Chapter 18: After the Math

Kennedy finally let go of Ruby's cold hand and stood up. Pipes was crouched next to his wife, doing what Kennedy had been doing -- crying and holding her hand.

She looked around the room. Victoria was being sick in a corner, heaving over and over again, uncontrollably. Harriet was pale and trembling, sitting next to her mother, who must have fainted, as she was lying on the ground.

Mr. Glastonbury was standing with a phone in his hand, talking into it. She curled her lip in distaste. It had been clear, really, from the first: Watchers had their own agenda.

Kennedy saw Pipes stand up and head to her. He was blunt. "We have to come up with a story."

Kennedy met his eyes. "We can't blame it on Dwight, can we? No body, so we'd have to say he escaped. That wouldn't be good for your friend."

"No." His eyes went to his wife.

"Kennedy, it never occurred to me that he was something different. I thought he was just using Cynthia to get close to you." He swallowed. "I had permission to take any clear shot at him. I never thought..."

"Pipes," Kennedy said softly. He looked at her, his eyes haunted.

"These things are evil. He was no more the grandson of your friend than the table I broke was my father's daughter. They are unspeakably evil and cruel. Cynthia was dead the instant he had his arm around her throat. They like to kill your loved ones in front of you, particularly if you think you're still in control of the situation.

"It was the same with Ruby. The reason he brought her here alive was to hurt me by killing her in front of me."

"What can we say?"

It rather shook Kennedy that he was at a loss for options. "Don't lie about anything important, of course. Dwight was wearing black clothes, he had a ski-mask pulled up; we just tell them it was pulled down and didn't recognize him. We say there were several of them, and that they were here for my father and left when they realized he wasn't here."

"That's stupid," Pipes said. "Only professionals would attempt something like that, and they'd have known he wasn't here."

"You know that; I know that. What little experience I have with the police is that they will grasp at a familiar explanation, even if it makes no sense."

Mr. Glastonbury joined them. "I can't get any of the guards. Not at the front gate, not at the front door. You understand I had to call the police?"

"I understand," Kennedy and Pipes chorused.

The cute maid staggered into the room, her left arm hanging uselessly at her side; she was covered with blood.

"I'm sorry, sir," she told Mr. Glastonbury. "I think there was only one. Even though I was told what to expect..." She shook her head, nearly in tears. "He hit me, sir. He used one of those things they use to smash in doors. The only reason I'm alive is I'd just slipped in a pool of Nigel's blood when he swung that thing at me."

"That's okay, Annie. Sit down, woman! Rest. Help is on the way."

The cute maid, Annie, looked around the room, taking in the bodies and Victoria, still bent over, pale and shaking. She looked away. "This isn't going to be good, sir."

"No. Masked men, several of them, attacked the house. You saw at least one. Just tell it like you saw, do you understand?"

She laughed bitterly. "I saw a man shot repeatedly, I saw him kill one guard after another. He'd have killed me if I hadn't slipped. It was like we were snowflakes and he was an elephant charging through them. It was as if we were of no account. We were of no account. I've never felt so helpless, so impotent, in my life."

"Miss Kennedy put paid to his account," Mr. Glastonbury told her softly.

Annie stared at Kennedy. Then her face turned pale, her eyes rolled up and it was all they could do to ease her down without hurting her worse than she was.

"Ferinc!" Kennedy exclaimed. "Has anyone seen Ferinc?"

However before she could look for him or see to anyone, the first police officer entered the room. He had his gun out; he looked terrified.

"What happened?" the cop asked. His eyes went to the two bodies on the floor.

"We were attacked," Pipes told him. "Guys in black ... they wanted Mr. Stuyvesant -- but he wasn't here."

More and more police arrived. Around one in the morning one of those who arrived was Detective Harrison from White Plains. He looked around the scene. Pipes and Kennedy had covered Ruby and Cynthia with tablecloths, even though the first police officers on the scene had threatened them. Pipes had laughed at them; Kennedy had just glared at them.

Detective Harrison conferred with a Scarsdale detective, then he and a third detective came to where Kennedy was standing, separate from the others. In fairness, police officers had been assigned to each person present, and they were all separated.

