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The Victims Game
Part Nineteen - the House
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMERS:  Hi. We've got some legal stuff to wade through before we can jump into things. Mostly the usual prerequisite jazz: ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions, and Amblin Entertainment Television, a bunch of really swell, understanding guys who won't sue me if I mention that the aforementioned characters and institutions are being used without their permission, but only for entertainment purposes, and that no form of profit is being made on this work. For the benefit of the content-conscious amongst you, I'll assure you that there's nothing here that you couldn't see on the show, anyway. Except maybe some language, I'm not sure yet. Depends what kind of day I'm having as I write. Beyond that, I make no promises about what's in store. Could be silly, could be scary, could be sexy, could be sad. I'm not telling. Come on, live dangerously...

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Kerry Weaver and Richard Wintergreen and I crossed the street, away from the other house at an oblique angle. The woman wasn't visible in the windows, but if she happened to look out, we didn't want to appear as if we were headed straight for her. We made sure that Richard and I were between Kerry and the house; if that was Amanda Lee in there, Kerry would be the one most likely to be recognized by shape.

When we reached the opposite sidewalk, we turned toward the house. I felt that creepy feeling again, which grew as we came closer. Something in this neighborhood felt familiar. Smelled familiar. I said, "Richard, do you know what's behind her house?"

"It's a large backyard," he said, "with an six-foot wooden fence on one side, and an empty lot on the other."

"What's behind it?"

"A public park. But the lights in the park haven't been working."

"How about the house on this side? Anyone live there?"

"It's been vacant as long as I've seen," he replied.

Then I knew what it was, in one of those subtle connections that only the subconscious can make. The back yard of the house was almost certainly the place where Joan and her thugs and I had our brief talk, before she put me to sleep again. The house was ideally placed for such activities. No neighbors to overhear all the conspiracy talk about national security and international economics and such.

I wondered how Louis Cavanaugh and Nathaniel Rollins could have gotten me in and out of the yard without either Richard or one of the guys from the Strauss Detective Agency witnessing them carrying my body. But then I saw that the driveway extended back along the length of the house, all the way to the yard. They probably just drove all the way back before hauling me into and out of the car.

With this revelation came a degree of relief. The known danger beats the unknown any day of the week.

As we neared the porch, I stopped, making a little hand motion for Kerry to do likewise. Richard proceeded without us. "He's the only one of us she hasn't seen," I explained in a whisper, "Assuming it's her."

Kerry whispered, "What if she isn't Amanda Lee, or this Joan of yours?"

"Then we apologize for disturbing her, and I promise her I won't let my dotty old uncle wander around unattended anymore."

Richard turned and shot me a dirty look. How did he hear that?

Kerry and I paused, just out of view, as Richard Wintergreen climbed the porch steps and knocked politely on the woman's front door. She answered a moment later, saying, "Yes? Can I help you?" in a polite, pleasant voice.

Richard doffed his bowler. "Good evening, madam," he began, turning on the charm, "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I'm afraid my automobile has suffered some form of mechanical failure. I wonder if I might make use of your telephone, if it's not too much of an inconvenience?"

I glanced at Kerry Weaver. She was alert, attuned to the woman's voice. Showing the same concentration she had given the paramedics escorting Kristen, the screaming junkie from the ambulance.

The woman gave a moment's indecision, but let him in. Despite his size, Richard can come off as everyone's favorite old kindly grandfather, at the drop of a hat. While he was stepping inside, I moved forward, fast and silent, hopping up the porch steps at once, and was right behind him before she could close the door. Sad how easy home invasions can be, isn't it?

Richard took her wrist and stepped her backward without using much force. His presence does that, sometimes. She started to protest, and then I stepped into the house with them, and she saw me and went silent with astonishment.

"Joanie, Joanie, Bo Boanie," I said with a smile, "Banana Fana, oh so phony."

