“It’s the truth,” Mrs. Carter said loudly.
“You in there, Lisa?” Mr. Stranger called. “Did you promise some of the money to these fine folks if they watch over you? Is that it? Why don’t you come on out so we can talk things over? I’m getting hoarse shouting through this door.”
Father turned back to the door. “Like I said, I don’t mind turning her over. I don’t care what you do to her, as long as you leave us out of it. Your problem is not our problem.”
“Oh, I disagree with you there.”
“Tell your boss Simon is dead!” Mrs. Carter shouted back to him. “Whatever secrets he may have died with him.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be doing my job if I took your word for it.”
Glass shattered behind us, and we all turned to the kitchen. A hand poked through the narrow window beside the back door and fumbled with the lock. Father darted toward it. He raised his knife and brought the blade down across the intruding fingers in one quick, fluid motion, splitting two or three of them open. Blood gathered at the wound in an instant before the man on the other side shouted in pain. The hand disappeared. Father plucked the boiling pot of vegetable oil from the stove as he passed on his way back to the front door.
Mr. Stranger was laughing. “You got Mr. Smith good! I told him he’d never get in fast enough like that, but he didn’t listen, wanted to do things his way. Isn’t that like the younger generation? They don’t heed their elders anymore, not like when you and I were young, right, hoss? They don’t have the kind of respect we were taught, the kind instilled in us from the get-go. Your boy might—he seemed to mind his p’s and q’s. I bet he’d grow up into a pillar of society, if given the chance. Of course, whether or not that happens is really in your hands at this point.”
“I’m gonna kill that fucking bastard!” Mr. Smith shouted from somewhere behind Mr. Stranger.
I crawled to the window that overlooked the front yard and spotted the man with the long blond hair and glasses standing at the edge of the porch, blood pooling at his feet. He tore off a length of cloth from the bottom of his T-shirt and wrapped it around his damaged hand. It immediately turned red.
Mr. Stranger spotted me and winked. “In all that excitement, I completely lost track of time,” he said loudly. “I’m going to guess you have about thirty seconds left. Does that seem about right to you?”
I ducked and scurried away from the window. “There’s only two of them, Father. If some of us go out the back and the rest go out the front, they can’t stop everyone.”
“And where do we go? They destroyed both cars.”
“We take his.”
Father was already shaking his head. “This needs to end here, or we’re forever on the run.”
“They have guns.”
“We’re smarter than they are. We need to think this through, puzzle it out.”
Mother had been oddly silent, calm. “We kill Lisa and toss her body out to them.”
With that, Mrs. Carter struggled, but Mother held her knife to the woman’s eye. She fell still and stared at the silver tip. “My husband moved nearly fourteen million dollars into offshore accounts. I’ve got all the numbers and passwords. Half of that money is yours if you get me out of here alive.”
Father left the door and walked over to her. “What about the paperwork? That’s what they really want.”
Mrs. Carter let out a deep sigh. “Safe-deposit boxes at Middleton downtown. Four of them. Enough information to access another hundred million easy.”
“Where are the keys?”
Mrs. Carter said nothing.
Father grabbed her by the hair, jerking her from Mother’s grasp, and pulled her over to the boiling pot of vegetable oil. He pushed her head down toward the pot. Mrs. Carter fought, arching her back and trying to kick at him, but Father was too strong. He held her face inches above the steaming liquid. “I’m going to ask you one more time, then you’re going in. Where are the keys?”
Mrs. Carter shook her head and reeled back, but Father held her tight, impervious to her kicking. With her hands cuffed in the front, they were of little use. “No . . .” she managed to say.
Father shrugged and pushed her closer.
The oil fizzled and popped, and little drops struck her skin, leaving tiny red welts. She shrieked and pushed back with all her strength. Drops of oil sizzled in her hair. “Under the cat! God, stop! They’re under the cat!”
“What?” He loosened his grip, putting a few inches between Mrs. Carter’s face and the pot.
I knew what she meant, though. I knew exactly what she meant. “By the lake? My cat?”
Mrs. Carter nodded quickly.
“You know where she’s talking about?”
“Yes, Father.”
Father turned to Mrs. Carter, his eyes narrow. “You’re going to do exactly what I say. Do you understand?”
There was another loud bang at the door. “Time’s up, people!”
76
Clair
Day 2 ? 5:12 p.m.
“What is it?” Clair asked.
“A lot of paperwork and a note,” Nash replied as he reached into the box. He pulled out the sheet of stationery resting atop thousands of documents all bundled together neatly with elastic bands.
Clair leaned closer. “What does it say?”
Nash read aloud.
Ah, my friends!
It is good to know you finally found your way here! I had hoped to be there with you when this moment came, but alas, it was not meant to be. I take solace in the fact that this material has found its way into your capable hands, as I am sure you will take it to your compadres in financial crimes so they may add it to the mounting pile of evidence against Mr. Talbot and company. While I believe this box contains more than enough information for a substantial conviction, I’m afraid I couldn’t wait for the trial portion of the program and went ahead and passed a sentence I believe to be more than fitting for the crimes at hand. Much like his longtime business partner, Gunther Herbert, Mr. Talbot will meet with justice face-to-face today, and he will answer for his actions on the swiftest of terms. Perhaps I will allow him to give his daughter one last kiss before goodbyes are said? Perhaps not. Maybe it’s best they just watch each other bleed.
Truly yours,
Anson Bishop
Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Do we still have a car tailing Talbot?”
Clair already had her cell phone out. “I’m on it.”
Nash returned to the box and pulled out one of the document bundles. The ream was about two inches thick and contained about three hundred sheets of paper. The topmost sheet was white lined in green, each line filled with tiny, neat handwriting. “This looks like some kind of ledger. Old too. This page is dated nearly twenty years ago. Who the hell keeps their books on paper anymore?”
Clair waved him off, turned her back, and began pacing the room with the phone to her ear.
Nash shrugged and went back to the paper. The first line read 163. WF14. 2.5k. JM.