“Between the damage done to her as a child by her mother’s boyfriend and the lure of all that cash, maybe it’s not too terribly surprising how she turned out. What about Krall? Do you think he was making the same kind of money per transaction as Canfield?”
“I doubt it,” Miller answered. “His motivations weren’t strictly, or even mostly, monetary. This is a guy who was sexually assaulting and murdering young women before he was co-opted by Angela—uh, excuse me, by Agent Canfield. We’re combing his bank records and personal information, too, as we speak, but my guess is he earned just a small fraction of the money being paid to Canfield. The lure for him was the opportunity to get his rocks off with a different girl every couple of months, and then be rid of her in a way that virtually eliminated all risk—the evidence was out of the country and on its way to the Middle East. And to top it off, his partner was the agent in charge of the investigation and the search for ‘The I-90 Killer.’”
“Obviously why Krall got away with it for so long,” Bill said.
“That’s right. By the way,” Miller continued, “I spoke to the doctors. I know they shouldn’t have told me anything, but they did. Perk of the job, I guess. I understand Carli wasn’t…” He looked at Bill uncomfortably.
“No,” Bill said. “She wasn’t raped. Somehow, she managed to escape the fate that the other victims suffered. I guess the sick bastard’s libido was dampened a bit when she sliced his arm to the bone like a Thanksgiving turkey. But I’m pretty sure he was about to get down to business when I walked in on him.”
“She’s one strong young lady,” Miller said. “A hero. You must be proud of her.”
“You have no idea,” Bill agreed. “I always knew she was special, but even I didn’t realize exactly how special.” A companionable silence descended on the hospital room. Outside, Bill could hear nurses, doctors, and family members walking the halls. He wanted to see Carli but felt the pull of exhaustion and pain medication dragging him toward a deep sleep.
He forced his eyes open once more and focused on Agent Miller, who he could see was taking the news about Canfield just as hard as he was. Creases lined the man’s face from lack of sleep and worry, and he looked like he had aged ten years in just a couple of days. Bill knew he must have felt betrayed by Angela Canfield, too. He had no doubt now that she would have used her partner in the same way she used him if she thought she could benefit from it.
It didn’t really matter, though. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back, and maybe that was a good thing, for Angela Canfield as well as for him.
Bill smiled. The smile was returned by Agent Miller, albeit tiredly. “Do us all a favor,” Bill told him, “and go round up the rest of those sickos responsible for my daughter having to be a hero before even celebrating her eighteenth birthday.”
“We’ll do our best, of that I can promise you.”
Bill nodded. “I hope you nail every one of those suckers to a wall.”
“Even if we do,” Miller said reluctantly, “another organization will crawl out from under a rock to fill the void. It’s a sad state of affairs, but true. Human nature, I suppose.”
“Maybe so, but I still want to see every last one of those scumbags pay. That’s human nature, too.”
CHAPTER 62
June 4
STEAK SIZZLED ON THE gas grill, popping and hissing as it broiled to juicy perfection. Bill wobbled, leaning on one crutch, flipping the two T-bones onto their raw side before slamming the lid back down on the grill and flopping awkwardly into his outdoor lounge chair. He flipped a pass to Carli, the football making a lazy arc through the air to his daughter, who caught it and rifled a pass back immediately, like Tom Brady finding the open receiver.
To Bill and Sandra’s amazement, Carli had shown virtually no lingering ill effects from the twenty-eight hour ordeal she suffered at the hands of the now-dead I-90 Killer. Bill guessed it was due to the fact that she had been able to fight back rather than being helplessly victimized. And saving the lives of both herself and her father, while escaping relatively unscathed, couldn’t have hurt either.
The point, though, was that his little girl, his only child, was not going to be permanently crippled, either emotionally or physically, and for that Bill would be eternally grateful. A psychologist who had examined her informed them she might suffer nightmares for months or even years to come, but so far—if Carli was to be believed—that had not been the case. Bill believed her.
He reached up to catch the football one-handed, wrenching his injured arm, and nearly falling backward out of his chair onto the lawn, when a plain-blue Chevrolet Caprice turned into the apartment parking lot. Gravel crunched under the tires as the driver pulled the vehicle into an empty space and killed the engine.
Bill lofted the football toward the vehicle, and its driver leapt out of the car and caught it on the fly like the tight end he had once been. Instead of passing it back, though, Mike Miller tucked the ball into the crook of his arm and carried it toward Bill and Carli, stopping in front of them with a grin. “I was afraid to pass it to you. Don’t want to get sued for knocking you onto your back and busting your stitches while I’m on duty,” he explained.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Bill shot back. “I took on two psychopaths with guns, remember? I can handle one Feeb.”
“Remember? How could I forget? The entire Bureau will have to sit through lectures and training films about your little adventure for years.”
“Hey, don’t forget about me!” Carli chimed in. “I helped, too.” She bounded up behind Miller and wrenched the football out of his arms.
“Care to join us for dinner?” Bill asked. “I just happen to have an extra steak in the fridge upstairs. It might take me a while to get it with these crutches, but maybe my hero, the young lady who pulled my butt out of the fire, would be willing to handle that chore for me.”