Joan - for it was she - looked from me to Richard and back again, as if in shock. I don't blame her for the confusion. Richard Wintergreen and I have been partners for a long time, and we still don't look like we belong together. George Smiley meets Beverly Hills Cop.

I left the door open until Kerry Weaver came in, and I shut it behind her, locking it. When Joan laid eyes on Kerry, her face paled even more, and her jaw sagged. "Kerry..." she gasped.

Kerry looked at Joan, as coldly as I've ever seen, and said, "Hello, Amanda."

Whoop, there it is. Official confirmation that Joan and Amanda Lee were the same person after all. No more calls, please, we have a winner.

The two women faced each other in the living room, while Richard and I stood back on either side, forming a loose quadrangle. Richard turned on a nearby lamp, illuminating the room more evenly.

Seen in this context, Amanda ("Joan") Lee seemed somehow diminished to me. No more disguises, no more deceptions. Like a famous, larger-than-life actor seen out of character, without the makeup and the costumes and the lighting, she was reduced to an ordinary mortal like any other.

Amanda Lee looked at Kerry Weaver, her shock resolving itself into acceptance. Then she looked at Richard Wintergreen, and then she looked at me. "You found me," she said, at last.

"They did," Kerry said, nodding to Richard and me.

I smiled, modestly. Richard didn't react.

Amanda Lee turned to me, her body language stiffening, and then she was the same icy woman who'd threatened to have me terminated with extreme prejudice in her back yard. "Congratulations, Mr. Fox," she said, flatly and formally, like Moriarty conceding Holmes' victory, "It seems I have been outmaneuvered. I must compliment you on-"

"Stop it, Amanda, you're not fooling anyone anymore!" Kerry Weaver's voice lashed out, cutting through Lee's speech. "You haven't been caught because of any brilliant detective work or master strokes. I know your secret."

Lee was startled into silence. Her expression reminded me of a child who's been told to stop playing make-believe.

"Part of you wanted to get caught, Amanda," Kerry said, "You made too many careless mistakes, both this time and when you worked at County. You pushed too hard, gave us too many clues, weren't careful enough by half." She shook her head. "You may be a consummate liar, but you can't resist drawing attention to yourself with the most extravagant claims. Once Daniel gave you the patient signatures, you couldn't even wait until he was back in Los Angeles before you made your move, could you?"

Amanda Lee crossed her arms, as if hugging herself. Her eyes were on the floor, as if she knew what she'd see in Kerry's face, and it was something she couldn't deal with. She looked very young, like a scared child.

"It wasn't the money that you were after, was it?" Kerry continued, "Deep down, it's the craving for attention that drives you." She tried a change of subject. "I knew you were a liar and an impostor, but I wouldn't have guessed you were a thief as well. Tell me, when did you begin plotting to steal the Carter Foundation's money? Before or after you applied for the Chief's job?"

Lee stiffened, a vibration of resentment running through her. "Would it matter?" she said, almost petulantly.

"No, I suppose not. I'd be slow to believe anything you said at this point, anyway." Kerry shifted her weight a little more onto the crutch. "Why did you return the money?"

The resentment crumbled, replaced by guilt. The woman could project an awfully wide variety of emotions without moving. I wondered if any of them were real. She said, "I - I didn't know things were going to happen this way," she ventured, her voice starting to break.

"What way? Everything went like you planned, up until now."

"Except the murder," I said.

Lee squeezed her eyes shut. Traces of tears appeared at the corners. "Nobody was supposed to die," she whispered.

"Was that it?" Kerry demanded, with the first trace of sympathy. "You never planned to kill anyone, did you?"

I said, "You needed those two ex-cops, Rollins and Cavanaugh, for the legwork and such, but you didn't count on them taking matters into their own hands. I talked to Steve Wasserstein, he called them, they called you, and you cooked up the 'X-Files' routine on the spur of the moment."

She nodded.

