Outside, the steady chomp chomp of helicopter blades approached, the copter landing on the roof. Bishop heard it too; his eyes flashed quickly to the ceiling, then back to Porter. “Sounds like your friends have arrived.”
“They’re coming from the top, and SWAT is probably already on the stairs. You’re out of time, Bishop. It’s over.” Porter’s vision clouded for a second, and his legs felt wobbly. He forced himself to steady. “Step away from Talbot and get on your knees.”
Bishop spun the chair in a slow circle. “This world will be a better place without him, don’t you think? That’s what Father would have wanted.”
“Kirby’s partner, how was he connected?” Porter said, a distraction at best. “The man who shot your father.”
“What?”
“Kirby planned to run off with your mother and the Carter woman, but what about the other man, the one you called Mr. Stranger?” Porter was having trouble standing up. His entire body was heavy. He wanted to sleep. He had to keep Bishop talking, though, long enough for backup to arrive. Long enough—
“His name was Felton Briggs. He worked for our friend here,” Bishop said, giving Talbot another spin. “I believe he was some kind of security specialist. I asked Arty about him, but he wouldn’t answer me, just kept babbling on about his eyes—‘Can’t see! Can’t see!’ Blah, blah blah. I finally had to shut him up. You should have seen it.”
“Was he involved?”
“Until he pulled the trigger on Father, he was probably the only innocent man standing in the house that day. Just doing his job. He had no idea Kirby was involved, and he surely didn’t know that Kirby planned to kill him.”
Talbot’s body jerked in the chair, his head snapping back. His fingers stretched out in an odd array as every muscle in his body began to convulse.
“He’s going into shock. You need to let me get him to a hospital.”
Bishop smiled. “Your friends will be here soon enough. I’m worried about you, though. Are you okay? You look awfully pale, Sam.”
Porter wasn’t okay. He saw two Bishops standing in the corner instead of one, and his arms were numb. He wanted to reach down, pick up the baseball bat, and charge across the room to beat this man senseless, pound his head into a pile of bloody pulp, but he had to concentrate on standing right now. He needed to focus on not passing out. “What was Mrs. Carter’s new name?”
Bishop’s face brightened. “Ah, yes! In all the excitement, I nearly forgot. Thank you, Sam, for reminding me.”
Talbot had fallen still. Porter couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
Bishop continued. “Mother changed her name to Emily Gerard. Took me a few years to learn that. Sadly, I think that identity died right there or she figured out how to live off-grid. I tried to track her down, but the name never popped up. No credit records, land sales, nothing. I don’t think she ever used it. Mrs. Carter, though, she did use her new identity. She didn’t even attempt to hide. I think it’s a name you may be familiar with too, one you’ve picked up in the last handful of days. Mrs. Carter changed her name to Catrina Connors.”
Porter’s brain was fuzzy. The thoughts were there, but they were moving slowly, molasses. He recognized the name, knew it, but couldn’t place it. Then—
“Emory’s mother?”
A grin spread across Bishop’s face, and he spun Talbot around like a top. “You asked me to gather information on her back at the war room, and I wanted desperately to tell you what I already knew, but there would have been no fun in that.”
“But how?”
“Simon Carter had moved over fourteen million dollars into offshore accounts, and I know she and Mother lived off that money for a while. But they also bought property, a lot of property. Property she knew Talbot would one day want. When he finally approached her about a particular stretch of warehouses along the waterfront, she seduced him. Emory was the result. On Emory’s first birthday, she moved all the property into their daughter’s name, then told Talbot who she really was. She also told him she had all the documents her husband had stolen years earlier and would release them to the press unless Talbot agreed to transfer all his legitimate holdings to Emory at the time of his death. He changed his will shortly thereafter.”
“How did you learn all of this? You said you didn’t know where your mother or Mrs. Carter disappeared to.”
“Gunther Herbert was very forthcoming,” Bishop replied. “We had a wonderful chat about a week back.”
“Talbot’s CFO?”
“Yes.”
“So if Talbot dies—”
“Emory inherits billions and all criminal activity he’s attached to will crumble.”
Porter looked down at Talbot. He was moving again. His head bobbed from side to side, and a deep, guttural moan rose in his throat. “You can’t kill him.”
“No?” Bishop replied, shoving the chair.
Talbot skidded across the floor toward the open elevator shaft on the far left, and Porter dove for the rolling chair, forcing every ounce of strength he had into his legs. He landed hard on the concrete and slid, his hands reaching out, fingers brushing the cold steel, grabbing at one of the wheels as it rolled over the edge. He held on for the briefest of seconds before it tugged away and disappeared into the black.
He heard Talbot crash far below, followed by a scream. A girl’s muffled, weak scream from the next elevator shaft over, the one in the center of the room, only a few feet to his right.
Emory.
From the corner of his hazy vision, he spied Bishop as he walked calmly to the third elevator shaft and stood with his back to the door’s edge. Porter watched as the man gave him a final wave and said, “Good-bye, Sam. It’s been fun,” before stepping backward through the opening and disappearing into the dark chasm.
All went dark then as Porter finally passed out.
91
Porter
Day 2 ? 5:58 p.m.
“Sam? Can you hear me? I think he’s coming around—”
It was Clair.
Clair-bear.
Five little bears heard a loud roar, one ran away, then there were four.
Where had Bishop gone?
“Please step back, ma’am.”
Bright light.
The brightest of all possible lights.
“Detective?”
The light disappeared with a click, and Porter blinked. His head was pounding. “Where?”
Clair pushed the medic aside. “Ground floor, just outside the building. We brought you down with the chopper basket. Carrying your fat ass down all those stairs was not an option.”
“Bishop killed Talbot.”
Clair brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. “We know. Hey, look—”
Porter followed her finger.
Nash pushed through the glass door beside the revolving turnstile and held the door open as two paramedics wheeled out a stretcher containing a young girl. An IV bag hung above her. Her head and wrist were wrapped in white bandages.