InSight

the explosion of the old warehouse filled every news channel since it happened. The police had yet to release anything about who, what, or why. Remains from the fiery blast would take awhile to identify. She turned off the TV. How many times could she watch the fireworks?
    With Abby and Stewart dead, her only problem was Herbert Scanlon. Collyer was supposed to take care of him, but she had no illusions. The South African would have fled the area before the building stopped shooting bricks, leaving that little weasel Scanlon to trade everything he knew to save his ass. Then she doubted Herbert ever had a mother. More likely he was hatched.
    The money she kept in an offshore account would allow her to disappear forever into a life of luxury. It had been a great ride, but she was a pragmatist. She could stay and fight, but why take the chance she’d lose? And she would. Too many people involved. Some of them would like nothing better than to see her disgraced, even if they implicated themselves in the process. She’d tightened the screws on them, and now they’d return the favor. They’d talk, make deals, turn state’s evidence. Just human nature.
    She’d given the servants the day off. They’d offered their best wishes, sure the authorities would realize their mistake. They wouldn’t, of course, but she appreciated the phony optimism.
    She wandered through her beloved house in silence, clicking mental snapshots to embrace during the days ahead. Martin Junior would have his golf clubs moved in before her plane landed. The thought caused a small chuckle deep in her throat. He was like her in so many ways. She’d miss him. Her daughter too. And then, of course, there was Stewart. He really was the best of the lot. Unconventional, with the same ridiculous code of ethics as her husband. Dear Martin. She missed him most of all. Oh, well. Life goes on. Now was no time to wallow in the past and what might have been if only he could have looked the other way, bent the rules a little.
    She strolled onto the veranda. She’d remember this perfect day. Cloudless blue sky, hardly a ripple breaking the glasslike surface of the water. She returned a wave to a couple sailing by. Maybe she’d recline on the chaise for a few minutes, let the sun soak into her. Then, as if from nowhere, a cloud floated across the sun, casting a shadow over her. The chill prompted a shiver. She turned to fetch her suit jacket and gasped at the unexpected visitors. The deaf cop and his pervert friend. What was his name? Conti? Yes, that was it. Both wore latex gloves.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did you get in?”
    “We’ve come to pay our respects,” Conti said.
    “Leave. Leave now, before I call the police.”
    “Go ahead,” McCallister said. “I’m sure they’ll be interested in that packed suitcase and this plane ticket.” He waved it in the air, then pulled it from its folder. “Morocco, huh? No extradition, I assume. The judge can add attempt to jump bail to your charges. And it won’t be a judge you have in your pocket.” He tore the ticket in half. “I’ll keep the pieces to show the police when they get here.”
    She started to grab for it but stopped. Show no concern. “That won’t stop me from leaving,” she said, her chin thrust out in defiance. “If the airlines won’t reissue it, I’ll purchase another ticket at the airport.”
    Conti smiled. “What makes you think you’re going anywhere?”
    Carlotta Gentry started to say something, but her eyes were riveted to McCallister as he pulled something from his pocket. It looked like a digital recorder.
    “This is Abby’s. It’s all here. Your confession. The who, what, where, why, and when.”
    Hot sweat trickled down her back. “You’re bluffing. Even if Abigael had a recorder with her, it’s buried under tons of smoldering rubble.” McCallister turned it on, and her words replaced the sounds around her as if the outside world had suddenly disappeared. Her stupid acknowledgment of everything she’d ever done, spoken to Abigael inside the building. Her heart rate accelerated. The significance of that tiny piece of technology in his hand resonated with the truth of her situation. The cop’s words filtered through a fog of panic.
    “You obviously haven’t heard the news,” McCallister said. “I’m surprised none of your friends called you. But I doubt you have any friends left, do you? People are distancing themselves as if you