"Except that, after grabbing Kerry and me, they doubled back to Wasserstein's and killed him with my gun, figuring they could frame me for it, in case your idea didn't work."

Lee let out a shuddering breath. "I provided them with handguns for the job, but only after filing the firing pins down, so they couldn't actually fire them. I didn't want anyone getting hurt unnecessarily," she said.

I thought of the Glock I'd taken from Rollins, and what Sheriff Robinson had said about it. Another mystery cleared up. There's an answer for everything.

Lee shook her head and muttered, "For two million dollars each, you'd think those two could avoid doing anything stupid..."

I said, "For Christ's sake, Amanda, if they couldn't curb their tempers when they were cops, what made you think they could do it while working for you?"

"Shut up, Daniel," Kerry snapped, "You're not helping matters!"

The tears were starting to flow, now. "I never wanted this to happen, Kerry. And I couldn't keep the money after that man was killed. I couldn't condone murder." She looked at Kerry. "If you believe nothing else I've ever told you, please believe that." Her voice was very high.

Kerry looked intently at her, and then nodded. "I do believe you, Amanda," she said. "Whatever else you are, I don't believe you're a killer. Not after seeing how you treated your patients at County. You were good with them, I have to admit."

Lee's shoulders shook once, before she got hold of herself, and part of me wanted to go hold her and reassure her that everything would be all right. Then I gave myself a mental smack upside the cerebellum and reminded myself that this woman was willing to let Carol Hathaway rot in jail, while the ER went down the tubes. Damn, she was a master manipulator. It was no surprise that she'd been able to get away with so much thus far.

Kerry said, "Well, it's all over now, Amanda. It's in your best interest to come with us and let us get you some help."

Lee's eyes hardened. "Help?" she repeated, scornfully. "You mean psychiatric help, don't you?"

Kerry nodded.

"I knew it," Lee hissed, now stiff with anger. Emotion Number 44 in a series, collect 'em all. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? You can't understand someone like me, so you jump to the explanation that suits you best, is that it?" She glared at each of us in turn.

None of us answered her.

"I am not crazy," Amanda Lee asserted, firmly, from the diaphragm. "I have chosen to live my life in a particular way, on my own terms and no one else's. You all resent me, because I can achieve anything you can, without sacrificing years of my life in submission to other people's pointless requirements! Isn't that right?!" Her voice had risen, as if to fill the space.

I thought to myself, the woman's a rainbow, I tell ya! One step away from a freakin' one-woman Broadway show. Any second now, she'd throw back her head and cackle fiendishly, like Lady MacBeth. As played by Bette Middler. On speed.

Amanda Lee stared holes through each of us, as though daring any of us to challenge her statement.

Kerry stared back, her eyes like laser-sighting devices.

Richard watched, as impassive as one of the Buckingham Palace guards.

I remained silent and waited to see what happened next. I just hoped it wouldn't be Amanda Lee suddenly declaring her undying love for me while going for my neck with an ice pick.

"I don't think you're crazy, Amanda," Kerry Weaver said, when the silence had gone on long enough, "You can perceive reality perfectly well. You just can't deal with it. It's not your sanity that I doubt, it's your courage. You're not crazy, you're just scared and lonely. That's why you go to such extremes to reach out to anyone who will accept and embrace you. You can't stand being alone and unloved. That's the one thing you can't handle."

If there was a verbal chess game going on between the women, you could see Amanda Lee realize that Kerry Weaver was a move and a half away from checkmating her. Her chin trembled, and there was a slight tic under her left eye. If this was another act, she must have been scraping the bottom of her barrel. "You don't..." She shook her head, but it was a feeble gesture. "You don't know anything about me, Kerry..." she whined.

Kerry stepped closer. "I know you more than you think, Amanda. I've been that scared and that alone. I know where you're coming from." There was a compassion in her voice that hadn't been there before. "You're right, you are capable of everything I am, and more. The only difference between you and me is that I took the long road instead of the short cuts. I built a life with a solid foundation, instead of a house of straw."

