Silent Justice (58 page)

The bizarre thing was, the man actually sounded sincere. “Then don’t,” Ben said. “Don’t kill anyone. Most especially, don’t kill Christina.”

“Second the motion,” Christina murmured. She was being brave, but Ben knew she had to be terrified.

“I’m afraid I have no choice,” Matthews answered. “You know too much.”

“But I won’t tell anyone. I’ll be quiet as a church mouse.”

“If only I could believe that.”

“You can,” Christina urged. “Ben is a man of his word. If he makes a promise, he keeps it. Even to—” She stopped short.

“Even to killers?” Matthews finished. “Sorry. I can’t take that kind of chance.”

Through the glass-bottomed portal on the deck, Ben could see into the cabin. The fire was spreading. The flames had consumed the tablecloth and started in on the table.

“The yacht is burning, Matthews. If you let it go any longer, there won’t be much left.”

Matthews pushed Christina’s knees out, scooting her forward so he could get a closer look through the portal. “You’re right,” he said. “But with the money I stand to make, I could buy a dozen yachts. Give me those bonds! Now!”

“Shame to see a boat like this go up in smoke,” Ben continued. “What happens if the flames reach one of those boilers? Or the fuel tank? We’ll all go up in smoke.”

“Damn you!” Matthews shouted. “Give me those bonds!”

Ben walked to the side of the boat. “You will release Christina this moment.”

“Listen, you little—”

“You will release Christina, or I’ll drop the bonds into the sea.”

“No!”

“Think about it, Matthews. Millions of dollars turned into fish food. If they go in, you’ll never be able to get them back. Never in a million years.”

“If you do that,” Matthews bellowed, “I’ll slit your girlfriend’s throat.”

They were at an impasse, and Ben didn’t know how to break it. They each had something the other wanted—and a threat that effectively prevented the other from getting it. But for how long? Matthews had killed before—many times. If this went on much longer, he would surely snap. He’d kill Christina, then hope he could get to the bonds before they sank to the bottom of the sea.

He had to think of something. There had to be a way out. But what was it? He couldn’t think of anything.

Fortunately, Christina could. “Would you mind moving that blade farther from my face?” she asked Matthews. “It’s awfully cold. I think I’m getting a chill.”

Matthews smiled thinly. But he did not move the blade.

“But seriously, you don’t want me coughing and sneezing all over you.”

“Then tell your boss to give me the merchandise!”

“I would, but he never does anything I say.”

“I’m not amused.”

“See for yourself. "Ben, give the man his merchandise." See? He didn’t do it.”

Matthews’s face twisted into a bitter snarl. “I’m going to count to ten, Kincaid. And if I don’t have the bonds by the time I reach ten, I’ll slit her throat.”

“Don’t do it, Matthews.”

“One. Two.”

“Matthews! Your boat is burning!”

“Three. Four.”

“Matthews!”

“Five. Six.”

“Ohmigosh.” Christina’s hands rose to her face. “I think I’m going to sneeze.”

Christina cradled her face, as if to sneeze. Then, with a level of coordination at which Ben could only marvel, Christina managed to do three things at once. She faked a sneeze, knocked the knife away from her throat—and jabbed the spike end of her heel into his shin.

Matthews stumbled backward. His grip on her arm relaxed. Christina broke away and tried to run, but he managed to grab a piece of her dress. He jerked her backward, knocking her to the deck.

Ben dropped the bonds and ran for him. He tackled Matthews, trying to knock him over without success. He was too strong, plus he was still holding the knife. Ben tried to wrestle with him, but at the same time he had to stay out of reach of that blade.

“You haven’t got a chance,” Matthews sneered. He brought his fist around and hit Ben on the side of the face. Ben fell backward, reeling. Matthews followed up with a full-body block.

Ben tried to grab the steel ladder, but he just missed it. He fell backward, tumbling off the deck onto the metal scaffold below.

Matthews turned back toward Christina. “Now it’s just you and me.” He stood up, straddling her. “Nine, ten. Time’s up.” He lifted the knife into the air with both hands, then began bringing it down, hard and fast, straight toward Christina’s throat.

A shot rang out, splitting the night air. Ben, still dazed, clambered up the ladder, trying to see what had happened. Matthews had been knocked backward; he was lying flat on the deck. The knife had fallen out of his hand. His arm was bleeding, limp and motionless.

