Viral

Chapter 35 September 3

What are you going to do with her things?” Jeanne asked. She and Brian were standing at the open door of Juliette’s bedroom, looking in at the disheveled bed. Jeannot Lapin was in a heap on the floor after apparently being batted off the bed during Juliette’s seizure. Jeanne had been surprised when Brian suggested they make the visit the moment they had entered the house.

Without answering, Brian stepped into the room, picked up the stuffed rabbit, and then returned out into the hallway. As he did so, he closed the door behind him. “I’m not going to do anything with her things,” he said. “At least not now. Maybe sometime in the future.”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Jeanne said. “I could at least pack everything for you to get it out of sight. I’m afraid it is going to be painful keeping them around.”

“That’s generous of you,” Brian said. “There’s no need. I’m just going to leave the door closed, but I wanted to return Jeannot Lapin. I know it means something to you, otherwise you wouldn’t still have had it.” He held out the plush toy.

Jeanne took the rabbit and hesitated before responding. The day had been extremely painful for her, and she could only imagine how traumatic it had been for Brian. She’d grown fond of Juliette in the few days that she had known her, and realized it was perhaps that Juliette represented the daughter she’d wanted but never had. And now Jeannot Lapin would always be associated in her mind as Juliette’s friend and not hers. “I appreciate the gesture,” she said at length. “I hope you understand, but I’d prefer to let Jeannot Lapin remain with Juliette.” She reached out and grasped the doorknob to Juliette’s room, looking up at Brian but not yet opening the door. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

Leaving the door ajar for moment, Jeanne went into Juliette’s room. After straightening the covers, she carefully placed Jeannot Lapin on the bed. Once back in the hall, she closed the door behind her.

“I’m sorry to have caught you up in all this,” Brian said as they descended the stairs.

“Don’t be. The best way to stop feeling sorry for oneself is to start feeling sorry for someone else. Losing a spouse is a terrible experience, I can attest to that. But losing a child is far worse. Would you like me to leave or do you want to talk or maybe sit in silence?”

“I’m not sure,” Brian admitted. “But I don’t want you to leave. That’s for certain. I think I’d like to talk.”

“Where should we sit?”

Brian shrugged. He was taking everything moment by moment. “I guess in the office.”

As they entered, Jeanne noticed the bulky, strange-looking shoulder bag on Emma’s desk. She couldn’t make out what it was, partially because of the dimness in the room. The only windows of the former dining room were high and made of leaded glass. Most of the light was coming in through the archway leading into the living room. Preferring semidarkness, Brian had not switched on the chandelier.

“It’s a rifle bag,” Brian said as he noticed Jeanne peering at it. He threw himself heavily into his desk chair and groaned. On the day Emma died, he thought he had experienced the worst moment of his life, but the pain he was experiencing with Juliette gone was unparalleled.

“It looks odd,” Jeanne said, bending over and looking at it closer. One end came to a protruding cylinder about the size and shape of the business end of a duster. “It doesn’t look long enough to hold a rifle.”

“It’s a special rifle,” Brian said. “It’s a sniper weapon, meaning it is very, very accurate. In order to make it easier to transport, the stock folds against the barrel.”

“My goodness,” Jeanne exclaimed. “What they won’t think of next.” She sat in one of the several side chairs and, like Brian, groaned as she settled in.

Both Brian and Jeanne were physically and emotionally exhausted. Starting at 3:25 a.m. for Brian and 4:45 a.m. for Jeanne, it had been a long day — what felt like the longest day of his life.

The most emotionally difficult part had been in the ED waiting to get the required paperwork done right after they had viewed the body. All at once, there had been a flood of emergency cases arriving by ambulance, including several early morning automobile accidents that had taken the attention of most of the doctors, nurses, and even clerks. To complicate the situation, just before ten o’clock Aimée and Hannah had arrived, both in a panic. From a call to Camila, Aimée had learned Juliette had had a bad seizure during the night and was in the ED. Aimée in turn had called Hannah and both had come directly to the hospital without phoning ahead. When they arrived, it fell to Brian to tell them that Juliette had passed, which put them both into a hysterical condition. As a result, Brian had to spend considerable effort to calm both of them, rather than come to terms with his own deeply broken state.

Luckily for Brian, Hannah eventually took control. Although she had been depressed since Emma’s burial, this new tragedy caused her to regain composure, and she again accepted the burden of planning the next few days. At first Brian expressed some reluctance to go along with the full funeral procedure again after the experience of Emma’s passing, but his reservations were immediately dismissed by Hannah and Aimée. Ultimately, he yielded to their wishes both because objecting would have taken too much energy, which he didn’t have, and because he thought it would be selfish to deny them fulfilling what they thought was their responsibility. It was painfully obvious to Brian that they both were hurting and it was also apparent to him that the planning process was helping them deal with the horror of losing a beloved granddaughter.

Once the paperwork and other formalities had been done at the ED and the body was released, it was off to Riverside Funeral Home. Both Brian and Jeanne followed along but didn’t say much nor were their opinions actively sought. In some regards it had surprised them that neither Aimée nor Hannah objected to or even questioned Jeanne’s presence, since neither had met her before now.

From the funeral home it was on to the O’Briens’, so Brian could tell Emma’s father that one of his granddaughters had passed away and that there was to be another wake in their home. Why it had to be him rather than Hannah, Brian didn’t question, but since Ryan was going to be paying, as Hannah had offered and as he’d done for Emma, Brian felt obligated to deliver the horrible news. It was only after that visit that Brian and Jeanne were able to excuse themselves and walk home to Brian’s house. It felt like the calm after a wildly destructive storm.

“What would you like to talk about?” Jeanne asked after a few minutes of silence.

“I don’t know,” Brian admitted. “It’s hard to concentrate. My mind and emotions are going a mile a minute.”

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to talk about,” Jeanne declared. “I want to talk about feeling pissed that MMH Inwood and Peerless Health have essentially killed both our spouses and your beautiful child. Just sitting with you in the ED brought back the entire saga of my husband’s torture and death like it was yesterday. There were more times than I’d like to count that we were forced to wait in that same waiting room while he suffered and ultimately died.”

“We have a right to be enraged,” Brian agreed. “In fact, I’ve never felt this deeply furious before. Well, that’s not really true. I felt this way the day Emma died, but it’s worse today. There was an ounce of doubt about whether the hospital was responsible for Emma’s death, but there’s none in respect to what happened today. They should have diagnosed Juliette and the fact that they didn’t or wouldn’t infuriates me. Psychosomatic? Please!” Brian’s eyes darted around the room as if he was looking for something to destroy. “I want to break something. Anything.”

“I know how you must be feeling,” Jeanne agreed. “I can remember when Riley died, I had the same inclinations, and I’m embarrassed to say I did break some dishes. But it certainly didn’t solve anything. Let’s funnel this rage we’re feeling into exposing this disaster by using the list your friend has provided us. The fact that there are almost five hundred cases possibly just like ours in Inwood shocks me. What does that mean for the entire city, or the entire country for that matter? This surely can’t be an isolated phenomenon.”

Listening to Jeanne had Brian trying to focus his anger. What she was saying was undoubtedly true, and the details of the one case that Grady Quillen had mentioned to him involving Nolan O’Reilly sounded as heartrending as his own.

“I think this could be a true media event,” Jeanne continued passionately. “Especially if they question how the hell it has come to this in the richest country in the world. There’s no doubt in my mind that the finger will ultimately point at the profit motive of private equity.”

“And Charles Kelley and Heather Williams are certainly poster children for that culture,” Brian added.

“What shocks me is that none of the politicians are focusing on this,” Jeanne said. “There’s lots of talk about healthcare in general, but not specifics about what the situation is doing to individual people like us and how Kelley and Williams and people like them can get away with what they are doing.”

“My guess is that it’s all about money, appropriately enough,” Brian said. “I’ve heard in the past that the healthcare industry, mostly hospitals, health insurance, and drug companies, spend millions on lobbying to maintain the status quo. They like their profits and don’t want change. It means giving big bucks to politicians on both sides of the aisle.”

