Last Run (28 page)

‘Shut up,’ Cathy said. ‘Why were you here? Were you following Saul?’ Her mind was fighting to make some kind of sense of it. ‘Was it because he was with Terri,
because she’s a cop? Did you think they knew about you?’

Kez shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. It was just the way I told you. I often go to the zoo when I’m staying at my place.’

‘Your
sanctuary
.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So what, you were in hiding?’

‘In a way.’ Kez stood up, finally, picked up the bat, slung the jersey over her shoulder again. ‘It was after the woman at the mall.’

‘Oh God,’ Cathy said. ‘Oh, dear
God
.’

A child playing in the surf turned to look at her.

‘Doesn’t this prove how much I care about you?’ Kez took a step closer, winced as Cathy backed off. ‘I held back with Saul. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t be in the
hospital, he’d be in the morgue.’

Cathy let rip a cry and Kez reached out, grasped her right hand, held on to it.

‘One more run,’ she said. ‘You promised me.’

‘You’re out of your mind,’ Cathy said.

‘You think I don’t know that?’

Sam saw the Golf, checked it out, then parked where he knew he could beat Flanagan out of the dead-end back into the avenue, and called Terri.

‘I’ve found the car, beach end of Eighth Avenue. Where are you?’

‘Still snarled up, too far to come on foot.’

‘Right.’ Sam got out of the Saab, and looked around. ‘I’m going on ahead.’

‘Why don’t I park closer to the pier and walk up towards you?’ Terri suggested.

Sam hesitated, knew he was in no position to give her any kind of an order.

‘If you see them, stay out of sight,’ he said, ‘and call me.’

‘Here’s hoping,’ Terri said.

‘I know – ’ Kez still gripped Cathy’s hand – ‘that I’m sick.’

The bat in her left hand began to swing a little. Not fast, but Cathy saw the sinews tightening in her arm.

‘I know,’ Kez went on, ‘what has to happen.’

She let go of Cathy’s hand.

‘One last run first,’ she said. ‘It’s all I’m asking for.’

She saw Cathy’s eyes on the bat, stopped swinging it.

‘It’s the very last thing I’ll ask you for.’ She held the bat out. ‘You want it?’

Cathy shook her head, felt a sick shudder pass through her.

Not just fear of Kez now. Fear of what was coming next, whatever that might be.

Kez laid the bat down on the sand, took the old stained jersey from over her shoulder, draped it around her narrow waist, stretching and knotting the sleeves, then bent and picked up the bat
again, and suddenly Cathy wondered if the other woman might be playing a game with her. She knew better than most about those kinds of games, had been toyed with in the past by a master of
them.

‘Please,’ Kez said.

Not a game, Cathy thought, except that the bat was swinging again.

‘No,’ Kez said clearly. ‘I would never hurt you. Never.’

Cathy dragged her eyes away from the bat to her lover’s face.

Sick, and wicked, too, she knew that now, knew what she had done to Saul, to those others. Yet the hell of it, the hot, boiling
hell
of it, was that a part of her still loved her. And she
believed, as much as she could any longer believe in anything, that Kez meant what she had just said. That she would not hurt her.

And anyway, Cathy did not know what else to do.

So she nodded.

They lined up, shoulder to shoulder.

And began their run.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Grace had been lying on the couch, Woody draped over her feet, since Sam’s last call.

Had she not felt so unwell, she would have been finding ways of
dealing
with this dreadful wait. Pacing and cooking, making something healthy and consoling and probably Tuscan for their
return. Speaking to David, persuading him to come over for the long haul, taking it in turns with him to go back to Miami General and sit with Saul.

But Saul was still out for the count and David was, she hoped, having the rest he needed. She was too tired to cook or pace, and the fear in her soul seemed to be invading her like a sapping
force, and she was beginning to wonder if she ought not to speak to a doctor other than David, but Barbara Walden, her ob-gyn, had been in Europe for a week and Grace had no real wish to speak to a
stranger.

She ought, she supposed, to have gone upstairs to bed by now, but the fact was she was too superstitiously afraid that if she did that and fell asleep, something terrible might happen, something
even worse than had already befallen Saul.

