Deadly Justice

24

BEN AND MIKE DROVE to the Hamel residence in an unmarked silver Trans Am.

“How did you ever get the department to spring for a slick pair of wheels like this?”

Mike grinned. “Let’s just say Chief Blackwell and I have an extremely close working relationship.”

“What does that mean? You have photographs of him in drag?”

“That would be telling.” Mike rolled down the driver’s side window and barreled into the fast lane. “Snazzy car, though, don’t you think?”

“Yup. It’s every sixteen-year-old’s dream.”

“Every guy’s dream, you mean.” He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “I think I wear it well.”

“Well, it looks better on you than that dirty overcoat. If you’d had this four years ago, you might have Julia sitting in the front seat instead of me.”

“Not unless I filled the glove compartment with credit cards.”

Just as Mike finished his sentence, a red Ferrari weaved around him and zoomed past.

“Did you see that?” Mike cried. He groped around in the compartment between the seats. “Where’s my siren?”

“Forget it, Mike. We have other business. You’re not a traffic cop.”

“I will not forget it. I hate reckless drivers. Especially when I’m driving my Trans Am.” He clamped the red bulb onto the roof of his car and pressed down on the accelerator. Ben felt his stomach fly out of his body as the Trans Am kicked in all eight cylinders.

“Mike, would you cool it, for God’s sake! I do not want to the in a high-speed chase!”

“Show some nerve, Ben. We’re catching bad guys.”

“I don’t want to catch bad guys. I want to live to a ripe old age.” They whizzed by a black pickup so quickly that Ben ducked. “Look, I already know you’re a hardboiled two-fisted male-machismo sumbitch. You don’t have to prove it to me by nailing some moron in a Ferrari!”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Mike muttered. “He didn’t even use his left turn indicator.”

“Oh, well then—life imprisonment for him.” Ben glanced fearfully at the speedometer. “Mike! You’re doing a hundred miles an hour!”

“Is that all? No wonder I haven’t caught up.” He pressed harder on the accelerator.

“Mike, listen to me. I’m an innocent. A civilian. I don’t want to perish in the line of duty. I want out!”

“Sorry, Ben, no time,” he said, his hands tightly clenching the steering wheel. “Justice is on patrol.”

Forty minutes and three tickets later, Ben and Mike arrived at the home of Gloria Hamel in the plush residential section surrounding the Philbrook Museum. They rang the door, and a few moments later she opened it.

Ben was horrified.

Mike’s description, although gruesome enough, left him utterly unprepared for what he saw. Mrs. Hamel’s face was a scarred and bloody nightmare. Her nose had been flattened; her eyes were so swollen she could barely see. She had two deep lacerations, one beneath each cheek, creating a macabre symmetry. Both appeared to have been sutured. A white bandage stretched down the middle of her face, covering the place where her nose used to be.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Gloria said. Her words were slurred and unenunciated; she was only barely able to move her mouth. “I’m having some trouble getting around this morning.”

Ben was astonished she was even able to stand. “I’m Ben Kincaid.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “Lieutenant Morelli told me you would be coming when he visited me at the hospital.”

“Are you feeling any better?” Mike asked gently.

“It’s hard to say.” She looked at them as if she might find her answer in their eyes. “The doctors said I could go home, although I have to return to the hospital tomorrow for more sutures. They think my brain may be partially detached from my skull.

Having grown up with a doctor father, Ben had had an opportunity to see injuries of all sorts and degrees. Nonetheless, he could not recall ever seeing anyone so hideously damaged, so…ruined. “Forgive me for asking, but have you consulted a plastic surgeon?”

“Just long enough to find out they are very expensive. Too expensive for me. Especially now that Howard is gone.”

“Surely your husband’s medical insurance at Apollo—”

“Terminated the instant he died. I’ve already spoken to Robert Crichton about it. He said he was sorry, but there was nothing he could do.”

Mike gave Ben a pointed look. “Some boss you got there, Ben.”

Ben didn’t reply.

“Please come in,” Gloria said. “I don’t like to stand out in the open.”

They stepped into the foyer of the house. Now that he was inside, Ben realized that the house was even more palatial than it seemed from the outside. The furnishings were absolutely top-drawer—much better than he would have expected a mid-level member of the Apollo legal staff to be able to afford.

“How many rooms have you got here?” Ben asked.

“Twenty-two. Not counting the attic, garage, or basement.”

Ben whistled. “Mike, we’re going to need help.”

“Agreed. Although I doubt we’ll be able to divert many men from the serial killer investigation. Let me make a call.”

Gloria pointed to a telephone in the den. Mike dialed headquarters, leaving Ben alone, and extremely uncomfortable, with Gloria.

“Do the police have any idea who did this to you?” Ben asked.

“Not that I’ve heard.” Her diction was so slurred that Ben at first thought she had said “God how I hurt.” A shiver shot down his spine. “Not that I’ve been any help.”

“You didn’t help the police?”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t see a thing. It was about one A.M. I wasn’t sleeping well—I haven’t since Howard was killed. I heard a noise downstairs. Like a fool, I got up and looked around. I startled the intruder, who proceeded to beat me into unconsciousness—I suppose so he could get away before I called the police.”

Ben gazed sadly at the woman’s tragic face. Whoever did this was seeking more than just a hasty retreat. Whoever did this was a deeply cruel human being.

“Do you have any idea what the intruder was doing here?”

She shook her head, then winced, as if the tiny movement pained her. “He seemed to be searching for something. What, I don’t know.”

“You said he. Are you certain it was a man?”

“Well, I just assumed—but no, I suppose I really don’t know. It was too dark to see anything.”

“That must be a horribly…invasive feeling,” Ben said. “To have someone break in, to learn that you’re not safe in your own home.”

“This is just one more…incident,” she murmured.

“There have been others?”

“I don’t mean like this. I mean…everything.” She lowered herself slowly into a chair. “One more blow. One more incomprehensible slap in the face. When Howard was killed, I thought my life was over, thought I had no reason to live. And now…” Her head bowed till she was staring at her hands. “…now, I wish I could die.”