“Like how much? I’m sure that doesn’t happen in France.”

“Let’s check it out,” Brian said, eager to do something, anything. He turned on his monitor. After typing into Google, “how much per year does the healthcare industry spend on lobbying,” he hit enter. In a millisecond the results flashed onto the screen. “Here it is! My God! Five hundred and ninety-four million dollars in 2019! That’s more than one and a half million dollars a day. That’s absurd.”

“It’s more than absurd,” Jeanne said. “It’s crazy. As I said, that would never happen in France, or anyplace in Europe for that matter. No wonder it’s come to this point. Why is this bribing allowed? I mean, they maybe call it lobbying but surely in this instance it’s pure bribery.”

“As I recall, it has something to do with ‘free speech,’ which I personally think is ludicrous,” Brian said. “It got turned into a constitutional issue. Whether we uncover five hundred stories as sad and tragic as ours, I can’t imagine it would be enough to change this entrenched system, mostly because of the wildly extravagant lobbying but also because of the news cycle. It could be a big story and most likely would be, but then twenty-four hours later, it would be on to something else.”

“Maybe we could dribble the stories out over time,” Jeanne suggested.

“I don’t think that would work, either,” Brian said with some discouragement. “A handful of sad stories might get on page one the first day, but then subsequent ones would quickly get relegated to less prominent positions. It’s the way the media works. A scoop on day one is often yesterday’s lunch on day two.”

“Does that mean you are giving up on the cases Grady Quillen gave us?” Jeanne asked, sensing Brian’s pessimism.

“Not necessarily. But what we have to do is think up a way to give the story staying power, so that it evolves over time and maintains public interest.”

For several minutes neither Brian nor Jeanne spoke as they pondered. The news cycle was short, particularly in this day and age with the internet supplying instantaneous information 24/7. They stared at each other expectantly, hoping the other would come up with an idea, something to assuage their anger and sadness yet have enough staying power to effect change. But neither spoke until after a kind of visual pas de deux that involved their eyes drifting in tandem over to the bag on Emma’s desk before coming back to stare at each other. Later they would question whose eyes strayed first, but they couldn’t decide. It was as if the idea germinated in both of them simultaneously.

“You said the sniper rifle is very, very accurate,” Jeanne said, breaking the silence. “What does that mean in terms of distance?”

“More than a half mile for most of them,” Briand found himself responding.

“How about this one?” Jeanne said, nodding toward the rifle bag. “Does it have a specific name?”

“It’s called a Remington MSR. And it is particularly accurate out to nearly a mile.”

“Hmm,” Jeanne thought out loud. “Call me crazy and desperate, but I’m starting to think of a story that would have real staying power and one that the media would devour as rightful revenge. Everyone loves a good revenge story, after all.”

“If you are thinking what I think you might be thinking, I have to confess it crossed my mind, too. Especially when I was using the rifle yesterday at the shooting range.”

“How easy would it be, if I may ask? I assume you have some idea, as a security expert.”

“Very easy, would be my guess,” Brian said. “And that’s even with them wasting significant money on personal protection. I’ve seen Kelley’s and Williams’s day security people, and none of them impressed me. As kind of a joke, I even offered my services to Heather Williams.”

Emotionally wrought, Jeanne and Brian stared at each other with unblinking eyes. “I can’t believe myself, yet there is something utterly satisfying about the idea,” Jeanne said after a few moments of silence.

“I know precisely what you mean,” Brian said. “It’s crazy on one hand but gratifying on another. It brings to mind the moment I learned about the Hammurabi code, or ‘an eye for an eye,’ back when I was in the fourth grade. It made sense to me then, even more than what I was learning in catechism on Sundays about turning the other cheek. And it certainly makes sense to me now.”

“Is this something we could do together?” Jeanne asked with a gleam in her eye.

Brian looked at Jeanne askance, trying to gauge her mindset. “Are you offering?” he asked after a pause.

“I suppose I am,” Jeanne said. “I mean, if you went ahead and did something on your own, by our even discussing it as we’re apparently doing, I’m technically already a coconspirator.”

“Well, I suppose we could do it together,” Brian said, warming to the idea. There was no doubt that while dealing with his anger after Emma had died, he’d thought about getting rid of both Charles Kelley and Heather Williams, yet he’d dismissed the idea as a passing retribution fantasy even though he’d spent considerable time mulling it over. And now with Juliette’s death, it had resurfaced but had been relegated to the back of his mind as repressed anger, waiting to be brought forward as Jeanne’s comments were now doing. “There’s no doubt it would be far easier as a team approach, especially if it involved dealing with an alarm system, since I trust you are up on all the latest technology.” One of his fantasies had involved breaking into the executives’ homes and confronting them directly.

“Unless something earth-shaking has appeared over the last year, I’m up to speed,” Jeanne said. “Since it’s obvious you’ve thought about this, what would hypothetically be the most efficient way to accomplish it?”

“Through very careful planning and preparation,” Brian said firmly. “Both killings would have to happen the same evening or night, one after the other, for it to work. If there was a delay on the second one, even of only a day or so, that individual’s security people might be on guard, making it more difficult. That’s number one. Number two: We’d have to keep from being detained. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to feed the media, and the search for us would be a big part of the ongoing story. That’s what will keep it on page one for as long as we are at large. And three: We’d have to present a manifesto to various outlets of exactly why the assassinations were done to raise the story above and beyond the pure eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth revenge aspect. I’d like every hospital and health insurance CEO to live in fear that they could be next unless there is significant change to the system.”

“How would we avoid being arrested?” Jeanne asked. “Surely your NYPD colleagues would figure out the whodunit rather quickly, particularly with a manifesto, and be after us, especially if we were continuing to try to feed the media.”

“We’d avoid arrest by not being found,” Brian said simply. “That’s why our planning will have to include a sanctuary: someplace where it will be hard for them to find us, and when they do, their hands are tied.”

“Like what kind of sanctuary? I don’t understand.”

“The same night that the killings are done or at least by the next morning, we’d have to leave the country. Probably the best place to go would be Cuba. It’s close, easy to get there, and there are quite a few US fugitives living on the island whom the Cuban government refuses to extradite. Cuba loves giving the middle finger to the US government. Hell, we might even be considered heroes since we’d be able to give them the ability to prove that their healthcare system is a lot more equitable than ours, which it is, by the way.”

“Wow, you have been thinking a lot about this,” Jeanne said, clearly impressed by Brian’s thoroughness.

“I confess I’ve spent many sleepless, angry hours pondering the idea,” Brian admitted. “Just not all that seriously, I suppose. But I can tell you that with Juliette’s passing and in my current state of mind, it doesn’t sound so preposterous anymore. They ruined my life for their own personal gain, and they should suffer. I know that is not very Christian, but that’s how I feel.”

“Let me ask you this,” Jeanne said. “If and when you have one of these lowlifes in your sights, could you actually pull the trigger? As much as I would ultimately like them to be gone, I’m not sure I could do it.”

“That’s a good question,” Brian answered. “But I don’t think I’d hesitate. In the line of duty, regrettably enough, I’ve had to make that decision in milliseconds when confronted by bad guys. I didn’t hesitate then and each of those perps was responsible for one or two deaths. I’m certain that Charles Kelley and Heather Williams are in another league in causing deaths above and beyond our spouses and my child. On top of that, they’ve ruined the lives of countless others. So no, I don’t imagine I would hesitate for a moment, especially if it might serve to expose and change the whole hideous system.”

“Do you know anybody in Cuba?” Jeanne asked. She felt her pulse quicken. In her mind the discussion had definitely moved from the purely hypothetical to the possible.

“Not personally,” Brian said. “But I know Camila has some extended family in Cuba who I imagine would be willing to help us if she were to ask. Obviously, I wouldn’t even broach the issue with her until we were there. No one can know what we are planning, and I mean no one. Not even family.”

“This is beginning to sound serious,” Jeanne said. “Am I right or are you still fantasizing out loud? Be honest.”

