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  Ward dialed Gene.

  “I was just about to call you,” Gene said, by way of answering.

  “You need to come to the house right now,” Ward told him.

  “What's up?” Gene asked.

  Ward said, “We should talk face- to- face.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Ward accompanied Todd Hartman as he swept the house and collected three small listening devices from the kitchen, den, and dining area. Someone had been in the house. Todd placed the bugs into a foam- lined envelope.

  “These are high- quality bugs—minis that transmit to a receiver. The range is limited to two or three hundred yards at the most. He can place a gatherer inside that zone, and from that device he can transmit anywhere. He's definitely been listening to your conversations.”

  Todd collected the wine bottles, orange juice containers, and Scotch bottles. He lifted one of the unopened orange juice cartons and, turning it upside down, squeezed it. A tiny stream of orange liquid arced across the room. Someone had been in the house.

  “You were right, Todd, he used a syringe,” Leslie said.

  “Who used a syringe?” Gene asked as he walked into the room, red- faced. After Natasha told him what they'd figured out, Gene accompanied Todd out to the hide. He studied the binoculars, the sharpening stone, and the carvings. Ward saw Gene open his phone and make a call. After five minutes in the heat, they went back inside.

  “Todd has pictures of everything so we have a record,” Ward said.

  “We need to give the remaining liquids to the FBI, but I agree that Todd should definitely have his samples checked. Not that I don't trust the FBI, but they haven't given us any reason to. Lander Electric wouldn't do this,” Gene said conclusively.

  “The Dibbles are behind this,” Ward said. “It's the only thing that makes sense. If not Flash, then Trey is behind it. I know it in my bones.”

  “I talked to Flash,” Gene said. “He said the last offer is still on the table unchanged. Doesn't seem like he's taking advantage of this.”

  “That was nice of him,” Natasha said angrily. She wasn't ready to let a Dibble off the hook.

  “Don't you think you could cut him some slack?” Gene said. “If he'd been involved, do you think he would keep his offer firm? Ward, as your attorney and friend, I'd advise you to consider his offer. Who knows what else might happen that would negatively affect the company's value.”

  “Gene, I'm surprised at you,” Natasha said. “Haven't you considered that it may be the best way for Flash to distance himself from the dirty tricks? Maybe he knows Trey is responsible and wants to protect him. He knows any damage to the company's reputation won't last once Ward is out of the picture.”

  Ward stared at his wife as if seeing her for the first time. He had long ago accepted the fact that Natasha was a lot smarter and more perceptive than he was. The knowledge that she was ready to fight the world at his side warmed him and steeled his resolve.

  “You ready to let Lander Electric off the hook? They could be behind this. They could have hired this stalker, or investigator—no offense to your profession, Todd—or whatever he is,” Gene said.

  “Maybe they are responsible,” Natasha acknowledged, “but I can't see where the virus, or Ward's innocence or guilt, would affect our wrongful death case.”

  Ward smiled quietly at her use of the word “our.”

  Gene said, “Unless they think a jury will believe that a man who can get off looking at naked children is the sort of nut who would kill his own son so he could collect insurance, which there wasn't any, or sue them because of it.” Hearing Gene say that gave Ward a hot, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. And it pissed him off. And someone had been in the house. And that terrified Ward McCarty more than he could possibly have imagined.

  FORTY

  Todd went to his truck and returned holding two cell phones. “I have these for you to use. They're encrypted, so Gene and I can call you and you can call us without worrying about being monitored. The numbers are on the labels on the backs. When this is over, you can go back to using your lines. These'll work with your chargers.”

  Ward and Natasha took the cell phones and looked at the numbers on the backs of the units.

  Gene came into the room and said, “What other brand of shit are we going to step into?”

  Ward was thinking about Alice Palmer. The girl could certainly add gasoline to the fire that appeared to be no more than coals, and if she went to the federal prosecutor, he might use her as additional proof of Ward's sexual interest in youngsters. Ward was about to mention her to Gene when Natasha did. “Todd, tell Gene about Alice Palmer,” she said. “And the missing car.”