Ben found the source of the shot on the starboard bow. A small motor-boat was pulling up beside the yacht. He didn’t know the older man at the helm, but the guy leaning across the prow with a gun in both hands was very familiar.

“Mike!” A flood of relief washed through him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Long story.” As the other boat pulled in closer, Mike jumped onto the yacht. He came up the ladder behind Ben. He walked straight to Matthews, who was still conscious, although he appeared to be in considerable pain. “You’re under arrest, you sorry, sick son of a bitch.”

Ben ran to Christina’s side. “Are you all right?”

She pushed herself up by her arms. “I’m okay. Just shaken up.” She looked over at Mike. “Talk about your sight for sore eyes. Am I ever glad to see you.”

“I aim to please.”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him. “You did. Although next time, maybe, could you get here a little earlier? The last split-second thing is very dramatic, but once is enough.”

Mike smiled wryly. “I’ll work on that.”

Matthews glared at Mike, his teeth clenched with rage and pain. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“You know what? You’re right. But you didn’t, you loser, so now I’m going to make you pay for what you did.”

“I did nothing.”

“You killed six people! After torturing them! You don’t even deserve to live.”

Ben peered through the glass bottom. “We have to get out of here, Mike. The yacht’s on fire.”

“There’s a fire extinguisher in the cabin,” Matthews said.

“Like I’m going to risk my life saving your stupid boat.” Mike whipped out his handcuffs and snapped one end over Matthews’s left wrist. “Come on.”

He started to snap on the other cuff, but all at once Matthews lurched forward, knocking Mike’s gun hand away. Mike fired, but the bullet went wide. It crashed through the glass portal and entered the main cabin.

“The bullet hit the gas tank!” Ben shouted. “The gas is leaking!”

“My God,” Mike murmured. “Gas and fire. Now we really do need to haul ass.”

Christina was already down the ladder and heading toward the motorboat. “Hurry!”

Mike jerked the loose handcuff on Matthews’s arm. “Come on, asshole.”

“I’m not going.”

Mike shoved him hard. “You are going!”

Matthews barely moved. “I’m not letting you take me in. Not now. Not after everything I’ve done. I know what will happen to me.”

“I don’t have time for this!” Mike bellowed. “This boat could blow at any moment!”

I’m not going!

“Fine!”
Mike spat back.
“Stay!”
With a sudden twist, he hooked the other end of the handcuffs to the metal rail on the side of the boat.

Matthews’s eyes widened. “Wait! You can’t—”

“I already did.” Mike raced back to the motorboat. Ben and Christina were already there, and the old man who owned the boat had the engine running. The second Mike hit the deck, it sped away.

They were barely halfway back to shore when the yacht exploded. It shot up into the black sky like a fireball. All at once, the pitch-dark night seemed brighter than day. An instant later the boom rattled their bones; the vibrations buffeted the boat.

“My God.” Ben turned and watched as the yacht incinerated itself. Even from his distance, he could feel the heat. “I guess this means Matthews won’t need a lawyer.”

Christina nodded. “What a way to go.”

Mike didn’t look. “He got a lot better than his victims did. At least he won’t suffer.”

“Perhaps,” Ben said quietly. He couldn’t turn away. He was mesmerized by the intense orange blaze, the only point of light in the darkened sky. It was almost beautiful, in a way, as the flames reflected off the surface of the water and gave color to the colorless. He continued watching, all the way to shore, the last remains of what had once been Matthews’s boat, and was now his funeral pyre.

S
UNDAY WAS MOTHER’s DAY
. It was also the first anniversary of Billy Elkins’s death. A memorial service was being held in a Blackwood park, not just for Billy, but for all eleven of the Blackwood children who had died prematurely from leukemia.

Ben and Christina stood with Cecily and the other parents in a circle surrounding a blazing bonfire. The base of the fire was girded by eleven shrouded stones, one for each of the children.

“Thanks for your help with the bonfire,” Cecily said quietly. “That’s quite a blaze. What did you use for fuel?”

“All the documents from the lawsuit,” Christina answered. “Almost two hundred bankers boxes filled with memos, evidence, and exhibits.”

