Firestorm

  “No, I'm looking for bait. Someone to draw her out and away from Silver.”

  “I thought Silver was your next—” He stopped. “You had me find out everything I could about him.”

  Trask chuckled. “You see, you are an accomplice. So stop wobbling, Dickens. Silver is a target, but Kerry Murphy has a special appeal for me.” And excitement. He'd thought that the Fairchild killing would cause that excitement to abate, but it hadn't happened. What was it about Kerry Murphy that made him feel this sense of closeness to her? The fact that Silver had brought her here to track him down? The fact that he had failed in killing her and her family that night?

  No, it was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on. Oh, well, it would come to him. “I'll stay in touch, Dickens. Keep on the woman. Don't just tail her. I want to know everything about her. Watch her, get a tech van, and monitor her phone calls. Let me know when you find a hole in her armor.”

  “If I find a hole.”

  “No, Dickens, when. Everyone is vulnerable—even you.” He hung up before Dickens could reply. He didn't want Dickens to have a chance to stammer or ask questions. It was important to strike just the right note with people of his caliber. You had to instill fear and never let them get the upper hand. Ki Yong had furnished him with a tool that was only adequate and had to be constantly sharpened.

  Until it was worn out and had to be destroyed and tossed away.

  8

  I can't see you right now, Gillen. Perhaps in a day or two. Just be patient and—” Silver looked up as Kerry marched into the library and plopped down in the visitor's chair in front of the desk. “I'll call you back.” He hung up and stared warily at her. “May I help you?”

  “You're damn right. It's been two days,” Kerry said. “And I'm tired of waiting for you to start teaching me something useful. I thought we'd agreed on what needed doing.”

  “And I told you that I was running the show. Just be patient.”

  “That's what you just told that Gillen person on the phone. I'm not buying it. While I'm being patient, Trask is probably setting up his next kill.”

  “No doubt. But Fairchild's death had a sobering effect on the other people on Trask's hit list, and they're being much more careful. We have a little time.”

  “But it doesn't make sense that we don't move ahead and—” She broke off as she saw he was staring at her with a complete lack of expression. It was like talking to a wall. “Damn you.” She stood up and started for the door. “I'm not going to wait forever. I want your help, but if you stall me much longer, I'll go after Trask on my own. I can't take this.”

  Silver flinched as the door slammed behind her.

  He had been expecting a blowup from her, but he'd hoped he could put it off for another day or so. Well, he hadn't gotten lucky. It had happened and now he had to deal with it.

  A discreet knock and then George opened the door. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I ran into Ms. Murphy on the stairs. I'm forced to advise you that you're handling her with incredible stupidity.”

  “Oh, am I? And would you like to tell me how I should handle her?”

  “I wouldn't presume.” George shrugged. “Well, actually, I would. She's a woman who's used to action, and this inactivity is driving her crazy. I can fully sympathize.” He met Silver's gaze. “Because I feel the same way. So when are you going to get off your duff and do something?”

  “I am doing something.”

  “You'll forgive me, but I see no sign of it.” He added thoughtfully, “Yet I judge you to be a man who hates to spin his wheels. You could be telling me the truth.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sarcasm isn't necessary. People who try to make a mystery of their lives should expect both skepticism and questions.”

  “Mystery?”

  George smiled. “I'm not really complaining. I enjoy a good whodunit. It stimulates my mind and imagination.” He turned to leave. “And I've been stimulated with some rather bizarre ideas since I met you.”

  “Would you care to discuss them?”

  “Presently.” He opened the door. “But I'm not your primary worry right now. I assume Ms. Murphy is important to you, and you may be losing her.”

  “I won't lose her.”

  “Such confidence. It makes one wonder on what it's based. . . .”

  The door shut behind him.

  Damn it all. Silver grimaced as he rose to his feet. George was too perceptive and his instincts were sharp. He was coming very close to the truth about Silver, and Silver didn't know whether that would be good or bad. Privacy had been a way of life to him for too long.

  But George had been right about Kerry. He couldn't afford to lose her even though she might not be ready.

  And it was too dangerous letting her simmer while he waited for the ideal time and situation to come together.

  He might have to go for it.

  Damn him.

  She strode over to the window and stared blindly out at the driveway below. She should have known better than to try to budge Silver when she knew what an arrogant bastard he could be.

  No, she'd been right to confront him. She hated this lack of control in their relationship, and she didn't like the idea of this delay. Trask might be moving closer to his next victim. How could Silver be so sure that they had time?

  She was getting upset again. She should probably go for a walk or something and stop letting this impasse eat at her.

  The hell she would. She wasn't going to trot meekly off and try to forget that she was right and Silver was wrong. She was feeling angry and hurt and helpless and there was no way she was going to stay that way.

  She went to the closet, pulled out her suitcase, and tossed it on the bed.

  There was a knock on the door. “Kerry.”

  Silver.

  She didn't answer it.

  “Kerry?” He opened the door and stood watching her throw two T-shirts and underwear into the suitcase.

