“Okay. So now we know that someone else has Beckert’s BlackBerry. So we know that the messages Kline received from that phone came from someone other than Beckert—including the so-called confession, the offer to surrender, and the list of the people who were supposed to witness the surrender—three of whom are now dead.”
Torres was staring at him. “You look like you’re on the verge of understanding Einstein’s theory of relativity.”
“Better than that. I think I finally understand this whole wretched case. Come with me.”
Gurney half ran to the SWAT van. The four team members were there. Three were checking the magazines on their assault rifles. The other was hefting a battering ram out of a storage case.
“You’re not going to need the artillery,” said Gurney. “You’ll find Beckert in the house in whatever room the television is in. He’ll be watching RAM-TV. And you won’t need the battering ram.” Gurney reached into his pocket and handed the cop the key he’d been given at the real estate office that morning. “Don’t go into the house until I give you the word. I need to locate something first.”
The SWAT cops looked as baffled as Torres.
“Just wait till I give you the go-ahead,” said Gurney, “and everything will be fine.”
He turned to Torres. “We need to find a missing phone.”
“The BlackBerry?”
“No. Payne’s iPhone.”
Gurney led the way down the row of cars to the beige Camry. Payne was down on his hands and knees, peering and feeling underneath it.
“You haven’t found it yet?” asked Gurney.
Payne looked up, wincing. “No. With this grit in my eyes—”
Gurney cut him off. “Is there something in particular you need it for?”
“I want to try to reach my father.”
“I didn’t think you were on speaking terms.”
“We’re not. At least, we weren’t. But I thought . . . maybe . . . if he was responsible for that explosion . . . maybe I could find out what’s happening.”
Gurney made his way around the car. Then again. And once again, in widening circles. The fourth time around he finally spotted a shiny rectangle about ten feet back from the side of the car, close to the edge of the clearing. He picked it up and saw that it was indeed an iPhone. He went over to Torres and said matter-of-factly, “Go tell the team in the van to proceed immediately.”
Torres nodded and left.
Gurney held the phone up so Payne could see it. “This what you were looking for?”
“Yes, that’s it!” Payne scrambled to his feet, reaching out for it. “I must have been confused about where I was standing when that blast went off.”
Gurney regarded the phone curiously. “Mind if I take a look at it?”
Payne said nothing.
Gurney studied the screen and pretended to press one of the program icons.
“Don’t do that,” said Payne sharply. “I have things set up a certain way. Just the way I want them.”
Gurney nodded. “Do you think your father set off that explosion?”
“I . . . well . . . it’s possible, right? I mean, his message to me did sound pretty crazy.” He hesitated, squinting toward the wreckage and bodies on the ground in front of the house. “You said that people were injured. Was anyone killed?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Not your stepmother. She’s fine. In case you were worried.”
Payne showed no reaction. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Can I have my phone now?”
Gurney ignored the request. “So . . . if I open your address book . . . which phone number would I choose . . . to set off the final charge of dynamite?”
“What?”
“The final charge of dynamite. If I wanted to set it off—”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Gurney shrugged. “It worked for the dynamite in the petunia baskets, so I figure it should work for the dynamite in the house.”
Payne stared at him, the emotion in his expression not quite readable.
“You almost got away with it. John Steele . . . Rick Loomis . . . Marcel Jordan . . . Virgil Tooker . . . Judd Turlock . . . Blaze Lovely Jackson . . . Chalise Creel . . . Dwayne Shucker . . . Goodson Cloutz . . . Joe Beltz . . .”
“What are you talking about?” The question was oddly calm, almost perfunctory.
“Ten murders. You almost got away with them all. Such careful planning. Such meticulous execution. Such control. And then you forgot to close your eyes. Such a silly oversight after all that attention to detail. If you hadn’t gotten all that dirt blown into your eyes, you wouldn’t have lost your phone. And if you hadn’t lost your phone, you could have blown your father to pieces by now.”
Payne shook his head. “You’re the one who saved my life. You’re the one who proved I was innocent.”
“I didn’t prove you were innocent. I proved that you were framed.”
“You’re playing with words. They mean the same thing.”
