Deadly Messengers (39 page)

He lowered his gun and came to a stop next to her. His hand went to her shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, Carmen. You’ve done well.”

She gave him a limp smile. Tears glistened in her eyes.

He moved by her and entered the building. Carmen continued to stand there, holding the door, looking uncertain what to do next.

O’Grady turned back. “Carmen, get away. Get to the other side of the road.”

She gave the nod to which O’Grady was becoming accustomed. Then she abruptly spun and took off. The door swung slowly closed. O’Grady turned and focused himself, his attention now on what lay inside.

Directly to his left was a storage room. To his right, the side facing the restaurant dining area, a white tiled wall jutted out five feet, presumably to conceal the arrival of deliveries. Now it possibly hid him from the eyes of a killer. He moved to the edge of the wall to peer around.

O’Grady gripped his gun tighter, but held it down near his hip, mindful of the havoc it would create should he be spotted.

The workers, just kids, really, four … five … six … of them he counted, were uniformly dressed in blue and white, along with the same baseball cap worn by Carmen. Nobody had noticed him, all too busy filling orders.

He waited, wondering if he was making a complete ass of himself. He’d broken every rule in the book. If he was wrong, he could always blame his behavior on the shock of finding Trip. Probably wouldn’t get him far, except into suspension and a psych eval.

He watched the kitchen activity, weighing his next move. Maybe he should just let whatever might happen, if anything, play out. Play it defensively. He thought of Kendall and his heart stirred; then his brother, who was dead because O’Grady ignored his intuition.

Into his mind came the words:
There are no coincidences.

No, he wasn’t wrong. Something
was
going to happen. This restaurant was the scene of the killings that had taken Doug McKinley’s boy. That could be no accident
.

Doug McKinley, once a victim, was now a killer. Finally, he had to be stopped.

KENDALL WAITED. SHE COULDN’T MOVE until given the signal. Only then would she play her role. Since she’d walked through the door, the restaurant had grown more crowded. With now no spare tables, the noise had grown exponentially as hungry customers accumulated near the front counter, waiting to be served or have their order fulfilled. All three lines ran from the counter almost to the door.

The old man, the good man, the man she knew as Doug McKinley, was now third in line from the counter. Before him a teenager, wearing a headset, bobbed his head in time to unheard music. Next in line, the mother from the door with the two young children bent down to them as they pointed up at the board and made their requests.

Kendall felt heat travel through her body, as though she’d stepped into a luxuriously warm bath. Her heart slowed. The pain at the back of her neck, like shards of glass digging into her skin, eased. Calm enveloped her.

If they only knew, these people surrounding her, they would be grateful to be here, to help make the change, to help send the message. She couldn’t change the world with her articles, but she could do this one thing and make her life truly worth something. For the rest of her life, she would live in the warmth of that knowledge.

The mother with the children had now placed their order and waited. She gripped the children’s hands, but the toddler boy squirmed and complained as they waited for the young employee to fill their tray. Looking frustrated, she picked up the boy and placed him on her hip, where he continued to object to the restraint. He wanted the plastic bonus toy on the tray, and screaming his complaint. “I want it. I want it. Give to me.”

The sound pierced her skull. Kendall reached up with both hands to cover her her ears against the excruciating noise. She closed her eyes and imagined the warmth taking her away, taking the
pain
away.

Like magic, the sound suddenly stopped. When she opened her eyes, the family was making its way to a table. The boy, now clutching the toy, looked over his mother’s shoulder to stare at Kendall. He gave her a wave.

As if he knew.

Now the teenager with ear buds was all that separated Doug McKinley from the counter, and Kendall from her destiny. As he moved up to be served, the young man pulled out his ear buds, which now hung about his neck like a futuristic chain.

Doug shuffled forward, looked over and nodded at her. The five yards between them disappeared, as though they were both spinning inside a vortex, the DNA of their shared future intermingled. She would never be able to thank him. The best she could offer was a nod, in that gesture was her gratitude. Doug McKinley slowly closed his eyes, and then opened them again in reply.

He knew
.
Like she knew.

Soon.

FROM O’GRADY’S VANTAGE POINT, HE could see most of the kitchen, with a partial view of the dining area. He’d counted five cooks working madly to fill orders. The restaurant dining room was jam-packed. Even worse was the number of children out there. If he couldn’t stop this—whatever
this
was—it would be a nightmare. Newspaper images of the Mason Preschool massacre spun in his mind.

