The FBI Thrillers Collection (55 page)

One
moment there was only the sound of Captain DeLoach’s soft snoring. The next there was a man’s voice, speaking quietly, right there, right next to Captain DeLoach’s wheelchair.

“Wake up, old man. Come on now, you can do it. It’s Weldon, and I’m here to make sure that it’s over, at least for you. Wake up, you old monster, wake up. I’m going to mete out the only justice you’ll ever get in this world, and I want you awake for this.”

Captain DeLoach jerked awake, snorted, looked up, and whispered, “Weldon, how did you get in here? There’s cops out there protecting me, lots of them. And the Feds, they’re everywhere looking for you. You’d better run while you’ve got the chance. How did you come in through the sliding doors? I always keep them locked.”

“You old fool, I have a key to the sliding doors. Not a soul saw me, for sure not that one cop chatting up Velvet in
the reception area. And the other one who’s supposed to be protecting you—I saw him out in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. There’s just the two of them, old man.

“It’s finally time for you. For more than thirty years you’ve thumbed your nose at everybody. Now it stops. No more time for any big announcements to anyone else from you. It’s simple justice, you know it.”

“You think you can manage it this time when you didn’t the last two times, you little wimp?”

“I was trying to scare you, not kill you, you monster. I didn’t think I’d have to kill you then. Is your brain so far gone you can’t remember that?

“But this time, I am going to kill you. All your threats to tell the world what you are will die with you. After that fall you took—I really hoped you’d die, but you’re still tough, aren’t you? Why didn’t you make your big announcement?”

Captain DeLoach said, grinning widely, “Of course I’m tough, but no one could tell that by looking at you, you little pussy. I didn’t say anything because I wanted to torture you more, boy. Make you wonder, worry when the blow was going to fall. Threatening your daddy, trying to scare him—nearly to death—that’s not a nice thing, you know. And you left me there, lying on the floor, my head all bloody.”

“Shut up. No more abuse from you, old man, no more.”

“I’m still your only daddy, you puking coward. Jesus, I can’t believe that you’re actually part of me, although your mother was weak, always whining, just like you. And then she died, and it was just you and me, but you weren’t strong, you weren’t a man, you were just like her. And then you just up and left after high school, believed you’d escaped me. Well, I was sick of you, I wanted you out of there.

“But I kept tabs on you, boy. After all, you were the only one who knew. I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t ever tell anyone. And now you want to kill your own daddy.”

“Quiet! Just shut up, damn you. No more threats, no more lies. I’m going to send you to hell, where you belong.”

Weldon paused a moment, then said, “What I really can’t believe is just how long you’ve lasted.” He reached into his pocket.

Nick said, “No, Weldon, you’re not going to do anything to your father. Step away from him.”

Weldon DeLoach jerked up, appalled and surprised as he looked into the muzzle of the SIG Sauer, held in the hand of that homeless woman he’d seen on TV. What the hell was she doing here? He straightened slowly, took a step back.

The old man laughed, rubbed his arthritic hands together. “She’s my own personal bodyguard, Weldon. You thought there was only two cops. Not a chance. She’s here, staying right in my room. What do you think about them apples? She sharp, or what? Salute her, Weldon, she’s with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She’s a special agent.”

Weldon kicked at his father’s wheelchair, missed, and yelled, “You moron, she’s not a cop. She’s a homeless woman who just happened to see things that would make her a real danger to the murderer.”

“What shouldn’t she have seen, Weldon?”

“The murderer just after he killed the priest in San Francisco.”

“Hey, does she think it’s you?”

Weldon was still blond today, deeply tanned, his eyes a pale blue. Nick wasn’t at all good with guessing people’s age, but if she had to, she’d say he was easily in his forties. Was it makeup? Contacts? Or was this the way he really looked? Nick simply didn’t know if he was the man she’d seen in the church. Maybe disguised, but she knew she’d be useless in court. She held the gun steady, knew she had to get him down to the floor, get him tied up so she could breathe again, so she could think, get help. She was
scared, almost as scared as she’d been when she had faced John Rothman.

