The Melody Lingers On (32 page)

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I love you,” she said. “I am so desperately sorry for the people whose money you took but it can’t be all gone. Can you just leave
it where it will be found and can we hide somewhere? I just want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

Parker Bennett had a moment of deep regret for the life he had chosen.

But then he pictured himself in his new villa in Switzerland and the life of luxury he’d be heading for once he got on that plane tonight.

T
he dozen members of the FBI surveillance team, now surrounding the town house, were listening to the tense reports that Jonathan Pierce was giving
them.

Jon watched as Lane and Eric ran into the town house where Parker Bennett was waiting. Jon knew the situation might be explosive and told Rudy Schell that. But Rudy answered sharply, “We
don’t know yet if both of them were involved. We have to hear what they say to each other.”

“And there’s an old black Ford sedan parked down the block with an older white male driver inside. It looks as though he might have been following them. It may be the same car you
saw following Anne Bennett. We’re watching it.”

W
hen Lane and Eric rushed into the living room Anne was slumped on the couch, her eyes closed. Lane dropped to her knees beside Anne, reached for
her wrist, then cried, “Eric, I can’t get a pulse. She’s not breathing. Call nine-one-one.” But even as she spoke, she knew that Anne was dead.

Eric pulled out his cell phone. Then a voice from the doorway said, “That can wait. Hello, Eric.”

Lane dropped her fingers from Anne Bennett’s wrist and stood up. She had seen so many pictures of Parker Bennett in the newspapers. There was no mistaking the man. It was Parker Bennett.
And then what she heard shocked her.

“You have the number, Eric. Give it to me.”

The number that was taped in the music box! Lane thought. What does it mean?

“I don’t think that’s possible, Dad,” Eric said, his voice smooth and unemotional. “Now, for Mother’s sake, get out of here. I don’t want you to be
arrested. You must have a fallback plan, whatever it is, to hide somewhere. Let that be the end of it.”

You can’t do that, Eric, Lane thought. You have got to turn him in.

Then in horror she watched as Parker Bennett took his hand out of his pocket and pointed a pistol at his son.

“What do you think you’re doing, Dad?” Eric Bennett asked as he looked at the gun.

“What I’m doing is telling you to throw your wallet over to me. Your mother said that you put the number I want in it.”

When Eric did not reply, Parker said, “Eric, I know what you are thinking, but I didn’t cheat you. I was planning to share the money with you.”

“How do you define cheating?” Eric asked. “You took off without telling me. I did everything you asked me to do for thirteen years. You would have been caught immediately if I
hadn’t put together and run the system that generated the client statements. You took almost all of the money we were supposed to share out of our account. The little that was left there I
didn’t dare touch. They were watching me too closely.”

“The wallet, Eric,” Parker shouted.

Eric pulled his wallet from his pocket and flipped it toward Parker. As his father reached to catch it, Eric hurled himself across the room and knocked him down.

The pistol went off twice, wounding Eric in his right arm and shoulder. As Lane watched unbelieving, Eric grabbed his father’s hand and turned the gun on him. Parker Bennett screamed,
“Don’t, don’t, please.”

Eric said, “Bye, bye, Daddy,” and pulled the trigger.

The bullet went squarely between Parker Bennett’s eyes. His blood mingled with Eric’s as he gasped and died.

Eric struggled to his feet, stared at Lane, and smiled. It was as though his face had been transformed. His eyes were narrow dark pits. His smile was a sneer. Supporting his wounded right arm
with his left hand, he pointed the gun at Lane.

“I’m sorry, Lane. I was starting to like you. But just to let you know, I’m glad that swine shot me. Now everyone will believe I am innocent and I will have the five billion
dollars I earned over thirteen years. My father’s fingerprints as well as mine are on the gun. They’ll believe me when I tell them he shot me, he killed you, and then
himself.”

His finger began to tighten on the trigger.

“I promise I’ll visit Katie. I’ll dry her tears. Maybe she’ll make more cookies for me.”

T
he instant he heard the sound of gunfire, Jonathan Pierce was out the door, running across the driveway and onto the steps of Anne Bennett’s
home, knowing it might already be too late to save Lane. He shot the lock open and, with a thrust of his shoulder, broke into the town house and ran into the living room. From the street,
surveillance agents were pouring from their cars and were steps behind him.

L
ane thought, Katie, Katie, I can’t leave her.

Instinctively, she threw herself to the side and then felt a searing pain in her forehead. Blood began pouring down her face. She looked around wildly.

Then, before Eric could fire again, she grabbed the music box off the cocktail table and threw it at him, hitting him in the wounded shoulder.

With a cry of pain, he dropped the pistol. Snarling, he reached down, grabbed it, stood up, and aimed again at Lane.

As he ran toward the living room Jonathan was terrified that it might be too late. Eric was pointing the gun at Lane. Fearing he might hit Lane, Jon could not fire. He hurled himself across the
room and collided with Eric, knocking him to the floor. In a final irony the bullet intended for Lane came to rest inside the shattered music box.

Rudy was at the head of the other FBI agents who were pouring into the room. As they surrounded Eric Bennett, Jon looked heartsick as Lane crumpled to the floor.

“Lane, Lane,” he shouted as he dropped to his knees beside her and put his arms around her.

Rudy Schell was alongside him. As he wiped the blood from Lane’s forehead, Jon said numbly, “I don’t think the bullet went through her head. I saw it. I think she moved just in
time.”

Lane could hear his voice as if from a long distance away. Dear God, I am not going to die, she thought. I am not going to die. Profound gratitude was the last emotion she felt before she woke
up in the hospital and looked into the eyes of the man who saved her life.

R
anger heard the shots and wondered if they were real or if he was hearing them in his head. He was seated in the car staring numbly ahead. The
package that he planned to use as an excuse for someone to let him into Anne Bennett’s town house was on the seat beside him. The pistol was on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

He heard a shout: “Put your hands on top of the steering wheel. Now come out with your hands up.”

Ranger barely heard the voice because he was hearing another voice in his head. As the doors of the car were yanked open, he looked up. “It’s all right,” he said. “Judy
wouldn’t let me kill them.”

O
n Friday morning Len Stacey made the call to the FBI. When he was connected, he cleared his throat and said, “I may have some very valuable
information for you about Parker Bennett. If I’m right, I can tell you where he’s been living, where he’s going, and his cell phone number.

“I understand there is a two-million-dollar reward if my information leads to his capture.”

“I’m afraid you’re twenty-four hours too late, Mr. Stacey,” he was told. “Read today’s newspapers. Parker Bennett died last night.”

“You mean I was right? You mean, he was using the name George Hawkins?”

“Yes, he was. Thank you, Mr. Stacey. Good-bye.”

Len heard the click. I was right, he thought. And if I’d called the minute I suspected him, I would have the two-million-dollar reward.

He decided there was no point in telling his wife. She had told him never to talk about Parker Bennett/George Hawkins again.