Night Of The Blackbird (38 page)

“Sure.”

He stepped behind the bar, and she hurried into Danny's room. She tore through the closet, heedless of the mess she made.

Nothing.

He had stopped her when she'd looked under the bed. She crawled beneath it and caught her breath.

There was the gun. She didn't know a damned thing about firearms, but this had to be a sniper's rifle. A really good, high-tech one. There was a scope on it. The gun was taped to the underside of the bed. She crawled out, tears in her eyes. It was time to call the police.

When she stood, she was dizzy, so she sat at the foot of the bed for a minute. She felt the file folders she had stuffed under her black suit jacket poke against her flesh. She pulled them out, tears still stinging her eyes. There were names on the folders. Her brother's name was on the first. She flipped through it. There were pictures, records. Her vision blurred.

The next one bore the name Michael Anthony McLean. She opened it idly, wiping her eyes. Michael's picture leaped out at her. Or was it Michael's picture?

Blurred. It was the tears in her eyes. No…it was Michael. Yes, surely. Dark hair, blue eyes, same face…

“So you know. I was afraid you'd seen the way that whore stared at me the other night in the bar.”

The door was open. Why hadn't she heard it open? She stared across the room. Michael was standing there. He entered the room and closed the door.

The band started playing just outside, the closed door doing little to muffle the sound.

So you know…the whore…

The picture of Michael. Close…so close…but not Michael.

Denial, disbelief, made her talk desperately. “Michael,” she said, “Danny's planning on assassinating Jacob Brolin—”

“Yes, of course, good try,” he said coldly. “That was the plan, of course. To get you going on Danny, discover the rifle…who the hell knew that you would find a picture of the real Michael McLean?”

The sudden clarity of the truth that had been around her all along was staggering. It was too horrible to believe. And yet…

God, there it was, staring her in the face!

She stood, her eyes glued to his. She didn't even think to scream, she was still so stunned, though part of her mind knew it wouldn't have mattered even if she had screamed; the music was way too loud.

“I don't understand, Michael,” she murmured, bluffing. “We have to call the police. Danny has a rifle taped under his bed—”

“And you have the dossier right in front of you that proves I'm not who I say I am,” he said coldly. Leaning against the door, he stared at her. His eyes were like chips of blue ice. When he spoke, it wasn't with the level voice and even accent she had known. His tone was harsh—and his brogue was heavy. “You know, Moira, I had planned to be with you, right from the beginning. That's one of the reasons I've always been so adept at my chosen vocation. I'm good with women. But, though you really won't believe this, I never lied when I said that I loved you. I've been trying to figure if it might be possible to really become Michael McLean—who is, of course, dead, you must realize. Do this one last job, a triumph for freedom, and then live a normal life. Marry you. But you were supposed to help me set up your old friend for a fall, not sleep with him. You did sleep with him, right?”

“Look, Michael, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you do. Blackbird. You knew something was going on in the pub. An attempt to assassinate Brolin. This was to be the meeting place. And it was. Dan O'Hara was to be the perfect fall guy—arrested for the crime. You were to help with that, though you didn't know it, and you were moving along in just the right direction. But now…you know. You betrayed me, Moira. You pretended to love me, and you fucked him.”

The horror, the magnitude of what had being going on struck her full force. From the time he had taken the job with her, he had been planning this. No, from before that time. He had found a man with the right look and the right credentials, and he had killed that man, then applied for and won the job in his stead. He had taken the time to court and seduce her. He had studied her family, the pub. He had been so thorough, so careful. And when he hadn't been with her…

He had been strangling prostitutes.

“I—I love you, Michael,” she lied. He was between her and the door.

He shook his head. “No. We were apart too much. And you didn't mind. I minded. And I needed company. Actually, you're a lot like those whores, Moira. You couldn't keep your mind on me, you lie and cheat, and you're nosy as hell. I didn't think I'd have to kill you—I was spending a lot of time on that fantasy where I married you in the family church and was welcomed like a son into the bosom of the family. A pretty fantasy. I should be grateful you cheated. Because Michael McLean is going to have to disappear now. After tomorrow, of course. But…well, I'm going to have to deal with you first. And Danny boy…I'll have to deal with him later.”

“Michael, my family is going to be home any minute. And…you're wrong about all this. I love you, we can—”

“Oh, Moira, please! I don't think you're stupid, and you know damn well I'm not. You really have complicated matters, but…let's go.”

“Go? I'm not stupid. Where do you think I'm going with you?”

He started walking toward her. She jumped up, but there was no way out of the room except through the door he was blocking. Still, she was desperate to preserve her life at all costs. She screamed, praying someone would hear her over the band. He reached the bed, and she crossed to the other side. It was hopeless. She tried to race past him, but he caught her viciously by the hair. She screamed again, trying to wrestle away.

That was when she saw his hands.

He wore gloves. And carried a cloth with a strange, sickly-sweet odor.

Fighting wildly, she tried to avoid his hand. She kicked, screamed, bit. The hand, and the cloth, came over her mouth.

She tried not to breathe.

Eventually she had to.

He caught her before she could sink to the floor. He lifted her up and met her eyes with his own, the cold, ice-blue eyes of a killer, before the light began to fade.

Fade out…

The world became black and existed no more.