Still, she had to try. She said, “To be real accurate, Weldon, yes, I saw you.” She continued, now looking back at the old man, “Sir, I saw Weldon in a church just after he’d murdered Father Michael Joseph. And he’s killed other people as well. He wrote TV scripts, then copied them in real life. I’m sorry, but he is a very evil man.”

Captain DeLoach said, “Hey, you really mean that? Nah, that doesn’t make any sense. Weldon’s a pussy. No spine in that back of his, just mush. You really a homeless woman? Fancy that, I won’t have to pay you, will I? You don’t expect anything because you’re not an officer, right?”

“Right, this is for free,” Nick said, not looking at the grinning old man, who really did sound pleased as punch.

“You said Weldon is a murderer? He’s really a criminal?”

The old man laughed. “Listen to me, girl, you’re all wrong about this. Weldon couldn’t kill a roach if it crawled over his bare feet and started gnawing on his toe. He’s a coward.”

“Sir, please be quiet.” She adjusted her aim with the SIG just a bit and said to Weldon, “I want you to lie on your stomach on the floor. Now.” It was aimed right at his chest.

“No,” he said. “I can’t. I haven’t killed anyone. Don’t you see? It’s this filthy old man who’s the monster. You can’t believe the havoc he’s wrought. This is justice, dammit.”

“What are you talking about?”

Captain DeLoach laughed. “Yeah, tell her, Weldon. Tell her why you want to murder your dear old dad.”

“No, she doesn’t need to know. Listen, I’ve got no bloody choice. Believe me, sister, this crazy old man richly deserves it.”

“Why does he deserve to die?”

Captain DeLoach started laughing again, spittle pooling in the corners of his mouth, flecked with blood.

Nick said, “Come on, Weldon, what on earth are you talking about?”

In that moment, Weldon grabbed the arms of Captain DeLoach’s wheelchair and shoved hard. Nick had only an instant. As the chair rammed into her, she fired. The shot went wide, shattering the TV screen. Captain DeLoach’s arm flew up to gain balance, and he struck her wrist. The SIG flew out of her hand and skidded across the floor to land just beneath Captain DeLoach’s bed.

Nick froze, expecting Weldon to pull out his own gun and shoot both of them. There’d already been one shot, why not more? But he didn’t have much time. Nursing home staff would burst in there in just a couple of seconds. She had to protect the old man. She raced around in front of Captain DeLoach’s wheelchair.

But Weldon didn’t try to shove her aside, didn’t draw a gun to kill her. He just ran out through the glass doors, yelling back at her, “You’ve made the worst mistake you’ll ever make in your life!”

Seconds later, Nurse Carla, a cop behind her, burst in to see Nick Jones racing out the glass sliding doors, a gun in her hand.

Captain DeLoach was sitting in his chair. He was smiling, looked happy as a clam, singing “Eleanor Rigby.”

Nick saw Weldon racing toward a small black car, Japanese, she thought, maybe a Toyota, but she couldn’t be sure. Where was that cop who was supposedly out here smoking a cigarette? She didn’t see anyone. She yelled, “Stop, Weldon! Or I’ll shoot, I mean it!”

But he didn’t. Nick raised the gun, then realized she didn’t need to fire at him. She aimed at the tires of the black car just as he flung open the driver’s-side door and threw himself in.

She fired, hitting both back tires just as he gunned the engine and roared out of the parking spot, rubber and
smoke spewing out of the tires. Soon he’d be driving on the rims and that wouldn’t last long.

Weldon was keeping his head down, afraid she’d shoot him. She saw the instant he knew she’d hit his tires. The car swerved madly to the left. As the rubber was finally stripped away, the god-awful screeching of steel against concrete filled the air.

Nick kept firing until she’d shot ten of the fifteen rounds in the SIG. She stopped, to save the remaining bullets. She’d hit the two back tires; that had to at least slow him. She started running. She wanted more than anything to pull him out of that car.

The car swerved wildly from side to side. The tires were smoking, grinding, the steel beneath raw on the concrete, tearing it up. The stench of burning rubber filled her nostrils.

