The Last Innocent Man Page 24

  The front door opened and Gault shoved David forward. The door closed. Ortiz waited for a count of ten; then, still keeping to the shadows, he ran to a position to the right of the front door. He knew, from the day they had searched the house, that the living room was to the left of the door as you entered. There was a light on in that room, but the curtains were drawn. The room to the right-the dining room-was dark.

  Ortiz remembered that there was also a side window in the living room. He ran quietly to it and peered into the room. Gault was herding David and Jennifer Stafford toward him. He ducked down quickly and moved away from the window. Gault still had his gun out. Ortiz had to figure out how to disarm him without endangering the two prisoners. Coming in the front door was out. It was probably locked, but even if it wasn’t, the door’s movement would be visible from the living room. Ortiz would have no way of knowing where Gault was when he made his move.

  What other way was there to get into the house? Ortiz raced around back. The rear door was locked, and he couldn’t see any other entrance at the back of the house. He glanced upward. The balcony to Larry Stafford’s room hung over him. Ortiz remembered noticing, when he had searched the room, that it had sliding glass doors.

  He looked around for something to stand on, to boost himself up. There was a garbage can outside the kitchen door. He took the top off quietly, setting it down on the grass. The can was half-full. He carried it to the balcony and turned it over slowly. An empty bottle rattled against the aluminum side, and Ortiz swore under his breath. He froze, pressing against the side of the house. After a short period he moved over to the can and stepped on top of it. The ground was muddy and the can swayed under his weight. For a second Ortiz thought he was going to fall, but he maintained his balance and the can stayed upright. Now the trick was to catch hold of the bottom of the balcony and pull himself up 0without overturning the can. He put his gun in his waistband and extended his arms upward, slowly. He grasped the metal railing that ringed the balcony. He pulled himself up, chinning the way he’d done as a boy in gym class. The can stayed still, but Ortiz had not chinned himself in a while. His arms began to shake and his wrists hurt. He clenched his teeth and strained upward, dragging his body up high enough so he could swing his left foot over the bottom of the balcony. The rest was easy. He was soon standing outside the darkened bedroom.

  Ortiz tried the glass door. It was unlocked. He slid it open and moved quickly to the bedroom door. He crouched low and to the left side and eased the door open. There was no one in the hall, and he could hear muffled voices coming from downstairs.

  The hallway and stairs were carpeted, and Ortiz made no sound as he began his descent. The top part of the staircase could not be seen from the living room, but the bottom half was even with the entrance to that room. Halfway down, Ortiz could see a section of the room. The voices were coming from the part he couldn’t see. A woman was pleading and a man was talking in a low, soft voice. The woman had to be Jennifer Stafford, and Ortiz prayed that she would hold Gault’s attention long enough for him to make his move.

  Ortiz crept down a few more stairs. As soon as he saw any part of a person, he would vault the banister and hope he could pick out Gault before Gault could get a bead on him.

  He moved down to the next stair. He could see a third of the living room. There were a long couch and a coffee table and the front window in his line of vision. With the curtains closed, there was no reflection to show him the positions of the people in the room.

  One more step. This time he could see half of a mantelpiece and part of a modern painting. There was movement, and a man’s back blocked out part of the mantel. Ortiz vaulted the banister, landing and aiming at the same time. Nash had worn a suitcoat and white shirt. He was aiming at a black pullover.

  David saw Ortiz just before he moved. He and Jenny were standing behind a second sofa that faced the front of the house. Ortiz yelled, “Freeze!” Gault turned his head for an instant. David crashed sideways, throwing Jenny to the floor behind the sofa. Gault realized he had lost his hostages. He kept himself outwardly rigid, but inwardly loose and ready to move. Ortiz moved forward slowly in a shooting crouch, his gun held straight out in front of him.

  “Raise your hands very slowly and drop the gun,” Ortiz commanded.

  Gault knew he had only one chance. He could see Ortiz moving in behind him in the reflection from the window at the side of the house. If he tried to turn and fire, he would be dead. He waited until Ortiz took another step and raised his hands, still holding the gun.

  “Drop it, Gault,” Ortiz ordered, his eyes fixed on the gun hand as it rose upward.

  Gault had counted on that. He raised his left knee waist high and snapped the heel of his left foot backward into Ortiz’s solar plexus. Ortiz felt as if he had been hit by a hammer. All the air rushed out of him. He fell.

