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She wrenched the door open as he stumbled out of the bedroom. Wiping his sleeve across his streaming eyes, he raised his arm. Karen dove out the door, sprawling in the hallway and rolling as she hit. The shot splintered the door. She surged to her feet, stumbled for the stairs, and ran into two policemen who were coming up the steps with their weapons drawn, faces white.
Dizzily, she sank to the floor. Down the hall, she saw a blurred face in the doorway of one of the other three apartments on this floor. "Get down!" she gasped.
Hearing her voice, the burglar staggered through the door, arms extended, pistol in a two-handed grip. Both policemen reacted instantly, firing so close together that the two shots sounded like one. The impact of the bullets slammed the burglar back against the wall, and for an instant a look of mild surprise crossed his face. He looked down at the red stain spreading across his chest, blinking his streaming eyes as he tried to focus them.
"Drop the gun! Drop it!" both policemen yelled.
The burglar laughed. The sound gurgled in his throat, but it was a laugh. "Fuck you," he said, and lifted his pistol, pointing it in Karen's direction. He pulled the trigger just as both policemen fired again.
* * *
Chapter 14
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McPherson punched in a number on his secure cell phone. "This thing is getting curiouser and curiouser," he said when the call was answered. "Dexter Whitlaw was killed the same day in New Orleans, which isn't all that far from where Rick's body was found, same caliber weapon. The detective working the case is a sharp son of a bitch; he made me the minute I walked in his office. He put in the request for info on Rick on a hunch. I'd say he's got a hell of an instinct."
"Who's Dexter Whitlaw?" said the voice on the other end. "I don't know him."
"He was a Marine sniper in Vietnam, damn good one. Sneaky son of a bitch. Patient. He could outwait the second coming of Christ. Anyway, we got acquainted with Dex in Saigon, and he and Rick were… well, I don't know that I'd go so far as to say friends, but they respected each other, you know?"
"So he and Dad met up in New Orleans."
"Seems like it. Don't know why, though. But it made someone nervous, someone who didn't want the two of them together."
"That means it was someone who knew both of them." The voice was cool, unemotional.
"I'd even say it was someone who knew them from Nam. As far as I know, Dex dropped out of sight after he got back from Nam. Couldn't handle it; went native. The detective said he'd been living on the streets but evidently had a source of income beca
use he was healthy and well fed."
"His family probably sent money to him. I'll check out his next of kin. Has Vinay found his leak yet?"
"No, and he's damn pissed."
"I'll stay outside channels when I talk to him. About this detective. He made you. Does this need taking care of?"
"Only if you're thinking of recruiting him—which wouldn't be a bad idea, by the way. He looked at my shoes and pegged me for NSA or the Company. He's that sharp, that quick. He doesn't need two twos to come up with four."
A sigh came over the line. "Those damn Guccis."
"I couldn't see buying wingtips for the occasion."
"So you think we should use him as an asset?"
"Unless you recruit him outright."
"He might be more valuable where he is."
"Agreed."
The Gulf Coast cities were prime gun-running ports. Knowing when and where the weapons were going could give their analysts valuable insight on where the next brush-fire war was going to pop up. Sometimes the fire needed to be lit, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes the shipments would be intercepted, sometimes they wouldn't.
"The funeral is at two tomorrow. Will you be here?"
"Unless you need me to do something else." With John, you never knew. He was like a spider, pulling on six invisible threads at the same time.
"It will be interesting to see who's around."
