Backfire
Page 93
No sleeping pill could compete with what she said. Ramsey’s brain snapped to full alert. “I gathered you thought that, from that bizarre note, but I don’t understand. You don’t think the man who shot you has any connection to Xu, that they don’t have anything to do with each other?”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but I don’t think so. Everything Xu has done is business to him, a matter of survival, but for the man who sent Dillon that note, it’s personal; something in the past is driving him. For what you did you deserve this. How do you like that for over-the-top drama? He wants to terrorize us; he’s taking pleasure in it.”
Ramsey turned toward her, immediately regretted it, and held himself very still. He hated the sharp pain, but he hated more having to lie like a slug, helpless and impotent. And he hated having to be shaved and bathed each morning because he wasn’t strong enough yet to take his own shower. He reminded himself both he and Sherlock were lucky to be alive. He said, “So shooting you was revenge against Savich. But why here, why now? And why you, rather than Savich himself?”
“Well, there’s more to it than that, Ramsey.” She looked up to see Dillon slip into the room through the partially open door, saw the guards move quickly, then throttle back.
Savich nodded to the guards, said quietly, “This was his second note, Ramsey, that’s what Sherlock was going to tell you. What did you call it, Sherlock? His second notice of doom? He sent me one before he shot you.”
Ramsey tried to take it in. He said slowly, “You’re saying I was this madman’s first victim? You’re saying he shot both Sherlock and me to gain revenge against you?”
Savich nodded. “The first note was delivered to me last Thursday at the Hoover Building. That night, Ramsey, at midnight, you were shot. We didn’t connect the note to you until tonight, when he proudly sent us the second identical note after shooting Sherlock.
“We couldn’t ever be sure of a motive for Xu to try to kill you in the first place. All of us wondered why shoot the judge? But his connecting your shooting to the Cahill trial, making it seem the Cahills were responsible, I’d say it was fortuitous for him. Shooting you succeeded in getting Sherlock and me to fly out to San Francisco, and that wasn’t fortuitous, it was planned. He’s been watching us ever since.”
Ramsey said, “But if the man was in Washington delivering the note to you, he’d have had to move fast to get to San Francisco and set everything up to shoot me from the beach below my house the same night. There wasn’t enough time.”
Sherlock said, “He wasn’t in Washington. He paid a young auto mechanic to deliver the note to the Hoover Building on Thursday. We found the guy who did that and brought him in, but we couldn’t track down the man who’d paid him.”
Savich said, “In fact, we know he was here in San Francisco, studying you and staying at a B-and-B in Atherton for about a week, enough time to do the reconnaissance he needed of your habits, your home, for planning the Zodiac rental, all of it. What’s terrifying is that he would have succeeded if Molly hadn’t called out to you at the last moment.”
Ramsey said, “So my being shot the same day I shut down the Cahill trial, the same day Mickey O’Rourke disappeared, it was all a coincidence?”
Savich said, “Yes, and one he took advantage of. The shooter was following your trial closely enough to decide that Thursday night was the perfect time to shoot you to throw us off making the connection to the note for a while. He couldn’t have scripted it better.”
“Like Dillon said, he’d already been here a week before any of that. And he had to have been to Washington before he came here, checking out the neighborhood around the Hoover Building, learning enough about Teddy Moody to pick him out as his mark.”
Ramsey said, “Why didn’t he leave a note with me, so you’d know this was his revenge, like he did with you?”
Sherlock said, “I imagine he was getting a real kick out of the confusion he’d created since we immediately connected your shooting to the Cahills. I guess when he shot me, he was ready to take the credit.”
Ramsey said, “And that leaves us the big question. Why me? We’ve been friends for a long time, Savich, but there are other people closer to you. That must mean the shooter has a connection to both of us.” After a moment, Ramsey said, “This is the same man who tried to kill me again in the elevator on Saturday, the same man we believed was Xu.”
