For a moment, Lucy forgot about the dangers and the leashed human being at Grale's feet and laughed. "I had such a crush on you," she said. "Before you ... before ..."

"Before it became apparent that I was a serial killer," Grale said, bemused. "I suppose that would put a damper on a young girl's ardor. But it's time for us to return to our home sweet home."

"David, let us take Kane," Lucy pleaded again. "Escort us to the police station. He won't be going anywhere."

"Sorry, Lucy, the answer is still no," Grale replied, tugging slightly on the leash. "This dog belongs with his master, and he's of no use to you." He pulled on the leash a little harder. "Come dog, heel."

Kane whimpered and looked one last time at Lucy before his lip curled and he obediently turned to follow his master back into the shadows, leaving Lucy and Ned alone.

"So, you had a crush on David Grale?" Blanchett said.

"Yes, when I was a girl," Lucy said, then laughed. "Apparently I have questionable taste in men."

"Until me, you mean," Blanchett said, giving her a hug and a kiss. "I saved you from yourself."

"Lucky me," Lucy replied and kissed him back.

As the young couple walked back the way they had come, another dark figure pressed himself back into the shadows of the Loeb Boathouse where he'd been watching the meeting from afar. He licked his thin lips and smiled at the thought of the riches that would be coming his way and the sweetness of revenge.

24.

MARLENE APPROACHED THE TURN FOR THE GENTLEMAN'S club but then spotted the BMW with SARAH imprinted on the license plate beneath a streetlight up ahead. She continued past the parking lot and drove up alongside the car, rolling her window down. She was surprised to see not only Sarah but Monique Hale, in the pa.s.senger seat, her eyes wide with fright.

"Can't talk here," Sarah said. "Follow me."

Before Marlene could respond, Sarah sped off. So she pulled out behind her car and called Winkler.

"I don't like it," Winkler said. "Let her go and we'll pick her up. I can get a patrol car there in five minutes or less."

"Let me see what's going on first," Marlene responded. "I don't know why Monique is with her but if she's in trouble, it's my fault and I need to stay with her."

A familiar voice broke into the conversation. "Marlene, it's Clay," Fulton said. "I agree with Detective Winkler. I know you won't stop, but you stay back, you hear me?"

"I hear you, Clay," Marlene replied. "Welcome to Memphis. I a.s.sume Mr. Guma is with you and Wink has filled you two in on what's been happening."

"Yes on both counts," Fulton replied. "What's going on now?"

"We're turning off the highway and onto a two-lane road," Marlene said. "And she's speeding up."

For the next twenty minutes, as the sky grew darker, Marlene followed the BMW as it made a series of turns onto roads, many of them unmarked, that appeared to be leading farther out into the country. The clouds overhead, which had been threatening to rain all day, suddenly began to let loose.

About the same time, the BMW slowed, while behind Marlene headlights appeared, which she soon identified as belonging to a truck. "Looks like they've got me penned in," she told the men listening. "Wait a second, I'm getting a call. It's a Memphis area code but I don't recognize the number. I'll get back to you in a second." She pushed the b.u.t.ton to switch to the new caller.

"Throw your phone on the road where I can see it," a man's voice demanded.

"What?"

"Throw your phone out the window on the road now or we shoot the Hale b.i.t.c.h!" the man snarled into the phone.

"How do I know you won't shoot her, and then me, anyway?" she asked.

"You don't," the man said. "But I'd prefer not to. We're just going to tie you up and leave you out here for a spell so we can get away."

"Who's 'we'? Sarah, you, and LaFontaine?"

"Never you mind; do as you're told or I'll be forced to shoot you both. Now chuck the phone where I can see it and then follow Sarah!"

Marlene thought quickly. She grabbed the GPS unit from the dash. Hoping that in the semidark and from a car it would look enough like a cell phone, she tossed it out the window. Apparently it was good enough, as the BMW started to move again and the truck pulled up directly behind her and honked. She put the car into Drive and followed, placing her cell phone on the seat next to her. She pressed the Speakerphone b.u.t.ton and then called Winkler. When the detective answered, she explained what was happening.

"And, Clay, I have to say that your insistence on the family having cell phones with the locater application built in may just pay off," she said, giving him the telephone number to call and pa.s.sword so he could ask the phone company to pinpoint her location.

"Marlene, it's still going to take us too long to get to you. Step on it and leave this guy behind," Fulton said.

"Can't, Clay," Marlene said. "I should have known that as soon as I talked to Sarah they'd go after Monique."

"Have you seen any road signs or other landmarks?" The voice was Winkler's.

"Nothing," Marlene replied. "Wait ... we're going past what looks like an old service station. Definitely closed down and boarded up. The sign says AJ's ... and I can't read the rest."

"AJ's Gas and Oil," Winkler said. "I know it. You're near the Mississippi. We're on the way. Ten minutes."

"Step on it, boys," Marlene said. She reached down and felt inside her purse for the .380. Locating the little pistol, she tucked it into her pants and covered it with the blouse she was wearing.

As they continued to drive, she described the surrounding area as best she could with the twilight giving way to the night. "We seem to be following the river now," she said. "But it's quite a ways below."

