Martin drank his coffee, said nothing, only nodded.
“That’s a very good idea,” Janet said as she sat herself on the other end of the sofa, as close to her husband as she could get without climbing into his lap.
Sherlock answered before the second note sounded in Bolero.
“Sherlock, it’s me. Martin is disarmed, we’re talking, everything’s under control. He’s calm and rational, telling me what’s happened to him. Please tell Chief Gerber and Joe Gaines, the hostage negotiator, they can stand down, at least put away their weapons. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt now.”
He heard her speaking, then she was back on the cell. “Chief Gerber won’t go for it. You need to tell him yourself, Dillon.”
Savich did, slowly, easily, making certain Chief Gerber knew he wasn’t under any duress.
“Yes, I’m sure of it. In fact, I’m drinking an excellent cup of tea at this very moment. There’s a plate of chocolate chip cookies in front of me. Janet Thornton is fine, as are the girls. I think it would be best if you dispersed the neighbors, told them that everything is all right. I don’t want them looking at Martin like he’s some sort of freak who will flip out when he walks out of here.”
There was a long pause, then Chief Gerber said, “I’ll do that, Agent Savich. Your wife said that if I don’t believe you I might as well hang it up and sail to Fiji. Not a bad idea, really. But you’ve got to know that none of my people are leaving here until I see Martin Thornton in custody and everyone safely out of that house.”
“Believe me, Chief Gerber, I appreciate that. Thank you for your cooperation. That will take some more time. Oh yes, would you please tell my wife it will be a little while longer?” He shut off the cell and slipped it back into his jacket pocket.
“You don’t pull any punches, do you?” Janet Thornton said, a dark eyebrow arched up a good inch.
“No reason to. Both of you know exactly what the score is, what’s going on outside. Chief Gerber is a good man. He’ll deal with things. As for your neighbors, I’m thinking you guys should move away from here. People don’t forget the sound of a shotgun, or police cars all over the neighborhood, not when they’ve got kids around.”
“No, you don’t pull any punches,” Martin said. “Yes, we’ll move. I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“Of course not,” Savich said. “Do you feel like getting back to it, Martin?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me why you disappeared right after you graduated, without saying a word to your father.”
“When he looked me right in the eye and told me that my mother’s death was an accident, something died inside. I simply couldn’t accept who he was or what he was. I remember very clearly thinking my old man had lied to me, flat-out lied, not because of me, mind you, but because of his wife, Jenny, my stepmother, and their two daughters. I realized I had nothing to do with his new life. If he could, I think he would have swept me under the carpet or tossed me out with the trash.”
“My wife, Agent Sherlock, said that isn’t true at all. When she spoke to your father, he was frantic to know where you were.”
Martin’s clear brown eyes, very intelligent eyes, had no shadows or madness in them now, just disbelief. “It may have suited the moment. I really don’t believe him.”
Savich nodded. “You know him better than we. But tell me why you erased yourself.”
“Erased myself,” Martin repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. “Yes, I suppose I did that. I got a whole new identity. It’s not hard to do if you live in Boston, and are willing to take some chances. I approached people on the street—fences, drug addicts—until I found the people who were willing to sell me an identity. I bought my name—Martin Thornton—got a social security number, a driver’s license, everything I needed, and then I hitchhiked out of Boston, didn’t tell a single person where I was going. Actually, I didn’t know myself.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went out to Seattle at first, got a job pumping gas, started working my way through school. The dreams stopped then. It seemed that when I found out about my mother’s murder, I didn’t need to dream about it anymore. The funny thing is, I wanted to remember my mother, I wanted to know what she was like. I wanted to know who murdered her and why. But the dreams never told me that.” He stopped suddenly, stuck out his hand for Janet to take, and said, “I dated. I slept with my first girlfriend when I was nineteen. I felt like a man. I felt normal.”