"Miss Kennedy," Detective Harrison said politely. The other detective raised an eyebrow.

"Detective Harrison."

"What happened?"

"At least one, and I assume from what I've heard, more than one, man dressed in black appeared. They took hostages and killed them. After the second one, they decided we really were telling the truth about my father not being here. They left."

The Scarsdale detective held up a plastic bag with a pistol cartridge in it.

"Mr. Pipes," Kennedy told him. "One of them killed his wife. He couldn't shoot until they tried to leave. I saw the one who'd killed his wife wince, but I don't know if he was actually hit. He moved fast enough after that."

"And you recognized no one?" the Scarsdale detective asked.

"They were wearing dark clothes and ski masks," Kennedy told him. "At least the one I had a good look at did."

She drew herself up. "No one wants to tell me what's happened outside this room. We had guards; they were my father's employees, some of them are my friends. I'm responsible for them. What's happened?"

The Scarsdale cop waved at Victoria, who was facing the wall, so she didn't have to look at the room. "And Victoria Stuyvesant?"

"She's indisposed," Kennedy said gently.

"I find it odd that you aren't," the Scarsdale detective said.

Detective Harrison put his hand on Kennedy's arm before she could wind up to set the record straight. "Miss Kennedy, four policemen are dead, three from New York and one off duty officer from Scarsdale hired for security. Five more security people died near your front door. There's one woman seriously injured; her shoulder is broken."

"And the trail of carnage stops here," the local detective said.

Kennedy allowed Detective Harrison to hold her back, even if her instinct was rage.

"You stupid shit," Kennedy told him. "Two women died in this room tonight and you have the balls to stand there and tell me the carnage stopped here?"

"Heinrich!" Harrison exclaimed. "Take a hike! I know you're senior and have jurisdiction and all that, but make a fuss, and I'll take everyone from White Plains home with me. Back off!"

The man left and Detective Harrison spoke softly. "There's a dead teenaged girl, another adult female. Do you know their names?"

"Cynthia Pipes, Pipes' wife. Ruby Goldberg. I met her at camp this summer..."

It was too much. For Christ sakes, she was thirteen! Kennedy broke down, sobbing for Ruby, for Cynthia, for all the others.

It took some time for her to settle down. Probably it was the oddity of being comforted by a hard-boiled police detective that finally penetrated where nothing else had.

"Detective Harrison," Kennedy told him, drawing herself up. "Please, I beg of you. I have Ruby's phone number and address. Please, please -- she was all her mother had. Find her rabbi in Tarrytown, be gentle as you can when you tell her mother. Please, do this right."

He grimaced. "Okay. She was a little bit of mystery, as she didn't have any ID."

"She ran away from home to come here," Kennedy told him, meeting his eyes.

"Now what?" she asked. "I'm pretty sure my father was informed."

"He's here now, but they won't let him in. His lawyer is on the way, too. Actually, from the description, a platoon of lawyers."

"There was a man named Ferinc here. I haven't seen him since this happened."

"He's on his way to the hospital. Evidently he tangled with them on their way in."

"Is he okay?"

"Well enough, considering what happened to the others. A broken leg," the detective supplied. He looked around and handed Kennedy a note, trying not to be obvious about it. "He said to give you this."

She carefully unfolded it and read the words there. "Dumpster, Arco station, Dobbs Ferry exit, near Tarrytown." At first she didn't understand, then she did.

"Detective Harrison, have I ever lied to you?"

He came right back. "Have you ever told me the truth?"

"I've never lied to you, ever. Truth, sir? Truth is that there was a plan to bomb a high school in Tarrytown, sir. I don't know who had the plan. This is where the explosives were dumped when the plotters decided to come here instead."

She handed him the note back.

He met her eyes. "There was a bulletin a few days ago about forty pounds of dynamite and detonators stolen from a site near Tarrytown."

"It's from a very reliable source, sir."

"I'd say wait here, but then you're going to do that anyway, aren't you?"

"Pretty much."

He waved at Pipes, standing a few feet away. "I told them who he is. They didn't believe me. He is, they tell me, a respected local citizen, active in civic groups. His wife played in the university symphony and sang for several local choirs. So does he."

