Blind Rage (44 page)

As he folded the paper in half and tucked it under his arm, his expression changed. Relaxed. It was almost one of surrender, and it disturbed Bernadette. He disappeared through the door, closing it and locking it behind him.

Something was wrong, and she was impatient to get inside. Abandoning her hiding spot, she went up to the porch windows to scan the street for Garcia’s car. She fished out her cell to call and then dropped the phone back into her pocket. He’d be there soon enough. She left her post at the windows and sat down on a concrete bench to wait.

INSIDE, LUKE VONHADER
sat in front of the fireplace with a cup of coffee and a yellow legal pad. Tucked between two burning logs, the morning headlines erupted in flames and quickly collapsed into ash. Already yesterday’s news. Shuddering at the bitterness of his dark brew, he wished there had been cream in the house. He had meant to pick up a few groceries Monday, but the day had gotten away from him. Clicking his pen, he began to write.

Dear Liz:

All of the documents are where you’d expect them. If you have any questions, call Chip or one of his assistants. Susan in particular is up to speed on our holdings, as she handled matters related to my sister’s passing.

I suggest you sell our Scottsdale and Twin Cities properties and relocate to the East Coast. The private schools are good, and your mother would enjoy having you closer. Of course, it is entirely up to you.

DO NOT believe what you read in the papers and see on television. I know you will try to shield our daughters from the ugliness, but it will be difficult. Again, a move might be best for all concerned.

Kiss Em and Mel for me and tell them to take care of each other. I apologize for leaving my girls like this, but you more than anyone understand these demons of mine. I have lived with them for so long, they have taken over. Forgive the heartache I have caused you and try to move forward.

All my love, Luke

He set the pen and pad down on the coffee table and finished his drink. He carefully tore the sheet out of the pad and folded it in half, running his thumb along the crease. He folded it two more times and stood up to tuck the rectangle into the front pocket of his robe. He’d thought about finding a fireproof place to hide the letter, but he was confident the fire department would douse the fire before his body was incinerated.

He stepped up to the mantel and reached for one of his mother’s favorites, a tall Victorian pedestal oil lamp with a painted base and original crystal chimney.

Chapter 42

A POP INSIDE THE HOUSE MADE BERNADETTE JUMP TO HER FEET.
She went to the door, knocked twice. No response.

The smoke she smelled was too acrid to be coming from a fireplace. She went over to the windows to check. The lace curtains were enveloped in flames. “Jesus Christ!” she gasped, backing away from the glass.

She ran to the front door and put her hand over the doorknob. “Shit!” The knob was already too hot to touch, even with gloves on. She pounded on the wood with her fists. “Fire! Get out!”

Bernadette darted back to the windows but couldn’t see anything past the flames. “Luke!” she yelled to the glass. “Matt!”

She ran back to the door, lifted her foot, and brought it down on the lower panel.

Garcia was bounding up the porch steps. “Cat!”

Taking a step back, she raised her foot higher and kicked the door next to the lock. “There’s a fire!”

Garcia saw the flames through the glass. “Crap!” He flipped open his phone and called for help.

She brought her foot down on the wood a third time, and it bounced off. “You take this fucking thing!” she yelled.

He replaced her in front of the door while she ran to the other side of the porch. She lifted a bust off its pedestal and ran to the windows. Swinging the statue upside down by the neck, she heaved it through the middle panes. The sound of breaking glass was followed by a roar as flames rolled out of the hole. “God Almighty!”

Garcia cranked his foot back and brought it down against the middle of the door. The wood didn’t budge. “Try the back door!”

Bernadette pushed open the screen door, jumped off the steps, and ran around to the rear of the house. She went up the back steps and jiggled the back door’s knob. Locked. She pounded on the wood with both fists. “Fire! Get out!”

She heard glass breaking above her and ran down the steps and into the middle of the yard. A wooden chair came sailing out of a second-floor window and landed on the ground, exploding in a dozen pieces. Dressed in a T-shirt and boxers, Matthew VonHader stuck his torso through the broken window while smoke billowed out from behind him. “Help! Please help me!”

Bernadette heard sirens in the distance. “Help’s coming!”

He started coughing. “The smoke…I can’t…I don’t want to burn!”

“Stay low! Close the door and stuff a rag in the bottom!”

He turned away from the window and returned a moment later, coughing harder. “I can’t…see anything!”

“Jump!”

He looked down with saucer eyes. “No!”

“It’s not that far! Jump!”

Coughing and shaking his head, he answered, “I can’t!”

“Tie a sheet to something and climb down!”

He backed away from the window. Bernadette kept her eyes glued to the dark hole and became worried when he didn’t immediately reappear. “Matt!” she yelled up to the window. “Matt!”