“I’m not sure,” Brian admitted. “But the more I think about it, the more serious I become.”

“Which means you would be willing to give up your life here in the United States?”

“I’ve already lost what I valued most, my wife and my child.”

“What about this house?”

“I’ll deed it to Camila,” Brian said. “If I hang around here, there’s a good chance the hospital would get to repossess it through the courts. Without Emma and Juliette, it doesn’t mean anything to me, and Camila deserves it. If she owns it, the hospital can’t touch it.”

Jeanne took a deep breath to organize her thoughts. The extent of Brian’s planning had left her mind in disarray. She’d had her own fantasies about revenge, but over the year since Riley’s passing, they’d faded. Suddenly, with Juliette’s death, they were back with a vengeance. Just like Brian, she felt strongly that Charles Kelley and Heather Williams had ruined her life as she knew it, taking away her spouse, her savings, and her most recent livelihood all because of their insatiable personal greed. But when she thought about everything Brian had just said, her only hesitations were about Cuba. She’d been to the Caribbean with her husband on several occasions, and it had been pleasant enough for a week, but ultimately boring. The idea of spending the rest of her life there was daunting.

“I have another idea about a sanctuary,” Jeanne said suddenly. “Are you open to hearing it or are you set on Cuba?”

“Of course I’m open to hear,” Brian said. “Fire away.”

“When we first met, I believe you told me your mother had gotten you a French passport when you were a child. Do I remember correctly, or have I dreamed that up?”

Instead of answering, Brian leaned over and opened the middle drawer of his desk. Reaching in and rustling through the contents, he extracted a burgundy-colored pamphlet and plopped it on the desktop. The front of the passport was embossed with gold lettering and an impressive seal. “Voilà,” he said.

“Parfait! That means you are a French citizen.”

“So?” Brian questioned. “You’re not thinking we can sanctuary in France, are you?”

“Yes, I am,” Jeanne insisted. “I assume you recall the saga about the film director Roman Polanski.”

“Vaguely,” Brian said. “I’m not much of a film buff, and I don’t think I could name any of the films he directed. Why do you ask?”

“Do you recall that he’s a fugitive from US criminal justice?”

“Now that you mention it, I do. What’s the point?”

“The point is that France doesn’t extradite its citizens to the US,” Jeanne continued. “And Roman Polanski is living proof. He fled the US awaiting sentencing on five criminal charges, including rape.”

“Interesting,” Brian admitted. He immediately warmed to the idea of finding sanctuary in France. It would be immeasurably more rewarding on just about every conceivable level than being restricted to Cuba, especially a Cuban prison, which wasn’t out of the question.

“I’m not a lawyer,” Jeanne continued, “and we could still eventually be subject to arrest and prosecution, but it would be in France, not here in the US. In France I’m certain public opinion would be far more kindly in our favor. French people will be outraged at our stories. I certainly would have been.”

“We’d still need to hide out, at least in the short run and maybe for a month,” Brian countered. “How would that work?”

“We could hide out in Camargue,” Jeanne suggested. “It’s really off the beaten path, and my family has several isolated, deserted farmhouses that were acquired with large tracts of grazing land. One of them I remember isn’t that far from one of the towns, called Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, which is close to the sea. It’s actually very beautiful in its own fashion. Do you like to ride horses?”

Brian laughed in spite of himself. It suddenly seemed vaguely humorous under the circumstances to be asked if he liked to ride horses as part of a plan to off two healthcare executives. “That’s something I haven’t done much of,” he admitted. “But I suppose I could learn to like it.”

“My family has a lot of horses,” Jeanne said. “It’s the main way to get around in Camargue. I started riding when I was five or six. Regardless, I think France is our best bet. When the authorities investigate, it’s going to lead to you, not me, for multiple reasons. First, your disappearance is going to ring all sorts of alarm bells, especially given that you’ve just lost a wife and a child. And you have the skills and means. My medical horror story is old and won’t draw any more attention than any of the other almost five hundred cases. And right now, since I’m not working and have lost my business, I could leave tomorrow, and no one would notice or care, except maybe for a few friends and Riley’s family. But that will be easy to take care of, as I can just say that I’ve had enough of America, and I’m returning to my home country, case closed.

“So here’s what I propose. On the evening or night in question we make separate air arrangements, so we’re not associated, and we fly separate routes to some major European city, like Frankfurt or Madrid or Rome, just not France. I rent a car and pick you up, which ends your tracking, meaning Interpol won’t have much to go on. And then we drive to Camargue. Until they find you, which isn’t likely as long as we’re discreet, I doubt I’ll even be a suspected accomplice.”

For a moment Brian was dumbfounded as he went over the details of what Jeanne had proposed. It was brilliant, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d been mulling over hypothetical thoughts like this for days, namely, how to keep the media enthralled enough to have a major impact on the healthcare system. But Jeanne had come up with a terrific plan of escape and sanctuary in minutes. “That’s a great idea,” he admitted once he found his voice. “It’s perfect. Let’s start planning and see how we feel. I imagine the planning process alone will be therapeutic for me.”

“For me, too,” Jeanne agreed, sitting back in her chair. “Where do we start?”

Chapter 36 September 3

Turning left off Broadway, Brian drove up the long driveway leading to MMH Inwood. He and Jeanne were in the Subaru. He had merely told Camila he was going out for a drive, which she had accepted without question. In many respects she was as devastated as Brian over Juliette’s death and had been trying to help Aimée and Hannah with the plans for the wake.

“You know what a Maybach looks like, don’t you?” Brian asked as they crested the small hill and the whole hospital and the modest, outside parking area came into view. When she had asked him how they would start, he’d told her that they had to find out where each target lived by following them home. They had flipped a coin to see who would be first, and Charles Kelley had won.

“I suppose,” Jeanne said, but in truth she wasn’t certain. She wasn’t a car person. For her they generally all looked the same except that some were larger than others.

“Nope, it’s not here,” Brian said. To find Kelley’s Maybach, he had assumed they’d have to drive to the East Side, where MMH Midtown was located. Yet on the slight chance the CEO might have been on one of his relatively infrequent visits to Inwood, Brian thought the ten minutes it would take to check was worth it. Discovering he wasn’t there didn’t faze Brian, and he used the hospital turnaround to head back down to Broadway.

“How long do you estimate the planning stage will take?” Jeanne asked as they headed south on the Henry Hudson Parkway running alongside the Hudson River. “Now that we have officially started, I’m eager to get this done.”

“It all depends on what we find,” Brian said. “I’m relatively confident they live in the ritzy metropolitan areas of either Long Island, New Jersey, or southern Connecticut. And, frankly, the ritzier the better, where homes are widely separated from each other with expansive lawns and private outdoor sports facilities, like swimming pools and tennis courts. That’s what I’m counting on. It would also be nice if their homes weren’t too far apart to make logistics easier, especially since we’re obligated to do both in the same night. But we’ll have to take what we get.”

“At least we have the rifle,” Jeanne said. “That’s the key piece of equipment, but I suppose you could always get one.”

“It would not be hard,” Brian agreed. “Whatever we do need, I’m sure I can get now that I’ve got access to ESU Headquarters. For instance, if we end up having to break and enter, they’ve certainly got all the assault tools we’d need. I’ll feel guilty about taking advantage of Deputy Chief Comstock’s hospitality, but this is important. Honestly, giving up the camaraderie of the ESU might be the only thing besides my family that I will miss after all this is said and done.”

“What do you think the chances are that we’ll have to do a home invasion?” she asked.

“No way to guess. As I said, it will depend on what their living arrangements are. But if we do, that’s where your role will be key. Tell me this: If we do have to go into one or both homes, do you have the equipment you might need or will you have to obtain it?”

“I won’t need much,” Jeanne reassured him. “I already have a powerful eight-watt handheld radio that should do just fine.”

“Really?” Brian questioned. “That’s all? These people are pulling down multimillion-dollar salaries. They’ve surely been talked into expensive, elaborate alarm systems.”

“No doubt, but expense aside, they all use the same technology, transmitting wirelessly to their base station or receiver. All I’d have to do is figure out the frequency and then swamp it.”