  Gault retracted the leg, turned, and fired in one motion. Ortiz was sitting when the bullet smashed into his brain, but his finger squeezed the trigger of his gun before Gault’s bullet connected. Ortiz’s bullet shattered Gault’s right shoulder. Gault’s arm jerked upward, the gun flew backward over the sofa, and Gault crashed to the floor.

  David watched the gun sail through the air. He was too stunned to move. Even as he was hit, Gault called on his reserves. He was conditioned for moments such as these. He knew he had to get the gun. But he couldn’t move. When he tried to pull himself up, his body wouldn’t respond. He toppled sideways and clawed the sofa for support.

  David looked at Jennifer. She was screaming. He saw Gault’s hand grip the carpet. Gault was trying to drag himself to the gun. David scrambled over Jenny. He felt a hand close on his leg and he dived outward, stretching toward the weapon. His hand closed on it, and tremendous pain flashed through his leg where Gault had struck it with a karate blow. David gasped and rolled to his back. Gault was kneeling, one knee and one arm supporting his body. Gault’s right side was covered with blood. He was looking at David, but his face was expressionless. David was in agony. He pointed the gun.

  “Get back,” David said, but there was no confidence in his voice. Gault lurched toward him and David swung the gun wildly. The barrel smashed into Gault’s eye and he crashed to the floor, landing on his damaged shoulder and rolling to his back. David lay where he was, shaking.

  The next few minutes were a blur for David. Somehow he got to the couch. He remembered Jenny holding him there and shaking as badly as he was. He remembered thinking how surprisingly untouched the living-room furniture seemed: a ridiculous thought under the circumstances. And he remembered fighting to keep from vomiting as the events of the preceding minutes came back into focus. Gault moaned and Jenny’s head jerked toward him. The writer’s eyes opened. Neither David nor Jenny moved. Suddenly, Gault smiled.

  “Looks like you got me, old buddy,” Gault started. Then his face contorted in pain.

  “Whew,” he said when the pain passed. “That was pretty bad. You callin’ an ambulance?”

  “Why should I?” David asked.

  “You wouldn’t let a client bleed to death on your girlfriend’s rug, would you?”

  “You were going to kill us,” David said.

  “Sure, but I’m crazy, not a man of the law like yourself.”

  “You’re not crazy, Gault, just bored. Remember? You said so yourself.”

  “Shit, Dave, you can’t believe what a crazy man says. And I am crazy. Make no mistake. My new lawyer will prove it beyond a reasonable doubt,” Gault said with a smirk. “Unless, of course, you want the case. Say, wouldn’t that be a twist? We’d really make headlines with that one. ‘Lawyer Defends Man Who Tried To Kill Him.’”

  Gault started to laugh, then winced with pain. The laugh turned into a cough. Jenny stood up and started to walk across the room toward the phone.

  “Where are you going?” David asked.

  “To call the police,” she said.

  “I don’t think we should call them just yet,” David said softly. H
e was sitting on the edge of the couch, his eyes on Gault.

  “But…” Jenny started.

  “He’s right,” David said. “Gault will hire the best lawyers and a raft of psychiatrists, and the jury will find him not guilty by reason of insanity. He’ll spend a few years in a mental hospital, then have a remarkable recovery. Won’t you, Tom?”

  Gault just smiled.

  “And Larry will still be in prison, won’t he?”

  Gault’s smile broadened. David picked up the gun he had laid on the couch.

  “David, don’t,” Jenny said, suddenly realizing what David intended to do.

  “Don’t worry, sweets,” Gault said. “Dave doesn’t have the guts. He couldn’t shoot me before and he won’t do it now.”

  David raised the gun.

  “Please, David,” Jenny begged. “He’s playing with you. Making you follow his rules. Making you fit into his idea of what people are.”

  David looked at Jenny. His hand was trembling and he looked desperate.

  “That’s why I have to kill him, Jenny. I know what I’ll be if I do, but I lose either way. Gault’s different from other people. I could never win against him, but I can stop him from destroying other people, the way he’s destroyed me.”

  “Well, well,” Gault said in a mocking tone. “You can feel it, Dave, can’t you?”

  “Feel what?” David answered, less sure of himself.

  “The power. Like God’s. You can see I was right, can’t you?”