"My biological father left me with a number of aphorisms. Most have taken some experience before I've come to understand what he meant. Now I know what he meant when he said, 'You can lead a donkey to water, but when it comes to making it drink, it's still an ass.'"

The detective laughed. "Stay cool, girl! Stay safe. I have some people I know in Tarrytown. I'll take care of this."

He vanished.

A few minutes later, her father came in. He saw Kennedy and she nodded to him and jerked her chin towards Victoria. He nodded in understanding and went to his biological daughter.

They lifted Ruby up and moved her to a gurney, and Kennedy started towards her. A policeman moved to interpose himself in front of her. "Sorry, miss. It's not permitted."

She rolled him off her hip and continued on. Another cop pulled his pistol. "Stop!"

She was unthinking again. Her foot snapped up, hitting his hand, a whole lot harder than she'd hit Juanita's father's hand. The pistol skittered across the marble floor of the room, fetching up sixty feet away.

She stood next to Ruby, then reached down and touched her forehead, even though it was shrouded in a rubberized body bag. "Sorry, girl. I never, ever, wanted this."

There was a lot of commotion, but a lot of senior police officials were there, screaming at their men to holster their weapons. Kennedy was amused to see her stepfather in front of the one police officer cradling his arm. "By all means, file charges against my daughter! Sue her in civil court! By all means, bring it onto my turf and not yours!"

The man paled.

Pipes walked over to his wife's body and laid his head down on her breast.

There was a swirl by the door and someone else came in. Dennis Pipes and the old man who was Pipes' friend. The two of them walked across the room with every eye on them. Dennis touched the plastic bag and looked up at his father.

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry, Dennis."

"It wasn't your fault, so I've been told."

He didn't sound very convinced, Kennedy thought.

Pipes didn't say anything, but the old man walked up to Pipes and hugged him hard. "If there is fault here, it is mine," he announced.

Hours later, the sun was coming up and Kennedy sat stock still on the veranda, staring at the broken clouds, ignoring the chill morning. Mr. Glastonbury appeared and sat down next to her.

"Miss Kennedy."

"I can't stay here any more. None of these people deserved what happened to them."

"Where would you live, Miss Kennedy? Some apartment building? A house in some suburb? Just where would you go where you won't have neighbors? Rural America? Do you think that will keep those you see safe? They'll come at you through the landlord, the waitress at the diner, the clerk at the grocery store, the gas station attendant..."

"Eleven people are dead, sir. Eleven. Ruby, Cynthia. All those others!"

Her father appeared, a glass of juice in his hand. "Kennedy, back in World War Two, generals planned landings in Africa, Sicily, Italy and France. All through the Pacific. Hundreds of thousands of our soldiers died in those landings; millions of our enemies. It's not pleasant to put someone in harm's way, but we have the salve to our conscience that their service was voluntary. And I swear to you, as will Mr. Glastonbury, that none of them were ignorant of the danger they might face."

"Tell that to Victoria."

"I can't. She's already gone. Hawaii, I think. I've got people with her; some of them are professionals. I think she'll be okay, she was just startled. I don't think she believed us. I didn't stint on my warnings and I doubt if you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Mr. Glastonbury said there was just one of them."

"I'm not sure 'just one' means anything when it comes to these creatures."

"I heard you say that once before. And, I'm sorry to say, I pretty much ignored you. Mr. Glastonbury struck me as earnest and over-protective; not bad things in a man with his job description. It never occurred to me that both of you were low-balling the threat."

"Well, now you know, sir," Mr. Glastonbury told her father.

"Yes, now I know." He lifted the juice glass. "Kennedy, the only member of the staff who hasn't quit is in the hospital; I expect I'll hear from her in due course. I had to fetch this myself."

"I'm sorry, sir ... Pete."

"Kennedy, you have to understand one thing about people, something Mr. Glastonbury appears to have been remiss about teaching you. We'll have a new staff by this evening. I promise you, not one will be ignorant of what they might face or about what happened here yesterday. I will have to turn people away."

"That's crazy," Kennedy said without thinking.