"You're on a bluff above the river," Winkler said. "I know where you're at. We'll be there in five."

"Can you make it sooner? We're stopping."

Marlene was suddenly aware of the figure of a large man outside her window. He was pointing a large-caliber revolver at her. "Put your hands on the wheel!" he shouted.

With no other choice, Marlene did as she was told, wondering how fast he could react if she went for the gun in her pants. Not fast enough, she thought.

The man reached forward and opened her car door. "Get out," he barked, keeping the gun pointed at her head. She did as she was told and he saw the cell phone on the seat. "What the f.u.c.k," he snarled, and struck her on the side of her head with his gun, knocking her to the ground.

Sarah walked up with Monique Hale, whose hands were tied in front of her. "You going to do her here?"

"No, over at the cliff," the man said. "She and the other one are going in the river. The water's high with all this rain; the cops won't find their bodies until New Orleans, if then."

Woozy, Marlene tried to think of something to save herself and Monique Hale. She pointed at the cell phone. "The cops are listening to everything," she said. "And they'll be here in a few minutes. Give yourself up before you take this too far."

Keeping his gun trained on her, the man reached inside and grabbed the phone. He looked at it. "There's n.o.body on the line," he said with a smile. "There ain't n.o.body coming for you."

Marlene looked hard at the man in the glow of her car's headlights. "And to think I wanted to thank you for saving my husband," she said.

"What in the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"You're Frank Bernsen; you shot Kathryn Boole before she could shoot my husband, Butch Karp. You got away with that one, but I really don't think you want the heat that will come with shooting the wife of the district attorney."

Bernsen hesitated, then nodded toward a path beyond the parked BMW. "I got friends in high places, we'll just have to disappear for a bit," he said. "Now get up and walk."

The rain was letting up and a full moon was rising in the east when the two prisoners and their captors reached the edge of a steep embankment. Marlene could just make out the dark waters of the Mississippi far below.

"That's far enough," Bernsen shouted. "On your knees."

"No," Marlene said as Monique fell to her knees and started to sob next to her. She was still feeling woozy from the blow to her head and could feel her blood mixing with the rain running down her face. "If you're going to shoot me, I'll be standing up when you do."

Sarah shook her head. "I'm going back to the car, Frank," she said. "I don't have the stomach for this." She started to turn but stopped when he pointed his gun at her.

"Over with the others," he said.

Sarah's eyes widened in fear. "You can't shoot me, Frank," she pleaded. "Me and John go way back."

"Sorry, Sarah," Bernsen said, though there was nothing apologetic in his voice. "But he told me you had to go, too. You know how he feels about loose ends."

Sarah tried to run, but Bernsen aimed at the back of her head and pulled the trigger. The gun roared and the woman's body was flung forward into the mud.

It was all over quickly, but it was enough time for Marlene to pull her gun and squeeze off a shot at Bernsen. The big man grunted in pain and doubled over as the bullet struck his stomach, but as she tried to shoot again, her gun jammed.

With a groan Bernsen straightened up, his face angry and frightened, but when he realized she couldn't shoot again, he smiled and leveled his gun at Monique. "Nice try, b.i.t.c.h. Tell the devil h.e.l.lo for me, but first you're going to have to watch your friend die and know that it was your fault."

Marlene did the only thing she could think of; she turned and dove at Monique Hale. She heard Bernsen's gun go off and felt the bullet tear into her shoulder, but her momentum carried her and the other woman over the edge of the bluff and down into the swirling waters of the river.

The plunge took her and Monique beneath the surface. With one arm wounded and the opposite hand holding on to the woman, she kicked as hard as she could. It seemed like forever before they broke through the surface, gasping for air.

"I can't swim!" Monique cried out as she thrashed around and nearly broke Marlene's grip.

"Kick your legs as hard as you can!" Marlene shouted.

There was the sound of another gunshot and a bullet zipped into the water close to Marlene's head. She looked up and back at the dark figure of Bernsen, now some twenty-five yards upstream from where they'd been swept away. He was taking aim, but suddenly he whirled in the other direction and pointed his gun. Several flashes of light followed, accompanied by the sound of more shots. Moments later his body tumbled backward over the edge of the embankment and down into the river.

Almost immediately, the dark figures of three more men appeared at the edge of the bluff. "Help!" Marlene screamed as the current dragged her and her struggling witness downstream. One of the men jumped and landed in the water with a splash, but she lost sight of him as her head went under again.

Fighting one more time to the surface, Marlene sucked in air. But she knew she was losing the fight to stay up and growing weaker from the loss of blood while trying to keep her grip on Monique.

I'm going to die, she thought as the waters closed over her head again. She used her last bit of strength to try to lift Monique's head above the surface. Sorry, Butch. Sorry, kids. I love you all.

As consciousness started to ebb, Marlene felt the burden of Monique's body being taken from her. At the same time, she felt herself being pulled up toward a soft light. Jesus, she thought, thank you.

"Missus, can you hear me?" a deep, strong voice said to her. "Hold on, now. I got you and your friend. Help is on the way."

