Time. Running out of time.
I slipped the pistol into my waistband. Picked up the gas can again. Kicked the drapes against the wall. I opened up the gas can, tipped it over with my foot. The stench of gasoline came quickly to my nostrils as the gasoline burbled out over the carpet and to the drapes.
I tore off my gloves, put them in the pile as well, along with the remaining tape on my arm, the stun gun, and my equipment bag.
Back to the fireplace, picked up a box of matches. Sweat was running down my back. I took my handkerchief out, opened the door. And stepped outside into the blessedly cool and free air.
I turned and started lighting off the matches. One, two, three. Each time I lit the match I tossed it into the living room
They all sputtered out.
Sirens were sounding off in the distance.
Another match flared, flew to the living room, where it fell at the right place. Flames rolled and roared up, and I took the box of matches and tossed it into the now-roaring flames.
I slowly and carefully backed away, and the last thing I saw was the body of Curt Chesak, on the floor, arms at its side.
With no head.
Outside, I walked as far as I could from the house. There was a large boulder to the right of the driveway, and I sat down. I took my Beretta out of my waistband and dropped it to the grass. I tried my very best not to move my right leg. From one of my pockets, I took out a small flashlight, lit up the surroundings. My Beretta was there. I aimed the flashlight at my left foot, which was tingling. I moved my foot about. Nothing seemed to hurt, nothing seemed to be bleeding. I twisted my foot about, saw the heel of my torn sneaker. Lucky shot for me, not so lucky shot for Curt Chesak.
Over at the house, the interior was a bubbling orange, and then a near window shattered, and there was a whoosh and roar as oxygen rushed in to feed the fire. The flames bulged out and up and spread up the near walls. Something morose seemed to settle around my spirit, thinking once again of my poor house back in Tyler Beach, seeing once again the flames dancing around the place that had been my home for years.
I suppose I should have also felt something profound at that moment. Of justice being served. Of a debt being paid. Of Diane Woods, in a coma miles away, who’d never have to fear this man ever again.
Instead, my right leg was hurting so much that I gasped every few minutes. I was cold. My hands were shaking. And I had a desperate need to urinate.
Nothing profound, but damn true.
Sirens were louder.
I looked down the driveway. Red and blue lights led up the far trees, and I saw headlights approach. I held my arms out, and waited.
As chance would have it, Officer Templar was the first on the scene. He came up to me, flashlight in hand, and I said “I’m unarmed, but I’m shot. Right leg. I also have a pistol on the ground in front of me. It’s on safe.”
“I’ll be damned… Cole, the writer?”
“The same.”
“What the hell’s going on here?”
“Wish I could say.”
Two fire engines came up the driveway, and I felt better seeing an ambulance from the Osgood Volunteer Ambulance Squad bring up the rear.
Part of the house’s roof collapsed in a shower of flame, smoke, and sparks.
Less than a half hour later, I was in an emergency room bay at the famed Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center in Lebanon, New Hampshire. Surgeons and nurses fussed and worked over my wounded leg.
By then I had drugs going into my system and the ache of my right leg seemed to lift right up, like a lake mist, and then I was told I was going to surgery, and that seemed very fine to me.
I woke up here and there, sipping some water and beef broth from very helpful and beautiful nurses who took good care of me, and I was once led around my hospital room to do something important, like pee in a bottle, and when I finally woke up for real, one arm had an IV tube running into it and my other arm was handcuffed to my bed.
Interesting combination.
I peered down at my right leg. Heavily bandaged and suspended in air.
Lay back down in bed. Tried to relax, and by damn, I did fall asleep.
Again I woke up, and a young nurse in scrubs with fine blond hair bustled around, checking my vitals, checking my bandages, and she gave me a bed bath and apologized in advance for assaulting whatever was left of my dignity, and, remembering the scores of times I had been in the hospital before, I just smiled and let her do her work.
A tall surgeon with big hands and small, laughing eyes came in and gave me a thorough medical debrief of my gunshot wound, explained the surgery, and said in a hopeful tone that major arteries and tendons had been missed, and while the leg would ache like the proverbial son-of-a-bitch on occasion in the future, I should have a relatively clean recovery.
He shut his clipboard and glanced down at my handcuffed wrist. “Medically speaking, you’re going to be in fine shape, Mister Cole. As to legally speaking… I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”
“Not a problem. I appreciate what you and everyone else have done.”
He looked back at the door. “There’s someone here to see you from the State Police. I’ve been asked to let him in if I think you’re ready to be questioned. But if you’d like to take another day or two off… ”
I shook my head. “Go ahead, let him in. I don’t mind.”
The doctor nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you again later tonight.”
He left and a minute later, Detective Pete Renzi came in, not looking particularly happy as he closed the door behind him.
Renzi scraped a chair over, sat down. He looked very much like a man trying to keep things under control. I kept my face as bland as possible, looking right back at him.
Then he lost it.
“You stupid damn fool! You didn’t goddamn listen to me, did you! Went out bumbling on your own, got a bullet in your leg, probably damn near got killed after I had warned you… and what happened in Osgood is not only the lead goddamn story in every newspaper and television station in New England, it’s even made the friggin’ New York Times and all the major networks!”
He paused, face red, breathing hard. I moved some, the handcuff rattling on my bed railing.
“Gee, dear,” I said. “We never talk anymore.”
I didn’t think Renzi was the kind of guy to slap a handcuffed patient, but he sure looked tempted. “Let me tell you what we got going on in Osgood, okay?”
“Sure. I’m not going anywhere.”
And I rattled the handcuff once more for emphasis.
He leaned forward. “You want to know why? I’ve got you, with a bullet in your leg. You were found about fifty feet away from a remote luxury home that was burning to the ground when police and fire units got there. State fire marshal’s office quickly determined the cause of the fire was arson. And when we poked through the ruins, we found three bodies. All male. All missing their heads. Care to say anything about that, Lewis?”
“Not at the moment.”
“I didn’t think so. Plus there’s the fact that your own house burned down a few days ago, also by arson. Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
I rattled the handcuff again. “They happen, don’t they.”
“In my line of work, we hate coincidences.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“We’ll see just how sorry you can be, Lewis.”