Ridiculous, of course.

Rest
, for the sake of the baby.

Tell that to a mom-to-be whose daughter was not out with a probable killer.

Tell it to a wife whose husband was not out there hunting for them.

Sam was on the beach, trying to slow himself down, fighting the urge to run.

Just a man out for a stroll.

He hadn’t seen Terri yet, but he wasn’t looking for her. He was looking for a slim young woman with long, straight golden hair and . . .

There
.

There.

Hair glinting in the afternoon sunshine, her figure unmistakable.

Flanagan beside her. Side by side, running real close a couple of hundred yards ahead of him, kicking up low sand clouds in their wake.

Flanagan had something in her left hand. A baseball bat.
The
bat.

Sweet Jesus.

Sam slid his right hand beneath his shirt, closed his fingers around his Sig Sauer, unsnapped the holster – instinct, almost reflex, taking over, and he knew that using his firearm would
be his last resort, knew he had no right to use it, was out of jurisdiction, and there were people around, innocent bystanders. His eyes flicked back and forth, took in with a fragment of gratitude
that this Monday afternoon there were no crowds and, thank the Lord, no
kids
in sight.

They neared the old wooden pier and Sam willed them to pass it by. If he could just follow on the beach, he would have more time and opportunity to make decisions, pick his moment, whereas if
they got up there, the chances were they’d end up being cornered, Flanagan
feeling
cornered, worst case scenario . . .

They took the steps two at a time up on to the pier, and stopped.

Sam swore quietly, slowed his own pace, staying right back, trying to keep them in sight, saw them jogging on the spot. Maybe, he hoped, they’d come back down again, hoped, too, that if
Terri saw them she’d have the sense to keep back.

Kez was panting – they were both panting – and Cathy looked around, relieved that there were other people up here on the boardwalk. Not many, but enough, some
strolling, some fishing over the sides, some watching a surfer catching waves.

‘I want to go now,’ Kez said, swinging the bat again.

Cathy stared at her, not understanding.

‘Now,’ Kez said. ‘Hard and fast.’

Cathy saw where she was looking, straight ahead to the end of the pier, and realized suddenly, with a wild gripping of her stomach, that Kez wasn’t planning on stopping when she reached
the end.

Not
certain if she meant to go alone, or take her along for the ride.

‘No,’ Cathy said.

‘Only way to go,’ Kez said.

‘
No
,’ Cathy said again.

‘For me,’ Kez added, and smiled at her.

A tender, sweet, sad smile.

And then she took off.

Cathy waited a half second.

And took off after her.

Sam, pacing down below, saw them go.

‘Oh, Christ.’

He broke into a sprint, trying to keep up, to keep them in view – but the goddamned ocean was in the way, and he knew he was going to have to get up on the pier with them. He flew up the
steps, his sneakers pounding the old timber, his eyes frantically scanning.

Kez was much too close to Cathy for him to risk a shot, but it was happening too fast. The temptation to shout out Cathy’s name was intense, but he knew how dangerous that might be
– cop, not dad –
so he ground his teeth and stayed silent, edging towards them, hand under his shirt, pistol in his grip, ready if he had no choice . . .

Terri had seen them too, from way off, had started running right away, had already drawn her own pistol, gripping it in both hands as she tracked the women, barrel pointed
down. Remembering her training, trying to push Saul out of her mind –
cop, not girlfriend –

Not sure if she could do that.

Cathy knew now,
knew
that Kez wasn’t going to stop, that when she hit the end she was going to jump – and in her mind’s eye Cathy could already
see
it, could picture Kez injured and struggling in the water, people trying to save her, cops coming, and Kez didn’t
want
that, Kez wanted to . . .

‘
No!
’ she screamed, kicked like crazy and got
ahead
of Kez, swerved into her path and stopped dead. ‘I won’t let you!’

‘Get out of my
way
!’ Kez pushed at her, trying to get past.

‘It’ll be all right.’ Cathy tried to grab at her.

‘Let me
go
!’

