“All these years you’ve had to tell me,” he went on. “To claim me as your son. All these goddamn years, and you never once acknowledged me.”
Clyde and I crept closer. Two feet. Three feet. My boots made a splashing sound, and I looked down. There was an inch of water on the ground.
“Your grandmother didn’t want me to—”
“Shut up.”
Four feet. Six. Ten. Somewhere there was a faint clanging, like metal on metal. But I couldn’t tell if the sound came from ahead or behind.
“None of that matters,” Roman said. “I survived. But you murdered my mother.”
“No, Roman. I swear. I didn’t hurt her.”
Clyde stopped. His nose came up as he sampled the air. Then he alerted by sitting down.
Another bomb. Sweet Jesus.
“She was helping me,” Hiram said. “Why would I hurt her? She was—”
There came the ugly wet slap of something hard striking flesh, and Hiram went silent. Then another sound, both gut-wrenching and sweeter than anything I’d ever heard.
A child. Crying.
I reached with my left hand for the Silly String, my eyes flicking from the tunnel for an instant. I swore softly when the can caught against the pocket flap.
Clyde growled, and I whipped my head up.
“Freeze,” said Roman, “or I will blow out your fucking brains.”
I stopped. Clyde came half out of his alert.
“Stay,” I said to him. “Bleib.”
He sank back down.
Leaving my left hand on the can of spray, I raised my eyes.
Roman stood at the corner. He had his left eye closed and was watching me down the barrel of a .45.
“You are persistent,” he said.
“The cops are right behind me.”
He shrugged and lowered the pistol slightly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m almost done here.”
“Give me Lucy.”
“Move and I’ll shoot the dog first. Payback. Then you.”
My own weapon was pointed down and to the right, where I’d let my hand drift as I reached for the spray. And yet, I considered.
“Put your gun on the ground,” he said. “And let me see your hands.”
“Roman,” I said, softly. “I’m just here for the girl.”
“Now!” he shouted.
I dropped it. It made a small splash when it landed.
“Kick it toward me.” When I gave it a small nudge, he said, “Farther.”
The gun skidded along the ground and landed near Roman’s feet.
“Let me take Lucy,” I said.
He shook his head. “When I am finished, there will be nothing left in this world that is his.”
“Except you.”
“I’ll die with them. One big, unhappy family, finally all together. That’s why I took her. So Hiram can watch her die.”
“If that’s what you want, why didn’t you go back and finish the job with Ben? I can’t imagine you’d let a single cop stop you.”
“No need. If he survives, he’ll know what his family suffered.” Roman’s smile didn’t come within shouting distance of his eyes. “And by now, I suspect you know a little about Ben Davenport. He’ll finish the job himself. And then we’ll all be in hell together.”
Behind me, in the tunnel, came another faint noise. I coughed, hoping to cover the sound of any approaching cavalry. Clyde was wound as tight as a compressed spring, but he didn’t even twitch an ear.
“Hiram didn’t kill your mother, Roman. I have a confession from the murderer.”
He grinned at me. “Nice try.”
“Your mother was murdered by a railway cop,” I said. “Fred Zolner. You know Zolner. You paid him a visit, hoping he could tell you something about what happened that night. He was there at the start of the affair. He was the one who drove your mother to see your father. All those hours together in the car. He fell in love with her.”
“Not bad,” Roman said. “How long did it take you to think up that story?”
“The night she died was the night Zolner decided to tell her how he felt. He thought she’d give up your father for a man who truly loved her. But after he poured out his heart to her, she rejected him. Laughed at him. Called him Devil Eye. And he strangled her for it.”
Roman’s eyes flicked toward the room on his right, maybe looking to read something in Hiram’s face.
I dropped my hand to reach for the Silly String.
His gaze snapped back. “Don’t.”
I lifted my hand again. “I just talked to him an hour ago. He’s been hiding from you at the Royal Tavern. Do you remember him from when you were a child? He sent your mother love letters.”
The first glint of uncertainty showed in Roman’s eyes.
Far away, the earth groaned. Closer by, a wooden timber creaked. My heartbeat was so loud in my ears I was amazed I could hear anything else.
“Your mother and her friend used to laugh about that,” I said, my words racing out in a rapid staccato. “They called him Devil Eye because he has only one good eye.”
Roman shook his head. “Thin, Parnell.”
“He confessed.”
“So you say.”
“He drank Rebel Yell,” I went on. I inched to my left as if I were jittery, drawing his gaze, trying to leave room for whoever was coming up behind us. “He forced your mom to drink some that night. Hoping if she was drunk she’d change her mind. He left the bottle in her car. You can look at the autopsy report.”
“I read the page from Alfred Tate’s journal,” Roman said. “He saw Hiram there.”
I had him. He was listening because he wanted to believe. Needed to believe that his father hadn’t killed his mother.
“Alfred was suspicious,” I said. “But only that. He knew about the affair and he knew about you. He thought your father wanted your mother out of the way. But in fact, she was helping him. She was the one who gave him what he needed to take away part of Alfred’s railroad. It was much more than an affair.” Just like when talking to the press, it was okay to lie to murderers. “They loved each other, Roman.”
From the tunnel behind me came a faint splash.
“You went after the wrong man,” I said. “The wrong family. Let’s get out of here before the tunnels collapse. Before you have more blood on your hands.”
A shadow loomed behind Roman. Hiram, pale and wide-eyed, blood pouring from a wound on his head. He held a hammer, and now he swung it at Roman.
I didn’t wait to see what happened. I jerked the can free of my pocket and sprayed, looking for the trip wire. Clyde was quivering in frustration.
Up ahead, there came sounds of a struggle, and someone shouted in rage. I didn’t know if it was Hiram or Roman.
The string caught on the wire, and it popped into view.
I looked up and saw that Roman was half-turned away from me, standing over a prone Hiram. Hiram’s face was slicked with blood and his lips were drawn back in a grimace.
I kept my gaze on the trip wire as I lifted Clyde and we stepped over. I was muttering, “Please God, please God,” under my breath, praying that Hiram would keep Roman’s attention long enough for Clyde and me to reach them.
But as I brought my second foot down, Roman spun in our direction, the .45 up.
“Bad mistake,” he said.
And then, behind me, Mac said, “Get down.”