She watched him suddenly jerk the car to the right and head it directly into the pine woods that began about forty yards from the east side of the rest home. He crashed it into a pine tree. Smoke billowed up, black and thick, and then it was quiet.

She saw him dragging winter clothes out of the car and running into the woods.

“Stop!”

Nick headed after him, the SIG still in her right hand. She realized then she wasn’t wearing warm clothes. She’d run out of Captain DeLoach’s room with nothing but her V-necked red sweater over a white blouse, jeans, and boots.

She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to fail now, she couldn’t. This madness had to stop and she was the only one there who could stop it. She heard him crashing through the undergrowth ahead of her. How far? Twenty feet?

She saw Father Michael Joseph’s face in her mind’s eye, a beautiful face, open, rich with intelligence and humor. He was laughing at something he’d just told her about King Edward. And now, because of Weldon DeLoach, no
one would ever see that smile again or hear that laugh. So like Dane, and so different, but not in the ways that counted. Both put themselves on the line for others, both had a core of honor. She realized in that instant that she didn’t want to let Dane out of her life, ever.

Weldon had to be just ahead, not that far. Wait, she couldn’t hear him crashing through the trees anymore. Had he fallen? Was he hiding, lying in wait for her?

Before she could react, he grabbed her around the neck and hauled her back against him. His other hand was on her arm, trying to pull the SIG out of her hand. But she wasn’t about to let go. She pulled and twisted, but he pulled his arm tighter. “Damn you, be quiet. Let that gun drop. Now!”

Nick yelled at the top of her lungs, jerked as hard as she could, and drove her elbow into his stomach. He yelled, his hold loosened just a bit. She jerked the SIG down and pulled the trigger. She shot him in the foot.

He screamed, released her. He was dancing in place, trying to grab his foot, his eyes wild with pain.

Sherlock, Savich, and Dane saw the dance, saw her standing there, the gun dangling in her hand, breathing hard, staring at Weldon DeLoach. Flynn and Delion came up to stand beside them.

“Jesus, woman,” Dane said, reaching her first. She turned, white-faced, and he forgot every curse word he’d stored up. “Ah, dammit, Nick,” he said, and pulled her against him. “Just look at you. You’re freezing, you twit.”

“No, I’m not,” she said against his shoulder. “Be careful, Dane, you might hurt your arm.”

“My arm? You’re worried about my arm?” He couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. He saw Flynn and Delion pull Weldon DeLoach to the ground, Flynn pulling off the guy’s boot to wrap his parka sleeve around the wound.

Flynn looked up, grinned at her. “Congratulations, Dr. Campion, you brought down the perp. They don’t exactly teach you that a foot wound is the way to go, but hey, I’m
not about to argue with success. Okay, Weldon, shut your trap.”

“You know,” she said.

“Yeah,” Dane said, “we know, but it’s not important now.”

“It hurts, dammit!”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet,” Flynn said, and came down on his haunches beside Weldon. He looked straight down into that face, and read him his rights.

“No, I don’t need an attorney. I didn’t do anything. You’ve got to listen to me.”

Savich, who was standing over him, said in a quiet voice, “So now you didn’t do anything?”

“I didn’t commit those script murders! Yes, I came up with the idea for the series, but I had nothing to do with those murders. They’re horrible. I don’t know who’s responsible. It may be someone at the studio, someone who worked on the series. But I don’t know who.”

Sherlock said, “I see. So it has nothing at all to do with the fact that you seem to be trying your best to murder your father?”

“No, dammit. Do you have any idea what he’s done to me all my life?”

Weldon looked ill, but he held on, sucked in a deep breath.

“No, no one knows anything,” Delion said. “Listen, Weldon, someone murdered four people in San Francisco. You hired that moron Milton to kill Nick at the funeral because she saw you in the church. Then there’s Pasadena. It’s times like this I’m really glad I live in California and we’ve got the death penalty. They’re gonna cook you, Weldon.”

The pain was glazing his eyes. He was holding his foot, crying, pleading. “No, listen to me, I wouldn’t kill anybody. I’m not like that.”