  “May I ask where you're going?” He answered his own question. “For God's sake, be patient. You can't go after Trask by yourself.”

  “I'm not going to be patient.” She threw a pair of jeans into the suitcase. “I'm going to do something.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, don't worry. I was angry with you downstairs. I'm not going to go after Trask and risk losing him.” She closed the suitcase and snapped the lock. “But I can't sit around and wait for you to teach me how to get to him. You just take your time. When you're ready, you come after me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Marionville.”

  “The place where Trask grew up? Why? Surely you don't think he's gone to ground there?”

  “No, but his roots are in that town, and I may learn something about him that wasn't in that dossier. Knowledge is power, and I need all the power I can get. I don't like feeling this ineffectual.” She gave him a fierce glance. “And don't tell me to be patient again. I'm sick of it.”

  “I gathered that you were. What do you think you're going to learn?”

  “How the hell do I know? Maybe the way he thinks. Maybe a clue to what makes him tick so that I can push the right buttons.”

  “You do know there's a possibility you may be followed?”

  “And that might not be bad either. At least it would mean something was happening.” She dragged the suitcase from the bed and started toward the door. “I'll see you when you get around to doing what you promised.”

  “You'll see me before that.” He took the suitcase from her. “I'm going with you.”

  “You're not invited.”

  “I'm used to barging in where I'm not wanted. It's a way of life to me.” He opened the door for her. “So stop spitting at me and let's get going.”

  “I don't need you. Ledbruk's agents aren't going to let me go anywhere without surveillance. If you think you're going to protect me, I can—”

  “Oh, I know, you think you can protect yourself. Well, maybe yo
u can. But that's probably what all of Trask's deceased targets thought,” he said. “Anyway, it wouldn't stop me from worrying, and I'm not going to go nuts wondering what's happening to you. I'd rather be on the spot and know.” He started down the stairs. “So are we going to take Sam?”

  She stared at him for a moment before she slowly followed him down the stairs. “No, he'd be in the way. We'll leave him with George.” It was clear he was absolutely determined, and it didn't really matter whether he came with her or not. Maybe it would give him a nudge to start working with her. “I don't intend to be gone more than a day or two.”

  “I noticed you didn't take much more than the bare necessities.” He put down her suitcase by the front door. “Now, can I trust you not to jump in the SUV and take off while I run upstairs and pack an overnight case?”

  “What would you do if I did?”

  “Go after you.”

  She shrugged. “Then it would be a waste of time and effort.” She leaned against the door. “I'll wait for you.”

  She's left the estate,” Dickens said when Trask answered the phone. “She and Silver took off about three hours ago in the SUV and took Highway 66 and then 81. They just crossed the West Virginia border. I followed them, but I had to be damn careful. The Secret Service was right on their tail.”

  “Highway 81,” Trask said thoughtfully. “Now, why would they be going . . .” He started to chuckle. “Of course.”

  “You know where she's going?”

  “Yes, I know. It's always smart to know your enemy.”

  “You want me to stay with her?”

  “For the time being.” My God, Marionville. He hadn't been back to that one-horse town since he'd left it to go to Europe on his Fulbright scholarship. He'd thought he'd put those memories far behind him, but they were suddenly bombarding him. All the bitter humiliations and the delicious triumphs . . . “Yes, I want to know where she is every minute.”

  “You can't touch her. I told you, she's being followed by—”

  “I heard you. I'll get back to you.” He hung up.

  Marionville.

  He could visualize Kerry Murphy digging, searching, stirring the embers of long ago. The image was curiously alluring. Maybe that was her intention, to draw him into following her.

  Marionville . . .

  Drop me off at the local library,” Kerry said. If this tiny town had a library, she thought in discouragement. It was hardly a bustling metropolis. The sign they'd passed when they entered Marionville had laid claim to eleven thousand people, but that could have been an old sign. It appeared that half the stores were closed on the main street winding through the center of the town. “I want to go through back newspapers and see if I can find any reference to Trask.”

  “How far back are you going?”

  “All the way. I'll start the year he was born.”

  “I doubt if he was into any shenanigans in the cradle.”

  “I don't care. I want to know everything about him.”

  Silver nodded. “Well, I noticed an elementary school when we first hit town. Schools and libraries usually go together.” He turned the corner and doubled back. “If we don't see the library, we'll ask at the school.”

  “Okay.” She gazed out the window as they passed several small shotgun houses with peeling paint and rickety front porches. “This is depressing. It looks like the town's dying.”

  “It probably is. Evidently when the mines closed down so did the town.” He pulled into the school parking lot and got out of the SUV. “I'll be right back.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ledbruk's surveillance car was within view. “This shouldn't take long.”

  She watched him go up the steps toward the front entrance. The elementary school was red brick but still managed to look as old and shoddy as the houses they'd passed. Had the town been this decrepit when Trask was growing up?