“I don’t understand, but I’m going to trust that you do,” Brian said.

“I do,” Jeanne affirmed.

Within just a few minutes they were able to cross Central Park, and ten minutes later had reached Manhattan Memorial Hospital on Park Avenue. To Brian’s relief, it was obvious that Charles Kelley was still on-site, which he admitted had been a minor concern. His Maybach was parked in a no-parking zone right in front of the hospital’s main entrance where patients were either dropped off or picked up, the same way it had been at MMH Inwood the day Emma had died. As an added confirmation, the same overweight chauffeur-cum-bodyguard was leaning up against the vehicle’s passenger-side fender. As Brian cruised by, he could see that the man was smoking just like he’d been doing on their first interaction, looking as cocky as ever.

“That’s encouraging.” He pointed out the car. “There’s Kelley’s Maybach.”

“Where?” Jeanne asked, turning around to look behind. There were cars all over the place, most double-parked with their hazard lights on.

“It’s the limo right smack-dab in front of the hospital where there’s supposed to be no waiting,” Brian said. “You didn’t see it? It’s the only Maybach.”

“The cars all look the same to me,” she said as she continued scanning the area. “Oh, now I see it. The one with the chauffeur.”

“Yes, that’s it.” He continued up Park Avenue for several blocks before making a U-turn. After passing the hospital again while heading in the opposite direction, he made yet another U-turn. A block away from the Maybach, he pulled over to the curb at a fire hydrant and turned off the Subaru’s motor. “Now we wait.”

Jeanne used her phone to check the time. “It’s perfect timing,” she pointed out. “It’s after five, when executives begin to head home to their mansions.”

He nodded. “Have you ever seen Charles Kelley?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” Jeanne said.

“He’s got some height,” Brian recalled, the man’s image seared in his memory. “Sandy-colored hair and very tall. He’ll stand out when he appears.”

“I suppose this is a good car to follow someone without them knowing,” she said.

“It’s perfect,” Brian agreed. “Completely nondescript.”

“Do you think they’ll figure out they are being followed?”

“It depends on the level of professionalism of the driver,” he said. “Kelley’s chauffeur, who is probably doubling as a bodyguard, didn’t impress me, which will lessen his index of suspicion. A true professional has to think that at every minute the worst can happen. I imagine for us, if there is to be a problem, it will be when we get off the main roads, especially if Kelley lives in a particularly isolated area. The key thing is always to have a few cars between you and your mark if possible.”

“That makes sense.”

Timing turned out to be near perfect, and they didn’t have long to wait for Kelley to appear. The chauffeur, whom they could see over the roofs of the intervening cars, suddenly stiffened, adjusted his hat — which had been tilted back on his head — and threw away his cigarette. In the next instant they got a very brief view of the tall, sandy-haired Kelley as he emerged from the hospital and in a blink of an eye disappeared from view, presumably ducking down into his limo. Brian responded by starting the car, saying, “Here we go.”

He pulled out into the traffic but slowed as he neared MMH Midtown, to the chagrin of the yellow cab behind him. In a fit of displeasure and horn blowing, the cab pulled out from behind Brian and passed him, briefly slowing down as he came abreast to give Brian the finger before speeding off. The reason Brian was slowing was to make sure Kelley’s car pulled away from the curb before the Subaru arrived at the hospital entrance.

“We’ve got to stay close until we’re relatively sure where Kelley is heading,” Brian said.

“I understand.” Jeanne nodded her head.

Once the Maybach was clearly traveling north, Brian picked up speed to catch up. After going four or five blocks he added: “I guess we can eliminate South Jersey because they would have gone in the opposite direction toward the Lincoln Tunnel.”

Jeanne didn’t answer. She was holding on as best she could. To stay close to Kelley’s car, Brian was driving aggressively.

It wasn’t until they crossed over the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge and connected with the Long Island Expressway that he was reasonably sure where they were going. At each major freeway intersection, Brian had rapidly closed the gap between the Subaru and Kelley’s Maybach to a single car, but then had dropped back again when it was apparent Kelley was not turning.

“So, we’re heading to Long Island,” Brian announced, ostensibly relaxing and allowing as many as four cars between them. Jeanne eased up on the death grip she had on the passenger handle on the Subaru’s dash.

Forty minutes later they turned off the Long Island Expressway onto Community Drive. It was an area he was familiar with to an extent, having assisted the Great Neck Police Department on occasion.

“Now I have a more specific idea of where we are going,” Brian said. “I’d guess Kings Point. It’s certainly appropriately ritzy. Now it gets touchy. We’re going to have to close the gap.”

Luckily there was still considerable traffic, but it dwindled the farther out on the peninsula they drove. By the time they got to Shore Drive in Kings Point, the Subaru and the Maybach were alone. Since the road was relatively straight, Brian let a considerable distance intervene, and slowed when he saw the Maybach’s brake lights go on before it turned off the road into a gated driveway. By the time Brian and Jeanne arrived, the wrought-iron gate was closing. He slowed to a crawl and stopped briefly. Looking through the gate, they could see a massive, relatively new, faux-Mediterranean home.

“It looks like an impregnable oasis,” she commented.

Around the property was a reinforced concrete wall at least eight feet high whose top was embedded with shards of glass. Above the wall were coils of razor wire. “Appropriately enough, it looks more like a prison from out here than a home,” Brian scoffed. “But I doubt it is as impregnable as it looks. The name of the road is encouraging.”

“How so?” Jeanne asked.

“I’ll show you in a second,” he said. “Now that we have the address, let’s check it out with Google Maps’ satellite view.”

After driving ahead for a hundred yards, they pulled over to the side of the road. Most of the homes were hidden behind high walls, fences, or vegetation. Brian got out his phone and used Google Maps to bring up the area on his screen. Jeanne leaned over so she could see as well.

“As I remembered, Shore Drive is literally a road along the shore, bordering Long Island Sound,” he said while he zoomed in on the image of Kings Point, New York. He then pointed off to the right out of the car window. “All these houses along this side of the road are shorefront.”

“Got it.”

Returning his attention to the phone, Brian zoomed in more and used his finger to point. “And here’s Kelley’s house. Do you see it?”

“In all its glory. Rather large, I’d say.”

“It is, and quite impressive. It’s also encouraging for our purposes. It’s got a swimming pool, a guest-house-cum-garage, and a tennis court with what appears to be a basketball hoop. Obviously, Mr. Kelley thinks of himself as quite an athlete. And look at the size of the pier with a cabana at the end. Pretty fancy.”

“But the wall?” Jeanne questioned. “Isn’t that a major problem if we’re thinking of using a sniper rifle?”

“That might be true if we were looking to shoot from the landside of the property,” Brian said. “But from the waterside you can see it’s a different story, which is why I’m pleased that Kelley’s property is waterfront. See how the wall ends at the water’s edge? It’s typical for security-minded people to spend lots of effort on the landside but nothing from the seaside. They don’t want to block their view, which is entirely understandable. It’s why they paid such a premium for the lot.”

While they were concentrating on Brian’s phone, they weren’t aware of the car pulling up behind them until the police cruiser’s emergency light penetrated into the Subaru’s interior.

“Oh, shit,” Brian murmured, glancing in the side mirror.

She turned to look out the back window at the police car. “What’s the matter?” she asked nervously. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“Not in the short run,” he reassured her. “But if it gets recorded, it’s got me situated near the MMH CEO’s house.”

“Do you care?”

“Not necessarily, I’d just prefer it didn’t happen.” Brian got out the car’s registration, his driver’s license, and his NYPD ID in anticipation of the officer’s arrival.

A few minutes ticked by. “What do you think he’s doing?” Jeanne asked, continuing to peer out the back window.

“I’m sure he’s calling his dispatcher,” he said. “The Kings Point PD is a modest organization. I’m sure he’s solo, and you’re supposed to let dispatch know what you’re up to.”

A few minutes later the uniformed police officer got out of his cruiser, put on his peaked cap, adjusted his gear belt, then walked up to the Subaru. Brian lowered the window as he came closer.