  “Who?” Gene asked.

  “I'll let Todd tell you,” Ward said.

  After Todd ran it all down, he played the tape of his conversation with Alice for Gene. The lawyer shook his head and said, “For pity's sake, can it get any worse? You should have told me this earlier, a lot earlier.”

  “Isn't that the truth,” Natasha said. She was staring out the window.

  “I figured Todd could handle it. So far he's batting a thousand.”

  “It's under control,” Todd added evenly.

  Natasha said, “I guess that hole out there explains why I felt like I was being watched. Sunday I thought I saw something move out there in the shadows. Jesus, I thought it was an animal.”

  “Do you have a gun in the house?” Todd asked.

  “Of course not.” Natasha was incredulous. “Why would we own a gun?”

  “Well,” Todd said, “whatever was out in that hole is the best reason I can think of.”

  “Ward? With a gun!” Gene said, laughing out loud. “I doubt he knows which end the bullets come out of.”

  “That much I know,” Ward said.

  The gun Todd took out of his briefcase was a black steel short- barreled revolver.

  “This is a five- shot, thirty- eight-caliber Smith and Wesson,” he said. “This is how it works. Pay attention.” He pushed forward the textured button on the side of the weapon and held the gun so his new students could see what he was doing as he spoke. “You hold this and push on this side of the cylinder and it swings open.” He rotated the gun so they could see that it was empty before he placed five red plastic bullets on the counter, rounded tips pointing up. With measured slowness, Todd took them one by one and placed each into an empty chamber until all were inserted, then closed the cylinder.

  “I want you to practice loading and unloading this gun until you can do it fast. The gun will not go off unless the cylinder is closed and the trigger is pulled. The hammer can be cocked manually or just squeeze the trigger and it fires double action.”

  Todd opened the gun, ejected the dummy bullets into his hand, laid them on the counter, and closed the cylinder.

  “You can safely practice loading and dry- firing with the dummies.” He reloaded the gun rapidly. “It isn't good for a hammer to fall on an empty chamber.”

  “Why is that?” Ward asked.

  “In the old days revolver firing pins could break if they didn't strike a primer. The new pins on revolvers are stronger, but every machine has an infinite number of movements before it fails,” Todd said. “No sense tempting the laws of metallurgy.” He pointed the gun at the refrigerator and pulled the trigger once, then again.

  He handed it to Ward butt first.

  Ward looked down the barrel.

  “It doesn't have much in the way of sights,” Todd said.

  “How do you line them up then?” Ward asked.

  “Don't need to, close in. This has a short barrel, so for all intents and purposes the sights are useless. Just point it like you'd point your finger at something you're looking at and your brain will aim it for you. Natasha, load it and point at the stove.”

  Ward handed it to Natasha, who held the gun as though it were a dead rat. Gracelessly she managed to open the cylinder, load the plast
ic bullets, and close it.

  Todd smiled. “Don't put your finger in the trigger guard until you are going to squeeze it. As soon as you decide to use it, point and squeeze like you're making a tight fist. Firmly and slowly, because the gun will go off target if you jerk it. If you imagine that you're aiming at a saucer your enemy is wearing on his chest you'll hit vital organs—heart or lungs. I don't expect that I have to tell you where the vital organs are, Doctor.”

  “I don't intend to fire it.”

  “Don't extend the gun. Keep it close to your body. If you point the gun at someone, fire immediately Anyone who knows what he's doing can take it from you and use it against you.”

  “I would never shoot a person,” Natasha said with certainty.

  “Okay. Then aim to hit something directly behind him and let the bullet find its own path.”

  “It would go through him,” Leslie said.