Bernadette swept the yard with her eyes and in a far corner spotted a birdbath perched on a concrete column. She ran over to it, shoved off the bowl top, picked up the pedestal, and carried it to the back of the house. Using the pedestal as a battering ram, she slammed the bottom end against the middle of the door. The wood didn’t move. She raised the concrete as high as she could and brought the bottom of the column down on the doorknob. The hardware fell off. She set the pedestal down, caught her breath, and picked it up again.

Breathing hard with sweat dripping from his brow, Garcia materialized at her side. “Front door wouldn’t give an inch. Fire’s coming out of all the first-floor windows facing the street.”

Bernadette slammed the pedestal against the door twice, with no results. “Then Luke is dead.”

Garcia dragged his arm over his forehead. “He’s downstairs for sure?”

Panting, Bernadette dropped her battering ram. “He came out of the house to get the paper before the fire started.”

“Shit. Did you see him reading it?”

“Yeah. It pissed him off. Why?”

“Nothing,” Garcia said. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Matthew is upstairs,” she said.

“Rigs are coming up the block.”

Bernadette bent over to retrieve the concrete column. “Matt will fry before they get here.”

“Forget that thing.” Garcia positioned himself in front of the door, cranked his foot back, and brought it down next to the busted lock. The door didn’t give. “Son-of-a-bitch!”

Bernadette heard screaming overhead and then two cracks, one immediately after the other. She darted into the yard and looked up at the window. Fire was pouring out of the hole. She retrieved the battering ram and ran to Garcia with it. “Did you hear that?”

“I heard!”

She passed the concrete column over to him and pointed to a first-floor window. “Do it!”

Running and carrying the column like a pole-vaulter, Garcia charged up to the window and released the pedestal. It sailed through the glass, and the flames instantly shot out. “Crap!” spat Garcia.

Bernadette looked up at the second floor. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yelled to the broken window, “Matt!”

Garcia said, “Maybe he made it downstairs.”

“He’s dead. They’re both dead.” Bernadette turned away from the house and suddenly noticed the alley was filled with people. A man on a motorcycle. Two teenagers on bikes. An old lady wearing a down coat over her robe and slippers. A couple of construction workers. Where had they all come from? It wasn’t even dawn. Why hadn’t they tried to help? They were all wide-eyed and silent, staring across the fence at the burning house as if it were a horror movie. She marched over to the back fence and waved her arms around. “Clear out! There’s nothing to see! Go on! Get away from here!”

The crowd didn’t budge, its collective attention torn between the screaming blonde and the burning house.

Bernadette picked a rock off the ground and started to crank her arm back. Garcia came up behind her and took the rock out of her fist. “Are you nuts?”

“They’re acting like it’s a freak show!”

“Forget them!”

She looked past him at the mansion. Flames were shooting out of every window. “How could it spread so fast?”

Garcia ran a hand through his hair. “It’s an old house.”

“Filled with old stuff,” she added. The brothers’ inheritance had made a fine funeral pyre.

From the street, a ribbon of water arced onto the roof. Garcia put his hand on her shoulder. “We can pull back.”

Her eyes traveled to the window where she’d last seen Matthew VonHader alive. “He was afraid to jump. It wasn’t even that far.”

“Come on,” said Garcia, steering her away by the elbow.

They started walking together along the side of the house. “This is unbelievable,” she said. “It started right before you got here. I was standing on the porch, and I smelled smoke.”

“The doc didn’t notice you when he came out for the paper?”

“I hid behind some of the junk on the porch. I didn’t know why you sent me here, and you told me to wait.”

“Now I wish I hadn’t,” he said glumly.

“You think he would have let me in? Poured me a cup of coffee?”

“No. Probably not.”

They moved to the front of the house, navigating around hoses and men. The firefighters had busted down the front door, but flames were shooting out and keeping them back. Garcia flashed his ID to a burly fire captain. The man thumbed over his shoulder at the house. “Any idea how many we got inside?”

“Two adult males, one of them with a gun. He may already have finished his brother and himself. We don’t know for sure.”

“Dandy,” said the captain, leaving them and joining his crew in front of the house.

The two agents stood off to the side. More onlookers lined up along the sidewalk across the street. Two more police squads and another fire truck were pulling up. A television crew was setting up a shot from a neighbor’s front yard across the street.

With the back of her hand, she wiped the perspiration off her forehead. “Why did he do this?”

“The fact that they were jailed made it into the late edition of the news,” Garcia said as he stared up at the engulfed house. “Front page. Shrink and his brother questioned in the death of disabled father. Not a long piece. Just enough.”

“How’d the paper get the story so quick? Who dropped the dime to the reporters?”

Garcia answered both questions with a single shrug.

“Did it include the sick family background?” she asked.

“No, but he saw it coming. The water torture. Abusive parents. All of it would have been laid out. Intimate, embarrassing, private stuff.” He paused. “At the same time, I’ll bet money that the media misses the public circus at the tower.”