Chapter 107
Renders was trying to think clearly. He was wet and cold, stained with mud and blood, and if the light in his rearview mirror meant what he thought it did, Spero was going up in flames, lighting three corpses in the process.
Renders had begun moving the bodies, but that was the point at which he definitely hadn’t been thinking clearly, because his first instinct was to hide the dead as an important step in clearing up the whole mess.
Only when he’d already commenced dragging Teal’s body across the lawn did he realize he’d be better off coming up with a story to justify shooting Kenney and Teal, which might not be difficult since the two men had arrived at the school in the dead of night armed with guns, and one of them had killed Santopietro.
But by then the damage was done, and Renders couldn’t see how interfering with a crime scene might square with doing nothing worse than trying to defend himself, his employer, and the students from armed intruders.
Add what Leonard Levesque knew to that equation, and a couple of other loose ends, and Renders realized his best hope was to run.
Then he’d spotted that two of the cars in the parking lot, namely his and Santopietro’s, were resting on their rims because Kenney and Teal must have punctured the tires, which was when he’d gone searching for the keys to the BMW.
Renders was forced to concede it was smart of Kenney to lie about taking care of Teal, even though Renders and Santopietro suspected that, even if it was true, Kenney might be planning to take care of them next.
Everyone had been trying to outsmart everyone else, and Renders was the last man standing, which made him the smartest by default.
From behind the BMW, Renders watched the private investigator approach the cottage and contemplated shooting him too.
But Parker had done nothing worse than aggravate him, and killing a man for being annoying was harsh even by Renders’s standards, though if Parker’s death had aided a cover-up, Renders would happily have killed him ten times over.
Instead, while Parker was distracted by the bodies, and then the fire, Renders set about putting as many miles as possible between himself and Spero while it was still dark.
It was about forty miles from The Plains to the border, and once he was safely in Canada, Renders could lose himself.
He didn’t know how long he’d be able to hide, but he had more than $11,000 in cash back at the house and would find work somewhere.
Even if he only managed a few more months at liberty, or a year, it was better than spending those days in a cell; and if he did last a year without being located, the chances were good that he’d manage two, then three.
He might even die a free man. But he had one final task to perform before he left.
He’d have to be quick, but it would be no less pleasurable for that.
Renders parked the BMW in the yard of his rented home, went inside, and commenced stuffing clothes, shoes, and toiletries into a large canvas bag.
He added a phone charger, his laptop, and a few books.
He thought about bringing his gun and a box of ammunition, but was worried about being questioned and searched at the border, and he didn’t have an authorization to transport.
Finally, he retrieved a small lockbox from under the floor of his closet and removed from it the cash, along with his late mother’s two-carat diamond engagement ring and a Rolex bequeathed to him by his father, the latter with paperwork but no box.
He thought he might be able to get a few thousand for the ring and the watch combined, bringing him close to fifteen thousand in total, and a frugal man could survive for months on that kind of money.
A year earlier, Renders had stayed in a one-star motel in Niagara Falls for just thirty-five dollars a day.
If he’d said he wanted to stay a week, the guy would have jumped with joy, settled for two hundred, and even thrown in fresh towels.
When he was done, Renders put the bag in the trunk of the BMW, returned to the house, found an empty plastic bag in the kitchen, and went down to the finished basement.
A battery-powered lamp shone on a mattress, a beanbag, an opened twelve-pack of water, and a crate containing candy bars, bread, cheese, potato chips, and soda.
In a corner, a fan heater blew enough warmth to make the space comfortable.
On the mattress, tethered to the wall by a chain affixed to a leather cuff on her right ankle, sat Mallory Norton.
She was wrapped in a comforter and dressed only in her underwear.
Her head and shoulders were exposed, and the lamplight showed bruising around her neck: Renders liked to choke.
She watched him approach but said nothing and did not stir, because there was nothing to be said and nowhere to go.
“Hey, honey bear,” said Renders. “I got bad news. We’ve had some fun, but our time together has come to a close.”
He saw her try to figure out whether this meant her situation was about to get better or worse. Better meant freedom, but worse—
Renders held up the plastic bag.
“A new game,” he said. “The last one.”
Mallory cast away the comforter and held up her hands to ward him off.
“Get away from me,” she said.
“I warned you before about using your nails.”
She’d scratched him once, deep enough to draw blood. He’d made her sorry for it, and she hadn’t done it again.
Mallory began screaming, but by then Renders was on her. He put the bag over her head and tightened it around her neck.
“Breathe,” he said. “Breathe …”
A sound from behind made him turn. Approaching fast was a man nearly as wide as he was tall, dressed in a blue leisure suit and holding a tire iron. Before Renders could react, the tire iron connected with the side of his face, dislocating his jaw.
Mallory wrenched the bag from her head as Renders sagged to the mattress, his unhinged jaw moving strangely.
Before he could figure out how to make it move the way it should, Renders was gripped by a massive hand that closed around his neck and lifted him off his feet, the stranger holding him against the wall and applying gradual pressure with his fingers and the heel of his hand.
“Breathe,” said Tony Fulci. “Breathe. See how you like it.”
Renders was losing consciousness, but his eyes felt as if they might explode from their sockets before he did. Then another voice spoke, one that Renders recognized.
“Tony, put him down.”
For a second, the pressure actually increased, and Renders was convinced he was going to die, but then the hand was gone and he dropped to the floor.
He lay gasping with his eyes closed, registering sound and movement around him as Mallory was freed from her chain.
Renders’s mouth, neck, and throat hurt. They hurt a lot.
He tried to say so, but nothing came out except a kind of moan lubricated by blood and drool.
Renders opened his eyes to see Mallory standing above him. She took a step back, raised her right foot, and kicked him as hard as she could in his shattered face. There came an explosion of pain, then no pain at all.