A Rush to Violence (15 page)

She looked down at her notes and told him what she knew.

“Apparently, Scott Miller has done zip with his life,” she said. “But, man, what a house he has to show for it. Right off Fifth on Sixty-Eighth. He’s literally about half a block from us in that big house you always comment on.”

“He lives there?”

“Small world. But what a big world he moves in for someone who has done nothing to earn it.
Travel
magazine did a story on him because Scott has been everywhere and likes to talk about it. A lot. Another story is from
Gourmet
, because Scott is known for his palate and where to find the best restaurants during his extensive travels. The
Times
did a feature on him a couple of years ago. Big profile and probably the most useful. You’ll love the headline. ‘The Miller Only the Right People Know.’ Can you stand it? He comes off as a son of a bitch. Name-drops his own mother throughout, but that’s just strategic on his part. When asked about his father, he said, ‘I hear he’s an important man. Don’t really know him, though.’ So, that says it all about their relationship.”

“And underscores why I think we’re wasting our time sitting here.” He looked up at her. “We need a copy of the will. I want to know exactly what it says. The precise language Miller used. Our wills may not give us the last word, but they certainly allow us
our
last words. I don’t know how many wills you’ve read, but I assume you’ve read a lot, and that you know those words can be heated when you have a family as fractured as Kenneth Miller’s. I want to know what Miller’s words were. I want to know how he addressed his children. Who represents his estate?”

“I haven’t come upon it, but I can find out.”

“Will you?”

She checked her watch and saw that it was past nine. Still early enough. “Give me five minutes.”

“One other thing,” he said as she put her papers aside and stood up. “You covered Miller’s death. You were reporting onsite when they pulled him out of his home. I seem to remember a lot of people there.”

“It was packed, as you’d expect.”

“Then you’d have a good deal of the crowd on tape?”

“Of course. For B-roll.”

“Do you keep all of the footage or just save what you use?”

“We keep all of it. Why?”

“Because I’d be curious to see if Carr was in the crowd when the medical examiner removed Kenneth Miller’s body and wheeled it into one of their vans. On the off chance that Carr was there, I’d love to know who he was with.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“OK. I need to use the bathroom now.”

Beth Spellman looked over at the man with the rifle as he looked over at her. He lit another cigarette and studied her. She could just barely see his eyes because of the shadows cast by the bare light bulb above him, but in her mind’s eye, his eyes were cruel.

“The bathroom?” he said.

“I have to use it.”

“But I’m comfortable here,” he said. “And if you need to use the bathroom, that means I need to accompany you, which also means I need to inconvenience one of the guys upstairs so they can keep an eye on the others while you take your piss.”

He blew smoke above him into the light. It fanned up in a thick bluish cloud and then wafted back onto him. “Why don’t you just pull down your pants and do it here. In the dirt. It’ll be absorbed by morning and nobody will mind.” He looked at them all. “Will you?”

“I would,” Gloria said.

She looked over at Beth, held her gaze for a meaningful moment and then Beth saw her mother look at Katie, who was still rocking back and forth against the basement’s stone foundation. She hadn’t said a word since they were led down here. She hadn’t looked at anyone. She was eleven years old, her hair was hanging like a shield in front of her face and her world was the uneven dirt floor stretched out in front of her like the surface of a foreign planet.

“If my daughter needs to use the bathroom, you should allow her the dignity of doing so.”

“Because it’s the polite thing to do?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

He held out his arms as if to remind them where they were. “Lady, why start doing the right thing now?”

“Because if by some miracle we walk out of here, maybe some of us will remember your kindness when they bring you and your friends down.” She shook her head at him. “You can’t think this is going to end well for you. You can’t think that at some point, the police won’t get involved and find you.”

“From what I hear, your ex-husband’s a smart man. To spare one of his girls, he’ll do what he is told. If he comes through, all of you will be let go.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“Neither do I,” Brian Moore said. “We know too much. We’ve seen your faces. You’ll never let us walk.”

“Then why haven’t I killed each of you now?”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Jack said. “You haven’t killed us because you might need one of us later. You might need a voice on a telephone to prove that we’re still alive. Tough to do if we’re already dead.”

“You people are starting to get on my nerves.”

“Let my daughter use the bathroom.”

“She can piss in the dirt like a dog.”

“To use your words, who said I have to take a piss?” Beth said. “What makes you assume that’s what I have to do?”

She stood up. When she first asked to use the bathroom, she was nervous. But now she was just angry and determined. She knew what she planned to do could go wrong, but doing nothing seemed worse to her. Her parents had raised her to be brave, not passive. While she was fairly certain what she was about to do went beyond their expectations of how brave she should be in life, she nevertheless planned on going through with it if he allowed her the opportunity.

Ever since she discovered a possible way out for them, she’d been thinking it through. Weighing her options. She thought she had a decent chance. What she needed was close to her, but not close enough. Somehow, she needed to get to it.

“You gotta take a shit?” he said.

She nodded. “That’s right. I could do it in the bathroom or here in the dirt. I’ll squat right in front of you and let it out. Whether you approve of the smell is your problem. It’s also your choice.”

He seemed at once taken aback by her and amused by her. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to do it without thinking twice.”

He took a drag on his cigarette and appraised her. “I have to admit, it would be a sight.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It would. But you don’t know why it would be a sight. Would you like to know?”

“Sure.”

“I have the runs, I can’t hold it in any longer and I don’t plan to. It’s either coming out in front of you or somewhere private. You better choose fast or you’re going to have one shitty mess on your hands.”

And that changed everything.

He got up from his chair, grabbed the rifle and walked over to where she was standing, which was near the staircase that led to the first floor. He wasn’t so much taller than she, but physically, he was all muscle. His chest strained against his T-shirt. His arms were pumped and thick with veins. Now that she could see his face, she guessed he was somewhere in his thirties.