“Afternoon,” the policeman said. He was an older gentleman with white hair and fleshy jowls. “May I see your license and registration, please?”

“Of course,” Brian replied pleasantly. He handed them out the window, being sure to keep the NYPD ID on top, which the policeman immediately noticed.

“Hmm,” he said. “Retired NYPD?”

“Yup,” Brian affirmed. “Retired from the ESU not quite ten months ago to start a private security firm.”

“Interesting,” the policeman said. “Excuse me, but I’ll be right back.”

“What’s he doing now?” Jeanne fretted as she watched the policeman climb back into his vehicle.

“Just checking if it all matches up,” Brian said knowingly. “He’s being appropriately careful.”

A few minutes later the policeman got out of his car and returned to the Subaru. He handed back Brian’s license, registration, and ID. “Sorry to bother you people,” he said. “But the homeowners out here are sensitive about strange cars, particularly strange parked cars. They call us all the time. Are you lost? Do you need any directions?”

“We’re fine,” Brian reassured him. “Thank you, Officer. Just making our way home.”

“Okay. Have a nice evening,” the policeman said.

Brian returned the documents to their proper locations, pocketed his phone, and put the Subaru in gear. “I didn’t see that coming, but it is a good lesson. You have to expect the unexpected in what we are doing. Regardless, I’d say we’ve made significant progress. Next up is finding out where Heather Williams lives. Once we have that, we can get down to business.”

“How about we do it tomorrow?” she said.

“I’m with you,” he said. “I need this. It will keep me from the reality of what happened this morning.”

Chapter 37 September 11

As there was no place to pull over at the bed-and-breakfast Jeanne had found on Seaman Avenue just down the street from her former apartment, Brian had to double-park. In Inwood, as in the rest of Manhattan, double- and even sometimes triple-parking was a way of life. With his hazard lights on, he used his phone to text her that he was outside waiting.

It had been just a little more than a week since he and Jeanne had followed Charles Kelley’s Maybach out to his fancy estate in Kings Point, and it had been an enormously busy time for both. They had continued their extensive and meticulous planning with progressive zeal and, in the process, became only more committed to exacting revenge on both Charles Kelley and Heather Williams. From a practical standpoint he attributed their efforts as the chief reason he’d been able to get through the immediate aftermath of Juliette’s death. Had it not been for the considerable concentration that the planning involved, he doubted he would have been able to emotionally weather the wake, the funeral, and the interment. Even so, it hadn’t been easy by any stretch of the imagination. During his appearance at the wake, he tried his best not to look at Juliette’s body, which he was mostly successful at doing, and at the burial he kept his eyes closed during the ceremony and spent the time going over in his mind all the contingencies he could imagine for the plan.

After Brian had left the wake at around two p.m., he’d gotten in his car and picked up Jeanne from her apartment on Seaman Avenue. She had not attended the wake since they had decided it best if they were no longer seen together by his family and Camila, so she’d be less likely to be implicated when all hell broke loose. By three they had been parked by a fire hydrant on Sixth Avenue in view of the building where Peerless Health had its home office. As a reward for their patience, they’d seen Heather Williams emerge at four p.m. sharp with her entourage and climb into a waiting Mercedes.

As they’d started the following process, mimicking what they’d done with Kelley, they’d made a wager on where they might be going, with Brian favoring Greenwich, Connecticut, because of Heather Williams’s apparent love of horses, and Jeanne favoring the fancy areas of New Jersey for the same reason. Both had turned out to be wrong. When they found themselves again heading out to Long Island, they started to entertain the hope that the two like-minded executives lived in the same very wealthy town, which would make things a lot easier. But that had not turned out to be the case, as they’d sped past both turnoffs from the Long Island Expressway that led out to Kings Point.

Instead, the Mercedes had left the expressway and then headed north on the way out to the second north-facing Long Island peninsula. It had turned out that Heather Williams lived in Sands Point, essentially across the Manhasset Bay from Charles Kelley’s house, reminding Brian of the fictitious East Egg and West Egg of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby. As such, it was just as convenient as if they lived in the same town and maybe more so because Heather Williams’s house was also waterfront property. The difference was that Heather’s mansion was on a significantly larger plot of land that included a stable and a fenced-in paddock, which they had been able to discover by looking at satellite maps. Neither could be seen from the road. Like Kelley’s house, the property had a wireless controlled gate, a surrounding wall, a swimming pool, and a lengthy pier.

Brian’s phone chimed, indicating he’d gotten a text message. When he checked it, he saw that Jeanne was on her way down. Accordingly, he got out of the car and opened up the back. The rear seats were down to provide more storage space, and a blanket covered what was there. Brian pulled the blanket aside for Jeanne’s things. Already present was his luggage, the rifle bag with the Remington MSR, assault tools he’d borrowed from the ESU Academy, night-vision goggles, a ketamine dart pistol, rope, a window anchor for rapid escape, his P365 Sig Sauer fitted with a different barrel and a suppressor, and a few other sundries he thought he might need. In his luggage was his French passport and as much cash as he could amass without causing undue alarm. For clothes he was wearing his black ESU tactical uniform but stripped of any markings.

As he waited, Brian called on all his extensive experience as an ESU officer about to initiate a dangerous mission to keep his emotions in check. He knew all too well how important it was to maintain a clear mind so as not to make inadvertent, silly mistakes. Part of it was to control his breathing and even heart rate, but most important was to keep his attention homed in on the details of the plan.

Jeanne appeared at the heavy glass art nouveau door to the six-story apartment building that housed the bed-and-breakfast she had booked when she moved out of her rented apartment, having given away what furniture and household equipment she had. Seeing she was struggling with a large shoulder bag, a roll-on suitcase, and another sizable valise, he rushed to help. As he had requested, she, too, was dressed in dark clothing.

“Let me help,” Brian offered after pulling the glass entrance door completely open. He took the valise, which was a good deal heavier than he anticipated. “What’s in this?” he questioned with a quizzical chuckle.

“Books I can’t live without,” she answered with a laugh of her own, though he could tell by her movements that she was on edge more than he.

They got Jeanne’s things into the back of the car, and Brian replaced the blanket that served as a tarp. They were planning on leaving the car for a number of hours and didn’t want to invite a break-in. Luckily it would be in a safe, supervised place.

A few minutes later they were heading north on Broadway en route to City Island, New York, part of the Bronx. Six days earlier they’d rented a black inflatable Zodiac boat with a forty-horsepower outboard motor, a mooring slip, and fishing gear from Butler Marine.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” Jeanne admitted, trying to get herself to relax now that they were underway. “Is this really happening after all this planning and preparation?”

“I hope so,” he said, also coming to terms with the fact that his life as he knew it was about to be over.

“Are you as angry now as you were the day Juliette died?”

“Even more so,” Brian said. “The more we learned about the lifestyle of these extortionists, the more outraged I’ve become. I’ve lost everything I love and cherish while they wallow around in their swimming pools. And to add insult to injury, MMH is still dragging its feet after all that has happened just to provide Megan Doyle with a full copy of the hospital bill.”

“I feel the same way,” Jeanne agreed.

“Of course, things can still go awry despite our planning,” Brian cautioned. “There could be unexpected glitches, but everything is looking good, including the weather. Luckily both Kelley and Williams are such creatures of habit, which makes it possible for everything to fall into place.”

The first thing that they had done after discovering where the two executives lived was to rent the Zodiac boat on City Island, a mere two miles across the Long Island Sound from both locations. They’d then spent the next four days supposedly fishing in and around Manhasset Bay armed with a pair of powerful binoculars. Since they weren’t using any bait, they didn’t have to deal with actually catching any fish. Instead, they were able to study both mansions, noting, as Brian had suspected, that there were no walls or fences on the waterside of either property. Despite constantly moving from place to place to avoid being at all suspicious, they’d quickly learned that both executives adhered to predictable workday schedules upon their arrivals at home.