  Silver came out of the school ten minutes later and walked up to her side of the SUV. “I found out the only local newspaper is the Marionville Gazette. It's been in business for the last seventy years. The library is two blocks from here. You turn left at the corner and it's on your right.”

  “You're not coming?”

  “I decided to check back records while I was in the office, and Trask went to grade school here. The chances were good since this is such a small burg. I thought I'd get copies of his records and then check out his high school. It's in Cartersville, about five miles from here.”

  “They'll give you access to his records?”

  “I'll persuade them. I'm a very persuasive guy.” He stepped back. “I'll call you when I'm done and you can pick me up.” He turned and went back into the school.

  She scooted over into the driver's seat. That had been a stupid question. Of course Silver would be able to get the information. Persuasive was definitely an understatement.

  The computer at the Marionville library was a dinosaur. She did a search on Trask. After the first hour the work went smoother. It was still slow but not excruciating. It took Kerry nearly thirty minutes just to stumble through the first year of Trask's life in the newspaper she'd chosen to access. Not that there was anything there but a birth announcement that Charles and Elizabeth Trask were now the proud parents of a healthy baby boy.

  The next mention of Trask was when he won a local spelling bee at age seven. Two years later he came in first at a statewide science fair. There was even a picture of him holding the blue ribbon, with his parents beaming with pride. After that there were numerous mentions, as he took prize after prize that the academic community offered. Until the final awarding of the Fulbright.

  She leaned back and rubbed her eyes. A brilliant student, a son to be proud of. No indications of any false steps. But this couldn't be the true picture. Trask couldn't have gone through his entire maturing years as a role model and then turned around and become a monster. The seed had to be there.

  The seed.

  She sat up straight in her chair.

  And in this case the seed was the obsession that dominated Trask's life. Silver had said that it went back only fifteen years, but she had told him that she knew it went back much, much further.

  She leaned forward and typed in one word.

  Fire.

  She didn't pick Silver up when he called her from Cartersville High School. “I've found something—I think. Call Ledbruk to come and get you. Check into a motel and call me and let me know where you are. I'll meet you there as soon as I'm done.”

  “I'll get to a motel on my own. I don't want you left alone.” He paused. “I'm glad one of us has gotten lucky. With a few exceptions, all I've learned is that Trask was a golden boy.”

  “I want to hear about those exceptions.” She glanced back at the computer screen. “I've got to go. I have two more years to cover and the library closes in an hour.” She hung up and leaned forward, her finger clicking on the mouse as she went through the newspaper page by page. She stiffened as her gaze fell on an article on the back pages of June 3.

  There was another one. . . .

  She pressed the print button.

  So what did you find?” Silver asked when he answered her knock at his motel room. “It took you long enough.”

  “I persuaded the librarian to keep the library open an extra hour.” She dropped down on the couch and handed him the papers in her hand. “And I didn't have to use any of your ‘persuasiveness.' All I said was please.”

  “Sometimes that works too.” He looked down at the papers she'd handed him. “What's this supposed to be?”

  “Articles about fires that occurred in Marionville and surrounding towns during the twenty years Trask lived here. I've marked the ones that interested me.” She rubbed her temple. “No, interested isn't the right word. Horrified is closer.”

  “You think that Trask started these fires?”

  “I told you that I sensed he'd started to be obsessed a long time before he made Firestorm his career. But I couldn't find anything in h
is background that indicated he was anything but Mr. Clean.”

  Silver nodded. “The golden boy.”

  “I still can't find any proof. And I don't even have the info to make a connection.” She grimaced. “So tell me about these exceptions you ran across in his school records.”

  “There wasn't much.” He sat down across from her. “You look beat. Want to go out and get something to eat?”

  “No, I want to make a connection, dammit. I want to know the bastard.”

  He nodded. “You know he was brilliant. He was a fantastic student and made the effort to make himself likable to his teachers. But he wasn't the most popular kid with the other students. This was a tough, gritty mining town, and he was generally thought of as a king-size dork. There were a couple incidents when he went to the principal because kids were bullying him.”

  She sat up straight. “Who?”

  “Wait a minute.” He went to the bed and opened a folder he'd tossed there. “Tim Krazky. Fourth grade. The principal had a talk with the kid and that was the end of it.”

  “Maybe. Any other problems?”

  He flipped a couple pages. “He was beat up by one of the football players in high school. Dwayne Melton. The school was going to suspend Melton, but Trask stepped up and defended him. Which made Trask even more popular with the academia.”

  “Dwayne Melton—” She jumped to her feet and took back the papers she'd handed him. “When did that happen?”

  He glanced down at the record. “June fourth, 1979.”

  She put the pages down on the table and frantically riffled through them until she found the one she was looking for. “October third, 1981.” She handed him the article. “Dwayne Melton died in a fire when the oil drum at the gas station where he was working blew up.”

  “Two years later,” Silver said. “Trask would have had to be a damn patient kid.”

  “Like a spider spinning his web. He had no intention of being caught. I doubt if Trask was even in town when it happened.” She went back through the other papers. “What was that other kid's name?”