Sam ducked into the small squared-off recess, halfway along the pier, knelt behind one of the tables in the area, drew his Sig Sauer and kept it down by his side, kept his eyes
focused on Cathy and Kez, prayed for enough space between them – not knowing what he was going to do if he got it because it was too
dangerous
to shoot, there were too many people
around . . .

Terri saw it happen from down below, from way back. Saw Kez break free, saw her raise the baseball bat . . .

Terri crouched, dug her feet in the sand, brought up her gun and took aim.

Sam saw Kez swing the bat right back.

Heard the shot.

Saw the bat fly out of Kez’s hand, soar through the air and plummet down into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Saw Kez launch herself at Cathy, grab hold of her.

Saw, rather than heard, Cathy start to scream, saw her wide open mouth, saw her horror and fear, saw her step back.

Giving Sam space.

A clear shot. He raised the Sig Sauer, took aim . . .

Kez came at Cathy again.

And Sam fired.

‘
No!
’ Cathy screamed.

Kez already falling.

No pain in her face, something else, something fierce.

But fading out.

People were yelling, shrieking, running in panic, ducking, some right down on the boards, terrified of more shooting.

‘No,’ Cathy cried out, her voice carrying on the wind.

She was on her knees beside Kez, cradling her.

Sam reached her, stooped, tried to draw her up. ‘Let me,’ he said.

‘No,’ she said, quieter now, knowing it was too late.

Kez was trying to speak.

Cathy bent over her, put her ear against her mouth.

Felt the blood, still warm, on her own cheek.

Heard only two words.

‘Thank you.’

‘Oh God, Kez, hang on,’ Cathy said.

But she was already gone.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chaos in the aftermath.

Cops coming from everywhere along with the local media, and all kinds of hell breaking loose, professional and personal.

Naples PD and Collier County Sheriff’s office. The medical examiner, crime-scene techs, uniforms, detectives. Word out to Miami Beach, to Sam’s unit, and Terri’s and to
Internal Affairs.

Sam and Terri were being questioned there at the scene, Sam losing it big-time and not caring because the professional hell could wait, he’d deal with that when the time came. The
personal
hell was something else. He had seen them leading Cathy away and she’d been so damned quiet, no weeping or protestation, just blankness, just
nothing,
and Sam wanted to
be with her, to hold her, try to comfort her.

The thing he was most afraid of, now that she was safe, was that Cathy might never forgive him for what he’d done to Kez. He was more afraid of that now than of losing his job or facing
charges, or even of going to jail; except then he thought about Grace and their baby and not being with her, with
them,
when the time came, and that was every bit as frightening.

He ran it all over and over in his mind while he and Terri – kept well apart, of course – answered their questions, first out on the pier with Kez’s body still lying there,
cameras zapping every angle, the ME doing her first exam, members of the public having been hustled away behind crime-scene tape, names and witness reports being taken. Because this was a crime
scene, a shooting, and Sam was one of the people behind the shooting, the man who’d shot Flanagan to death, and the only good thing, the only real
blessing
was that no one else had
been hurt, no innocent blood spilled, and even in the midst of all this blur, this awful unthinkable reality, Sam was managing to be grateful for that.

They were taken, a while later – he didn’t know how long, time had ceased to register – to the Collier County Sheriff’s office, and Sam went on cooperating, answering
questions, making a voluntary statement, being cautioned that what he told them now could be used against him criminally, civilly and administratively, telling them it was OK, he knew, he
knew.

But his mind wasn’t working properly, he knew that, too, because all he kept on doing was replaying the scene, going back over the build-up, back to the shooting and Flanagan’s dying
and Cathy’s cradling her and Cathy’s
face
with the other woman’s blood on her cheek, over and over and over . . .

Long evening.

It was almost seven p.m. before Sam was able to call Grace.

‘She’s safe.’ The two words he knew she needed to hear. ‘It’s over, and Cathy’s not hurt.’

The unspoken
but
seemed to pound the air.

‘And Kez?’ Grace asked.

All downhill from that point on.

‘Kez is dead,’ Sam said. ‘I shot her.’ He got it out fast, the only way. ‘I thought she was going to hurt Cathy, and I shot her.’