After twenty-five minutes, he heard the welcome rumble of Hardwick’s GTO pulling in behind him. He got out to meet him.
The man’s favorite weapon, his Sig Sauer, was strapped on over the black tee shirt that had become as characteristic a part of him as those unsettling pale-blue eyes. In his left hand he carried a scoped AK-47 assault rifle.
“Just in case things get interesting,” he said with a manic gleam in his eye that might have unnerved someone who didn’t know him as well as Gurney did.
“Thanks for coming.”
He coughed up a wad of phlegm and spit it onto the dirt road. “Before I forget to mention it—I got in touch with that boarding school Cory got sent to in Virginia, plus Beckert’s old prep school. Nobody at either place had any idea if Beckert owned any property down there. I spoke to half a dozen county clerks in the areas around those schools and the areas around the Beauville family tobacco farms, but none of them would give me the time of day. So much for that—unless you want to spend the next week of your life in the ass end of that state going over tax rolls. Which I think would be an incredibly stupid idea.”
“Nobody would tell you anything?”
“The psychologist at Cory’s boarding school told me Cory was a lot like his father.”
“In what way?”
“Strong-willed. Determined. Precise. Controlling.”
“No details?”
“Confidentiality laws. Closest she came to anything specific was to say that his mother’s death had a major impact on him.”
“Nothing we didn’t know already. Right now I’m more interested in Beckert. I presume he was involved in his son’s intake interview. She say anything about him?”
“Strong-willed. Determined. Precise. Controlling.”
“Okay. So much for that. Hopefully our visit here isn’t another dead end.”
Hardwick peered up the rutted road leading into the pine forest. “How far’s the house?”
“Little over a mile, according to the satellite map. All uphill.”
“We walk or drive?”
“Walk. Less chance of getting stuck, and it’ll give whoever might be there less notice of our—” He stopped as his eye caught a tiny glint of reflected light in a tree not far up the road. “If that’s what I think it is, we can forget about the element of surprise.”
Hardwick followed Gurney’s gaze. “Security camera?”
“Looks like it.”
They soon discovered that the reflection had indeed come from a security camera—a sophisticated model mounted about twelve feet off the ground on the trunk of a giant hemlock.
Hardwick peered up at it. “Axion Five Hundred,” he said with a combination of admiration and concern. “Motion-activated recording, satellite-based transmission. You want me to put a bullet in it?”
“No point. I drove into its field of view at least half an hour ago. If Beckert or anyone else is at the house, they already know we’re here.”
Hardwick nodded unhappily, and they continued moving forward.
As the ascent grew steeper and their progress slowed, a new theory began to take shape in Gurney’s mind. He decided to talk it out with Hardwick as they trudged along.
“Suppose that Beckert was the target from the beginning.”
Hardwick made a face. “You mean everyone was killed just so the sainted police chief could be framed for their murders?”
“I don’t know about everybody. Let’s say Steele, Loomis, Jordan, and Tooker. It may be that Turlock, Jackson, and Creel were just loose ends that needed to be cleaned up.”
“If Beckert was the target, what about Payne? Why was he framed first?”
“Maybe the ultimate purpose of that had nothing to do with Payne himself. Maybe it was just a way of damaging his father.”
“Damaging him how?”
“Politically. In that world, having a cop-killer son would seem to be a career-ender. Whoever engineered it couldn’t have anticipated Beckert turning it around into a plus.”
Hardwick looked unconvinced. “So what then?”
“Then, when the killer realizes the evil-son angle isn’t working out as planned, he takes all the physical evidence related to the first four murders and plants it out at the cabin, making it seem not only that Beckert was the murderer, but that he’d attempted to frame his own son for Steele and Loomis and the Gort brothers for Jordan and Tooker.”
Hardwick broke out in a sharp laugh. “You’ve got a hell of an imagination.”
“I’m just saying maybe that’s what happened. I have no proof.”
Hardwick grimaced. “Seems . . . diabolical. If you’re right, whoever set it up had no qualms about the murders and no qualms about the possibility of Cory spending the rest of his life in jail. All that just to mess up Beckert’s life? Seems out of proportion.”
“Even if I’m wrong about the motive, or about Beckert being the ultimate intended victim, the fact is that at least seven people have ended up dead, and some evil bastard killed them.”
A silence fell between them, broken by the ringing of Gurney’s phone.
The screen said it was Torres.
Gurney stopped where he was to take the call.
Torres’s voice was low and rushed. “New ball game. Kline just heard from Beckert. He wants to turn himself in.”
“When?”
“Today. The exact time depends on how soon we can make the arrangements he wants.”
“Arrangements?”
“Beckert wants certain people to be present, people he considers trustworthy witnesses. He says he doesn’t want what happened to Turlock to happen to him.”
“Who are these witnesses?”
“His wife, Haley; a wealthy political donor by the name of Marvin Gelter; Sheriff Cloutz; Mayor Shucker; and the WRPD captain you asked me about.”
“Quite a committee. Where is this surrender supposed to occur?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “At the location where he’s been staying since he dropped out of sight.”
“That’s not exactly an answer.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that. Kline briefed a few of us and said it was confidential and that absolutely no details were to go to anyone else. He mentioned you, specifically.”
Gurney saw an opportunity to find out if he was in the right place. “Kline doesn’t want me to know about the house on Rapture Hill Road?”
There was a moment of dead silence. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“But . . . how . . . how did you know . . .”
“Doesn’t matter. The thing is, I’m approaching the house right now. Tell Kline I’m here—and that I want to know what his plan is, so I don’t louse it up.”
“Jesus. Let me go find him. I’ll ask him to call you.”
Gurney turned to Hardwick and filled him in on the situation.
“Beckert wants to turn himself in? And then what? Confess to seven murders, then run for AG anyway, based on the impressive honesty of his confession?”
“At this point, who the hell knows—”
His phone rang, Kline’s name was on the screen.
“Gurney here.”
Kline was nearly shouting. “How the hell did you know where Beckert was? And why didn’t you notify me the instant you found out?”
“I didn’t know where he was. I was following a hunch.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“On Rapture Hill Road, not far from the house.”
“Don’t get any closer. In fact, don’t do a goddamn thing. This surrender is a big deal. As big as they come. I’m running the operation personally. Nothing happens before I get there. You read me?”
“Things may happen that require a response.”