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“Who?” asked her mother, now looking a bit dazed, as though she had just expended all of her clarity in the last couple of minutes. “Who is she talking about?”
“Just sit there and suck on air, okay? This doesn’t concern you.” Clarisse looked at her captor. “Tell me how he is. Please.”
The other woman’s expression became less sure. “We’ve had a good ride. Bonded for life because of those years together and what happened.”
“But you didn’t have to kill Bruce. That was unnecessary.”
“I didn’t have to do lots of things. That’s why we make choices. And there were things about Bruce you never knew.”
“And Harry? Come on, you can tell me the truth. It’s not like I’m going to the cops.”
The other woman shook her head, a sad smile playing over her lips. “We just wanted the money. He was no good to us dead. So there you go. No motive. You have to check that. The cops do.”
“I know you two went to see him. How did you find him?”
“Not something you need to know. But he was alive and kicking when we left.”
“Then who did it?” asked Clarisse. “Who killed him?”
“If you find out, tell me. And I’ll kill them because they screwed us over real good. Cost us the easy path to the money.”
“He would never have told you where it was. He never made anything easy.”
The woman brandished her weapon. “Now, what have you found out?”
“We apparently have to move into the twenty-first century if we want to find the treasure. At least that’s what the note I found said.”
“And what does that mean exactly?”
“That the treasure is not in some wooden crate somewhere. Or buried at Stormfield. It might be digital.”
“Digital? Have you figured that out?” asked the woman.
“Not yet. But I will.”
She placed the gun against Mommy’s temple, and this time the old woman did flinch. “Then pick up your pace. I’m not getting any younger. None of us are, especially this hag. Right, babycakes?”
When Mommy cried out at this term once more, the woman placed a wad of moist cloth over the woman’s face and she immediately slumped sideways in her wheelchair, unconscious.
“She has COPD, that stuff could kill her,” cried out Clarisse.
“I guess we’ll find out. And now it’s your turn to go lights out.Babycakes.”
CHAPTER66
THE NEXT MORNING GIBSON RECEIVEDan email from Art Collin:
Re your query. I cannot ever talk about that. I said what I said and I have nothing to add to it. And you should forget about it. Nothing anyone can do now. And the scum is dead, so there’s that. Hang in there. AC.
Well, thanks for the help there, AC.
But he had pissed her off, so she sent him another email basically implying that Langhorne had let himself be caught because he could feel the cops breathing down his neck on the child abuse thing and WITSEC would give him a get-out-of-jail-free card. And, on top of that, he could walk away with all the mob’s money.
So there you go, super cop.
She waited for him to reply. And he never did.
Sam Trask had given Gibson a secure email address to write to him. She did so, telling him about her kidnapping by, presumably, his son, and the deal she had been forced to make with him.
