“So he makes up his own rules,” Groff said, “and whacks anyone who breaks ’em?”
“More likely, he sees himself as enforcing time-honored rules that society has let lapse. Ironically, people like McKenna consider themselves strong law and order types, but when the world doesn’t live up to their expectations, they snap. It may have happened when that rapist attacked his woman friend, but whatever the trigger was, McKenna decided that he needed to right the wrongs. He had no other choice — people with his mind-set see weakness as the greatest sin.”
Blondie used a finger to free something between his teeth. “Typical nut case.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s insane,” she said. “McKenna has a firm grasp on reality, but he’s chosen to deal with that reality differently than you or I would. He’s a completely rational thinker. That’s our advantage — we can use that to anticipate him.”
“How?” Groff said.
“First, think about how he views his current situation. He knows this will end badly for him, but he’s committed now. He’s probably going to continue to”—she made quotation marks in the air—“‘right the wrongs’ until we stop him. We need to examine his life, come up with a list of people who, in his mind, deserve to be punished.”
A uniformed officer across the room called out, “Lieutenant, phone call on line four.”
Groff picked up the receiver while snapping his fingers at Blondie, who handed him a pen. The lieutenant listened to the caller for almost a minute without making a note.
Then he dropped the pen and spread a hand over his eyes. “Oh, shit.” When he finally hung up the phone, he looked at O’Reilly. “ Barnesdale.”
“What about him?” O’Reilly asked.
“He’s dead. Somebody crushed his windpipe, then broke his neck.” Groff turned to the psychologist. “Looks like we’re a little late making that list.”
37
“You sure you know where you’re going?” Luke asked.
Ari, an Israeli student Luke had latched onto during his flight out of the U.S., turned the travel guide map one way, then the other, before pointing down the side street. “This way.”
They had arrived in Santa Elena, Guatemala, at 2:00 P.M. Luke had been on the move for almost twenty-four hours: a Greyhound bus to Phoenix, a nearly empty plane from Phoenix to Houston, a direct flight from Houston to Belize, and then a dusty bus trip west into Guatemala.
Tomorrow, the Israeli was traveling to the Mayan ruins at Tikal. Until then Luke would use his Spanish-speaking companion as human camouflage.
“By the way,” Ari said while hefting a backpack that towered over his shoulders, “your share of the hotel room comes to three U.S. dollars. In Guatemalan currency, twenty-four quetzals.”
“Fine.” The moist air stuck to Luke like a wet blanket, and a furious itch had taken hold under his improvised scar. “Take a look at your maps and tell me how far it is to Santa Lucina from here.”
The risk of going to the University Children’s clinic was obvious — his colleagues would send word back to the hospital that he was in Guatemala — but he had to act quickly. After the call from Megan’s captors, Luke had no doubt that her abductors and the people who had framed him for Erickson’s murder were one and the same.
And they had already shown that they dealt with their problems by killing them.
The storefronts changed as they walked along a wood-slat sidewalk. Over a distance of three blocks, Laundromats, convenience stores, and pharmacies became bars, dance halls, and what looked like an occasional brothel. A woman wearing a filthy yellow blouse pointed at them and whistled while strutting along the second-story colonnade of a ramshackle clapboard structure. A string of naked light bulbs hung over her head.
They stopped at the edge of an alley while Ari looked at his map again. Santa Elena secreted an aura that had Luke checking his pants pockets every few minutes for his wallet and passport.
A small boy holding a box ran up to them, dropped it next to the Israeli’s leg and said, “You need shine, boss. Six quetzals.”
Ari looked down at his dust-covered boots. “Two.”
“No way, boss. Four.”
“Okay, four.” Ari glanced back at his map. “We’re going the wrong way. We need to head in that direction.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder.
The boy, who looked to be no more than eight or nine years old, lifted one of Ari’s boots onto the box and went to work rubbing polish into the leather with his black-tipped fingers. But he didn’t seem to have his heart in his work. The boy glanced to the side every few seconds, as if already searching for his next customer.
On the third or fourth glance, the boy nodded at the air, then tapped Ari’s boot.
Luke looked in the direction of the boy’s nod.
Two men with oily, matted hair and clothes to match were walking toward them. One glanced down when Luke met his gaze. The man was holding his right hand inside a jacket that struck a discordant note in the sweltering heat.
Luke said, “Ari, let’s go.”
“What?”
“Move, now.” Luke grabbed the Israeli’s shoulder.
The urchin yanked on Ari’s leg. “Hey, boss, no move.”
Ari lost his balance, stumbling under the weight of his pack.
Before he recovered, the shorter of the two men had reached them. He unsheathed a knife from his belt. His taller partner, who wore a thick white scar where one of his eyebrows should have been, pulled a 9mm Glock handgun from under his jacket and shoved it into Ari’s face.
Luke allowed his arms to come up in surrender as he watched the little urchin step away in what looked like a rehearsed move.
It seemed impossible that his enemies could have discovered him this easily.
The scarred man jerked his head toward the alley. Luke and Ari stepped back into a shadowed area that smelled of urine and rotting fruit.
Ari was on Luke’s left, and Scar Face stood on the other side of the Israeli, away from Luke.
Scar Face said something in Spanish while the second man circled behind them.
Ari nodded nervously and choked out some words, his tone pleading.
Whatever he said, it didn’t work. Scar Face bit off an angry response and the gun barrel ended up on the side of Ari’s head.
Luke tried to draw attention to himself by waggling his hip and eyeing his right pants pocket, as if to say, The money’s in there. Take it.
The man standing behind them reached around and held the knife against Luke’s neck while reaching into his pocket and grabbing his passport as well as a billfold containing three hundred U.S. dollars. He repeated the process with the Israeli.
Luke wasn’t going to tell them about the nearly two thousand dollars tucked into his shoes.
Scar Face took a step back, angling away from Luke while keeping his gun trained on Ari.
Luke could hear the other man behind them, rifling through the wallets.
A moment later the billfolds and passports flew onto the wet ground in front of Luke. A crumpled five-dollar bill landed beside them.
The urchin swooped in and snatched up the passports and money. Then he ran across the street, glancing back once before disappearing between two buildings.
Luke tried to read Scar Face’s eyes, looking for some sign of intent and purpose. Was this a simple robbery? The man’s eyes were lifeless caverns. Whoever this man was, it was clear that Luke’s and Ari’s lives were as meaningless as microbes.
Scar Face held Luke’s stare for a long moment, then stepped up to Ari and rammed the butt of his gun into the Israeli’s temple.