Tahoe Dark (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 14) (45 page)

“But Evan didn’t torment you, did she? I’ve met her, Jonas. I can imagine that she might have been rude and brusque and even dismissive of you back in high school. But did she go beyond that? From what I know of her, I doubt it. Yet you were willing to let her take the blame for the murders.”

Jonas didn’t reply.

I waited, wanting to charge forward and grab him but not wanting him to leap into the water, where I’d have to swim after him as he raced to the the small powerboat.

After ten long seconds came his voice, a high, wrenching tenor, garbled behind the hockey mask, and choked with tears. “I was just a little kid in elementary school, eleven years old, when the Three Gs came after me. That’s short for Three Geniuses. That’s what those scum called themselves. They were so stupid, they thought that was clever. They trapped me in the corner of the school playground and put dog shit down my shirt.

“So I threw the dog shit at them. The teacher didn’t see what they did, but she did see me. I got suspended! They called the apartment where I lived. But of course my stepfather wasn’t around. He was off in San Francisco putting together another one of his scams. I was living with neighbors in the same building as the Three Gs. And the neighbor lady was too busy to come to school and sign the form for them to let me back in. Because of that, I had to spend ten days stuck at home before they let me back in school.”

Jonas backed up against the rail at the bow of the boat. His body leaned out over the water below, but he was held in place by his boot heel, which he hooked on the lower railing.

“The second time the Three Gs did it, I ran to the teacher and showed her. She thought I’d faked it and said I was disgusting. Later, because I’d told the teacher, the Three Gs beat me up, slamming my head onto the ground. I had to go to the doctor and get thirteen stitches in my head. The entire year was like that. I had to endure some kind of torture at least once a week.” Jonas stopped for a moment. I could hear him crying.

“Every new school year, they came up with a new torture. Even after they dropped out of school, they would hold me down and cut off my hair in weird patterns. They poured urine down the front of my pants so that it looked like I urinated on myself. They stole my books, partially burned them, then left them on the principal’s doorstep so he could find them with my name inside. And you know why? They said it was the toll that brainiacs had to pay to make the world fair.

“I was fourteen when my plan for revenge began to take shape. There was nothing I could conceive of that would be sufficient for the years of torture they put me through. But I made sure they could see me during their last moments. That was sweet, sweet, revenge.”

“But why put Evan through such revenge?”

“They were looking for me after school one day. I hid inside the apartment maintenance shed. It was the best hiding place. They never would have found me. But Evan saw me as I went in. She told them where I was. They gave me the worst beating of my life.”

“Evan was just a kid, too, right?” I said. “Most kids do crappy things at some point. But she didn’t participate in beating you, did she? Maybe she was forced to tell them where you were. Later, they raped her, Jonas. They committed a worse crime against her than they ever did against you.”

“Telling them where to find me was still a crime! It was terrible to be sold out!” He was panting hard, his enraged breaths making a shrill noise as the air rushed through the slots in the hockey mask. Gradually, his breathing slowed. When he resumed talking, his voice was a low hiss.

“They committed hate crimes against me. For that, they had to pay. Even my evil stepdad got his punishment. He ridiculed me from the time I was a little kid, saying that my acne was my fault and that I would never get a girl if I acted so nerdy. He was clever, and he knew how to dupe people, but he was stupid and mean. Just like the rest of them. He pretended to be a caretaker for the three big bands that kept houses on the lake. He skimmed their accounts by making up fake charges for fake repairs. What a small-timer! Padding the maintenance bills! He wrote the alarm codes in his book. It was so easy to look at his booking calendar and see when the bands were out of town. For years, I’ve had access to their houses and cars and boats.”

Jonas reached his left hand up and drew a ski pole spear from the quiver.

“Don’t do it, Jonas. Sergeant Martinez has you in his sights. He’s an excellent marksman.”

