Smoke & Mirrors (30 page)

119

ALEXA WORKED TO FREE HER MOUTH, REALIZING
that if Styer’s disguised voice was carrying through the floor that her cheek was pressed against, then he would hear any loud movement from the room above. He was talking to someone, but since nobody had come in, she was pretty sure he was on the telephone.

She looked up at the children and saw that Cyn had stopped crying and was watching her. Hamp continued to wriggle and she shook her head, hoping that he would understand that she wanted him to be still. If he fell off the bed, Styer would come up and see the tape, which was beginning to roll toward her mouth.

She saw Hamp stop moving and look at her. Moving faster, she felt the tape stick fast and she pressed her cheek against the floor and pressed down hard as she moved her head. The tape stuck fast to the floor and remained there as she moved her face as far as she could move without rolling.

“Guys,” she whispered. “Hamp, be still. He can hear us.”

Hamp shook his head and started wriggling again.

While she was trying to figure out the next step, Hamp sat up and brought his hands around from behind him. Loose cord hung from his left wrist until he pulled it off and removed the duct tape from his face. As soon as it came free, he smiled at Alexa.

“The Great Mephisto,” he mouthed, taking a bow.

Alexa smiled.

Cyn nodded. Hamp tore off the tape that was binding his sister.

Okay,
Alexa thought, as she watched Hamp in his pajamas and magician’s cape slip from the bed, cross the floor carefully, kneel behind her, and start untying the cord knots on the cuffs. Seconds later, she brought her hands through and looked gleefully at the cuffs as she untied her ankles. Hamp reached to the lowest shelf, put something in the pocket of his pajama shirt, and released his sister. She slowly sat up.

Alexa managed to untie the cord around her ankles and stood. Hamp reached out, touched her wrists, took a bent paper clip from his pocket, and in three or four seconds, opened her handcuffs. He bowed again and tossed the impromptu key onto the bed.

Alexa motioned to the children to stay in their places and moved to the window. She heard a door close downstairs and looked out the window, which she unlocked and slowly opened. Looking out through the sleet, she saw headlights approaching from about half a mile away. She knew she had to move fast. The porch roof angled gently away from the house, and she decided that it hadn’t yet collected enough ice to prevent an escape down the trellis, which she believed would support their weight. She turned to the children and beckoned them to move toward her. She turned back, slipped out of the window, and found herself face-to-face with a dark figure standing on the porch roof. A firm, wet hand covered her mouth to keep her from screaming.

“It’s okay, Lex,” Winter whispered.

She saw the headlights of the Jeep that was stopped beside the cruiser.

Alexa climbed outside and Winter handed her his coat. As he climbed carefully and silently into the room, gun in hand, Alexa saw the aluminum bat in Hamp’s hands. When he realized there was no danger, he lowered it from a striking position and set it on the bed. He handed his sister a parka that had been hung on his bedpost by its hood.

She whispered to Winter, “Styer killed Roy and the other deputy. And he said there’s a remotely triggered bomb planted downstairs in the basement.” The children climbed out carefully to join her in the freezing rain.

Winter grabbed the bat and told her, “Be careful, it’s slippery. Get the kids down the road to the cruiser. Tell Leigh not to stop until she gets them to Brad’s office. Help’s on the way out. I’ll throw the bat downstairs when I find Styer.”

“He’s disguised as Dr. Barnett.”

“We know,” Winter said. “Brad figured his father knew Ruger is a she.”

120

AFTER WINTER MADE SURE ALEXA AND THE
Gardner children were on the ground, he slipped rapidly down the rear service steps and peered into the kitchen, where the tip of a silencer was visible under an open tabloid on the table. He saw what appeared to be a wide blood smear leading to a utility room, but he couldn’t take time to look further. Roy Bishop and the other deputy were dead, and most likely Estelle was too.

With the cocked Reeder .45 in hand, safety off and armed with hollow-points, Winter looked down the hallway and moved back out of sight behind the door to the den. By looking at the mirror on a coat tree, Winter could see down the hallway to Styer standing near the front door. Although he knew Styer’s gun was in the kitchen, he figured the professional was armed and that the smaller gun was a backup.

Winter took his cell phone out and waited to press
SEND
until he was ready. Brad had given him his cell phone with the doctor’s number already keyed in as a way to talk to Styer if it became necessary.

When Styer took out the phone, Winter stepped out thirty feet behind him and aimed at Styer’s head. He assumed since Styer was wearing a coat inside the house he was wearing a ballistic vest under it.