Sherlock said, “And that was an act of someone who’s driven or unbalanced enough to take such a risk. Very unlike Xu.” She closed her eyes for a moment, not in pain but in thought, though sleep was pulling on her. She became aware of Dillon stroking her forearm, his touch light and comforting. She continued. “It all makes sense now. Xu was very hard to predict, even to understand. How could we profile a man, reconcile everything he had done, when he was two very separate men whose motives couldn’t be further apart?”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but I don’t think so. Everything Xu has done is business to him, a matter of survival, but for the man who sent Dillon that note, it’s personal; something in the past is driving him. For what you did you deserve this. How do you like that for over-the-top drama? He wants to terrorize us; he’s taking pleasure in it.”
Ramsey turned toward her, immediately regretted it, and held himself very still. He hated the sharp pain, but he hated more having to lie like a slug, helpless and impotent. And he hated having to be shaved and bathed each morning because he wasn’t strong enough yet to take his own shower. He reminded himself both he and Sherlock were lucky to be alive. He said, “So shooting you was revenge against Savich. But why here, why now? And why you, rather than Savich himself?”
“Well, there’s more to it than that, Ramsey.” She looked up to see Dillon slip into the room through the partially open door, saw the guards move quickly, then throttle back.
Savich nodded to the guards, said quietly, “This was his second note, Ramsey, that’s what Sherlock was going to tell you. What did you call it, Sherlock? His second notice of doom? He sent me one before he shot you.”
Ramsey tried to take it in. He said slowly, “You’re saying I was this madman’s first victim? You’re saying he shot both Sherlock and me to gain revenge against you?”
Savich nodded. “The first note was delivered to me last Thursday at the Hoover Building. That night, Ramsey, at midnight, you were shot. We didn’t connect the note to you until tonight, when he proudly sent us the second identical note after shooting Sherlock.
“We couldn’t ever be sure of a motive for Xu to try to kill you in the first place. All of us wondered why shoot the judge? But his connecting your shooting to the Cahill trial, making it seem the Cahills were responsible, I’d say it was fortuitous for him. Shooting you succeeded in getting Sherlock and me to fly out to San Francisco, and that wasn’t fortuitous, it was planned. He’s been watching us ever since.”
Ramsey said, “But if the man was in Washington delivering the note to you, he’d have had to move fast to get to San Francisco and set everything up to shoot me from the beach below my house the same night. There wasn’t enough time.”
Sherlock said, “He wasn’t in Washington. He paid a young auto mechanic to deliver the note to the Hoover Building on Thursday. We found the guy who did that and brought him in, but we couldn’t track down the man who’d paid him.”
Savich said, “In fact, we know he was here in San Francisco, studying you and staying at a B-and-B in Atherton for about a week, enough time to do the reconnaissance he needed of your habits, your home, for planning the Zodiac rental, all of it. What’s terrifying is that he would have succeeded if Molly hadn’t called out to you at the last moment.”
Ramsey said, “So my being shot the same day I shut down the Cahill trial, the same day Mickey O’Rourke disappeared, it was all a coincidence?”
Savich said, “Yes, and one he took advantage of. The shooter was following your trial closely enough to decide that Thursday night was the perfect time to shoot you to throw us off making the connection to the note for a while. He couldn’t have scripted it better.”
“Like Dillon said, he’d already been here a week before any of that. And he had to have been to Washington before he came here, checking out the neighborhood around the Hoover Building, learning enough about Teddy Moody to pick him out as his mark.”
Ramsey said, “Why didn’t he leave a note with me, so you’d know this was his revenge, like he did with you?”
Sherlock said, “I imagine he was getting a real kick out of the confusion he’d created since we immediately connected your shooting to the Cahills. I guess when he shot me, he was ready to take the credit.”
Ramsey said, “And that leaves us the big question. Why me? We’ve been friends for a long time, Savich, but there are other people closer to you. That must mean the shooter has a connection to both of us.” After a moment, Ramsey said, “This is the same man who tried to kill me again in the elevator on Saturday, the same man we believed was Xu.”
Sherlock said, “And that was an act of someone who’s driven or unbalanced enough to take such a risk. Very unlike Xu.” She closed her eyes for a moment, not in pain but in thought, though sleep was pulling on her. She became aware of Dillon stroking her forearm, his touch light and comforting. She continued. “It all makes sense now. Xu was very hard to predict, even to understand. How could we profile a man, reconcile everything he had done, when he was two very separate men whose motives couldn’t be further apart?”