  “I’m not like you,” David said, his voice wavering.

  “But you will be, as soon as you pull the trigger.”

  “He’s right, David,” Jenny pleaded. “Please don’t kill him.”

  “Do you want me to pray to you first, old buddy? You might find that satisfying.”

  “Don’t you see what he’s like, Jenny?” David said, his voice filled with loathing for the thing on the floor.

  “David is my shepherd,” Gault chanted, “I shall not want.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Even though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death…”

  “Shut up,” David screamed, pointing the gun.

  “…I shall fear no evil…”

  David looked over toward Jenny. She was wide-eyed, staring at Gault with complete revulsion, as if she were really seeing him for the first time.

  “…for David is with me.”

  The gun exploded. There was no sign of remorse or fear on Gault’s face when David pulled the trigger. Only contempt. That was when David knew he had done the right thing.

  8

  David stacked the last of his framed diplomas in the cardboard carton at his feet and sealed the top with masking tape. He stood up and looked around the office. The walls were bare. The desk drawers had been cleaned out. It had ceased to be David Nash’s office.

  “Got everything packed away?” Gregory Banks asked from the doorway. David hadn’t heard him come in. He had been thinking about the office.

  “Yeah. It’s all taken care of. There wasn’t much, anyway. These diplomas,” he said, indicating the box, “some personal stuff from the desk.”

  David shrugged.

  “Yeah, well,” Gregory said. They stood in the room without speaking for a moment.

  “Damn, I’m gonna miss you, Dave,” Gregory said finally, his voice catching. David was embarrassed by Gregory’s unusual emotional display.

  “Hey,” he said, “I’m just going on a vacation. I’ll be back. Maybe not as a lawyer, but I’m not leaving town forever.”

  Larry Stafford was out of prison, and Jenny had reinstituted the divorce proceedings. David and Jenny were going to disappear for a while. David wanted to catch up on all the things he had missed while building his career. There was Abu Simbel to see and the Great Wall of China. They would travel together for a year. Maybe longer. When they returned, Jenny’s divorce would be final. Then they would decide about their future together. Maybe it would work out. Maybe it wouldn’t. They would see.

  “What will you do if you don’t practice law?” Gregory asked.

  “That’s something I don’t want to think about now. Don’t be so maudlin. Hell, you’re making me feel worse than I feel already.”

  Gregory blushed. “You’re right. Shit, I never used to get so sloppy. It must be old age.”

  David smiled, and so did Greg.

  “That’s the boy,” David said.

  He looked away from Gregory and looked at the room once more. The desk was big and old. He’d had it since he’d started practicing. He tried to remember how much he’d paid for it secondhand, but the price escaped him.

  David reached out absentmindedly and ran his hand over the corner of the desk. He thought about the framed clippings he had just packed away. Some of the most exciting moments in his life had started in this room.

  David had loved the law and he had been a good lawyer. Maybe one of the best. But that part of his life was over forever, once he’d pulled the trigger and ended Thomas Gault’s life. No matter what the justification for the act, it had made it impossible for David to continue to practice his profession. The killing of Thomas Gault had made him an outlaw, even if no one other than Jenny knew.

  “You’ll come to dinner tomorrow night?” Greg asked.

  “Of course.”

  The plans had already been made. He was leaving the country in two days. Jenny would meet him in London in two weeks. No one knew about their affair and they felt it best to keep it that way. The Gault case was closed and they saw no reason to stir up any suspicions.

  No one had questioned the story he and Jenny had agreed on. David had told the police about Gault’s confessions and his meeting with Monica and Ortiz. He had recounted the incident at the house truthfully, except for one detail. David had said that Ortiz had fired, wounding Gault, who had fired simultaneously, killing Ortiz. The shot that killed Gault had been squeezed off by Ortiz just before the policeman died.

  David apologized for handling Ortiz’s weapon and for moving the bodies. He should have known better, but he was pretty shaken up. No one had been critical. After all, he and Jenny had gone through an ordeal. And no one really cared that an insane cop killer had been shot to death.

  “I’ve got to get going, Greg,” David said, hefting the carton and heading for the door.

  “Sure,” Gregory said.

  They both paused in the doorway for one last look at the bare room.

  “You’ll be back,” Gregory said firmly.

  “Maybe,” David said.

  But he really didn’t think so.

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