“Look, I’m turning myself in. I just thought you’d want to see how it works. The tennis racket woomera. The ski pole spear. I used ancient aboriginal principles, but I’ve created a new weapon. Much more efficient. And because it’s a tennis racket, it’s completely disguised.”

Diamond said, “Raise that racket above your shoulder, you’re dead.”

“See,” Jonas continued as if he hadn’t heard Diamond speak, “you just nock the back end of the spear into the upper rim of the tennis racket, like this.” He placed the notched end of ski pole spear against the outer end of the racket as he spoke. The spear seemed to click into place. “Kind of like nocking an arrow onto a bowstring. But instead of an arrow lying against the bow for support, the spear lies against the racket. Your fingertips hold the spear next to the racket handle so you can easily carry it. The spear is longer than the racket, but the extra length is hidden behind your forearm. It’s a brilliant design. When it comes time to hurl the spear, you release your fingertips as you begin your swing. The spear tip swings out and up while the end of the racket propels the spear to a very high speed by pushing against the end of the spear, the same way a bowstring propels an arrow from its end. After a little practice, you can get the spear to go wherever you like, not unlike the way you can direct a tennis ball. It’s very powerful as you’ve already seen.” He began to raise the racket out from his waist as if to show us.

“Drop your weapon!” Diamond said. “Drop it now!”

“Okay, okay! Don’t get so tense. I’ll set it down on the deck.”

Diamond was rock steady aiming his gun as Jonas slowly stepped forward across the foredeck above the sleeping berth. When Jonas was a few feet from Diamond, he bent over and laid the racket with its nocked spear down on the roof deck above the main cabin.

Diamond made a little head movement toward me even though he kept his gun and his eyes on Jonas. I leaned over, reached across the deck, picked up the racket and spear, and stepped away.

“Now your quiver,” Diamond said. His gun was just four feet from Jonas’s chest.

“I have to reach my hands above my shoulder to get it off.”

“Move very slowly.”

Jonas reached up to the quiver strap and slipped it off his shoulder. He used his other hand to grab the quiver by its open end.

“I’m going to put it down where I set the racket,” he said.

Diamond didn’t move.

Gripping the quiver across its open end, Jonas bent over and gently lowered the quiver to the deck. “There. All safe. You can now...” He flipped the quiver toward Diamond, making Diamond jerk his gun out of the way.

Like a sprinter just out of the starting blocks, Jonas exploded forward. He took two steps and leaped up onto the roof of the pilothouse. He took another step and then jumped up into the air.

Diamond swung his gun around and fired.

Jonas landed with both feet on the hatch in the pilothouse roof.

I saw that he’d grabbed one of the ski pole spears as he’d tossed the quiver. He held the spear next to him, its oily sheen catching the light, as he crashed through the shattered hatch and dropped out of sight down into the space where Evan and Mia lay.

SIXTY-FOUR

I ran along the narrow deck at the side of the pilothouse while Diamond ran down the opposite side. I heard the crank of the engine starter motor. The engine rumbled, then roared. The boat moved forward with a sudden jerk, nearly sending me running off the stern into the lake.

I caught myself by grabbing the side rail.

The boat accelerated fast, the bow rising into the air. I realized that Jonas must have detached the mooring line when he was at the bow. The big boat rumbled at full throttle, heading west into the lake.

I got to the rear pilothouse door just before Diamond. I was wondering if Spot was standing guard over Mia and Evan when his growl roared from within. Then came a scream.

The boat jerked into a left turn as I pulled open the pilothouse door.

All I could see in the dark was the pile of yellow raincoats, a tussle of movement in the center of the space, and the scary hockey mask appearing to float in the darkness. Spot’s deep growl mixed with Jonas’s high-pitched cry. It seemed as if Spot was shaking Jonas. There was a thrashing motion that moved toward the doorway.

Diamond was to one side of the door, his gun up, but not aimed. He knew that the two women and Spot were both in the way.

Then Spot appeared. He had his jaws around Jonas’s right thigh and was dragging him backward toward the doorway, away from Evan and Mia. His growl was ferocious.

