steered ittoward the beach. Then he jammed the knife between the gas pedal and the bottom of the dash until it held enough tension to keep the pedal depressed. Once the car was on course, he stepped out and began walking back. He didn’t bother to watch as it bumped and rolled its way into the ocean.
Retrieving the five hundred dollars, he got into his own car and drove off.
He pulled into the entrance of a gated community twenty minutes later. The uniformed guard smiled and waved. He knew “Mr. Tillman” and was always glad to see him; he wasn’t obnoxious like many of the residents in Sunrise Harbor. Birk waved back before driving through. An understated but sincere “Have a good day” completed the illusion.
His first task upon entering his home was to disarm the security system. Then he removed his bloodstained clothes and put them in a bag. He showered and shaved quickly, got dressed. Then he slid back a secret panel in the ceiling over the basement water heater and took down a large black suitcase. The lock was an electronic scanner that required a thumbprint. Inside was a variety of weapons and explosives. There was also a flat leather pouch. Birk unzipped this and removed a set of ID cards and passports. He separated all those in the name of Brian Clarke and put them in his shirt pocket. The case was relocked and put back. The last task was to pack and reactivate the alarm.
After putting the bloodstained clothes into the community Dumpster, he got into his car and sped off toward the airport. There was a report on the radio about a possible shooting at the Royale Beach condominium complex.
The smile reappeared on his face.
4
“YOUR MAMA was a wonderful woman,” Henry Moore said. He had been the Baker family lawyer for as long as Sheila could remember. He was well into his seventies now with fine white hair and sallow features. And he still had the tiny second-floor office in downtown Dallas overlooking Federal Boulevard. Sheila felt like she’d stepped into the 1960s. Faded wallpaper, sagging and water-stained ceiling tiles, and a radiator that hissed like a huge snake. Fairly pedestrian for a wealthy lawyer, but then Moore had never been the flashy type. No silk suits or gold pinkie rings here.
“She sure was. The best mother anyone could have asked for.” Sheila sat on one of the cushioned chairs facing the desk.
The last seventy-two hours had been brutal. First the wake with two viewings, then the funeral. More than fifty people had attended the church service and interment, and at least twenty had come to the house afterward. A caterer had been hired to handle the food, but Sheila had cleaned up the mess herself. She’d wanted to keep busy.
“I knew both of them through five decades,” Moore said, stressing the word five .
Sheila nodded. “Since 1969, right?”
“That’s right. Your daddy came to me looking for help writing his and your mama’s will. We settled the matter in less than an hour over two glasses of Scotch. That was when you could do business with a handshake.”
“Those days appear to be long gone.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So how do things look?”
Moore addressed a set of papers and folders that he’d laid out neatly on the desk. “Pretty good, young lady. Pretty good.” He picked up a single sheet and peered at it over his bifocals. “The residual medical expenses are fairly heavy, as you know, even with Medicare and all that. But most of it will be covered by life insurance and personal savings. You’ll also have enough to take care of the funeral expenses, which is great since they’re considerable.”
Sheila shook her head. Vultures. She found it appalling the way most people started in the world with nothing and ended with nothing. It almost seemed there was a system in place to make sure this happened. Her parents had worked hard all their lives, and in the end they had very little to show for it. It was as if they’d never existed.
“They did
Retrieving the five hundred dollars, he got into his own car and drove off.
He pulled into the entrance of a gated community twenty minutes later. The uniformed guard smiled and waved. He knew “Mr. Tillman” and was always glad to see him; he wasn’t obnoxious like many of the residents in Sunrise Harbor. Birk waved back before driving through. An understated but sincere “Have a good day” completed the illusion.
His first task upon entering his home was to disarm the security system. Then he removed his bloodstained clothes and put them in a bag. He showered and shaved quickly, got dressed. Then he slid back a secret panel in the ceiling over the basement water heater and took down a large black suitcase. The lock was an electronic scanner that required a thumbprint. Inside was a variety of weapons and explosives. There was also a flat leather pouch. Birk unzipped this and removed a set of ID cards and passports. He separated all those in the name of Brian Clarke and put them in his shirt pocket. The case was relocked and put back. The last task was to pack and reactivate the alarm.
After putting the bloodstained clothes into the community Dumpster, he got into his car and sped off toward the airport. There was a report on the radio about a possible shooting at the Royale Beach condominium complex.
The smile reappeared on his face.
4
“YOUR MAMA was a wonderful woman,” Henry Moore said. He had been the Baker family lawyer for as long as Sheila could remember. He was well into his seventies now with fine white hair and sallow features. And he still had the tiny second-floor office in downtown Dallas overlooking Federal Boulevard. Sheila felt like she’d stepped into the 1960s. Faded wallpaper, sagging and water-stained ceiling tiles, and a radiator that hissed like a huge snake. Fairly pedestrian for a wealthy lawyer, but then Moore had never been the flashy type. No silk suits or gold pinkie rings here.
“She sure was. The best mother anyone could have asked for.” Sheila sat on one of the cushioned chairs facing the desk.
The last seventy-two hours had been brutal. First the wake with two viewings, then the funeral. More than fifty people had attended the church service and interment, and at least twenty had come to the house afterward. A caterer had been hired to handle the food, but Sheila had cleaned up the mess herself. She’d wanted to keep busy.
“I knew both of them through five decades,” Moore said, stressing the word five .
Sheila nodded. “Since 1969, right?”
“That’s right. Your daddy came to me looking for help writing his and your mama’s will. We settled the matter in less than an hour over two glasses of Scotch. That was when you could do business with a handshake.”
“Those days appear to be long gone.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So how do things look?”
Moore addressed a set of papers and folders that he’d laid out neatly on the desk. “Pretty good, young lady. Pretty good.” He picked up a single sheet and peered at it over his bifocals. “The residual medical expenses are fairly heavy, as you know, even with Medicare and all that. But most of it will be covered by life insurance and personal savings. You’ll also have enough to take care of the funeral expenses, which is great since they’re considerable.”
Sheila shook her head. Vultures. She found it appalling the way most people started in the world with nothing and ended with nothing. It almost seemed there was a system in place to make sure this happened. Her parents had worked hard all their lives, and in the end they had very little to show for it. It was as if they’d never existed.
“They did