them behind her back.
He doesn’t bother binding Adam Khadduri. It seems unnecessary. Khadduri is shell-shocked.
“I want to see Tom,” he says.
“There’s nothing to see,” Jimmy tells him.
Khadduri sits in a chair leaning forward, staring at the carpet. “You killed him.”
“That’s right.”
“And Lincoln. Who was it that shot him?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Khadduri rubs his face with both hands. “They were honorable men. Family men.”
“Did they tell their families they were coming here?” Jimmy asks.
“No. I don’t believe so.”
“That’s good.”
“This was senseless,” Khadduri says.
“I gave them a chance to back off. In Knoxville.”
“They were following my instructions.”
“I understand.”
“You and I could have come to an arrangement.”
“We are going to come to an arrangement,” Jimmy says.
He’s standing in the doorway where he can watch them both: Molly on the bed and Khadduri in his chair by the window.
“Part of this is my fault,” Jimmy says to Khadduri. “There’s something I should have made plain. It goes back to the night Sean and Cole robbed you. The night Cole died. I got a call from a nurse around eleven o’clock. She found my number in Cole’s phone. She broke the news to me. In stages, the way they do. Your brother was shot. His injuries were very serious. We did all we could for him. I’m sorry to say he didn’t survive. I drove to the hospital through a blizzard, and they showed me his body. They had a sheet over him, pulled up to his chin. His wounds were covered. He looked perfect. Unharmed. He could have been asleep.”
Jimmy leans against the door frame, holding his gun down by his hip. “I got back home around one in the morning. Stood in my front yard with the snow falling. I didn’t want to go inside. My cell phone rang, and for a moment I believed it might be the hospital again, telling me they’d made a mistake. That Cole had woken up.
“But it was Sean on the phone. He could barely speak, but he managed to tell me what had happened. Said he was sorry. Afterward he was silent. I think he wanted me to forgive him. I told him his life was over. All he could do now was run—as far as he could for as long as he could. But I would find him. I told him nothing would stop me from finding him.”
Jimmy moves from the doorway into the room. Khadduri sits up straight in his chair. Jimmy leans over him and taps his knee with the gun.
“That was a vow,” Jimmy says. “Do you understand?”
Khadduri’s nod is almost imperceptible. “Yes.”
“You say that, but I wonder if you do.” Jimmy brings out his cell phone and opens his text messages. He finds an image that Demitri sent him. He shows it to Khadduri.
It’s Khadduri’s son tied to a post in Demitri’s basement.
The color drains from Khadduri’s face. “What have you done?”
“Nothing yet,” Jimmy says.
“Why—”
Jimmy puts the phone away. “Do you understand now that I’m serious?”
Khadduri closes his eyes. “Yes.”
“I need to know you won’t try to cross me again.”
“I won’t.”
“Good,” Jimmy says. “Now tell me what arrangements you’ve made with Sean.”
Nick Ensen
It freaks him out, moving the bodies.
Nick has never thought of himself as a killer, and in the literal sense he still hasn’t killed anyone. But he has definitely thrown in with killers. He has aided and abetted.
It’s not like Jimmy didn’t tell him what was going to happen.
And Nick didn’t bow out. He didn’t walk away. So he’s a killer now, and a killer can’t afford to be squeamish.
The dumbest thing: he can’t help thinking about his high school biology class.
His teacher made the students break into pairs one day, and every pair got a frog. A dead frog, smelling of formaldehyde. They were supposed to dissect it.
Nick picked up the scalpel to make the first incision, and swear to god he thought he saw the frog move. He thought he would cut it open and it would come to life.
He couldn’t hold the scalpel steady.
“Let me do it,” his partner said. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
When he and Kelly pick up Tom Clinton, it’s the same. Nick takes the arms and Kelly takes the legs. Nick can feel himself trembling. Clinton’s eyes are halfway open, and any second Nick expects them to come open all the way.
They carry Clinton into the woods south of the house. Lay him down next to a fallen tree. They cover him with leaves and branches.
Lincoln Reed gets the same treatment, but Nick takes the legs this time. Because Reed’s head is blown open, and Nick doesn’t want to look at it.
When Reed is covered and they come out of the woods, Nick sees that there’s blood on the side of the house. He moves closer and scans the ground. Sees pieces of Reed’s skull.
He points them out to Kelly. “You need to get those.”
Kelly laughs. “I took the guy out, Nicky. Cleanup is your job.”
Kelly sits on the porch at the back of the house and sorts through the things they collected from Clinton’s and Reed’s pockets. Plucks the cash from their wallets. Nick goes inside and brings back a paper towel from the kitchen. He folds it in half and uses it to pick up the remains of Reed’s skull.
He carries them down to the deck and drops them into the river. Drops the paper towel after them.
He saw keys in the kitchen, hanging on a hook. He goes back for them and finds one that opens the lock on the shed in the front yard. The usual stuff in there: shovels and rakes, a lawn mower. Nick finds a garden hose and brings it out. Hooks it to a spigot by the back porch and sprays Reed’s blood from the side of the house. Sprays the blood from the grass too.
He cleans his hands under the water. Then brings the hose around and sprays the place where Clinton died.
Kelly watches him from the porch. “Look at you,” he says. “Stone-cold criminal.”
Nick returns the hose to the shed. Sees the shovels and thinks about burying the bodies, even though Jimmy didn’t tell him to. Nick wonders how long it would take. Probably too long. He doesn’t want to linger here. He doesn’t think it’s safe.
Four shots. Kelly’s such a fuckup that it took him four shots to kill Reed.
Maybe no one was close enough to hear. Maybe people are used to gunshots, out here in the country. But it makes Nick nervous.
He stands in the front yard looking at the driveway. Realizes he’s been listening for the sound of an approaching car. But there’s nothing. No sound at all except the wind.
Behind him, the front door of the house opens. Adam Khadduri comes down the steps. Then Molly. Then Jimmy.
Jimmy says, “Are we all set?”
Nick nods.
“Go get Kelly,” Jimmy says. “Tell him we’re leaving.”