I've Got You Under My Skin

97

“It’s time,” Bruno said. “We’re going to have you call Mommy.” He had put the shiny blue contact lenses back in his eyes.

Timmy looked up into the blue eyes that had haunted him for more than five years of his young life. “You shot my daddy,” he said.

“That’s right, Timmy, and let me tell you why. I didn’t want to be a criminal. I wanted to break away from the mob. I was only nineteen. I could have had a different life. But your hotshot grandfather caught me driving drunk. I begged him to let me go and told him that I was reporting to the army the next day. But he arrested me. Then the army wouldn’t take me, and I got back with the mob. I broke into a house, and the old lady in it had a heart attack when she saw me. She died. I got thirty years.”

Bruno’s face became contorted with anger. “I could have done anything. I can build computers. I can break into any computer or phone. I had figured out how to get even with Leo Farley. I was going to kill the people he loved-his son-in-law, his daughter, and you. I got your father, but they sent me back to prison on a stupid parole violation for another five years. Now you know, Timmy, and it’s time to call Mommy.”

Laurie and Alex watched as the graduates walked out of the room, leaving Robert Powell sitting alone. Silently Laurie nodded to the crew to pack up. There was nothing more to be said.

Alex felt the vibration of his phone ringing in his pocket. It was his office; the investigator he had assigned to find out about the landscaper.

“Alex.” His voice was urgent. “The landscaper you asked us to check out. He is not Bruno Hoffa. He’s Rusty Tillman, who served thirty years in prison. He got out five and a half years ago, a week before the doctor was shot. He went back to prison on a parole violation, and got out five months ago. We ran his picture-”

Alex dropped the phone. Unbelieving, he stared at Laurie. She had been about to step out onto the patio. He heard her phone ring as he frantically shouted, “Wait, Laurie!”

She was already out on the patio, her phone to her ear.

“Timmy, you’re not allowed to call me during the day,” she said. “What’s wrong, honey?” And then she looked up.

The pool house door was opening and Timmy, in his pajamas and robe, was coming out, hand in hand with the gardener. He was holding a rifle pointed at Timmy’s head.

With a shriek Laurie began to race across the lawn.

Chief Ed Penn was roaring toward the Powell estate. “Don’t turn on the sirens,” he warned his driver. “We don’t want to alert him. Tell all units to report to the Powell estate.”

The policeman in the squad car behind the estate had received the urgent message, had cut through the woods and was climbing the fence. Although a highly skilled marksman, Officer Ron Teski had never fired his weapon in the line of duty. As he sprinted toward the backyard, he realized this might be the day he had trained for. Blue Eyes dropped Timmy’s hand and, laughing, let him run to Laurie, who was running toward them from eighty feet away.

The squad car carrying Ed Penn came racing around the circular driveway. Penn, his gun in hand, frantically took aim at Blue Eyes. The shot missed its mark.

By now Laurie had reached Timmy and was bending over to pick him up. Wanting to finish the task the way he had envisioned, Blue Eyes took aim at Laurie’s head. As he was about to fire, Officer Teski’s first shot cut into his shoulder. Spinning, Blue Eyes raised the rifle and tried to point it in Laurie’s direction. His finger was on the trigger as he felt an explosion rip through his chest.

Blue Eyes’ body fell to the ground accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. The bullet he had fired crashed through the window of the den where Robert Powell was still sitting. With a puzzled expression, Powell raised his hand to what remained of his forehead and then fell from the chair.

Seconds later, in a foreshadowing of what was to come, Alex Buckley was wrapping Laurie and Timmy in his arms.