The Last Day (23 page)

“Okay,” Ward said. “I can do that.”

“Is Natasha all right?”

“She's upset.”

“Tell her to relax. We'll deal with this Gismano. Don't worry. I mean it.”

Todd hung up, cranked the car, and raced out of the parking lot. As soon as he got on Bruton Smith Boulevard, he dialed Thumper.

“Thumper, block the driveway until I get there. The stalker is a vet and I have no idea what his level of competence is, so watch your ass. I'm going to make some calls so real help's on the way.”

As he drove eighty miles an hour, Todd picked up the Colt and clipped the holster onto his belt.

SIXTY-FOUR

Leslie Wilde turned into the McCartys’ driveway and was coming around the first turn when she saw the truck parked across her way. A powerfully built man, dressed entirely in black, stepped from
around the truck, his hand resting on a handgun at his side. She had never seen this guard before. As he approached, Leslie fought the urge to roll up the window. This guy was big, and his eyes as intense as a prison guard's in a riot. A film of sweat coated his face, and Leslie's eyes were drawn to the large knife strapped to his left thigh.

“Who are you, and what's your business here?”

“I'm Mr. McCarty's secretary. I came to bring the McCartys a bottle of champagne. To celebrate that he's been cleared.”

The guard leaned down to better see inside. “Wait, you're Mr. Hartman's girlfriend.”

“The McCartys don't know I'm coming. I brought a bottle of champagne to surprise them,” Leslie repeated. She held up the bottle. “I'll just give it to them and go. I thought you guys would be gone.”

“All I know is Mr. Hartman told me there's a stalker around who could be dangerous and to block the driveway. He's sending more guys back here. Not necessary to send me help. I can handle any stalker that shows up around here.”

He chewed his lower lip and nodded. “I'll call the McCartys and let them know you're here. If
they say to, I'll move the truck and let you in.” The guard lifted his cell phone and called a number, and said, “Mr. McCarty Leslie Wilde is here. She's got something for you guys.”

The guard listened to Mr. McCarty's response and closed his phone.

“He says to come in,” the guard told her. “Go slow and I'll follow to watch you until you're safely inside.”

SIXTY-FIVE

“Leslie, you shouldn't have,” Ward said, taking the chilled bottle from her.

“Don't be silly. You guys have to celebrate.”

He closed the door and led Leslie back to the den where Natasha was sitting on the couch. A single candle in a holder set in the fireplace offered the sole illumination for the large room.

“Why are all the lights off in here?” Leslie asked. “Looks like you're having a séance. I figured you'd be dancing.”

“Todd told us to keep the lights off so anybody outside would think we were sleeping.”

“Leslie brought champagne,” Ward said. “I'll get some glasses.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” Natasha said, crossing to kiss Leslie on the cheek.

“It's French,” Leslie said, smiling. “That makes it real champagne.”

“Todd's on his way.” Ward said. “He should be here any time now. We think the man who was in the hole out there could be a man who blames Natasha for his son's death.”

Natasha told Leslie about her Google search that found Gizmo, and the story about the child's death.

“Of course you didn't, but if he thinks you murdered his child, that's what matters. Some medical review board says you didn't screw up and kill the boy, but maybe he believes it was a cover- up. Even if a panel of doctors decided you didn't kill his son, everybody thinks doctors cover up for each other the way cops do.”

“That wasn't the case,” Natasha said. “I operated to save his life. I was totally focused. It's what we couldn't have known that killed him. We could have saved him if there had been some
way to know about that damage. He was hit by a car. There was a lot going on, besides the ruptured kidney that I removed, and his spleen … I stabilized him. But there was a weakened place in his aorta that blew after surgery. The wall split open and by the time we had him back in the OR, he … I did everything I could.”

“You aren't a heart surgeon, are you?” Leslie said.

“I'm not, but there was no time to get one in, and one of the best testified that nobody could have saved the child given the circumstances. The rip was six or seven centimeters long—”

“There's something else. Something strange,” Ward interrupted.
“A
young man named Howard Lindley was driving the car that ran over the boy.”

“Who is Howard Lindley?” Leslie asked. “Wasn't he the boy who got high and murdered three of his friends?”

