CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Parnell started his search on the second floor this time. It was the next best place to hide contraband, after the basement. He trotted up the staircase, which ran from the living room to the center of a short hallway upstairs. Two bedrooms and one shared bath between them were located on this floor, according to the real estate tax records.

He saw three doors, all closed. One on either side of the hallway and one at the end. He opened the doors and turned on the lights briefly in each of the three rooms. All were tidy and furnished as they should have been. Each bedroom had a large closet. The bathroom contained a small linen closet. A total of six places his nine million dollars could have been stored. A total of six places where he didn’t find it.

Would Brewer have stored that much stolen cash on the first floor of his home? Unlikely. Parnell already knew the money was not in the garage. Which only left the first floor, the one Brewer and his wife spent most of their time in, was the last place to look.

Parnell completed a thorough search in less than ten minutes. When he finished, his patience was gone. He searched through the kitchen drawers until he found the implements he needed and made his way back to the basement.

He could smell their fear wafting up the stairs from the dungeon. The foul odor grew stronger and put a spring in his step as he descended. At the bottom of the stairs, the stench was overwhelming. He smiled. You ain’t seen nothing yet, Detective Brewer.

He walked toward Brewer, averted his eyes, reached up, and yanked the cord above Brewer’s head. The light erupted from the single bulb like a lighthouse beacon at ten feet instead of ten miles.

Brewer had not expected the assault on his retinas. He jerked back, squeezed his eyes shut, and emitted a strangled scream. Coupled with the effects of the sedative, he must have felt a knife-like pain shoot through his skull, front to back, ricocheting a few times.

The mental image pleased Parnell no end.

He waited until Brewer calmed down enough to focus. “Detective Brewer.”

Brewer’s eyes rounded, his eyebrows shot up, and his nostrils flared. To his credit, he made no further noises.

“You have something that belongs to me. I’ve searched the entire premises, and my property is not here.” Parnell raised the items he had foraged from the kitchen. A chef’s knife in one hand and a potato peeler in the other.

He watched as Brewer’s battered brain registered the implements.

“Make no mistake. You will tell me where to find my property.” Parnell tilted his head to the left, slightly behind Brewer and outside the cone of light. “Your wife is sitting there, in the dark. She can see and hear you. If you fail to answer my question, you will hear her screams, I promise you.”

Sweat popped out on Brewer’s forehead and dripped down his temples. A strangled cry escaped through the duct tape and his face reddened with outrage.

“There are two ways to do things, Detective Brewer. The easy way, which is where you simply tell me what I want to know. Do it immediately, and we’re done here.”

Parnell paused and pressed his lips together and pointed his head toward Mrs. Brewer sitting in the darkness. “Or we can do this the hard way. Surely you realize that the easy way is preferable. Would you like a brief demonstration to help you decide?”

Brewer made the wrong choice. His chest rose with a deep inhale. His face flushed darker crimson. Defiant noises erupted from his throat behind the duct tape.

“That’s fine.” Parnell shrugged again. “If she was my wife, I would probably have made the same decision. She’s such a cow. And cows should be slaughtered. I totally agree.”

Parnell stepped outside the light where Brewer could no longer see him. As he walked through the darkness toward her, he said, “Mary, you’ve been listening to my conversation with your husband, haven’t you? You know this is not my decision. It seems he doesn’t care about you as much as he cares about my money. After all the years you’ve been together. Sad, don’t you think?”

He stopped within arm’s reach of her. Quickly, his hand darted forward and slapped her. Hard. The sound rang out through the quiet dirt pit. A startled scream of shock and pain was held back by the duct tape across her mouth. Parnell grabbed a corner of the tape and yanked. She screamed again, and he slapped her a second time.

Three blows. How long would Brewer let her suffer? The entire business was distasteful, to say the least. Nitro Mack Parnell wasn’t a sadist. He derived no pleasure from torture. But he knew its value, even if the politicians disagreed.

When her screams subsided, Mary Brewer began to sob. Much better. Sobbing women made their men more pliable than defiant ones in Parnell’s experience.

“Mary, your husband stole nine million dollars from me.” Her eyes widened even as the sobbing continued. “Yes, that’s a lot of money. My colleague left my money safely stored in a vault inside his home. Your husband took it. I’ve searched your house, and my money is not here. I want your husband to tell me where it is.”

He paused a few moments to let the problem sink into her muddled thinking.

“I’m going to give him another chance to make the right decision here, Mary. But if he doesn’t, I’ll be back in a moment.” Parnell pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped her nose. He dropped the tissue on the ground. “Do you have anything you want to say to your husband? Perhaps you’d like to ask him to answer my questions. Otherwise, Mary, I’m afraid this isn’t going to work out very well for you. You understand I’ll have no other options.”