Mr. Glastonbury cleared his throat. "Mr. Stuyvesant is correct, Miss Kennedy. People always think they're better than the last poor sod who had the duty. That it won't happen to them, because they are smarter, stronger and faster ... luckier, too. Besides, they're going to be well paid."

"Is there going to be a problem about the policeman I hit?" Kennedy asked.

Her father grinned. "No. He has three broken fingers and a broken wrist. I heard the dressing down his captain gave him, for pulling a weapon on a bereaved. That was the captain's phrasing. A bereaved."

"And the rest?" Kennedy asked.

"Mr. Glastonbury explained your logic, later. You have good instincts, Kennedy. You were exactly right. They heard from a dozen witnesses, who more or less agreed that they saw one man in black. Some said he wore a ski-mask, other said he had a stocking cap, but it wasn't pulled down, others said it was. The physical descriptions were all over the place."

"Miss Kennedy," Mr. Glastonbury interjected, "Harriet Scrivener described the man she saw as about five feet tall, dark-skinned, probably black, with kinky hair."

Harriet had lied to the police?

"Harriet's mother said there were at least six men, that there was a lot of gunfire and she thought she'd been shot. Kennedy, I doubt if she'd have lied about what she thought she saw."

Kennedy rolled her eyes. Harriet deserved a big hug! Then it hit her. A big hug that would put another nail in Harriet's coffin!

Kennedy put her head down on the table, trying hard to keep control.

A few moments later, it was her father who shook her lightly. She turned to look, and saw past him, where Detective Harrison stood.

She sat up, willing her emotions to calm down.

"May I have a moment with Miss Kennedy in private?" the detective asked.

Her father's voice was angry. "I've heard this before and I don't like it!"

"Pete! He's okay. Particularly if he can stand there in the alternate sun and shade we're having this morning. Detective, there is nothing you have to say that either my father or Mr. Glastonbury can't hear."

"Tarrytown says they recovered the package intact ... about two minutes ahead of a sanitation truck. That would have been a mess! They are treating it as an anonymous tip, with no hint that the package ever got close to delivery."

"Package?" her father asked.

"Forty pounds of dynamite," Kennedy said. "Ruby was sick and tired of the bullies at her school. She reconsidered when she was there, ready to do it. She was going to bring the stuff here, confident that I could find a way of disposing of it safely. Except Dwight made her toss it, because he didn't want it."

"Dwight?" Detective Harrison's voice tightened, his gaze turned very intent. "Dwight Evans?"

"Yeah, that Dwight. For your ears only, detective. Don't waste your time looking very hard for the men who came here yesterday," Kennedy told him. "There was just one, and the one cop was right. The havoc stopped when he went for me."

"One teenage boy killed four cops, five guards, two women and injured a couple of others? And you took him down? I won't even ask what happened to the body."

"Detective," Kennedy's stepfather said, "I'm a little surprised at Kennedy's candor. But if she says it, that's the way it happened."

"Leaving out that last night she said something different?" the detective told him. He looked at Kennedy. "And Pipes? The old man? If you had killed the old man's grandson, you would be dead now."

"He told Pipes to take a shot, the first time he could. Pipes didn't know Dwight wasn't Dwight any more."

"Dwight wasn't Dwight?" Detective Harrison asked, clearly confused.

"Detective Harrison," Kennedy told him, "you've earned the truth. But I assure you, you'd be better off this morning watching football."

"Dwight Evans was here? And you killed him? And the old man hasn't sent his troops?"

"I told you, he asked Pipes to shoot Dwight, if he got the chance. Pipes thought he had the chance. Right now, Pipes is torn between the truth: knowing his wife was already dead, no matter what he did, or what actually happened. He took the shot."

"And missed? He's supposed to be good."

"In some ways," Kennedy admitted, "he's better than me. No, he hit Dwight in the skull. However, Dwight no longer cared."

"Hopped up on drugs? Christ! The things I've seen..." his voice trailed away as he contemplated the trio facing him, who were silent. "He wasn't on drugs?"

"He was one of the undead," Mr. Glastonbury told him, "a vampire, to be particular. A cruel, evil creature without a soul, without the least trace of compassion or humanity left in him."