Winter had a clean shot, and a bullet fired from the Reeder would blow a large hole in the mass murderer’s head. He had pictured this moment for years, and he knew he should kill Styer now like the mad dog he was. Winter, standing there, with Styer unaware and empty-handed, could not squeeze the trigger, the reality was so abhorrent.

“Hands behind your head, Styer!” Winter yelled out. “Now!”

“You going to arrest me, Deputy Massey?” Styer asked calmly. “Or shoot me in the back?”

Styer sprang through the living room door, leaving Winter wondering if he’d just made the last mistake of his life.

121

FROM BEHIND A TREE, A SCOPED AR
-15
AT THE
ready, Brad watched the figures of Alexa, Cyn, and Hamp leave the cover of the bushes and run down toward the cruiser and the Jeep. The young deputy sheriff who’d been at the roadblock was behind another tree on the opposite side of the yard, armed with a riot gun.

Brad used a flashlight to set the deputy in motion, and then ran to cover the rear of the house from the southwest corner as Winter had said he should. Winter had told them not to enter until he signaled that it was safe to do so, and to shoot Styer down if he left the house. Winter had wanted a clean area of operation where the only other person moving around inside the house would be Styer.

Help was on the way, but the cruisers and EMS were to keep their blue lights off until Brad told them to move up to the house. All he told them was that a killer was impersonating his father.

The deputy outside with the shotgun had been certain that the man in the truck was Dr. Barnett. Now, with Alexa and the children out successfully and all four sides of the house covered from opposite corners, all they had to do was sit tight and wait.

If Brad got a shot at Styer, he would take it, but firing at his father’s image, even if the man had probably killed his father, wasn’t going to be easy. He sincerely hoped Winter would make that unnecessary.

Brad heard a series of shots fired rapidly inside the house, and clicked off his safety. Watching the kitchen window, he saw a shadow move quickly past the glass. A few seconds later, the interior of the house was plunged into darkness. Styer had thrown the main breaker.

122

WINTER KNEW STYER COULD BE ANYWHERE IN THE
rooms that extended along the north side of the house. He had positioned himself at the end of the main hallway where he could see from the front door to the back and down the service hall. With his back to the den door at the base of the service stairs leading up to the second floor, he had Styer hemmed into the north side of the house. If Styer went out through a window to flank his adversary, Brad or the deputy would be positioned at the house’s corners to get a clean shot at him.

With his .45 ready, Winter waited, listening for a floorboard to creak, a shadow from the lighted butler’s pantry, or Styer’s entry into the service hall. Styer suddenly appeared there, faced Winter with a gun in each of his hands, and began firing both at Winter as he moved into the kitchen. Reflexively, Winter rolled back out of the line of sight, but too late, he felt a dull push on his left thigh.

After Styer went in the kitchen, Winter reached down and brought up fingers slicked with his own blood. He could stand, because Styer’s bullet had made a through-and-through wound. Aside from the bleeding, the shot wouldn’t do anything but slow him down and leave a trail of large red drops.

He was about to change position to cover the back and the kitchen doors when he heard a sharp snap and the lights went out.

Winter slipped off his shoes, and with warm blood running down a leg that didn’t want to bear his weight, he started slowly up the rear service steps, holding on to the railing to steady himself.

An explosion followed by the sound of falling glass told him Styer had opened up with one of the handguns, firing at Brad through a window.

If Brad was down, Styer could get away, but Winter knew that fleeing while his arch enemy was alive was the last thing that Paulus Styer would do. Now he had an escape route, which he would use only after he was finished. Winter was going to make him work hard for a kill.

“Gawd alive,” Styer shouted in an exaggerated drawl. “I’ve done gone and kilt my own man-child!”

123

BACK IN THE DARK KITCHEN, STYER REACHED INTO
the valise to retrieve his night vision goggles, which he slipped on. He snapped on the power switch and the room came alive. He grinned and looked through the window over the sink to admire his handiwork. Barnett’s body was on its back in the grass, the rifle off to one side.

Seconds later, a deputy made the mistake of running to check on his boss. Styer aimed his Glock at the side of the cop’s head and squeezed the trigger twice. Thirty feet away, the young man collapsed into the icy grass like a cardboard cutout hit by a sudden wind. His right boot quaked as his neurons figured out they had been disconnected from their command center.