Mrs. Brewer nodded vigorously. Parnell waited while she summoned her nerve.

“Greg, honey.” When she spoke, her voice was deep and sexy, and the mystery of their relationship fell immediately into place. Parnell imagined she must have been attractive enough as a young woman. Hormones raging, young Private Brewer must have been smitten from the first hello. “Greg? If you know where his money is, for the love of God, please tell him.”

Parnell nodded. So she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything about the money or what Brewer had done with it. Which made the situation simpler. No point in pressing her for information she did not possess.

“Thank you, Mary.” Parnell replaced the duct tape across her mouth and patted it gently into place. “If your husband does as you’ve asked, your ordeal will be over.”

In the darkness, he couldn’t see the gentle tears that leaked from her eyes, but he knew they were there. What a shame. Why did women make such lousy choices in men?

Parnell stood outside the cone of light while Brewer worked things through for himself.

Brewer was no stooge. He’d been regular Army long ago, and then NYPD. Which meant he was good when he entered the police academy and even better when he came out. He rose through the ranks to detective, a position he’d held for several years.

In short, Brewer was well trained and seasoned. He was not a fool. And he was desperate.

The combination was dangerous. Brewer was a worthy enemy, and Parnell never underestimated his enemies.

When he judged Brewer had had enough time to work things out, Parnell moved into the cone of light and stood where Brewer could see him. A career officer who knew what to do. A man who had ordered thousands of soldiers into battles too many had not survived. Because it had to be done.

Parnell was respectful of Brewer’s skills, but not afraid of him. Not in the least. All of which General Nitro Mack Parnell conveyed with a single stare and assurance of the outcome. Bring it on if you dare.

Brewer raised his head and looked directly into Parnell’s flat gaze, a stare Brewer recognized. He simply nodded, acknowledging defeat and a willingness to cooperate.

Parnell said, “Wise decision, Detective Brewer. I advise you not to try anything stupid. Give me my property, and this will end.”

Brewer nodded again. Parnell stepped forward and yanked the tape from his mouth. Brewer worked his jaw and wet his lips with his tongue. He cleared his throat as if he couldn’t quite get words past his voice box.

“Don’t make me ask the question again,” Parnell said. His words, or perhaps his tone, triggered Mary’s whimpering and quiet sobs from behind Brewer in the dark.

Brewer’s eyes narrowed when he responded. “Hear me out. I don’t have your money, and I don’t know where it is.” He must have sensed Parnell’s instant rage, because he rushed on. “But I know who knows.”

Parnell’s hands fisted at his sides, struggling to tamp the fire inside. “I’m listening.”

“Her name is Lauren Pauling. Retired FBI. She and Reacher worked it out.” Brewer took a breath. “I don’t know what they agreed to. I wasn’t there. But I know she took the money from the apartment. What she did with it after that, I can’t say.”

Parnell stared at Brewer for two full seconds and judged him to be speaking the truth as far as he knew it.

Scavo had said Brewer or Reacher.

Brewer had blamed Reacher without prompting.

Reacher. Again. Everything came back to him. Where was the bastard?

Maybe Reacher was with Pauling. Maybe not. But Brewer didn’t have the nine million dollars and didn’t know where it was. That much, Parnell believed.

Which was too bad, actually.

“Where is Pauling now?”

“I haven’t seen her in at least a year. She has an office on Fourth Street. I’d start there.”

Parnell nodded. “See? The easy way is always best.”

In one fluid motion that he’d practiced a million times, he reached into his deep coat pocket and pulled out his gun, already fitted with a sound suppressor.

He lifted his arm in a slow, deliberate arc and pointed the barrel directly at the center of Brewer’s forehead.

He shot two muffled rounds that hit slightly above the bridge of Brewer’s nose, killing him instantly.

Mary’s gasp followed the shots.

Parnell walked around to her chair, turned his head aside, and pulled the chain over her head. The light flooded down and blinded her temporarily. Half a moment later, she was dead. She never saw it coming.

Parnell patted Brewer’s pockets to locate his cell phone. He rolled through the contact list until he found a number for Lauren Pauling. He dropped the phone into his pocket.

Parnell pulled both cords to return the dungeon to darkness. He turned on his flashlight and followed the beam up the wooden stairs. At the top, he closed and bolted the basement door.

He replaced his items into the duffel and let himself out. He closed the steel door as well as possible. The storm door would conceal the damage from casual observers, which should suffice for a while.

Five minutes later, Parnell was seated in the rental car, on the road to the city.

Lauren Pauling wasn’t likely to be in her office at this hour. Within twenty minutes, he’d know where to find her.