Although Heather Williams lived a bit farther from Manhattan than Charles Kelley, she was the first to arrive home, at five o’clock. When she got there, the first evidence was several dark-suited men who walked the grounds, even checking inside the substantial sailing yacht tied to the long, massive pier. A few minutes after they left the scene, she appeared in a riding outfit along with several beagles. With the dogs frolicking along beside her, she walked across the paddock to her nearby stable, where she was greeted by a stable hand. A half hour or so later she reappeared mounted on a horse. For the next hour, she exercised the horse in the paddock at varying speeds, even doing a few jumps. An hour later she was in the pool, swimming laps. Having watched this program over a few days, they understood it as her daily warm-weather routine while in residence in her Sands Point mansion. Online, Jeanne had learned that she spent July and August at her house in the Hamptons with her horses, often playing polo at the Meadowbrook Polo Club. All in all, from Brian’s perspective, he was encouraged that both the riding and the swimming would offer multiple opportunities for a sniper shot.

Charles Kelley’s routine was somewhat similar, although on arrival he did a cursory property check himself, accompanied by his liveried driver. A half hour later they both re-emerged onto the terrace, one from within the house and the other from around the side, both dressed in T-shirts, shorts, and high-top sneakers. Since the driver didn’t come from inside the house, Brian assumed he lived on the premises but in the guest house. He recognized that the driver’s presence would need to be taken into consideration if a home invasion became necessary.

After reappearing in athletic gear, both Charles and his driver proceeded to the tennis court. They didn’t play tennis but rather played one-on-one basketball, during which Charles invariably prevailed by a wide margin. In contrast to Heather Williams’s solitary riding routine and its favorability for a sniper shot, Charles Kelley’s basketball playing was not ideal, not only because he wasn’t alone, but because the court was surrounded by a metal chain-link fence. As Brian explained to Jeanne, trying to target through the fence could be a problem, since there was a substantial probability that a bullet would be deflected, potentially wounding the target instead of killing him.

The most disappointing aspect of Charles Kelley’s routine, as they observed on the first day, was that after his basketball triumph, he didn’t swim solitary laps like Heather Williams in his Olympic-sized pool as they had hoped. But it was a good thing they had been patient and stayed while the sun set because Charles had eventually reappeared. To their surprise he suddenly emerged out of a Moorish arched door onto a second-floor balcony, and what surprised them even more was that he was naked save for a towel casually thrown over his shoulder. Later, thanks to the floor plans they had obtained online from the Kings Point Building and Assessor’s Office, they learned that the door led out from a master bedroom/bath complex. While they watched him on that first occasion and on subsequent evenings, Charles Kelley always took lengthy outdoor showers. Thanks to his significantly above-average height, he was visible from mid-thorax to the crown of his head the entire time — a perfect setup for a sniper shot.

“I hope you remembered your French passport,” Jeanne said half in jest and half to break the tense silence as they turned onto the Cross County Parkway, heading east. In contrast to his practiced calmness, she was a ball of nerves.

“I remembered mine,” Brian said. “I hope you brought yours, too.”

“No problem for me. I’m bringing everything I still own. You are the one leaving an entire house full of furniture, an extended family, all your personal stuff, and a lifetime behind.”

It was true. The last few days had been hectic for him, trying to get everything done, including signing the new deed to transfer the house to Camila and sign over the car as well. Luckily Patrick McCarthy had been willing to help, since he wrongly assumed it was merely a private deal that Brian had arranged with Camila to keep the house from the hands of MMH Inwood via their subsidiary Premier Collections.

With the major assets out of the way, Brian then tried to decide what to bring with him as souvenirs of his past life. Ultimately, he settled on just taking some clothes and nothing else. The mere process of trying to decide on more personal things had evoked too much pain and even more anger in him. The only thing he was going to miss was his family and some of his NYPD buddies, though he was confident he’d be seeing them sometime in the future.

The plan that they had settled on, provided things went as they envisioned that day, was for him to take Jeanne directly to JFK Airport, where she was scheduled to take one of the last flights of the night heading to Europe. It was a Turkish Airlines flight to London. From there she was scheduled to go on to Frankfurt, Germany, where she would pick up a rental car. Brian was to go from dropping Jeanne off at JFK to Floyd Bennett Field in order to return the Remington plus the equipment he’d borrowed from the ESU Academy. He was then to drive out to Newark Airport where he was scheduled to take a morning Delta flight to London. From there he was to also connect to Frankfurt, where he and Jeanne would meet up and drive to the South of France.

Ten minutes later they were heading south on the Hutchinson River Parkway, and Jeanne again broke the silence. “What do you think are the chances we’ll need to break into one or both houses?”

“I’m counting on the chances being relatively small,” Brian said. “Both Kelley and Williams strike me as mildly obsessive-compulsive creatures of habit, as we’ve observed. If there is to be a break-in, it will be at Charles Kelley’s and only if he fails to follow his normal outdoor shower routine. You’ve remembered your handheld two-way radio, right?”

“Of course.” She patted the shoulder bag on her lap. “And one for you, too, so that we can communicate if need be.”

“Good idea,” he said.

One of the first things they’d done after determining where each executive lived was to go by the homes the following morning so that Jeanne could figure out the frequencies of their respective wireless security systems. She’d done it with her laptop when the outer gates had opened and closed for a delivery. She had explained that by dialing in the frequency on her radio, she would be able to swamp the respective systems, making it possible if need be for her and Brian to walk in their front doors without being detected and deal with any indoor motion detectors. She reminded him that the key thing that she’d have to remember was to let her radio stop transmitting for a second or two every so often to keep the central alarm system from recognizing it was being artificially overwhelmed. Brian wasn’t sure he understood, but was confident that she knew what she was doing.

“I know it sounds silly considering what we are planning to do,” Jeanne said, speaking up yet again after a few more miles of silence. Although he was pensive under the circumstances, as accustomed as he was to anticipating action and controlling his emotions, she had a nervous urge to talk. “But I’m glad we learned that both of them had been recently divorced.”

“I know what you mean,” Brian agreed.

During their intense, weeklong investigation of Heather Williams’s and Charles Kelley’s habits, they had learned a number of unexpected things, some of which were encouraging for what they were planning to do. They discovered that prior to the coronavirus pandemic both executives had undergone messy and rather public divorces, during which custody of the involved children had been awarded to the respective former spouses, none of which surprised them. This information bolstered the impression Brian and Jeanne had that Heather and Charles were grossly egotistical, greedy, unempathetic, narcissistic people, and accordingly bad parents.

A few minutes later they drove across City Island Bridge and turned onto City Island Avenue, a straight-shot street that ran due south the entire length of City Island. It was now slow going because of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, made worse by numerous double-parked cars and a series of traffic lights.

“I like this neighborhood,” Jeanne commented as they passed numerous hole-in-the-wall restaurants, all of which had expanded their outdoor dining onto the sidewalk and into the street due to the pandemic restricting their indoor seating. “It feels authentic and reminds me of parts of the Jersey Shore, with a kind of run-down but charming honky-tonk feel.” The architecture ran from ramshackle modern to bastardized Victorian.

Brian was preoccupied and didn’t answer. At this point of the journey, it was taking longer than he’d planned, as they had never driven the length of City Island Avenue in the afternoon. It was now almost four-thirty, and he wanted to be in position at least by five, when Heather Williams would arrive home. The plan was to wait until after the security people had done their daily sweep of the grounds before he would take up his intended position within a group of dark green Adirondack chairs grouped at the end of Heather Williams’s pier. His intention was to shoot supine, using the chairs as cover. Jeanne was to remain in the Zodiac beneath the pier alongside the sailing yacht to be prepared for a fast getaway if it was necessary. A similar strategy was to be used at Charles Kelley’s, only there Brian was going to take advantage of being able to shoot from within the cabana, which offered significantly more cover.

“Jesus Christ!” Brian complained, losing a bit of his composure as they were forced to wait behind a pickup truck double-parked outside of the Original Crab Shanty. There was no break in the line of cars coming from the opposite direction.

“Are you getting nervous?” Jeanne asked, glancing in his direction.

