“What have you done?” The man kept his eyes on his son.
“Dad! Stay out of this.”
The older man remained motionless, never taking his eyes away. “You lied to me. You said there was nothing in what this lady told Charlie Ferguson. I decided to come over here and talk to her myself. And what do I find? My own son—”
Suddenly, like a rattler striking out, Nathan Baider sprang across the room and began pushing his son backward. “You think I don’t know about the kimberlite pipe at Bear Lake?” Pushing. Shouting. The phone thudded on the floor. “I found that pipe forty years ago and kept it secret all this time. Bear Lake is holy, you fool. You think I wanted some bozo up there desecrating a sacred place?”
Vicky had the sense of watching a film fast-forwarding: Roz rolling backward into the dining room, the old man’s fists crashing into his face and chest, pummeling his stomach. “You ruined my name. Ruined the company I spent my life building.”
“You crazy son of a bitch.” Kurt lunged after them and threw his weight against the old man, who stumbled sideways, fists flailing in the air. Kurt’s hand shot out, his palm sliced at the man’s neck, and, in slow motion now, Nathan Baider began falling forward, dropping onto his hands and knees, collapsing at his son’s feet. Kurt raised his hand again, but Roz grabbed hold of it and wrenched it to the man’s back. “My father! Stop, you idiot! He’s my father!”
Vicky was on her feet, darting around the coffee table. She scooped up the telephone as she ran, aware of Kurt pulling free and starting after her. She was through the entry, out the door, across the porch—running down the cement walk, rain slapping at her face, fingers groping for the 911 keys, scarcely aware of the shadowy figure coming up the steps until she had run into him.
“Vicky. Vicky. What is it?”
She stared up at Steve Clark, trying to make out if he was real or only a vision conjured up out of her own need. She’d prayed for help, and a spirit had arrived.
She grasped the smooth, moist fabric of his raincoat and pressed against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding. He was real.
“They’re inside!” she heard herself scream.
“What happened?”
“Nathan Baider. I think they killed him.”
Beyond Steve, coming up the steps, were two officers. They stopped on either side of them, and Vicky could sense the coiled energy beneath the dark uniforms.
“Who else is inside?” Steve’s voice.
“Roz and his security chief, Kurt. I think Nathan—”
“Stay here,” Steve cut in. He brushed past her, pulling out a small black pistol from beneath his sport coat, issuing orders to the officers. “Johnson around back. Adler, you and I go in front.”
Vicky sank onto a small boulder in the flower garden next to the sidewalk and lifted her face into the rain and thanked the spirits.
32
The quiet awakened her. Even the drumming of rain against the roof had stopped. Vicky stretched against the rough fabric of the sofa in the study upstairs and winced at the pain that stabbed at her head and chest. She adjusted the ice pack on her cheek and glanced at the clock on the table next to the phone. The green numerals floated in the shadows: one-thirty.
She’d dozed for almost an hour. It surprised her. She hadn’t expected to fall asleep; she’d still felt coiled for flight when Steve had led her upstairs. When did the noises downstairs stop? The footsteps scuffing the floor; the buzz of voices, the squawk of a police radio?
She listened to the silence, wondering if the officers and technicians had left. After a few moments she heard the footsteps on the carpeted stairs, followed by a soft knock. The door swung open, and Steve Clark stood in the opening. “You awake?” he said softly.
“Come in.”
He stepped into the room and stood looking down at her, like a hesitant visitor to a hospital room, unsure if the patient was still alive. Finally he reached around, pulled the desk chair over, and sat down. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be okay.”
He was quiet a moment. “The techs have pretty much finished up downstairs,” he said finally. “Just got word from the emergency room. Looks like Nathan will recover.”
Vicky closed her eyes a moment. She found that she was shaking with relief. The image of the man in the black raincoat karate-chopping the old man’s neck, was burned into her retinas. “He saved my life,” she said. “If he hadn’t come when he did—”
“I know.” He placed a hand over hers. Outside, a car splashed through the wetness.
“I’ve spoken with Detective Slinger up in Lander. He’ll be here tomorrow to interview Roz and Kurt. I expect we’ll have enough evidence to charge them with masterminding the murder at Bear Lake, as well as the murders of Vince and Jana Lewis. Not to mention charges of conspiracy, kidnapping, assault, and attempted murder.” He drew in a long, considered breath and exhaled slowly. “I’ll need a full statement from you tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch. “Make that this afternoon.”