Page 160 of Deadline

“What risks? It was perfect,” he boasted. “No one would have suspected a dead man of, say, blowing up a bus full of troops.”

“Hmm.” Dawson nodded his understanding of the concept. “But things got royally fouled up when Jeremy got antsy, overanxious, killed Stef, and left a fingerprint. That was a major uh-oh. Suddenly Jeremy Wesson isn’t dead anymore.”

Carl said nothing to that, but Dawson could tell he’d struck a nerve. Carl’s trigger finger was twitching.

Talk fast. “Jeremy didn’t have your smarts, Carl. He tried to be as ruthless as you, too, but in the end he developed a conscience. He died talking about his children. Lamenting the way he’d treated Amelia. With his last breath, he was crying over his mother.” Dawson watched Carl’s eyes. They remained implacable, the reptilian lids unblinking. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

“Too bad you didn’t write mysteries. You seem to have a flair for them.”

“How did she die, Carl?”

He replied querulously. “Pneumonia. If I was guessing. She had a cough that wouldn’t go away. Got worse. She was hacking up disgusting stuff. Complained of her chest hurting.”

“You wouldn’t let her get medical treatment.”

“She always had weak lungs. She’d recovered before.”

“But not this time. So you killed her.”

“I didn’t raise a hand to her. The disease killed her.”

“But you left her there, didn’t you? Left her in that cabin to die alone.”

“I had to go get supplies. I didn’t know she was going to be dead when I got back.”

“Sure you did, you gutless son of a bitch. Abandonment is your specialty. When the going gets tough, you run.”

He’d struck another nerve. Carl’s expression turned even harder, colder. And something else: defensive.

“I never left anybody who could have made it.”

“Jeremy could have. Flora could have.”

“You through?”

“One more question. Why us?”

“What?”

“Why kill us? Why aren’t you out blowing up a bus full of troops? My guess is that you’ve run out of steam. Without Jeremy, you’ve got no muscle. You’re all talk.”

“Is that your guess?” His malicious grin made Dawson’s blood run cold. “Well, you’re wrong. This is perfect. See? I kill you, I crush Headly.”

Dawson’s heart constricted. He thought, We’re dead, but he brazened it out. “Gary Headly? The FBI agent that Jeremy shot?”

Carl snickered at Dawson’s feigned indifference. “I thought about taking out that pretty wife of his, but that’s so predictable. Headly would expect that, which is why she’s guarded.” Again that chilling grin. “This is much better. His godson. I kill you, he’ll never get over it.”

“You’re right, if you kill me, Headly will grieve his heart out. But he’ll also have the last laugh on you.”

“Just for shits and giggles, what makes you think so?”

“Headly knows you inside and out, Carl.”

“I doubt it.”

“Close enough. He’s made studying you his life’s work. But to nail your character he actually needed only one day. The day before Thanksgiving 1976.”

Carl glared at him.