The Unwilling(107)

“Honestly? The man is lost. You know how he is, too decent to be a murder cop, and more bureaucrat than street. I don’t think he’s recovered yet from seeing Tyra Norris the way she was.”

“What about the rank and file?”

Burklow rolled his heavy shoulders, almost fatalistic. “You’re well-liked. You know that. Plus, a lot of these guys watched Gibby grow up. There’s respect, too, for how Robert died in the war. But then again, there’s Jason, and he’s a scary dude, even for cops. A few of the newer guys wonder if Gibby has some of those same qualities tucked away inside. The car keys are a problem. Martinez is on that like white on rice. If you’re asking me to lay odds, though, I’d say most cops in the know think the boys got caught up in something they weren’t looking for. Wrong place, wrong time. I’d call it 70 percent.”

“And the other 30?”

Burklow shrugged, soulful and sad. “They think the boys are involved.”

“With Jason?”

“Jason, yeah. Tyra, and Sara. Now the dead man in Chance’s house. None of it feels random.”

“Christ, it does look bad.” French scraped dry palms across his face. “What do I do, Ken? How do I save my family?”





40


The warden brought the phone, but was nervous about it. There was too much intent in X’s eyes, and too much stillness in his limbs.

“I said five minutes.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The warden tried to swallow, his tongue so suddenly dry it cleaved to the roof of his mouth. “It took time to find a cord that was long enough to reach.”

Nothing changed in how X stood or spoke, but the warden’s entire body chilled. Predator. Prey. A viper tasting the air. He offered the phone, and X took it.

“Wait upstairs. This won’t take long.”



* * *



Reece was off by a few minutes, but the call came about the time he thought it would. He let it ring six times, then lifted the receiver, and spoke with ill-concealed satisfaction. “Hello, old friend.”

“We are most assuredly not friends.”

Reece squinted across the sun-scorched fields. He was afraid of X, but the thrill was real, too, a madness that felt like falling. “Can I assume from this call that we have an understanding?”

“Release Jason’s brother unharmed, and I will cancel the contract on your head. I won’t hire anyone new. I won’t spend a dime.”

“And after tomorrow?”

“Once I am dead, you have nothing to fear.”

Reece closed his eyes as a wave of relief swept over him. “I have your word on that?”

“You can consider it a solemn promise.”

“I appreciate your promise. To be safe, though, I’ll keep Jason’s brother until after the execution.”

“So long as we have a deal.”

“Once you’re dead, I’ll let the kid go.”

“Unharmed.”

“Yes.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear it,” Reece said; but thought, Maybe.



* * *



X felt better after the phone call. Decisions had been made, events put into motion. He checked himself, though, afraid self-deception might wear a mirror for a face.

No, he was good.

Maybe better than good.

“Warden Wilson. Come down, please.”

“Yes?”

“Send down the lawyers, but don’t go far.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Things are fine,” X said. “But plans are changing.”



* * *



When X summoned him back, hours had passed.

“Warden Wilson, if you would join us.”

That from one of the lawyers, a tall, spare man who disappeared back into a cell, leaving the warden no choice but to trail along behind. Inside, X sat at a table lined with rows of documents, the second lawyer across the table, saying things like, Sign here, thank you, now initial here …

X said, “Warden Wilson. Just in time.” He kept his head down, dashing off signatures on trust accounts, transfer documents, letters of incorporation. Numbers seemed to leap from the pages.

Ten million to the Bank of the Caymans.

Forty million to fund a revocable trust.

Two hundred million to Zurich Cantonal Bank.

The warden could barely process the numbers, and there were others, so many others.

X signed a final document, and one lawyer notarized it, adding it to a stack for the other attorney to sign as witness. That done, X held out a hand, saying, “Mr. Preston.”

The attorney handed X a sheaf of papers, and X, in turn, offered them to the warden, who took them numbly. “What you’ll find there,” X said, “is an account at Mellon Bank in New York, established in your name, as well as transfer documents, a notice of verified funds from the transferring bank, and a letter of authorization signed by me, notarized and witnessed. You’ll see that the transfer documents are dated for tomorrow.”

“After your, uh…”

“Yes,” X allowed. “After the scheduled execution.”

Warden Wilson looked down at the documents, but words swam on the page. He tried again, but only one thing sprang into focus. “This is for twice the amount we discussed.”