Marlene opened her eyes and found herself looking into the broad worried face of an older black man she didn't know. Behind him the moon rose above the bluff. There was the sound of someone splashing behind her and her savior looked up. "Glad to see you, mister," he said. "I got them both by the hand, but I can't quite get 'em in the boat."

"Start with this one," a voice she recognized as Fulton's said behind her. She felt his strong hands around her waist and with a mighty shove, he launched her upward and, with the other man's a.s.sistance, into the boat. She lay there in the bottom of the wooden rowboat, not quite comprehending what was happening; a moment later, the unconscious body of Monique Hale landed next to her. Then Fulton hauled himself in over the side.

"I'm Detective Clay Fulton," she heard her friend tell the boat's owner. "I can't thank you enough."

"My pleasure, Mr. Fulton, the name's Lonnie Lynn," the man replied. "Lucky I was after some catfish tonight, or these ladies might have been fish food. Mind tellin' me what all the shootin' was about?"

"Tell you what," Fulton replied. "Get me to the nearest telephone, and I'll fill you in. In the meantime, my friend's been shot, and I need to apply pressure to the wound."

"You go right ahead," Lynn said. "I need to get these oars going or we'll be in Louisiana before you can shake a stick. We can talk later."

Fulton's face swam into Marlene's vision. "Hang in there, kid," he said as he pressed down hard on her wound, causing her to cry out in pain. "Jesus, Marlene, don't you think you're getting a little old for this?"

Marlene smiled. "I wouldn't want to miss all the fun," she croaked, and then lost consciousness.

25.

KARP WAITED PATIENTLY AS THE TOUGH-LOOKING POLICE sergeant placed his hand on the Bible and was sworn in as the People's next witness. They were in the second day of the trial of John LaFontaine, a.k.a. the Reverend C. G. Westlund, in front of New York State Supreme Court judge Henry Gresham Temple III and just getting to the heart of the matter.

Outside, Indian summer had given way to fall, with the deciduous trees in Manhattan putting on a display of color that amazed even longtime locals. However, it reminded Karp that Halloween, and his appearance as the grand marshal of the annual parade in the Village, was only a few days away. He wondered briefly how that night would go, but at the moment his focus had to be on the trial, and more narrowly on his witness Sergeant Trent Sadler: "Did there come a time when one of the men with the defendant attempted to prevent you from doing your duty?"

Karp turned toward the spectator section and smiled slightly at his wife, who was sitting a few rows back behind the prosecution table. When he'd received the call from Fulton that Marlene had been shot and was in the hospital, it was all he could do not to hop on the next plane and fly to Memphis. But she was the one who stopped him.

"I'm okay," she'd said, taking the phone from the detective. "Katz and I will have matching scars, but I'm more worried that when Westlund, or LaFontaine, doesn't hear from Bernsen, he'll skip town. Talk to Fulton and Detective Winkler, but there's plenty to arrest him on now. You can baby me later."

Karp had talked to the two detectives and then acted quickly. When two of Fulton's detectives arrived at the Avenue A loft, LaFontaine was already packing several suitcases, one of which contained more than $200,000 cash. He'd been arrested, however, without incident and taken to the DAO, where Karp had been waiting for him in an interview room.

As expected, the itinerant preacher had refused to give Karp a statement and demanded a lawyer, which had ended their conversation. However, not before they'd engaged in a little back-and-forth.

"You'll never make it stick, Karp," LaFontaine said scathingly.

"You're going to swing on this one, LaFontaine," Karp replied evenly. "No plea bargain. No rationalizing. Just the trial, conviction, and prison." It wasn't the sort of give-and-take he would normally have engaged in with a defendant, but in this case, he had a reason.

Shortly thereafter, Karp went before a grand jury, which indicted LaFontaine for depraved-indifference murder.

LaFontaine had invoked his right not to talk to Karp. But that didn't prevent him from issuing statements to the media-mostly through his lawyer and the public relations firm they hired-from his cell in the Tombs. The gloves, as thin as they had been before, were all the way off now. The Jewish district attorney of New York County was anti-G.o.d and anti-Christianity, especially fundamentalist Christianity, as represented by the Reverend John LaFontaine and faith healing. And much to his consternation, all Gilbert Murrow could counter with was that the DAO would not try the case in the media but would let the facts speak for themselves at trial.

Unfortunately-Or fortunately, depending on how you see two fewer dirtbags in the world, Karp thought-Frank Bernsen had not survived being shot by Marlene and then Fulton, though the official cause of death was drowning in the Mississippi River. Nor had Sister Sarah, whose full name had been Sarah Westerberg, the owner of a lengthy criminal record that included larceny, criminal impersonation, and prost.i.tution, made it to the hospital alive with a gaping head wound.

Their deaths had benefitted LaFontaine in two ways. They could not roll over on their boss. His defense attorney, J. R. Rottingham, a rotund, bug-eyed, bl.u.s.tering self-anointed sage who fancied himself a const.i.tutional scholar, had been quoted early and often saying that any "alleged" criminal activity would have been conducted by Frank Bernsen and Sarah Westerberg without the knowledge of his client, "who would be shocked if the allegations are true."