Amanda Lee was trembling all over, now. Beaten, and she knew it.

"I just want to help you, Amanda, I promise you. You know me, you know my word is good."

The trembling subsided, and you could see that she was down to her last reserves. "No," she said, flatly. "I can't let you take me in."

"Amanda..."

"I have only one rule I live by, Kerry. I won't be locked up." Her eyes brooked no argument.

"This is a pointless argument, Amanda. You have nowhere to go, and you can't possibly get past us. Face the facts..."

"I said no, Kerry!" Now she had the trapped-animal look.

"Daniel." It was Richard Wintergreen's voice, low and urgent.

I joined him at a nearby window, looking where he was looking. A dark sedan was pulling up to the curb, and there were two men in it. Large, familiar men. I couldn't see the passenger, but the driver was Louis "Buzz Cut" Cavanaugh. The other would be Nathaniel Rollins, his broken nose, and his orchestra. They got out of the car and came toward Amanda Lee's house.

I let the blinds fall closed. "Shit," I said, the adrenaline rising.

"What is it?" Kerry asked, intent but quiet.

"I'm sorry, Kerry, the situation's changed," I told her. "Rollins and Cavanaugh are on their way in. Probably wondering why they haven't been paid yet," I added, with a little eye dig at Amanda Lee.

She blanched, the first unmistakably genuine sign of fear I'd seen her exhibit.

Richard had already flattened himself against the wall by the front door, the big Webley appearing in his hand as if conjured there. He looked at me and said, "Are you armed?"

I shook my head with a helpless shrug.

He scowled, and motioned for Amanda Lee to come to the door, just as there was a pounding at it. "Joan, open up!" called a voice. Cavanaugh, I guessed.

Kerry Weaver took Lee's arm and steered her toward the door. She didn't resist. "What do you want?" she asked, without touching the knob.

"You know damn well what we want! Where's the money?!" he shot back.

Amanda gave him the flustered housewife voice. "I-I don't know what you mean..."

"Hell you don't! We had a deal, and now there's no money in the accounts! What are you trying to pull?!" It was Cavanaugh doing all the yelling. I hadn't heard Rollins say anything.

Richard nodded at her to open the door.

Lee unlocked the door, letting Cavanaugh storm inside. He still wore the same blazer and slacks, but no tie. He slammed the door shut behind him before he noticed Amanda Lee wasn't alone. "What the hell-?!"

Richard leveled the Webley by his ear, his face as calm and personable as if he were proffering a business card.

Where was Rollins?

Cavanaugh took in the situation at a glance, surprise giving way to white-hot hatred. "You sold us out, you two-timing whore," he hissed.

"Ah-ah!" Richard tapped him in the temple with the Webley's barrel. "Language, laddie-buck. There are ladies present."

I could swear I saw two men in the car.

"I told you, no improvising," Amanda snapped at him, "Certainly no killing!"

"Is this how you treat your partners, you crazy bitch?"

I was thinking: back at the hotel, when they blindsided me... classic misdirection strategy... I turned to go check if the house had a back door...

"I...AM NOT...CRAZY...!" Amanda Lee grated, through clenched teeth. She radiated fury.

I had nearly made it across the living room, toward the back of the house, when Nathaniel Rollins came out of the hallway, leading with the barrel of a twelve-gauge shotgun capable of turning me into great green gobs of greasy, grimy gumshoe guts.

Nobody except Cavanaugh had seen him yet, as their backs were turned. He was just coming around the corner and he hadn't seen me yet, either, but he was already tracking the shotgun toward us.

I lunged for him, but it was like one of those dreams where you try to run away from the monsters, and your legs seem to be mired in mud.

The shotgun barrel traced across Richard Wintergreen...Amanda Lee...Kerry Weaver...

I yelled, "RICHARD!!"

The shotgun boomed.

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