Styer dropped the mostly spent magazines one at a time, replacing one before going to the next gun in case Massey used the pause to attack. Styer went into the eerie green interior of the service hall, aiming the Glocks before him.

Massey was no longer in the doorway to the den, and Styer looked down to see his abandoned shoes and the dark pool of blood. He followed the large wet drops across the floor and onto the stairs where there was more blood smeared on the handrail. He decided Massey would be moving down the hallway upstairs, in an attempt to flank him. When he found the bound-up Keen and the children, it would slow him. Styer could go upstairs and deal with him there, but he would probably get Keen and the kids outside on the roof. Being the valiant idiot he was, Winter would stay inside and keep moving down the hall using the front stairs to flank his adversary.

He had expected more from Massey, and was disappointed in him. Wounded or not, the flanking maneuver was too obvious. Civilian life and a family had slowed his instincts. Styer almost felt sorry for him.

Styer turned and moved slowly down the main hall to wait for Massey to come sneaking along in the dark so he could kill him. Time was getting short. Backup would be coming from town. He would get away, even if an army was surrounding the house, because he had planned for that possibility.

124

WINTER FIGURED STYER HAD CUT OFF THE ELECTRICITY
because it gave him an edge, and since Styer had to figure that Winter knew the layout of the house better than he did, he had to be prepared to operate in the darkness. Only night vision goggles would explain that.

He put himself in Styer’s head and stopped in his tracks. He knew that Styer could follow his blood trail. If he moved, he could be heading straight into Styer, who might be waiting for him at a point where he could watch both sets of stairs and the hallway.

He opened Hamp’s bedroom door, smiling when the hinges squeaked. Inside, he took out his phone and dialed Leigh’s cell phone. After a brief conversation, he left the room and started toward the front stairs, the clock in his head ticking down.

125

IN THE LIVING ROOM WITH THE GLOCKS IN HIS
hands, Paulus Styer sat in a wing chair with a view of the front stairs. He had heard a creaking as Winter opened the door to the boy’s bedroom and smiled. Three minutes or less to wait. Winter would free Alexa and the brats and stay behind to cover their escape. Styer imagined Alexa and the children straggling across the porch roof, climbing down the lattice, and he figured that Leigh Gardner was probably outside in the Jeep—a frightened sow who would not wander far from her trapped piglets. He didn’t care about her. Massey would soon come to keep Styer busy while they got away. But since Alexa knew about the bomb, he would start to look for him immediately, he would have to kill her before he escaped. Without her to tell the authorities about it, the bomb would take up his pursuers’ time and a nice slice of their budget.

Now his entire focus was on Massey—as he had intended from the start. All the rest had just been window dressing. Divine providence, in the form of Kurt Klein, had made it possible.

Styer stifled a yawn with his sleeve, then rested both guns flat against the tops of his legs, ready as a man could be for the next few minutes.

126

WINTER WAS AT THE TOP OF THE FRONT STAIRS,
just out of sight from below.

“Hey, Styer!” Winter yelled down. “You ready to die?”

Styer remained silent, not about to give away his position.

“This is what you wanted, right?” Winter called. “All this death and destruction just for me. Man, you are one sick son of a bitch.”

His taunts were answered only by the ticking grandfather clock.

“Tell you what,” he called. “Turn the lights back on. We stand toe to toe, count to five, and draw. Winner takes all. What do you say? You can’t take me in a fair fight, and you know it, you cowardly sack of shit!”

Winter imagined Styer down there listening, wanting to answer. Winter needed only the first gun flash to give him Styer’s position. He was betting he could fire the .45 and nail Styer before his enemy could get off a second, better-aimed round. Assuming, as was his custom, that Styer was wearing night vision goggles, that would mean the first flash from Styer’s own gun would blind the killer momentarily.

When the grandfather clock started chiming midnight, Winter raised Hamp’s aluminum bat. Five seconds later, the lights in the house came on, and he hurled the bat down the stairs, pleased by the amount of racket it made on the oaken steps. Following the bat’s path, gun in front of him, Winter started down the stairs, leaning against the rail. His wounded leg failed him and he fell, his gun leaving his hand and flying down ahead of him, the stainless steel catching the light as it careened off the polished stairs. The sharp wooden edges of each step battered him as he fell. He was aware of Paulus Styer standing up from a chair, dropping one of the guns to the floor, and clawing at the goggles. Despite that, Styer aimed at the staircase, firing rapidly.