  “If that's the path the bullet has to take, so be it. Natasha, if your target gets the gun, he'll probably use it on you and Ward. Could you kill to save your husband's life or your own?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding as she met Ward's eyes. “I would kill to save him. But I'm a doctor. ‘First, do no harm.’ ”

  “You're a living woman first,” Todd said, smiling. “After you shoot the son of a bitch, as a wife protecting yourself and your husband, you can give him CPR as a doctor until the paramedics arrive.”

  Ward laughed nervously.

  Natasha didn't.

  “Again. You will only point the gun at someone you have decided to shoot,” Todd said, seriously. “Do not hesitate. A man who knows what he's doing can move thirty feet in less than two seconds. A decision to fire through the trigger pull takes an average of three. It's longer if you are a civilian. If that man has a knife he can bat the gun aside and kill you before you can squeeze the trigger. So make the decision when you raise the gun and fire then.”

  “I'll keep the gun,” Ward said.

  “That would probably be best,” Natasha said. “I'd be thinking about all the gunshot wounds I've tried to repair. The damage it would do.”

  “Regardless, you should familiarize yourself with the weapon. Just in case.”

  Natasha pointed the Smith at the stove, closing her eyes; when she pulled the trigger, she jerked visibly at the snap. Natasha handed the gun to Ward, and he did the same thing. He play- fired the gun, killing the windows, the refrigerator, the Mixmaster, the fridge, the stove, and Mr. Coffee. By the end of the session, Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson were not quite old friends, but they were acquaintances.

  FORTY-ONE

  The driveway guard called ahead so that when the doorbell rang, the occupants of the McCarty home knew who was at the door. Gene had left and Leslie was out running a list of essential errands for Natasha.

  “Agents,” Ward said, after opening the door. “Come in.”

  Agent John Mayes nodded at Ward and Natasha, but Bill Firman looked like a man who was there for a colonoscopy Mayes wore a wedding band, wingtips, and a cheap suit. Firman had an expensive haircut and manicured nails.

  As Todd, Natasha, and Ward watched from a few feet away, the two agents inspected the hide on the hill. While Mayes looked at the same things Firman was looking at, Mayes looked at the McCartys as often as he looked at the hole, the binoculars, the cigarette butts, and the diamond sharpening stone. Finally Firman took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was ninety- seven degrees and there was not the slightest breeze to stir the leaves.

  “So who, or what, is Gizmo?” Firman asked.

  “No idea,” Natasha said. “He, or it, didn't introduce himself.”

  “All I know is what everybody knows. That word is slang for electronic devices, widgets, thingamajigs,” Ward said.

  “Is that a fact?” Firman asked. “And you didn't know this hole was out here?”

  “No, I didn't,” Ward said.

  “Then you wouldn't know how long it has been here?”

  “No,” Ward said. “We rarely come up here.”

  “Like to collect firewood in the fall?” Firman mused.

  “We buy firewood in the fall,” Natasha said.

  “We don't even own a chain saw,” Ward said. “And we like our trees standing.”

  “So, Mr. Hartman, you didn't get a good look at this person who scurried out of the hole and fled through the woods?”

  “No,” Todd said. “I saw a light reflection. I thought it was probably a cameraman sneaking shots. I called for backup, and Bixby Nolan and I converged, but the subject was already running away. I couldn't close on him. He seemed familiar with the terrain, because there's no path, and he was very fast and agile.”

  “Maybe it was a raccoon,” Firman said flatly.

  “Your sarcasm is uncalled for, Agent Firman,” Natasha said sternly. “Someone has been using this hole to watch our home, which I would think might be of interest to you. Todd Hartman found listening devices in our home, and it's very likely we have been systematically drugged by someone, perhaps the person who was in this hole. If you aren't going to take this seriously, we'll call the actual police. I think they will be more open to investigating this than you seem to be.”

  “Digging a hole, scratching on the walls, and watching your house. Not federal crimes,” Firman said, shrugging. “Who knows who planted those bugs, but breaking and entering even to plant eavesdropping devices and drug liquor supplies are also not federal crimes. And drugs would be easy for you to get your hands on. I saw the toy casket you let your child have. So, I suggest you do call the sheriff, or maybe you could hire a really good private investigator.”

