The Judge's List (The Whistler #2)(84)

“Just three in my book.”

“Of course. Dunwoody doesn’t count because he never insulted you, or pulled a gun, or embarrassed you in class.”

“Shut up.”

“You told me to keep talking.”

“Now I’m telling you to shut up.”

“I don’t want to, Bannick. I’ve lived in your miserable life for so long and I never dreamed I would one day be able to have a chat like this and tell you what a miserable scumbag I think you are. You’re a coward. Your crimes took no courage.”

“You said that in one of your silly poems.”

“I thought they were rather clever.”

“And quite stupid. Why did you bother with them?”

“Good question, Bannick. Not sure I have the answer. I just wanted to lash out myself, I guess. Maybe as a way to torment you. I want you to suffer. And now that the end is near I can’t believe that it’s you who’s on the run, hiding here in the woods, planning to kill one last time. Your game is over, Bannick; so is your life. Why don’t you surrender like a man and take your punishment?”

“I said shut up.”

“There are so many things I want to say.”

“Don’t say them. I’m tired of your voice. If you want to talk next week, then shut up now.”

He abruptly stood, walked to her, sat on the stool, again with their knees almost touching. She pulled back as far as possible, certain he was about to strike. He reached for his pocket and pulled out two burner phones. “I’m going to get Lacy. I want her here with you. We’ll have us a nice long conversation and I’ll find out how much she knows.”

“Leave her alone. She’s done nothing but her job.”

“Oh really? She’s called in the FBI.”

“Leave her alone. Blame me, not her. She had never heard of you until I entered her life.”

He showed her both phones and said, “These are yours. Not sure which one will work, but I want you to call Lacy and arrange a meeting. Tell her you have a piece of evidence that will prove beyond all doubt that I’m the killer, but you can’t discuss it over the phone. It’s urgent and she must meet with you now.”

“Just go ahead and kill me.”

“Listen to me, you stupid woman. I’m not going to kill you, not now anyway, maybe never. I want Lacy here. We’ll talk, and once I know everything there’s a good chance I’ll simply disappear, go to some exotic village by the sea or in the mountains, someplace where no one speaks English. They’ll never find me. I’ve already been there, you know? It’s all planned.”

She breathed deeply as her heart raced.

“Which phone?” he asked.

She took one of them without looking at it. From nowhere, he produced a pistol, a rather large one, and set it beside him on the stool. “You tell her to meet you at the Bayview Motel near Crestview, just off the interstate. Has she ever seen your car?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s still there in the parking lot. Tell her to park beside it. Your room was 232. I’ve reserved it for another night, in the same name of Margie Frazier, so when she checks she’ll see you’re staying there. I told the manager not to clean the room. Maybe your stuff is still there.”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you care about your 9 millimeter? It was on the nightstand.”

“I wish I’d grabbed it in time.”

“So do I.”

There was a long pause as she stared at the fire and he stared at the floor. Slowly, he picked up the gun but did not point it at her. “Make the call. You will meet her tonight at nine at the Bayview Motel. And sell it, okay?”

“I’m not a very good liar.”

“Bullshit. You’re a gifted liar, just a lousy poet.”

“Promise me you won’t hurt her.”

“No promises, except that if I return here without Lacy, I’ll use this.” He grabbed a strand of rope and tossed it on her. She shrieked and tried to slap it away.





37


The game began at nine, an awful hour to expect ten-year-old boys to be in uniform, properly stretched, warmed-up, and ready to play. The Royals took the field in the top of the first, and a handful of parents clapped politely from the bleachers. A few shouted words of encouragement that the players didn’t hear. The coaches clapped their hands and tried to create excitement.

Diana Zhang sat alone in a lawn chair on the first-base side, a quilt tucked over her legs, a tall coffee in hand. The morning air was crisp and surprisingly cool for late April in the Panhandle. Across the way, down the third-base line, her ex-husband leaned on the fence and watched their child jog out to center field. Their divorce was too recent for any effort at civility.

From behind her, a female voice said quietly, “Excuse me, Ms. Zhang.”

She glanced to her right and confronted an officious-looking badge in a black leather wallet. A woman held it and said, “Agent Agnes Neff, FBI. Got a minute for a quick word?”

Startled, like anyone would be, Diana said, “Well, I was planning to watch my son play.”

“So are we. Let’s just move down the fence line there and have a word. Won’t take ten minutes.”

Diana stood and looked at the bleachers to make sure no one was watching. She turned around and saw what could only be another agent. He led the way and they stopped near the foul pole.