 

Moira wasn't there. Dan was irritated, cursing the fact that she had been looking for him immediately after he received the files. He'd flipped through them all quickly, then focused on the one about Michael. He'd immediately realized that something wasn't quite right. He had been studying the file when Siobhan called.

He went all over the funeral home looking for Moira. He even waited in front of the ladies' room. When a gray-haired dowager in a pillbox hat came out, he apologized and headed into the room where Seamus's remains lay. He checked with her family. She hadn't told anyone she was leaving, but Eamon told him that she had probably headed to the pub with Michael, as planned.

As soon as Eamon said the words, something clicked in Dan's mind. He excused himself and left, hurrying to the empty viewing room where he had stashed the files. Heedless of who might be watching him, he dug through the stack.

A few were missing. Moira must have them. He didn't know why or how he was so sure of that, only that he was.

Suddenly his mind processed what he had seen.

Dropping the files, which scattered all over the floor, he strode through the outer room, deciding that it would probably be just as quick to walk the distance as to try to flag down a cab. But as he walked out, someone called to him, “Hey, heading for the pub?”

It was a young man, brown-haired, hazel-eyed. Maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven.

“Who the hell are you?” Dan demanded.

“Tom Gambetti.”

Dan stared at him blankly, grudging every second that passed.

“I'm a cabdriver. I drove Moira home when she got off her plane.”

“You're a cabdriver?”

“Yes.”

“Your cab is here?”

“Yeah, right there.”

“Great. I
am
headed for the pub, and I need you to get me there as quickly as you can.”

 

When they pulled up in front of the pub, Dan told Tom to wait right there, then strode inside. There was no one at the bar except a man complaining of no service. One of the band members came up at that point, offering to help him. “Hey, buddy, cool it. I'll find you a beer. There's been a death in the family. Bad time, you know.”

Dan ignored the customer and addressed the band members. “Where's Moira Kelly?” he asked.

“She came in here just a few minutes ago with some man. Took off to freshen up or lie down or something like that. She must be really broken up about that guy's death. Her friend went to look for her, and when he came out with her, he said she was in really bad shape. Could hardly stand. He was supporting her. Said he was going to take her back to the family, that she was in no condition to hold down the fort.”

Dan's insides seemed to congeal. He raced to his room, throwing open the door. The spread was askew, nearly on the floor. The closet door was open, clothing everywhere.

Whatever had happened, it had happened quickly. He closed the door. The musician was still behind the bar.

“How long ago did they leave?” he asked tensely.

“A couple minutes ago. Literally. They walked out just before you walked in.”

“Thanks.”

Dan burst out to the street. As he stared up and down the sidewalk, the cabdriver stuck his head out the window. “Hey, if you're looking for Moira, they just left. Looked like she was sleeping. I waved, but the guy driving wasn't paying any attention.”

Dan was instantly in the cab. “Turn around. Follow them.”

“Follow them? I don't know where the hell they were going.”

“They're only seconds ahead. You can find them.”

“Wait a minute! Who are you and what—”

“Damn it, turn around, follow them. Her life is at stake.”

Tom Gambetti apparently believed him. He spun the cab around and began to take the streets of Boston like a madman.

“Careful, we don't want a cop on us—not unless we find them first. Hey, there they are. They're in her father's car. Turn here.”

“This is a one-way street—”

“Turn anyway.”

Gambetti did. Dan had to admit the guy could drive. They missed a tan Suburban by inches. Moments later they were in traffic, just three cars behind Eamon Kelly's.

“What now?” Gambetti asked.

“Keep on him,” Dan said, keeping his eyes steadily on the vehicle ahead. They were at a light, wedged between a Corsica and delivery van, when Eamon's car made a sudden turn.

“Shit, I'm going to lose him,” Tom Gambetti swore.

“Never mind, we know what direction he's going. Turn as soon as you can.”

Gambetti did as he was told.

“Pull over to the curb,” Dan said when they reached the wharf. “Just let me out. And listen.” Dan was scratching a number on a scrap of paper as he spoke. “Call this number. Tell them you're calling for Dan O'Hara. Tell them to get to the wharf, to the
Siobhan,
as quickly as they can. Tell them lives are at stake. Understand?”

“Yeah, of course.” He was fumbling in his pocket. “I've got a cell phone right here. Hey, you sure you don't want to call yourself?”

Dan was already gone, sprinting down to the docks.

 

She wasn't dead. Yet. Her head pounded; her stomach churned. She felt as if she were being tossed around by a cruel hand.

She opened her eyes very slowly. Colors dimmed by pale light floated in her vision. She could hear voices. Men…talking. She fought to clear her vision. She blinked, thinking she was seeing things. She was on a narrow sofa, looking at a compact dining booth in front of her. There were flowers on the table. Suddenly she recognized her surroundings. She was in her brother's boat; he always arranged to have flowers on the table, for Siobhan, for their first sail of the season.

The men…arguing. Who were they? What were they saying? She closed her eyes again, listening, trying to ignore the pain in her head, still her stomach and discern what was going on and how to survive.

“One damned day. We needed one more damned day. This was asinine.”

“Don't you get it, man? She had a fucking file. She knew the picture wasn't me.”

“Great. So now she's got to disappear tonight. That screws tomorrow.”

“We can come up with a different plan. We've got the best weapon in the world, we just need a point to fire from. I'll need another new identity, though.”

“This has to be done. It would have been perfect if you could have been near Moira. So close, and yet you still could have disappeared into the crowd.”