The Web

A man sat there, bound to a chair, gagged.

Thin, scraggly gray beard, spiked hair.

Carl Sleet. The gardener whose voice had drawn Ben to the park.

His eyes zoomed to Creedman, pupils constricted. His fingers flexed below wrists secured to the chair legs with plastic ties. The kind policemen used. Had Haygood taken care of him first?

But no: Creedman looked as confused as I was.

I stood there trying to figure out what to do next.

Jo appeared in the doorway, hands up. No weapon.

"Don't shoot," she said cheerfully. "Now, how about I move my scumbag out of the way so you can get your scumbag through."

Her gun sat atop the books on Moreland's desk, well out of reach.

She produced something out of nowhere and held it up.

White card in a black leatherette holder, next to a silver badge. Some sort of government seal on the card, but I was too far away to read the small print.

"Where're Robin and Dr. Moreland?" she said.

"Waiting for me to give them the okay."

"I heard shots. Anyone actually hit?"

"Moreland was wounded."

"I heard six shots. One, then five more."

I said nothing. She laughed and waved the card. "Don't worry, it's genuine. Except for the name."

I stepped closer.

Department of Defense, a numbered division that meant nothing to me. JANE MARCIA BENDIG, SENIOR INVESTIGATOR.

I stood there, gripping Creedman. Wishing I had three more arms and a weapon for each.

"Look, I can understand your being wary," she said. "But if I wanted to shoot you, you'd be dead. I am a crack shot."

I didn't respond.

"Okay," she said. "I can get in big trouble for this, but would giving you my gun make you feel better?"

"Maybe."

"Suit yourself." She stepped back and I managed to keep my gun on Creedman and pocket hers.

"Happy?" she said.

My laugh scared me. "Ecstatic."

"Okay, you're the guy in charge now. Why don't you give your friends the word."

Moreland and Robin came up.

Jo said, "Looks like that arm needs attention, doctor."

"I'm fine."

"Doesn't look fine to me."

"You're not a physician."

Carl Sleet made a noise.

"Put a lid on it," she said, and Sleet obeyed.

Moreland said, "Carl?"

"Carl's been naughty," said Jo. "Pilfering petty cash, tools, your old surgical kit. Putting cockroaches in people's rooms. When he thinks no one's looking he tends to skulk around places he shouldn't be. I've had my eye on him for some time. Tonight, instead of leaving with the other members of the staff, he stayed in one of the storage sheds. Thought he was watching me."

She smiled.

"After I dropped Pam off, I went back and watched him some more. Did you know that you hum when you're bored, Carl? Not advisable when skulking."

Sleet writhed in the chair.

She turned to me. "When you and Robin showed up at the bug zoo, he was off in the bushes, watching you. After you went in, he waited, then made a call from the lab phone, right here. His pals got over in a jiff- probably waiting down the road, outside the gates. They left him here to stand watch, went into the lab, were gone for a long time, and came back. Then they headed for the walls, and that was the last I saw of them. I decided to take Carl's place. I'd like my gun now, please. I have others in my room, but like I said, I could get in real big trouble."

I hesitated.

"Pretty please?" she said, in a harder voice.

I handed her the automatic.

"Thanks. I'll take custody of your scumbag now." Producing more plastic ties.

I gave her Creedman, and she bound his wrists behind him and moved him closer to Carl Sleet.

"Carl," said Moreland, sadly.

Sleet refused to look at him.

"Okay," said Jo, "let's get these losers locked up and see to that arm."

"After all these years, Carl," said Moreland.

"All these years, Carl's been bearing a grudge against you, doc. Or at least that's his excuse- I'm sure the money they paid him didn't hurt."

"A grudge?" said Moreland.

Sleet still avoided looking at him.

Jo said, "Something about a cousin who saw a monster and died of a heart attack. Carl says you told the guy he was crazy instead of giving him heart medication."

"That's not true. His arteries were clogged. Highly advanced athero-"

"You don't have to convince me." Freeing Sleet's limbs from the chair, she stood him up, placed him face to the wall, and flipped Creedman around in the same position.

"Did Sleet say anything about calling Ben to the park?" I said.

"No."

I summarized Ben's alibi.

"Well," she said, "I'm sure old Carl will be forthcoming when he finds out what it's like to be charged with multiple murder."

Creedman stiffened, and she said, "Watch it. Can I assume some of the five shots went into Haygood?"

"All five," I said.

"Dead? Or did you leave him to bleed down there?"

"Dead."

"Nothing worse than a bad cop," she said. "Even before he got busted in Maryland he was a suspect in some burglaries. He and Mr. Creedman have been doing bad things for a long time."

"Who pays the bills?" I said. "Stasher-Layman?"

"You won't find their name on any checks. All cash. Mr. Creedman here is the bursar. Haygood's really dead, huh?"

Big smile for a split second, then it was gone. Slip of professionalism. Something personal.

Haygood monkeying with the plane.

"Your husband-"

"He wasn't my husband. Though we did have a… relationship."

"Was he also-"

"He was a botanist, just like he said. Keeping me company."

She frisked Creedman. "I tried to talk him out of going up in that heap. Traveling with me was always tough for him- okay, let's put these morons somewhere safe and see to that arm. Does the tu

"Yes," said Moreland.

"What do you keep down there, Dr. M.?"

Moreland didn't answer.

She frowned. "C'mon, I'm one of the good guys."

"It's a long story," I said. "It's a very long story."

We moved Sleet and Creedman to the house, locking them in separate basement closets, and put Moreland on a sofa in the front room. Gladys ran in from the kitchen, stared at the bloody sleeve, and put her hand to her mouth.

"He's been shot but it's not serious," said Jo. "Tell Pam to bring her medical stuff."

Gladys ran up the stairs, and Pam came rushing down seconds later, carrying a black bag.

Moreland waved at her from the couch. "Hello, kitten."

She suppressed a cry, unsnapped the bag, and crouched next to him.

"Oh, Daddy."

"I'm all right, kitten."

Pulling scissors from the bag, she began cutting away at the sleeve.

"Clean through the latissimus. No arterial…"

Jo hooked a finger at Robin and me.

As we left, Moreland called out my name.

I stopped.

"Thank you, Alex." Another beseeching look.

Once in the living room, Jo took an armchair under Barbara Moreland's beautiful, sad face.

"Tell me what's down there," said Jo.

We did.

She tried to maintain her composure, but each revelation knocked it looser. When we were through, she was pale. "Unbelievable- six of them, down there all these years?"

"Locked up for their own good," said Robin.

"Twilight Zone… unbelievable. Think he's crazy? I'm asking you professionally now."

"Obsessive," I said. "And a hero of sorts. Everyone else went down on that plane."