End of Watch (Bill Hodges Trilogy #3)(117)

‘Where’s the camera?’

‘On the signpost where the road splits. Above the arrows. You don’t have to feel bad about missing it. It was covered with snow, nothing sticking out but the lens, and your headlights were off by then.’

‘Is there any Babineau left inside you?’

He shrugs. ‘Bits and pieces. Every now and then there’s a small scream from the part that thinks it’s still alive. It will stop soon.’

‘Jesus,’ Hodges mutters.

Brady drops to one knee, the barrel of the Scar resting on his thigh and still pointing at Hodges. He pulls down the back of Holly’s coat and examines the tag. ‘H. Gibney,’ he says. ‘Printed in indelible ink. Very tidy. Won’t wash off in the laundry. I like a person who takes care of her things.’

Hodges closes his eyes. The pain is very bad, and he would give everything he owns to get away from it, and from what is going to happen next. He would give anything to just sleep, and sleep, and sleep. But he opens them again and forces himself to look at Brady, because you play the game to the end. That’s how it works; play to the end.

‘I have a lot of stuff to do in the next forty-eight or seventy-two hours, Detective Hodges, but I’m going to put it on hold in order to deal with you. Does that make you feel special? It should. Because I owe you so much for fucking me over.’

‘You need to remember that you came to me,’ Hodges says. ‘You were the one who started the ball rolling, with that stupid, bragging letter. Not me. You.’

Babineau’s face – the craggy face of an older character actor – darkens. ‘I suppose you might have a point, but look who’s on top now. Look who wins, Detective Hodges.’

‘If you call getting a bunch of stupid, confused kids to commit suicide winning, I guess you’re the winner. Me, I think doing that is about as challenging as striking out the pitcher.’

‘It’s control! I assert control! You tried to stop me and you couldn’t! You absolutely couldn’t! And neither could she!’ He kicks Holly in the side. Her body rolls a boneless half a turn toward the fireplace, then rolls back again. Her face is ashen, her closed eyes sunk deep in their sockets. ‘She actually made me better! Better than I ever was!’

‘Then for Christ’s sake, stop kicking her!’ Hodges shouts.

Brady’s anger and excitement have caused Babineau’s face to flush. His hands are tight on the assault rifle. He takes a deep, steadying breath, then another. And smiles.

‘Got a soft spot for Ms Gibney, do you?’ He kicks her again, this time in the hip. ‘Are you fucking her? Is that it? She’s not much in the looks department, but I guess a guy your age has to take what he can get. You know what we used to say? Put a flag over her face and fuck her for Old Glory.’

He kicks Holly again, and bares his teeth at Hodges in what he may think is a smile.

‘You used to ask me if I was fucking my mother, remember? All those visits you made to my room, asking if I was fucking the only person who ever cared a damn for me. Talking about how hot she looked, and was she a hoochie mama. Asking if I was faking. Telling me how much you hoped I was suffering. And I just had to sit there and take it.’

He’s getting ready to kick poor Holly again. To distract him, Hodges says, ‘There was a nurse. Sadie MacDonald. Did you nudge her into killing herself? You did, didn’t you? She was the first one.’

Brady likes that, and shows even more of Babineau’s expensive dental work. ‘It was easy. It always is, once you get inside and start pulling the levers.’

‘How do you do that, Brady? How do you get inside? How did you manage to get those Zappits from Sunrise Solutions, and rig them? Oh, and the website, how about that?’

Brady laughs. ‘You’ve read too many of those mystery stories where the clever private eye keeps the insane murderer talking until help arrives. Or until the murderer’s attention wavers and the private eye can grapple with him and get his gun away. I don’t think help is going to arrive, and you don’t look capable of grappling with a goldfish. Besides, you know most of it already. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. Freddi spilled her guts, and – not to sound like Snidely Whiplash – she will pay for that. Eventually.’

‘She claims she didn’t set up the website.’

‘I didn’t need her for that. I did it all by myself, in Babineau’s study, on Babineau’s laptop. During one of my vacations from Room 217.’

‘What about—’

‘Shut up. See that table beside you, Detective Hodges?’

It’s cherrywood, like the buffet, and looks expensive, but there are faded rings all over it, from glasses that were put down without benefit of coasters. The doctors who own this place may be meticulous in operating rooms, but out here they’re slobs. On top of it now is the TV remote and a ceramic skull penholder.

‘Open the drawer.’

Hodges does. Inside is a pink Zappit Commander sitting on top of an ancient TV Guide with Hugh Laurie on the cover.

‘Take it out and turn it on.’

‘No.’

‘All right, fine. I’ll just take care of Ms Gibney, then.’ He lowers the barrel of the Scar and points it at the back of Holly’s neck. ‘On full auto, this will rip her head right off. Will it fly into the fireplace? Let’s find out.’