"And Miss Kennedy killed him? What did she do with the body?"

Kennedy's father laughed. "Detective! Please! There was no body! Surely you've seen vampire movies! They turn to dust!"

"And you expect me to believe this?"

Kennedy turned to Mr. Glastonbury. "Sir, please, would you fetch Lady Kennedy? I'd take my juice glass off the table if I were you, Pete."

A moment later Mr. Glastonbury was back, while her father was sipping from his juice. Kennedy waved for Mr. Glastonbury to give the sword to the detective.

"A great honking sword," the detective said, as he reached for it. He hefted it. "Heavy, too!"

"It's called a bastard sword," Kennedy said, her voice muted. "Or a hand and a half." Mr. Glastonbury took it from the detective, then whipped around and tossed Lady Kennedy to Kennedy, the sword spinning in a glittering wheel.

Kennedy took her in one hand and without pause started whipping Lady Kennedy around in figure-8s. This wasn't anything like Garry Owen, this was "Death to all vampires!" It wasn't a beehive hum, it was the sound of a bullroarer at full voice.

After a few seconds Kennedy changed the motion and Lady Kennedy came over her head and she brought the sword down on the table. The tablecloth kept the splinters down, but the sword clove the table cleanly in two.

Kennedy recovered and Lady Kennedy was back on her shoulder before the two halves tottered and fell.

She turned to Detective Harrison. "Right now, I'm one very upset young woman. A vampire killed someone I cared a very great deal about. He also killed the wife of a friend, plus a lot of people whose job was to keep me and my friends safe. I'm extremely upset."

"And why are you telling me this?" the detective asked.

"I just told you. I'm upset. I'm supposed to stay home, learning my lessons. Well, that was the fourth vampire I've killed, all by myself. I swear to you all, here and now, it won't be the last." She looked at Detective Harrison. "The day I leave a body, feel free to apply the law to me just as you would to anyone else. When there's no body ... cut me some slack."

The detective turned to Kennedy's father. "I'm an honest cop. I know, that's one of those stupid phrases like 'military intelligence' that are supposed to be contradictory. I'm honest. Still, I've never minded a few short cuts, legal short cuts, when push came to shove."

He turned to Kennedy. "I won't treat you any different than anyone else."

"Detective, there were all those witnesses in the room when I killed what had been Dwight. Would you feel confident about a prosecution based on their testimony?"

"No. Like I said, I'm willing to skirt the rules. A little. Not for anything serious."

"And Dwight?" Pete Stuyvesant asked.

"Dwight was last reported in Argentina, sir. If I hear anything different, I'd have to take that into consideration."

After that, things settled down. Kennedy called Harriet, who was shaken, but practical. "You saved the rest of us. I know that."

"I also got you into it."

"Kennedy, it was Dwight! Forget it!"

On the first day of school after the holiday, Kennedy made a point of finding Juan Baptiste. He eyed her. "I was hoping you'd forgotten I existed."

"I want you to tell Nita something for me."

"What?" he was almost overtly hostile.

"No one will say it officially, but take it from me. Dwight has passed on."

"He's dead?"

"Passed on, yes."

"And you know this for sure? I'd have expected something in the paper."

"It was there. They just didn't mention Dwight."

"The kidnappers? The ones who came after your father?"

"Something like that."

He was clearly unsure, but said nothing.

When she got home that evening, Ferinc was waiting for her on the veranda.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking at him. He had a cast on one leg and bandages on his face. He was using two canes.

"Miss Kennedy! I've never been able to justify two sword canes at once! So cool!"

"Thank you for the note."

He nodded. "She walked past me, down the hall. I knew she was the walking dead. I read what she'd thought about doing, what she did and how she felt about you. It was the least I could do in her memory."

Kennedy nodded at his injuries.

He laughed. "Second sight is a powerful tool, Miss Kennedy. It was silent on the vampire behind her. I was taken by surprise. It was all I could do to stay alive. I saw one of your people close, and I realized I could save her, too. So I did."

"Annie? Cute woman, about five six, brown hair? Peaches and cream complexion?"