“Only time-wise,” Brian admitted. “I hope we haven’t planned this too tightly.”

Finally, there was a break in the incessant oncoming traffic, allowing Brian to skirt the truck blocking the road. He quickly accelerated but then immediately had to stop for a traffic light that inconveniently turned red.

“I think we are good,” she reassured him. “We’re almost there.”

Jeanne was correct, and they were able to pull into Butler Marine just a few minutes later. It was on the opposite, east side of the street such that the marina faced out toward Hart Island. Traversing the parking lot, he drove as close as he could to the base of the dock, which was home to the slip where their Zodiac slowly bobbed. Once there he quickly did a three-point turn and backed up as close as he could.

“Okay,” Brian said, jumping out of the car. “Let’s get her loaded up quickly. No turning back now.” They gave each other a look of agreement.

Along with some of the fishing gear and several canoe paddles, Brian gingerly picked up the bag containing the Remington MSR and slung it over his shoulder. Jeanne gathered up the rest of the fishing gear, and the two of them walked out to the boat without attracting any undue attention from the half dozen or so people attending to their boats farther out on the dock. While Jeanne climbed on board to stow everything and make ready, he went back to the car to get the equipment he’d borrowed from the ESU if a home invasion became necessary, including the ketamine dart pistol. The dart gun was in case they had to deal with Charles Kelley’s two pit bulls, which they had learned about during their extensive reconnaissance.

With everything shipshape in the Zodiac and the outboard idling, Brian went back to the Subaru, pulled the blanket back over their luggage, and moved the car to park as close as possible to the marina’s office. He thought that would be the safest place in the lot because the office was open until eleven p.m. with people coming and going. At that point of the venture, a theft of their luggage would be an unqualified disaster.

“Are you happy time-wise now?” Jeanne questioned nervously once they were underway and heading out through the marina’s rather elaborate dock system. Following the rules, he had the boat going at a very slow speed to avoid any wake.

“We’re good,” Brian said, knowing that the distance between the marina and Heather Williams’s pier was just a little more than two miles. Since there was little wind and no waves or chop, crossing the Sound into Manhasset Bay would only take five to ten minutes.

Once out in the open water, Brian pushed the boat’s throttle forward and let the forty-horsepower engine do its thing. With the resultant noise and stiff breeze, conversation was near impossible. Instead of trying to converse, they both mused privately about what the next few hours would bring. At the same time, they couldn’t help but appreciate the near-perfect late summer day and the salty smell of the sea. And once they cleared the southern tip of City Island and were in open water, they could admire the impressively jagged skyline of Manhattan along the horizon off to their right. Had the circumstances been different, they might have even enjoyed themselves.

Entering the mouth of Manhasset Bay, he cut back on the throttle, and the boat rapidly slowed and settled into the water. There were a few fishermen in view, and the last thing that Brian wanted to do was draw attention to themselves by potentially irritating anyone. Several hundred yards out from the tip of Heather Williams’s pier, Brian turned off the engine completely. He handed one of the fishing rods to Jeanne and picked one up himself. They both dropped their weighted lines into the water on opposite sides of the boat and pretended to be fishing.

Thanks to the prevailing westerly breeze, they were drifting directly toward their ultimate target. About a hundred yards away from the pier, he tossed out the anchor and the boat’s westward drift slowed dramatically. It was now five o’clock. Pretty much on schedule, the security people appeared, meaning Heather had arrived at home, and Brian and Jeanne watched as they followed their established routine of inspecting the grounds, the pool house, and the sailboat. As he watched one of them board the vessel, he wondered if there’d been a problem in the past with the yacht, perhaps a homeless person taking up residence or something of that nature to explain its invariable inclusion in their rounds.

Most important, they never gave any heed to Brian and Jeanne while doing their security check. If they were at all concerned about a couple of people fishing a hundred yards or so off the end of the pier, they didn’t let on. Brian was mildly surprised but gave them the benefit of the doubt since they weren’t the only fishermen in the area. Once the security men were on their way off the pier, essentially finishing their inspection, he quickly pulled the anchor. In response, the boat’s westward drift recommenced.

By the time Heather appeared from inside the house decked out in her riding gear, which comprised a tattersall vest, a black velveteen riding helmet, and a pair of white, form-fitting riding breeches, Brian and Jeanne were close enough to the pier for the deck to restrict their view. Depending on the tide, the pier could be as much as seven feet off the surface of the water, but at the moment it was about six. Although they couldn’t see the beagles, they could hear them in their excitement as Heather followed her normal routine, heading for the stable.

As close as they were to the pier and wanting to avoid being seen by neighbors, Brian and Jeanne snatched up the paddles and quickly moved the Zodiac under the pier’s expanded T-shaped end. Shaded from the sun, it was like entering a forest of pressure-treated pilings with the deck above serving as the forest’s canopy. Speaking curtly in hushed tones and using mostly gestures, Brian directed Jeanne to help turn the Zodiac around and then hold it in position facing out into the bay in case a fast escape was necessary. As they had earlier decided, Jeanne would be staying in the boat.

With care, he then removed the Remington from its protective cover. Before he’d left home, he’d readjusted its telescopic sight from its three-hundred-yard setting back to the hundred-yard setting, which was the distance Brian estimated from the end of the pier to the waterside edge of the paddock. All he had to do to the gun was unfold the stock and secure it since he’d already made all the other adjustments prior to his visit to Rodman’s Neck. He then handed the readied rifle to Jeanne while he climbed out of the boat and moved around to the outside of the ladder. When he was in position, she handed him the rifle.

“Bonne chance,” she whispered, giving his arm a squeeze.

After flashing Jeanne a thumbs-up, Brian carefully made his way up the perfectly vertical ladder. While holding the rifle in his left hand, it was a difficult process and would have been far easier if the gun had a shoulder strap. It required hugging the ladder with his body and sliding his right hand up its side between each step.

Finally gaining the deck, he immediately crouched down among the gaggle of Adirondack chairs while he slowly and silently rearranged them to form an outward-facing U. He made sure there was ample space for him to lie supine in the middle. After being in the relative darkness beneath the deck, he now had to squint against the bright, late afternoon sunlight. Once he was happy with the chair placement, he lay down, facing in toward land. Carefully he advanced the barrel of the rifle beneath the chair that formed the base of the U and set it on its bipod. After making himself comfortable, he leaned against the cheek-rest and sighted through the telescopic sight. Using the bolt action, he loaded a shell into the firing chamber.

Since Heather Williams had yet to appear from inside the stable, Brian used the time to scan around the swimming pool with the aid of the telescopic sight. If a paddock shot proved unacceptable for some unexpected reason, he wanted to have a plan for the pool. While he was so occupied, he saw Heather appear out of his left eye already mounted and coming toward him. Quickly he moved the gun to bring her image into the telescopic field. As was her normal routine, she started out at a walk coming toward him and moving clockwise around the paddock. Later she would trot, and canter, and even gallop. Since this walking entailed the least up-and-down movement, Brian was eager to make the shot quickly. As for the velveteen riding helmet, he was mildly concerned about what it might do to the bullet. Instead of taking any risk for a deflection, he decided to target just below the helmet from the rear, aiming for the brainstem. As he waited, she reached the curve and began turning to her right. The dogs at this point were considerably out in front of her in their eagerness.

With some difficulty but benefitting from experience, he maintained his breathing at a calm pace although he was conscious his pulse had quickened. All of their planning came down to mere moments. Without moving any other muscle in his relaxed body, he slipped his right index finger within the trigger guard and gently connected with the trigger. Through the telescopic sight, he followed Heather Williams’s progress on the turn as well as her methodical up-and-down movement. Soon he was observing her profile, and then as she began to turn away, he increased the pressure on the trigger while lining up the crosshairs on the base of the woman’s skull. At just the right moment, he made the shot. With the suppressor there was just a thumping hiss with the recoil. By reflex he used the bolt to rapidly eject the used cartridge and reload. But a second shot wasn’t necessary. Heather Williams fell off the horse with such suddenness the horse didn’t interrupt its walking even though it was now riderless.