  “We'd never seen that casket before and it was not anything our son would have had. We would have seen it in the room. Whoever was in this hole must have planted it to freak us out and your people found it before we did,” Ward said angrily.

  Todd glared at Firman. “My excuse, if I needed one, is that I've only been working on this for a day. You've got the FBI lab and a lot of support personnel behind you. Maybe we should ask the attorney general to send some actual FBI agents to investigate.”

  Firman laughed, but Mayes didn't. In fact he appeared thoughtful.

  “Agent Firman, there's a medical term that fits you,” Natasha said.

  Ward knew what was coming because he'd heard this come out of her mouth once before, and he would have said something if he'd thought her contribution might be counterproductive, but he didn't think it could be.

  “And what would that medical term be, Doctor?” Firman asked.

  “Hemorrhoid.” Her delivery was perfect.

  Mayes laughed.

  Firman didn't.

  FORTY-TWO

  Mayes took samples of liquids away with him in a plastic shopping bag, promising Ward and Todd he'd have them analyzed by the FBI lab. Based solely on Firman's attitude, a speedy response by the lab seemed unlikely to Ward.

  Thanks to the tinted windows in Todd's Denali, Natasha and Ward were able to sit up in the backseat without being visible to the few remaining members of the media milling about outside their vans on the road. Nolan and his partner, arms crossed and wearing sidearms and frowns, were keeping them at bay.

  “Gizmo,” Natasha said. “I keep thinking I've heard that nickname somewhere before.”

  “So have I,” Ward said. “There was a kid in high school who was always building electronic equipment. His nickname was Gizmo. He died our senior year, from leukemia. He won our science fair with a listening device he made from metallic tubes of varying lengths bundled together. The Army actually bought the device from him.”

  “Him dying pretty much rules him out,” Todd said. “Ghosts don't dig holes in the ground and carve their own nicknames into the walls.”

  In downtown Charlotte, Todd parked in the lot underneath the building where Wiggins & Associates took up half of the fifth floor. Gene was waiting for them in the reception area when they arrived, and he led them back to Tom Wiggins
's office. Lawyer Wiggins greeted them warmly and shook everybody's hands. He and Natasha made small talk about the fund- raising for the children's cancer center. Wiggins was involved because he'd lost a granddaughter to bone cancer four years earlier.

  “First off,” he told them, “they haven't got anything to hang their hats on but theories. What they have might get them an indictment, but I doubt they'll go for one on hunches alone. That doesn't mean they won't arrest Ward if they get him indicted, but for the moment I seriously doubt it. In order for them to convict, they have to prove that you knowingly had the illegal material in your possession, and that you disseminated it.”

  “Gene's filled me in on the stalker and the possible drugging. Obviously, someone released this virus on purpose, and it appears they set you up to take the blame. Mr. Hartman can verify the facts, and based on his expertise and reputation, his word should carry weight.”

  Todd, seated to one side, nodded.

  “Computer experts are going over the virus and we should have everything figured out except for whoever planted it. Someone has been accessing porn sites using your office computer for over a year. From what I have been able to put together using what the prosecutor shared with me, someone used your computer many times over the past ten months to visit unsavory sites. Usually when you were there, according to the receptionist's time sheets.”

  “How is that possible?” Ward asked.

  Todd said, “It can be done remotely using spy-ware programs.”

  “Todd probably knows more about this than I do, but I am told the program can be tracked back to the originator,” Wiggins said.

  “Good,” Natasha said.

  Todd nodded his agreement.

  “Your son Barney died, what, about a year ago?” Wiggins asked.

  Natasha said, “Today is the one- year anniversary.”

  The meeting lasted less than thirty minutes, but Gene assured Ward and Natasha on the way out that they'd be billed for an hour.

  FORTY-THREE