“Yes,” Natasha said. “Same young man.”

“Howard Lindley's father is a well- connected attorney, and Howard got probation for that hit-and- run, so what if Gizmo's father wasn't happy about that and set him up by killing his friends? What if he was watching Howard like he's been
watching us, and made it look like Howard snapped and killed his friends? Howard is in prison for murder. He murdered his friends in a blind rage, no recollection of any of it. It's possible, isn't it? That he was set up? The courts failed to punish Gismano's son's killer. For any man that's got to be hard to handle.”

“It's scary,” Leslie said.

“Gizmo's father was there at the hospital. Where was his mother?” Ward asked.

Natasha thought for a moment and said, “I don't know.”

“You never talked to her?” Leslie asked.

“No. I suppose someone from the hospital staff dealt with her and her husband. After security told me he'd been arrested, I went back to other surgeries I had scheduled.”

Natasha started crying. “If I could have saved him, I would have done whatever it would have taken. All I can tell you is I did the best I could. It's how I do things.”

SIXTY-SIX

Natasha and Leslie were seated on the couch.

Everyone's heads snapped around as there was a loud tapping on the front door.

“Probably Todd,” Ward said. “I'll let him in.” He took the gun and went to the door. Looking out through the tall glass panel beside the door he saw Todd looking down at his cell phone. Todd put it to his ear, took it away looked at the readout, and closed it.

Ward opened the door, holding the gun behind him.

“Is Thumper in here?” Todd asked.

“No,” Ward said.

“His truck was blocking the driveway. I tried to call him, but I don't have a signal. Turn off the porch light.”

Ward cut the light. “He walked Leslie in ten minutes ago. I saw him outside when she got here. He told her he was going to take a walk around the property,” Ward said.

“Bixby and two other guys are on the way
from Charlotte.” Todd looked at his watch. “They should be here in an hour.”

Ward locked the door and followed Todd to the den, putting the revolver on the mantel.

“Hello, Leslie,” Todd said.

“Todd. Want a glass of champagne?”

“No, and before I forget.…” Reaching into his jacket, Todd took out the prototype and handed it to Ward, who studied it in the candlelight.

“Any problems?” Ward asked.

“None, but I found out a few things since we last spoke. First, the Scotch was laced with Rohypnol. The drug in Natasha's wine is a hyper tension drug whose main side effect is tremors.”

“Rohypnol—the date rape drug,” Natasha said. “That explains Ward's time lapses and memory loss, and the other drug accounts for my shaking hands.”

“The alarm logs don't show anything, so he figured a way around it to plant the drugs and play mind games with you. Now, Gismano. I called a friend of mine at Bragg, who, it turns out has an open file on Louis Gismano, and was interested that he might be hiding out around here.”

Ward sat down in the chair.

“Sergeant Gismano was Special Forces, which isn't good for us. He was in for twelve years. He was married in ’98 to Evelyn Merrit, and Louis Jr. was their only child. Gismano served with distinction in the second Gulf War, and in Afghanistan, where he received the Bronze Star. Shortly after his son died, he left the service, and nobody's heard anything from him since. My friend told me the driver of the car that killed his son had insurance that settled for half a million dollars. Louis took the money and dropped off the radar.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

“Nobody's heard from him or his wife since he left the Army. The wife's parents filed a missing-person report on her, and they believe Louis killed her. He thought she betrayed him. They both vanished. The mother said Evelyn was having an affair with a sergeant named Ross, who also disappeared from his apartment. The missing sergeant—a Special Forces training officer—made a career of sleeping with the wives of men overseas, and if he is dead, the list of suspects would be lengthy. Gismano started out as a communications specialist, but in Afghanistan
he killed three Taliban honchos with a knife during a mission.”

“So, he's a serious threat,” Ward said.

“A
very scary individual,” Todd said. “If he thinks Natasha killed his son, we have to take this very seriously. I'm no match for this guy, and neither are my men.”

“So what can we do?” Natasha asked. “Can we reason with him?”

“Well, this guy probably isn't looking to dialog. If he's made up his mind, that's it.”

“And he's probably unbalanced,” Leslie added.

