machine gun, Clinter began to run wildly in the direction of the cabin, the air from his rapid movement feeding the fire that was consuming him. Gurney propelled himself forward, trying to drive him off the path and into the pond, but they fell together on the ground just short of the water’s edge with the huge gun between them, spraying bullets out into the night.
Chapter 51
Grace
Late the next morning, Gurney was still in an emergency-room bed in a room off the main ER area in Ithaca’s municipal hospital. Although the ER personnel had been relatively sure that his condition was not serious—mostly first-degree and a few second-degree burns—Madeleine had insisted upon her arrival that the on-call dermatologist be summoned.
Now that the dermatologist, who looked to them like a child playing a doctor in a school play, had come and gone, confirming the existing diagnosis, they were waiting for some insurance confusion to be sorted out and paperwork to be completed. Someone’s computer system was down—it wasn’t quite clear whose—and they’d been cheerily advised that the whole process might take a while.
Kyle, who had accompanied Madeleine to the hospital, was roaming between Gurney’s room and the waiting room, the gift shop and the cafeteria, the nurses’ station and the parking lot. It was clear that he wanted to be there, and equally clear that he was frustrated by the lack of anything useful to do. He’d been in and out of Gurney’s little room numerous times that morning. After several awkward beginnings, he finally managed to make a request he said had been on his mind ever since Madeleine had mentioned to him that Gurney’s old motorcycle helmet was stored away in their attic.
“You know, Dad, our heads are about the same size. I wonder … if it would be okay … I mean … I was wondering if could I have your helmet?”
“Sure, absolutely. I’ll give it to you when we get back to the house.” Gurney smiled at the thought that Kyle apparently had inherited his father’s roundabout way of expressing affection. “Thanks, Dad. That’s great. Wow. Thanks.”
Kim had called—twice—to find out how Gurney was, to apologize for not being able to come to the hospital, to thank him profusely for risking his life to confront the Shepherd, and to let him know she’d been interviewed at length the previous day by Detective Schiff in connection with the Robby Meese homicide. She’d explained that she’d been appropriately cooperative. However, when Schiff had been joined that morning by Agent Trout of the FBI to reinterview her in light of the fiery drama at Max Clinter’s, she’d decided it would be wise to have an attorney present—putting that new interview temporarily on hold.
Hardwick strode into Gurney’s room a minute before noon. After giving Madeleine a grin and a reassuring wink, he gave Gurney a frowning once-over and burst into laughter—more of a rhythmic growling than an expression of merriment. “Jesus, man, what the hell did you do to your eyebrows?”
“I decided to burn them off and start over.”
“Did you also decide to turn your face into a fucking pomegranate?”
“Nice of you to drop by, Jack. I need the encouragement.”
“Christ, on the TV you look like James Bond. Here you look like—”
“What do you mean, on TV?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”
“Seen what?”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The man instigates the Third World War and pleads ignorance. The whole damn thing from last night has been running on RAM News all morning. Sterne coming out of the cabin. That bloody flame-thrower mounted on Maxie’s hood. Sterne being incinerated. Maxie machine-gunning the Ramcopter out of the sky. Your heroic self charging out into the night to risk your life. The Ramcopter crash—followed by what the talking RAM heads keep calling ‘the horrible tragic fireball.’ It’s one hell of a show, Davey boy.”
“Hold on a second, Jack. The helicopter got shot down. So where did the footage of the crash come from?”
“The fuckers had two choppers out there. One Ramcopter went down, the other Ramcopter just moved into position and kept filming. Tragic fireballs are good for ratings. Especially with two people being burned to death in the process.”
Gurney was grimacing, Max Clinter’s fiery death still painfully vivid. “And this is on television?”
“Damn thing’s been running all morning. Showbiz, my friend, it’s fucking showbiz!”
“Those helicopters—how did they happen to be there to begin with?”
“Your friend Clinter gave RAM News a heads-up. Called earlier and told them that something really big was about to