“Get in front of me,” he said.

She looked down the length of the work bench and saw the prize as well as the complications that came with getting to it. The basement was too wide. The natural inclination would be to walk down the center of the room. But that wouldn’t work for her needs. She needed to stay as far to the right as possible when he took her to the bathroom.

Wherever that was.

She assumed it was at the opposite end of the basement, though it was difficult to be sure because back there, it was too dark to see clearly. Still, regardless of the darkness, she thought she could make out a door at the very back of the room. It must be painted a lighter color because she could see an almost ethereal shape of a vertical rectangle.

She had a gut feeling she was right about this. In fact, she was betting everything that she was right.

She stood in front of him and positioned herself so she was closer to the bench. He put his hand on her left shoulder and called up the stairs. “I need backup,” he said.

“And I really need to go.”

“You’re going to have to wait.”

She buckled her knees a bit. “I’m not sure that’s an option.”

“I need backup,” he said louder. “Move!”

She listened for the floor to creak above them. She waited for footsteps to come racing, but they didn’t. She was prepared for someone to take his place—she was planning on it, in fact—but if they didn’t come, she’d need to plan on something else. And fast.

“What the hell do you think we’re going to do?” Gloria said behind him. “Leave here without her? Go upstairs and be ambushed by one of your men? Just take her to the damned bathroom. I’m not about to leave here without my daughter.”

“I’ve got to go,” Beth said, unfastening the button on her pants. “I’m sorry, but I can’t wait.”

He shoved her forward, past the staircase and toward the bench. “Keep your fucking pants on.” He lifted his head up the staircase. “I said I need backup! Where is everyone?”

“I’m going now.”

No footsteps on the floor.

“If you shit in this basement, I will kill you. You got that?”

“What’s the difference? You’re going to do it anyway.”

No movement above.

He turned and pointed the rifle at her mother, then at the Moores and Jack while Katie rocked. “If any of you move, you’re dead.”

Beth took several steps back. Behind her, just beyond the stairs on the work bench, was the butt of a hammer. Or at least what she hoped was a hammer. If it was, she’d grab it. If it wasn’t, then she’d just go to the bathroom and use it, her hopes for a way out dashed.

He faced her. “Turn around and move.”

“I can’t see. It’s too dark. Please, just let me go here.”

“The bathroom’s behind you. Turn around and walk to the door. Do you see it? It’s right in front of you. There’s a light inside. Move.”

She turned and saw the hammer. It was five feet away from her. It was there and it was real. There were other tools, but she focused on the hammer. It was bigger. It would do the most damage. She needed to get to the right. She’d never get it otherwise.

“Move!”

She faked a cramp and took a sidestep forward. “I can’t hold it in. I can barely walk. Why didn’t you just let me go earlier?”

“Move.”

She cramped again, staggered forward in the darkness and then tripped. When she went down, she made a startled sound as she struck the bench, grabbed the hammer, slid it between her breasts, and hit the dirt hard.

She waited for the worst.

She was lying on her stomach. The hammer was beneath her. Did he see her take it? Did he hear her take it?  Her heart pounded against her chest with a ferocity that didn’t seem human to her. She could hear him coming behind her. She sensed him stopping. Then the tip of his rifle whacked against the bottom of her shoe.

“That was slick,” he said.

She closed her eyes. He saw her take it. Her hand tightened around the hammer. She wasn’t sure what to do.

“Get up. Real slow.”

Why had she been so stupid? He was going to shoot her. This was it for her. Why had she taken such a risk?

Again, the rifle against her shoe, this time harder. “Unless you’ve shit your pants, get up and use the bathroom.”

Unbelieving, Beth’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t seen her. She gripped the hammer with everything she had. “I can’t see,” she said. “It’s too dark. I think I can make it, but I need help getting up.”

“So, now you’re a cripple? Get up.”

“I can’t. The cramping hurts. Please. I promise I’ll go in there and get this over with. I’ll be quick. I won’t waste your time. I’ll—”

“Christ.”

She felt his free hand on her shoulder. She could smell tobacco in the air where there was no hint of tobacco before. His head was right there. His breath was on her neck. She listened for the sound of footsteps above, but there was no time to hear them. He started to turn her over and when he did, Beth Spellman acted.

She swung the hammer in a violent arc and slammed it so hard against what she hoped was the side of his head, she felt something crack, she felt something give and then she felt the hammer hammering through. But hammering through what? His brain? His face? She didn’t know. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t be sure.

The rifle dropped to the dirt floor.

He started to go down.

She tried to jerk the hammer free, but it was stuck. She gave it a hard yank, felt something break and then she pulled it loose.

He collapsed next to the gun and started to convulse.

She felt something warm and thick and wet spray across her face and knew it was his blood.

It got into her eyes. She could taste it in her mouth. She kicked herself back toward the bathroom and heard movement from the other side of the basement. Was someone coming down the stairs? She couldn’t tell. He started to cough a clotted cough. His legs twitched against her own. She couldn’t see clearly because of the blood in her eyes and because it was so dark, but she could hear him just fine. And what she heard next paralyzed her.

“Fucking bitch,” he said. “You dead fucking bitch.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

If Emma ever had been inside her uncle’s house, it must have been when she was a child, because she had no memory of it when she stepped into the foyer, which was just as grand as she expected it to be.

She looked around the cavernous space and wished she could say she was surprised by how elaborately it was furnished, but she wasn’t. She knew from her mother and her grandfather that her uncle was all about show. She knew he traveled the world collecting what she saw now. From the paintings on the walls to the Tiffany lamps on the tables, she felt as if she was standing in the middle of an installation at the Louvre or at the d’Orsay.

“Let me take your coat,” he said.