Bad Blood

Schickel and Brown, and the two highway patrol guys, to keep an eye on things until we start down the bust list.”
    “Good. We’re here all by ourselves. I’ve got two people tearing up the house while I talk to Kristy. But everything is right here. All the photos.”
    “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Virgil said. “I’m peeling off these other guys right now.”
    “Fifteen,” Coakley said. And, “Virgil, however bad you think this is—it’s worse.”
     
     
    COAKLEY CARRIED the first box of photos down the stairs, and she and Kristy sat at the kitchen table and started going through the photos—many were Polaroids, but more were recent digital-printed shots—Kristy giving her names as they went, Coakley writing them in her notebook.
    Five minutes in, Kristy told her that there were lots more that her father had never printed, that were on the computer. They went into what had been a first-floor bedroom, now converted to a workroom.
    A wide-screen iMac sat in the middle of a worktable, and Kristy brought it up and went to a Lightroom program and rolled out the Lightroom database as pages of thumbnail photos. Not all the photos were sexual, but hundreds of them were: in the library module, Kristy tapped an “All photographs” number: there were 8,421 photos in the collection.
    Coakley was sitting, transfixed, at the desk, when headlights swept up the hill, and she said, “Virgil. He’s gonna be freaked out.”
    Dunn went to look and came back and said, “I don’t think it’s Virgil. There’s a whole line of cars coming in.” He went to the stairway and shouted, “Bob. Bob, get down here.”
    Hart came running down the stairs, and they all went to the side entrance, and Dunn, looking out the window, said, “They’ve got guns, some guys are running around to the front,” and Coakley snapped at Hart, “Watch the front door. Don’t let anybody in.”
    Hart pulled his gun, his eyes wide and his Adam’s apple bobbing in what might have been fear, and Coakley heard glass breaking at the front, and heard Hart shout, “Stay out of here—stay out of here. We’re the police—”
    BANG!
    A gunshot, right there, in the front room, and Coakley ran that way and saw a man’s arm smashing through the glass of the front door, and Hart lying on the floor with a huge wound in his neck, looking very dead, and Coakley, without thinking, gun already in her hand, fired two fast shots through the door window and heard a man scream. . . .
    A half-dozen shots poured through the door, straight in, going over Hart’s supine body, and she fired twice more through the wall and heard men yelling, Kristy screaming, lying on the kitchen linoleum with her hands over her ears, and then came another shot, close by, and Dunn was screaming something at her, and she looked that way and saw him crouching by the side door, wild-eyed, gun in his hand, and he fired twice and looked back at her and shouted something, which she didn’t pick up, and then more shots came ripping through the house, shots from high-powered hunting rifles, the way they went through, spraying plaster and wood splinters.
    Dunn scrambled across the floor to where she was now lying, with Kristy, and he said, “We’ve got to get upstairs. We’ve got to get higher. If we can get up the stairs to the bathroom, we can get in that old tub and have a close shot at anybody who comes up the stairs. . . . Where’s Bob?”
    “Bob’s dead,” she blurted. He looked at her, uncertain, then scrambled past and looked in the front room, then crawled back and said, “We gotta run for it.” He grabbed Kristy and pulled the girl’s hands down, and said, “Kristy, we’ve got to run up the stairs—”
    Coakley shouted, “Wait, wait,” and she slid across the kitchen and grabbed the box of photographs and crawled back, her gun rapping on the floor like a horseshoe. A bullet smashed through a wall a foot in front of her face, spraying her with plaster, and she spat and kept going. The house was being torn apart by gunfire, and they all half-crawled, half-ran across the kitchen floor and around the corner and up the stairs, and Dunn pointed down the hall and said, “You guys get in the tub. Lee, you gotta keep the stairway clear. If anybody comes up the stairs, you gotta keep it clear. You understand? You gotta kill ’em.”
    “Yeah. Where are you going?”
    “Up by the side window. Most of them are in the side yard; I’m gonna try to knock a