Double Take

He took her hands, smoothed out her fists, kissed her black palms. “Listen to me, you’re all right, and that’s all that matters. We made it.”

Soon all of Julia’s neighbors spilled out of their houses, staring at the fire in horror and fascination, some of them wetting down their own gardens and roofs with hoses, some of them huddled together in small groups. Several came over to Julia, bringing blankets and coffee, but mostly everyone just stood around and watched.

The fire chief, Lucky Mulroney, headed their way ten minutes later. “Good news, Mrs. Ransom. We’ve got the fire under control. It looks like maybe half of your house may be structurally intact, but the inspectors won’t be certain until they’ve gone over it carefully.” He looked back. “A bomb—quite a thing. I hate to see one of our beautiful old houses burn.”

“Yes,” Julia said, not looking away from August’s house. “He was trying to kill me, Chief Mulroney, but he didn’t. This is the third time—” She was interrupted by a TV van screeching to a stop some ten feet away. A man shoved the side panel open and jumped out, a camera on his shoulder, panning until he saw Julia, then he shouted as he zeroed right in. There was probably a microphone as well, she thought. She smiled toward the camera, and waved her black fist in the air. “Did you hear that, you loser? You missed me!”

Then Mulroney threatened to turn one of the hoses on the van if they didn’t back off. Frank had some of his men form a perimeter.

Sherlock said, “I’m wondering how Makepeace knew Julia would come out the back of the house.”

Savich said. “He was playing the odds, though the fact is, he couldn’t be sure.”

Frank said, “Or it could mean there was someone with him— Makepeace was in the back and his partner in the front, but where? I had lots of guys spread out in front.”

Cheney said, “You might never find where Makepeace was hiding with so many people tramping around all over the place.”

“We’ll keep looking. Maybe the guy smoked, left a butt.”

Sherlock said, “We heard footsteps upstairs, Frank, not all that long before it blew. So Makepeace had to be in the house.”

She continued after a moment, “Maybe that’s why he didn’t go for a head shot on you, Cheney, he had to move too fast to get out of there and wanted to be sure he hit you. Then Julia would have been in the open.”

Cheney rubbed his chest. “He got me straight on in the chest and in the center of my back, both fine shots.”

Frank said, “Does anyone have a clue who this partner of his could be, if there was someone? The guy out here to watch the front?”

Savich shrugged. “Could be the person who hired Makepeace to kill Julia, or he could have hired some local talent. The thing is, though, we’ve never heard of Makepeace working with a partner.”

Savich’s cell rang. He listened, then punched off. He looked at them. “That was Dix. Kathryn Golden’s still heavily sedated. They don’t expect her to make much sense for a while yet. They’ve got her at Stanford, a cop on her door.”

A police officer came running up. “We found the motorcycle, Captain, but Makepeace was long gone. That’s the bad, here’s the good.” The officer grinned big. “We got us a witness, an old guy who was walking to the little park right across the street from his house on Brinkley with his seven-year-old great-granddaughter. He said a man plowed his motorcycle real fast right into a mess of thick bushes on the far side of the park, didn’t even try to stop. Then the guy jumped off. In the next minute this small blue car pulled up and he got inside. Car took off. The old guy said he doesn’t know about cars, so had no clue as to its make, didn’t see anything else. Our people are canvassing the neighborhood. Someone else had to see something.”

Savich said, “Officer, wait a moment. Cheney, you and Julia should go back to the Sherlocks’ house. Sherlock and I will go speak to this witness.”

Sherlock heard Julia say, “I’m so relieved Freddy went home on Sunday.”

Savich arched an eyebrow. “Freddy?”

Cheney was laughing. “The neighbor’s cat.”

As they walked away, they heard reporters yelling out questions to them from twenty yards away.

CHAPTER 51

About a half mile from Julia’s house, on Brinkley Street, Savich and Sherlock found the old man standing on his narrow front porch in front of a 1940s cottage, leaning on a cane. He told them first thing that he’d stashed his great-granddaughter safely inside the house. “A wild thing it was,” he said, shaking his head, “happened real fast. My name’s Tuck Wilson.”