Upside Down

98

Winter hit the water knowing instinctively that his only hope in the pitch-black cold water was to sharpen his angle of descent, increase his speed to close the distance between himself and the pair, and pray he would luck into them.

It seemed certain to Winter that he would miss. If he passed them by inches, he wouldn't know. Chained to the jack, the two had vanished from sight as if sucked under from below. His mind swarmed with doubts and self-incrimination as he kicked furiously and moved his hands before him. He had no way to know how deep he was when his hand brushed something; he clamped down on it and knew it was Faith Ann's wrist. The lack of movement in the appendage told him the child was unconscious. When he jerked the wrist, he felt Marta react to the grab-twist around to fight him, maybe just get a newer, deadlier grip. Marta was too late. Winter kicked away, heading for the surface.

Winter broke the surface first, let out a victorious yell, and jerked her wrist up hard to bring Faith Ann to the surface.

No!

It took his mind a second to digest the fact that the eyes he was looking at belonged to Marta Ruiz, as did the small wrist in his grip.

His mind filled with horror.

He released her wrist.

The police boat was bobbing beside them, a harsh spotlight illuminating her sneering face.

A cop beside Manseur aimed a shotgun down at the woman.

“Oops,” Marta said, taunting him. She raised her hands to show him that the handcuff and the jack were no longer there. “I think you forgot someone.”

Without hesitating, he took a deep breath and dove.

By now Faith Ann had inhaled water, was certainly unconscious, but he could still save her if…

The fury, the grief, drove him into the darkness, the pressure constricting his body. He'd promised his son he would keep Faith Ann safe. He was a madman, who believed that he could search a giant body of moving water for something so tiny. He kicked desperately. He grappled about in the icy dark until he was at the point of inhaling water himself. He broke the surface just long enough to inhale as much air as he could hold, then threw himself back into the depths again.

He lost count of how many times he dove. Finally, gasping, he came up for air and heard Manseur yelling at him from inside the nearby boat.

“Winter, it's been ten minutes! She's gone. Get into the boat. I've called for help. It won't help anybody if you die.”

Winter knew it was over. His body was fatigued to the point of torture, his mind was filled with grief and pain and numbed by guilt. Tears of frustration filled his eyes.

Faith Ann is gone.

Dead and alone.

It is over.

“Get in the boat!” Manseur ordered. Winter looked from the detective to the policeman pilot standing beside him. Then, knowing he had lost, that he had failed both a twelve-year-old child and his son, he somehow swam the ten feet, reached up, and let the two men hoist him into the boat. There he sat slumped on the deck, his mind blank with failure.

The first thing he saw was Marta seated on the port bench, her hands behind her, a thin, taunting smile on her face.

Something is wrong. What?

On Winter's left, the young patrolman had laid his twelve-gauge across the passenger's seat, which had been left turned toward the driver's seat.

Suddenly his mind cleared and Winter realized that Marta had defeated the cuffs he had used earlier to join her to the jack. It was as if she was reading his mind, taking that moment to spring and grab the Glock from the young police pilot's holster.

Manseur had his back to her.

Marta shoved the pilot aside and was bringing the Glock around to bear on Winter. When she saw the Mossberg 12 in Winter's hands, its dark eye staring at her, her own eyes widened in surprise.

The muzzle blast lit her against the darkness like a flashbulb-the buckshot erasing her features.

Winter's ears rang.

The wind swept the cordite away.

“It's over,” Manseur said, gently wrenching the shotgun from Winter's iron grip. “There's the evidence. Pond is alive. Faith Ann didn't die for nothing.”

Winter lifted himself up and slumped on the bench.

He knew that he would never allow himself to feel the slightest pang of remorse over shooting a child-killing monster.

“Faith Ann had the envelope on her,” he told Manseur.

“We won't need it. They'll turn on each other.”

Winter knew Manseur was right. Suggs, Bennett, and Tinnerino would all be tumbling over one another to cut deals.

Winter had never felt so completely defeated, so utterly empty.