"Miss Kennedy, all I see are concepts, not concrete details. I just knew someone was going to die unless I intervened. I intervened."

"Thank you."

"No problem! You killed a vampire! I helped, in my own feeble way! Our king is ecstatic! Once again the Roma have triumphed!"

Kennedy blinked in astonishment.

Ferinc laughed. "Yes, of course, there was the fact that the nearest Roma was several hundred feet away, bleeding and with several broken bones. But, hey, we were on the right side once more! He's happy to take the credit for that!"

He saluted her and left.

A few days later Pipes was standing outside the school. She didn't care who thought what. She went to him and hugged him.

He hugged her back. "I'm pleased to say that Dennis listened to my friend and he's speaking to me again."

"I'm so glad."

"You understand I feel it is my parental duty, no matter what my personal circumstances are, to shear him from some of his money. Poker? Monday is Martin Luther King Day; you won't have school."

"Is that what you really want?"

"It's what I think Cynthia would have wanted. I don't think she would want to be grieved over for weeks or months."

"You understand that I have a great big bulls-eye painted on my back?"

He waved at the school and Kennedy blushed. "My father says I still have to, at least until the end of the year."

"Yes, well, I say I'd like you to come play poker with us."

"My sister won't be there," Kennedy warned.

"She learned poker from her father, Miss Kennedy. She plays a more cutthroat game than we're used to."

Kennedy raised her eyebrow, but he just looked at her.

She looked around. "The police are much better at being unobtrusive."

He laughed. "I'm afraid my friend did that."

"Did what?"

"He asked me to lunch, at a restaurant in the World Trade Center. I had no idea he was expecting another guest, Judge Julian Schwartz. Judge Schwartz is very independent. Fiercely independent. When he saw me, he was angry at my friend. Then my friend waved around the restaurant and the judge realized my friend had two dozen policemen tailing him, and I had half again as many. There were more than fifty policemen in that restaurant."

He smiled slightly. "The judge recused himself from the matter, but let's just say that for right now the police can't come within two hundred yards of either of us."

"They were more circumspect following me. I've never seen them," Kennedy told him.

Pipes shook his head. "No, they were less circumspect with your father. Once. After that..."

"Oh!"

Poker was nice, even if the number of guards in the front of the restaurant was twice what it had been.

When Dennis sat down Kennedy said to him, "I'm sorry about your mother."

"They explained it. The old man and mine. I didn't believe it. Then Don Valentine took me aside and told me some stories. Either every man I've respected in my life is lying to me, or the world isn't at all like what I thought."

"And do you understand Kennedy's place in things?" Don Valentine spoke up.

"Yes, godfather, sir! I'm pig-headed, like my old man. But I'm not stupid!"

Kennedy looked at Pipes. "Do you suppose I could impose on you? I'd like to speak to your friend. I know he said he never wanted to see me again, but I have a proposition for him."

"I can ask. He owes me a favor."

Kennedy wanted to cry. "Please, no favors. This is between him and me. Just that. A business deal."

Pipes gave a high sign and Fatso went into the back.

A few minutes later the old man came out, walked over and took the seventh seat at the table. A moment later his money was on the table and he got his chips.

The last time she'd been here, Kennedy had tried to dissemble. Now, she simply glared at all of them, remembering Ruby.

Whenever she went head to head with the old man, she was ruthless, betting the maximum, bluffing to the max, up and down. She had good cards and he didn't, and quickly he pushed his last chip in and she called and took it.

He reached out with one, old parchment hand and covered her hand with it.

"You have no reason to love me, I know. So, what is it you want?"

Kennedy looked around the table.

"We're all friends here," the old man said evenly. "Even Dennis, who has only lately come to some understanding of the world."

"There are others like what your grandson became, sir. I want to kill them."

"You aren't," he stuttered, amazing by itself, "official are you?"

"I'm Kennedy, just that and no more," she told him bluntly. "All you need to do is point me in the right direction."

"Do you understand that after Pipes' brush with them, we went back to finish the job? That that was even more expensive? That the times I've sent men after those like my grandson became, the results have been bloody ... and those things don't bleed like we do."