No, no, he wouldn’t allow that to happen.

On the other side of the bench across from him, a redheaded teenager pulled up a steaming hot basket of fries from the deep fryer. He looked up and his and O’Grady’s eyes met. The kid’s face registered surprise. He dropped the basket back into the boiling oil, causing small droplets of oil to splash out from the metal tub.

“Hey,” he directed at O’Grady. “What are—?”

O’Grady held up his badge while at the same time holding his index finger to his lips.

The boy’s eyes widened. His mouth fell open. Luckily, he was quicker than Carmen and nodded that he understood. The black hairnet holding his mass of red hair jiggled on his head. O’Grady beckoned the boy, and he glanced to either side at his co-workers, as if to be sure O’Grady was actually talking to him. Letting go of the fryer basket’s handle, he moved quickly around the silver bench toward O’Grady.

The other workers continued cooking, ignorant to O’Grady’s presence. For the moment, he wanted to keep it that way. If McKinley
was
in the restaurant, he didn’t want to alert him. He hoped if Kendall were with him, she wouldn’t accidentally give him away.

“What’s happening?” the boy whispered as he reached O’Grady to stand alongside the wall.

“What’s your name?”

“Kevin. Why?”

“Kevin, where’s the manager?”

“In his office in back. Is he in trouble?”

“No, get him, please? Tell him it’s urgent. Then I want you to calmly approach your co-workers and ask them to move outside. One by one. The one by one is important. Okay?”

“But why?” A tremor entered his voice.

“Kevin, can you just do this for me, please? I don’t have time to explain. Carmen’s already outside. When you exit the door, move away from the building. Go across the street. Find Carmen. Okay? Got it?”

Kevin nodded he understood.

“So, now, go get the manager. And Kevin—”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hurry.”

Kevin took off toward the back of the kitchen. O’Grady figured thirty seconds to get the manager here. Another minute to alert the rest of the kitchen crew.

Ninety seconds.
He hoped he still had those ninety seconds.

DOUG McKINLEY DREW IN A deep breath, held it for a count of three, and then exhaled. The boy with the headphones in front of him had just given his order to the young, bored girl at the counter. No doubt, she’d already served a hundred people that day. This day, meant to be just another day, another normal lunch rush she needed to survive to earn her weekly paycheck.

It had been the same for Charlie; just another shift to make minimum wage. He died earning pennies. This young girl probably didn’t deserve to die or, if she survived, live with what the next few minutes would hold. A niggle of remorse entered his thoughts. She, just another Charlie, really.

He could walk away. Being here, felt entirely different, staring into the faces of those who would be sacrificed. Until this moment, his only contact with the deaths, the headlines in the newspaper.

He wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, he was a civilized man who’d tried everything to save those who would become victims of what he believed was a conspiracy of drug companies and corruption at the highest level. In the end, this was all he had left. He’d come too far, stepped over that line in the sand. Too many had given their lives—Andy, the other subjects, and their victims.

The road ended here for him, too. He welcomed the future, the peace he would find. He wanted to see Charlie again. No more aching inside. No more guilt. No more fighting.

Should he fail, he died doing everything he could, sacrificing all that he had. Everything was in place. Only minutes remained. In those minutes, he would pray. Pray that finally his message would be heard.

O’GRADY TOOK ONLY THIRTY SECONDS to explain to the manager what he believed was about to happen. Another twenty seconds and the manager was on board.

Gary—who looked as though he’d eaten too much of his own product—listened attentively. Without asking a single question, he moved as though his life depended on it. It did. Along with many other lives.

What was asked of him required courage. He didn’t look the courageous type, but people will surprise you. If Gary had turned him down, O’Grady would not have blamed him.

In the ninety seconds it took for the fry cook to get the manager, O’Grady had spent the time sneaking looks around the wall. He searched the faces of the dozens of people waiting at the counter, looking for Kendall or McKinley or somebody who could the killer.

As he looked, a seed of panic grew.

Could he be wrong?

Maybe finding Trip
had
scrambled his mind. He thought through everything: the McKinley report, the fact McKinley had known about the anti-depressants taken by the killers, the dead youth in his house. No, he wasn’t wrong.