Ben nodded. “And in the end, it all came down to one ten-page report. A report written by a disgruntled lawyer who later became a multiple murderer.”

“That’s too strange,” Cecily said, shaking her head. “Strange and … frightening.”

“It is frightening,” Ben agreed. “Because it means that at one time in his life, Jack Matthews was willing to take a stand, to stick his neck out for what he knew was right. And it cost him. Cost him so much that he eventually snapped. Became obsessed with tracking down his "merchandise." Making sure he didn’t get cheated again.” He paused. “We like to think of killers as being all bad, pure evil, but clearly that wasn’t the case with Matthews, at least not originally. I suppose it proves the capacity for good and evil exists in all of us.” He stared into the blazing bonfire. “That’s why it’s so frightening.”

“Matthews is gone now,” Christina said quietly. “Best not to think about it.”

Cecily turned her head. “I read about that. He was killed when his yacht exploded?”

“Yes,” Ben said, not looking at her. “He died in the explosion. Didn’t get out in time.”

“And the money?”

“The bonds must’ve burned up with everything else.”

“So no one will ever have the benefit of all that wealth,” Christina said. “Not Tony Montague, the first thief, and not any of the subsequent ones.” She shook her head. “All that agony. All that death. For nothing.”

A few of the parents who were in the Blackwood First Baptist Church began to sing softly—the “Air From County Deny,” one of Ben’s favorite requiem pieces. It started quietly, just on the threshold of audibility. It gave him shivers.

“I want to thank you both for coming,” Cecily said. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” Ben replied.

“Me too,” Christina added. “I read that the EPA has allocated funds to clean up the Blackwood aquifer. Make Well B safe again.”

“Yes,” Cecily answered. “It’s wonderful news.”

“Of course, Blaylock still isn’t admitting any responsibility,” Ben noted. “But after the blue report hit the press, he agreed to contribute substantial sums to help with the cleanup.”

“Do you realize that since Well B was closed down, there hasn’t been another case of childhood leukemia in Blackwood? Not one. Eleven cases during Well B; none after. I think that says it all.”

“Common sense may not count for much in the courtroom,” Ben agreed. “But it certainly is useful in real life.”

“The parents met last night,” Cecily continued. “We’ve decided to create a fund with the settlement money.”

“A fund?” Christina asked. “To do what?”

“To prevent this from happening again.” She stared into the fire, which was now rising taller than their heads. “We’ll start slow, then build as more of the money comes in. We want to train people to respond to complaints promptly, test water supplies effectively, identify potential carcinogens. Perhaps in time we can even afford to help with the cleanups.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Ben said.

“It wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Ben shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been possible without
you.”

Having finished the air, the choir began “Amazing Grace.” Most of the parents joined in, some of them humming, some of them singing the words. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me …”

Ben felt goose pimples racing up his arms. “Looks like those trial exhibits are gone for good, Christina.”

She shrugged. “It was a relief to get them out of the office. Although now, with all the furniture and equipment gone, too, there’s not much left.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened to you,” Cecily said. “Perhaps we could give you some kind of loan.…”

Ben stopped her cold. “Absolutely not. We’ll take our fair share and not a cent more. You have great plans for that money; stick with them. We’ll be all right. We’ll get our stuff back in time. We’ve paid off the most urgent bills.”

“But you don’t have anything to live on. And you still have debt.”

“We’ll get by. We always have.”

Cecily did not appear satisfied, but she let the subject drop.

One by one, each of the parents stepped forward and removed the shroud from one of the stones. As they did so, they spoke their child’s name out loud.

“Emily Quatro.”

“Jason Bennet.”

“Jim Foley.”

Then they each said a few words about their child—describing his or her tastes, preferences, personality.

At last, it was Cecily’s turn.

“My Billy loved books,” she said. “He was a great reader. His hero was Robert Louis Stevenson. He even loved poetry. Can you imagine? A twelve-year-old boy who loved poetry.”

She placed her hand on one of the shrouds. “This is the last part of his favorite poem; he knew it by heart: "This be the verse you grave for me/Here he lies where he long’d to be/Home is the sailor, home from the sea …"“ She paused, her voice trembling. “And the hunter home from the hill."“ She bent down and removed the shroud from the stone.