“Probably,” Todd said. “I'm going to ask the military at Bragg to put some of their people on finding him. It's a long shot, but I still know people there and I think they might like to nip this in the bud themselves. Men like Louis Gismano are forces of nature, and can only be handled by men just like them.”

“Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated,” Ward said. The thought of being targeted by a man like the one Todd described was truly terrifying.

“It's cold comfort, but he might not actually be intending to harm you,” Todd said. “We know he's been watching you for a long time.
He could have poisoned or killed you in a number of ways if that was his intention.”

“If he means us no harm,” Natasha asked, “why would he be here at all? If he blames me for his child's death, what else could he be after?”

“He is a surveillance expert. Likely he's been collecting intelligence.”

“But you said he's a killer,” Leslie said. “That Sergeant Ross he may have killed was Special Forces, wasn't he? The military thinks he killed his wife, too, don't they?”

“My friend said Louis's wife was in a motel room with Ross when their son was hit. Evelyn's sister was with the boy. Betrayal isn't something Gismano would take lightly. And a betrayal that he thought killed his son.…”

“But it wouldn't have been the mother's fault. I mean, she obviously trusted her sister with the boy.”

Todd looked at Leslie and shrugged.

“Howard Lindley ran over Gizmo,” Ward said. “He got a slap on the wrist for the hit- and-run. That had to have pissed Louis off.”

“He was on drugs when he hit the child,” Natasha said.

“Howard Lindley, the driver of the car that killed Gismano's son, was convicted of murdering three of his friends. He said he was framed,” Ward said. “I think Louis killed Lindley's friends and set it up so he'd be blamed.”

“That's pretty far- fetched,” Todd said.

“Is it?” Ward asked. “Is it more likely that the kid snapped and suddenly killed his friends?”

“I followed the trial,” Todd said. “The kid was guilty as they come. He bragged to people on several occasions about running over Louis's sister- in- law and his son. He said he knocked the kid out of the ballpark.”

“Can you find out what Louis looks like?”

“When I get the files,” Todd said. “My friend's e-mailing them from Bragg. All I know is he's six feet tall, weighs one seventy- eight, and was bald when last seen. The boys will be here soon. Until then, we hunker down,” Todd said.

“You can use my computer,” Leslie said.

Todd typed and watched the screen, and frowned. “No server.”

“It was fine a little while ago.”

“Your wireless is DSL, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha said.

Todd opened his phone again, saw that there still was no service, and snapped it closed.

“Where's the landline?”

He picked up a remote unit from the bar and tried to make a call.

“What's the matter?” Leslie asked.

“It's dead,” Todd said.

“The line?” Ward asked.

“Yes,” Todd said. “Probably cut.”

Ward picked up his cell and it also had no signal. “I don't have one either,” he said.

“Why is there no cellular signal?” Natasha asked. “We always have a great signal here. There's a tower a quarter mile away. How could anybody cut that line?”

Todd took out his own .45 and said, “I'm going to go outside, find Thumper, and wait for the men to get here.”

“You didn't answer Natasha,” Ward said.

“It's possible the signal is being jammed,” Todd said.

“Louis Gismano,” Ward said, looking at the revolver. “Jesus.”

“It's possible,” Todd said. “Keep the doors locked and stay right here with the women. Louis Gismano is good, but he isn't bulletproof.
If he gets in don't talk to him. Just shoot before he gets within ten feet. If he starts moving toward you, fire. I just need some makeup.”

“How well do you know Thumper?” Leslie asked Todd.

“He's worked for me on a few occasions, why? He seems very adept.”

“He's sort of creepy, and he was wearing a big survival knife a little while ago,” Leslie said.

“A
survival knife?” Todd asked, frowning.

“Security guards don't need survival knives, do they?” Natasha asked.

Todd shook his head. “You're sure it wasn't a flashlight case or something?”

“It's a large knife,” Ward said. “I saw it, too.”

Todd slipped off his shirt, exposing a black T-shirt. He went to the fireplace and reached down and began to rub his hands on the fire-blackened stone. He began smearing the soot onto his arms, his face, the back and front of his neck. When he was done, he wiped his palms off on the front of his jeans.