I couldn’t see the spear. I reached in past Spot, and grabbed Jonas by his left arm, one hand around his bicep, the other hooking into his belt. Diamond appeared next to me, still holding his gun. With his left hand, he grabbed the spear which Jonas held in his right hand. Diamond jerked the spear away from Jonas’s grasp and tossed it toward the stern of the boat where it clattered toward the stowage bins.

“Okay, Spot, you can let go,” I shouted.

He released Jonas’s thigh.

I jerked Jonas out through the door onto the aft deck. Despite my hold on him, he was as strong as a wild animal, writhing and jerking in unpredictable ways. Spot stayed next to Jonas, snapping and growling. Diamond raised his gun with both hands but hesitated.

I pulled on Jonas, dragging him away from the pilothouse. He grabbed a support rail. I pulled his hand free. My feet were slipping on the wet deck. The boat was leaning hard to port as it arced around in a sharp left turn. Behind the boat, the canoe was bouncing violently on the waves of the wake, its bow line still hooked on the cleat where Diamond had tossed it. As the big boat turned, it looked like it might ram into one of the other boats that was moored not far away.

I reached to grab the stern rail for support. Once I could force Jonas down on the deck, Diamond could cuff him.

But Jonas looked past me toward the following canoe as if thinking that it represented a potential avenue of escape. Like a cornered animal that fights to the death, he lunged again, this time surprising me by leaping toward me using my pull to accelerate himself. Jonas twisted in a way I didn’t expect, and my hand came off his arm.

Jonas might have succeeded in leaping right past me and into the water. But before I could react, Spot reached out and caught Jonas’s ankle. Spot’s grip was firm and he arrested Jonas’s leap, jerking him back out of the air.

Jonas crashed backward down onto the edge of the boat, his lungs making a loud whomphing exhalation as he hit, his body bending backward over the gunwale. His feet were on the aft deck surface, the small of his back on the boat’s gunwale edge, and his head bending back and down toward the rushing black water just below. The hockey mask flew off and fell toward the canoe behind us.

Jonas had his wind knocked out of him. He opened his mouth but could not find air to speak. With great apparent effort, he raised up his head. The look on his face was astonishment. But he wasn’t looking at Diamond or me or even Spot. He was looking at the point of the bloody ski pole spear protruding from his abdomen just below the base of his sternum. He stared at it, trying to comprehend how the ski pole that Diamond had tossed could have fallen into the stowage bin and lodged with the deadly end pointing up.

Jonas’s eyes didn’t lose their surprise. But even in the dark, we could tell that they lost their seeing. I gave Spot the okay to let go of his leg.

The racing boat had come full circle and was about to crash into the largest of the moored cruisers.

Diamond holstered his gun, and we rushed into the pilothouse.

Diamond jerked back on the shifter, pulling it from Forward to Neutral. He spun the wheel to starboard.

The big boat straightened out as it slowed. I saw the larger cruiser out the port windows. Diamond continued to turn the wheel. The boat made a glancing blow against the side of the cruiser, then headed away toward open water as we coasted to a stop.

The mound of yellow raincoats hadn’t moved.

“Can you find a light?” I said.

I heard Diamond move. A reading light flipped on at the chart table. It was enough to see.

I sat on the edge of the bench.

“Can you hear me, Mia?” I said in a soft voice. “It’s Owen. Everything is okay. The bad men are gone. I’m going to lift off these raincoats. I need to make sure you and Evan are warm. Okay?”

I peeled back the layers and got down to Mia, who was still draped over Evan. Mia had her arms around Evan. She was crying. She lifted her head and looked up at me. In the dim light, I could see that her eyes were swollen and red, her face wet with tears.

“Is Evan okay?” Mia asked, her voice cracking with fear and worry. “It’s dark,” she sobbed. “I can’t see if she’s okay. It’s too dark. I’m afraid.”