A quick check of Heather’s body with the telescopic sight confirmed no movement whatsoever. Knowing he had no time to lose, Brian pulled the rifle back from beneath the Adirondack chair and pocketed the empty casing. He quickly scampered over to the ladder and in a repeat of how he’d climbed up, he descended. A moment later he handed off the rifle to Jeanne.

“How did it go?” she asked in a forceful whisper.

He flashed another thumbs-up as he boarded the Zodiac. Quickly he started the outboard engine, put the boat in gear, and steered out from under the deck. After going some fifty feet, both he and Jeanne looked back. The horse and the dogs could be seen at the far end of the paddock, where the horse had stopped to eat the grass. Heather Williams in her tattersall vest and white breeches was still in the exact position she’d been when she’d tumbled to the ground.

It was Jeanne’s turn to give Brian a thumbs-up as he increased the speed to a no-wake fast walk. It wasn’t until they were a good three or four hundred yards away that Brian slowed even more so they could talk without shouting. Several boats passed them, heading into Manhasset Bay from the Long Island Sound, one with a water skier.

“It went perfectly, without a hitch,” he assured her. He looked back yet again to the Williams mansion, this time using binoculars. The scene hadn’t changed. The horse and dogs were still at the far end of the paddock, and Heather Williams’s body was at the near end. It still had not been discovered, although it was only a matter of time. “I’ve never done anything like that. It was so quick, and so different from the messy shootings I’ve been involved with in the line of duty. I don’t know how to feel, except relieved that one nasty, greedy narcissist is gone.”

“Which is a tribute to the love you had for your wife and child,” Jeanne said. “I exhaled, too, when I heard the gun, which, by the way, I barely heard.”

“That’s thanks to the suppressor,” Brian said. “It definitely bought us some needed time.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be saying this,” Jeanne said. “But it’s rewarding that so far everything is going so well. The world is already a better place without her.”

“It’s thanks to our careful planning. One down and one to go. Let’s hope the Charles Kelley portion goes as smoothly. I’d really like to avoid having to do a break-in. With the sniper rifle there are infinitely fewer chances of complications and collateral damage.”

Following her suggestion, they went back to using the fishing rods by putting them in holders mounted in the stern, pretending they were trolling as they slowly motored across Manhasset Bay on their way to Charles Kelley’s. They were not in a hurry now that they were at least a half mile away from Heather Williams’s and with a significant number of other boaters in the area, taking advantage of the beautiful weather. They also preferred not to arrive at Kelley’s mansion too soon, as he wouldn’t appear on his outdoor shower balcony until it was near sunset or soon thereafter. At that moment it was just a little after six and almost a full hour before they needed to be in position.

“Are your parents excited about your homecoming?” Brian asked, eager for conversation to avoid any nerves setting in. He knew that Jeanne had only recently informed her parents, in case a glitch in the planning process made it necessary to put off the operation.

“You have no idea,” she said. “They’re ecstatic, figuring I was a lost cause. They are already busy setting up that farmhouse I mentioned.”

“When will you tell them about me?” Brian asked. He’d spent his life constantly and comfortably ensconced in various groups like athletic teams, which was part of the reason he’d joined the NYPD originally right out of college. It was going to take time to adjust to feeling both rootless, solitary, and totally dependent on others.

“As the saying goes, ‘we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ ” Jeanne answered. “I’m not at all concerned.”

When they were a hundred yards or so off of Charles Kelley’s pier, Brian cut the outboard engine and again tossed out the anchor. This side of the bay was shallower, and the anchor immediately took hold. With fishing poles in hand again, they passed the binoculars back and forth.

“It’s encouraging to see he’s humiliating his driver/bodyguard again,” Jeanne commented when it was her turn to survey the scene.

“I agree. It means he’s following his normal routine. Fingers crossed that he keeps it up, especially by taking his nightly outdoor shower.”

“I’m not worried,” she said.

“Lucky you,” Brian responded teasingly.

At a little after seven, they made their move. Following the successful playbook they’d used at Heather Williams’s, they paddled in under the end of Charles Kelley’s pier, positioned the Zodiac for a fast exit if necessary, and Brian used the ladder to get up to the deck. He then entered the cabana, which afforded considerably more concealment than the group of Adirondack chairs on Heather’s pier. Conveniently the cabana had a window-like opening facing inland with louvered shutters and a table that Brian turned lengthwise to serve as a perfect placement for the Remington on its bipod. Cracking open one of the shutters while sitting in a chair, he sighted through the telescopic sight. The waterside view of the Spanish-themed house was par excellence, even better than he’d had at Heather Williams’s, which had proven to be so efficacious.

The problem, however, was that after waiting some time, there was no Charles Kelley in sight. Although he and his driver/bodyguard had long since stopped their basketball, Kelley had not appeared, even after the sun set. Just when Brian was beginning to despair and had begun reluctantly thinking about the timing of a break-in, which he assumed would have to be after full darkness, the light in the master bedroom flicked on.

Trying to be optimistic, Brian leaned his head against the cheek-rest and sighted through the scope. His view of the second-story outdoor shower couldn’t have been better, and he estimated that the distance was very similar to what it had been when he shot Heather Williams, namely a hundred yards or so. Using the bolt action, he put a shell into the firing chamber and slipped his index finger inside the trigger guard, hoping for the best.

Slowly the minutes ticked by, but still no Charles Kelley. Normally steady under stress, Brian could feel the trickle of perspiration on his forehead as well as his pulse significantly quicken. Still, with self-control, he kept his breathing slow and steady.

Then suddenly the Moorish arched door swung open, and Charles Kelley appeared towel in hand rather than over his shoulder. Even from a hundred-plus yards and sitting inside the cabana, Brian could hear the intermittent strains of some rock music emanating from within the house, causing Charles to bob and weave to the beat. With such erratic movement, Brian bided his time, watching through the scope as Charles turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature. Finally, when all was to his liking, Charles stepped into the enclosure, shut the door, and put his head directly under the torrent.

Since he was visible from mid-thorax up and facing away, it was a perfect setup for another brainstem shot. With careful precision, Brian placed the crosshairs directly at the base of the man’s skull, and hesitated for a moment, thinking of Emma and Juliette. The subsequent wave of emotions urged him to press against the trigger.

The rifle made the same thumping whoosh as it had when he’d shot Heather Williams. By force of habit and reflex, Brian used the bolt to eject the empty shell and load another bullet. But again, a second shot was not necessary. As with Heather, Charles instantly fell, disappearing from view behind the shower door. Brian could clearly see a large circular bloodstain centering on a sizable crater in the tiled wall. There was little doubt that the armor-piercing bullet had completely traversed Charles’s head to exit out the forehead.

He pocketed the rifle’s magazine and removed the bullet from the firing chamber. He took a deep breath before standing up and retracing his steps to the ladder. A moment later he started down.

“Well, how did it go?” Jeanne questioned in a whisper, yet loud enough to be heard over the lapping of the water against the pier’s piling. She took the rifle so he could climb aboard the Zodiac.

“Again, it couldn’t have been better,” Brian managed. “They’re gone. It’s over. Emma, Juliette, and Riley and countless others have been avenged and maybe, just maybe, we’ve started the ball rolling to change a sick healthcare system.”

“That’s the hope,” Jeanne said. “Now I think we’d better get out of here.”

“Right you are,” Brian managed, starting the motor.

Five minutes later he gave the Zodiac’s engine full throttle and brought it up to planing speed as they rounded the tip of Kings Point and headed due west. A mile and a half ahead they could see the twinkling lights of City Island. Although the sun had long since set, the sky was still a light silver-gray, and Brian turned on the boat’s running lights even though they’d be back at Butler Marine well before total darkness.

With the sound of the outboard, speech was near impossible. Both Brian and Jeanne were isolated in their thoughts, but he didn’t mind, as it gave him time to recover. With the stiff sea breeze in his face, he felt a strong sense of peace despite having little idea what the next chapter of his life was to be.