Sam Marset’s execution had required an entire week of thought and planning, and The Bookkeeper had braced for its repercussions. A backlash was to be expected, even hoped for, because the louder the communal gasp over such a bloody deed, the stronger the impact was on those who had to be taught a lesson.
Case in point, the state trooper. His funeral procession had stretched for miles. Uniformed officers from numerous states had turned out for it, little knowing, or perhaps not caring, that he was an amoral bastard who took graft for looking the other way whenever trucks bearing drugs, or weapons, or even human beings traveled along the stretch of Interstate 10 that he patrolled.
It had also been reported to The Bookkeeper that on occasion the trooper would avail himself of one of the girls before returning her to the hellish cargo hold of whatever vehicle was transporting her. It was said that he preferred virgins and that he didn’t return her in the condition in which he’d found her.
When his body was discovered behind the left rear wheel of his patrol car, his head nearly severed, newspaper editorialists and television pundits had decried the violence and demanded that the decorated trooper’s killer be captured and made to pay the ultimate penalty for the brutal slaying. But within days the public outrage had been shifted to the breaking news of a Hollywood starlet’s premature release from rehab.
Such was modern society’s moral decay. If one couldn’t beat it, one might just as well wallow in it. Having reached that conclusion several years ago, The Bookkeeper had set out to build an empire. Not one of industry or art, nor of finance or real estate, but of corruption. That was The Bookkeeper’s stock-in-trade. Dealing solely in that commodity, the business had flourished.
In order to succeed in any endeavor, one had to be ruthless. One acted boldly and decisively, left no loose ends, and extended no mercy to competitors or traitors. The last person to have learned The Bookkeeper’s policy the hard way was Sam Marset. But Marset had been the township of Tambour’s favorite son.
So as the sun slid below the horizon and darkness encroached, The Bookkeeper acknowledged that the ripples of killing him had taken on the proportion of a tidal wave.
All because of Lee Coburn.
Who must be found. Silenced. Exterminated.
The Bookkeeper was confident of that happening. No matter how clever the man believed himself to be, he couldn’t escape The Bookkeeper’s widespread and inescapable net. It was likely that he would be killed by his eager but clumsy pursuers. If not, if he was brought into custody, then Diego would be called upon to eliminate the problem. Diego was excellent at stealth. He would find a way to get to Coburn in an unguarded moment. He would apply his razor deftly and feel the hot gush of Coburn’s blood on his hands.
The Bookkeeper envied him that.
By sundown, Honor’s house looked like storm damage.
Emily had awakened from her nap on schedule. A juice box, a package of Teddy Grahams, and unlimited TV viewing had kept her pacified. But even her favorite Disney DVDs didn’t altogether distract her from their visitor.
She tried to maintain a running dialogue with Coburn, pestering him with questions until Honor shushed her with uncharacteristic harshness. “Leave him alone, Emily.” She was afraid her daughter’s chatter, to say nothing of Elmo’s singing, would irritate him to the point of taking drastic measures to stop it.
While he was tearing through every book in the living room shelves, Honor told Emily that he was on a treasure hunt, and that he didn’t want to be bothered. Emily looked doubtful of the explanation, but returned to her animated movie without argument.
The afternoon wore on. It was the longest of Honor’s life, longer even than the days immediately following Eddie’s death, which had taken on the aspects of a dreadful dream from which she couldn’t awaken. Time ceased to be relevant. One hour bled into the next. While she’d been in a benumbed state, days had passed with hardly any notice from her.
But today, time was extremely relevant. Each second mattered. Because eventually they would run out.
And then he would kill them.
Throughout the day, she had refused to accept that as an outcome, afraid that acknowledging it would make it a certainty. But as the day drew to a close, she could no longer delude herself. Time was running out for her and Emily.
As Coburn upended pieces of furniture to search the undersides, she clung to a single ray of hope: He hadn’t killed them immediately, which would have been more expedient than his having to cope with them. She supposed they’d been spared a sudden death only because he thought she could be useful to his search. But if he became convinced that she knew nothing and her usefulness ran out, what then?
Dusk claimed the last of the sunlight, and Honor’s hope went with it.
Coburn switched on a table lamp and surveyed the havoc he’d wreaked on her orderly house. When his eyes landed on her, she saw that his were bloodshot, making the blue irises look almost feral as they glowered at her from deeply shadowed sockets. He was a man on the run, a man with a mission that he’d failed to accomplish, a man whose frustration had reached a breaking point.
“Come here.”
Honor’s heart began beating painfully hard and fast. Should she throw herself over Emily in an attempt to protect her, or attack him, or plead for mercy?
“Come here.”
Keeping her expression impassive, she approached him.
“Next I’ll start tearing into the walls and ceilings, pulling up floors. Is that what you want?”
She almost collapsed with relief. He wasn’t finished yet. She and Emily still had time. There was still hope for rescue.
Denying that her house concealed a treasure hadn’t made a dent in his resolve, so she took another tack. “That would take a lot of time. Now that it’s dark, you should leave.”
“Not till I get what I came for.”
“Is it that important?”
“I wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if it wasn’t.”
“Whatever it is, you’ve spent precious hours looking for it in the wrong place.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I know so. It’s not here. So why don’t you leave now while you still have a chance of getting away?”
“Worried about my welfare?”
“Aren’t you?”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could die.”
He raised one shoulder. “Then I’d be dead, and none of this would matter to me. But right now, I’m alive, and it does matter.”
Honor wondered if he truly was that indifferent to his own mortality, but before she could address it, Emily piped up. “Mommy, when is Grandpa coming?”
The DVD had ended, and all that remained on the TV screen were exploding fireworks. Emily was standing beside her, Elmo held in the crook of her elbow. Honor knelt down and rubbed her hand along Emily’s back.
“Grandpa’s not coming tonight after all, sweetheart. We’re going to have the party tomorrow. Which will be even better,” she said quickly in order to prevent the protest she saw forming on Emily’s lips. “Because, silly me, I forgot to get party hats. We can’t have Grandpa’s party without hats. I saw one that looks like a tiara.”
“Like Belle’s?” she asked, referring to the character in the DVD.
“Just like Belle’s. With sparkles on it.” Lowering her voice to an excited whisper, she said, “And Grandpa told me that he has a surprise present for you.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. If he’d told me, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
Emily’s eyes were now shining. “Can I still have pizza for supper?”
“Sure. Plus a cupcake.”
“Yea!” Emily raced toward the kitchen.
Honor stood up and faced Coburn. “Her dinner is past due.”
He pulled his lower lip through his teeth, glanced toward the kitchen, then hitched his chin in that direction. “Make it quick.”
Which wouldn’t be a problem, because by the time they entered the kitchen, Emily had already taken her pizza from the freezer. “I want pep’roni.”