Free The Impaler by Gregory Funaro Page A

tobacco fields had been barren and brown for a long time now, Edmund was glad his grandfather never caved in and sold the farm.
    For now Edmund understood why.
    He had lived with his grandfather all his life, but the house had only officially become his when he returned from Iraq, after his grandfather died and left him everything. That had been over two years ago now, but even then Edmund had understood that the timing was no accident.
    It was just part of the equation. Everything connected.
    And once he was safely past the stone pillars at the foot of his driveway Edmund Lambert was the General again.
    He cut off the pickup’s headlights. He liked to return home this way—the crumbling silhouettes of the old tobacco sheds passing by him like a grim honor guard as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He parked the truck by the front porch and stepped out—took a deep breath and headed for the field behind the old horse barn. There hadn’t been horses in the barn for almost fifty years—only his van and his chin-up bar now.
    The General wandered out to the middle of the field andstopped—the moonlight, a wrinkled blanket of silver beneath his feet; the stars, a bag of scattered diamonds above his head. It hurt his neck to look at them tonight. He was tired, but anxious, too; felt that the crews and the building of the trap during the past few days had put him behind schedule. And then there were all the technical rehearsals coming this weekend. True, he’d called in sick a couple of days the week before—that had given him ample opportunity to take care of the lawyer—but little time to figure out who was to be next. Of course, the Prince wanted him to rest, but still …
    Sighing, the General walked back to the house. Once inside he turned off the alarm and immediately reset it to STAY/ INSTANT. He’d had the alarm installed after his grandfather’s death just in case anyone should ever come snooping while he was busy in the cellar. But no one ever came snooping anymore. No relatives, no friends, no more men from Big Tobacco offering to buy the farm.
    Then again, that was all part of the equation, too.
    He took off his shirt in the front hall and smelled his armpits. He needed a shower, needed to wash off the residue of his day-life before got into bed. If the Prince wanted him to sleep, then he would sleep as the General
    The General finished undressing in the upstairs bathroom and turned on the shower. He stared at himself for a long time in the full-length mirror until the steam billowed out from behind the curtain and made his reflection disappear. He understood the message—knew that he had watched himself become smoke, become spirit.
    The General smiled and stepped into the shower.
    He stood there for a long time staring down at his chest, watching with the eyes of a child as the scalding hot water reddened his flesh.

Chapter 9

    Tonight had to be about Donovan and only Donovan. But as he drove away from the lawyer’s house in Cary, Markham felt the beginnings of what was sure to be a splitting headache. He was tired, but knew the pressure behind his eyes was coming from his impatience to know right away how the victims were connected.
    Donovan’s wife and two children were staying with relatives. Schaap got him a key and squared it with the local authorities so he could have the place to himself. But after two hours of walking the property, of sorting through the family’s belongings and sitting with his feet up on the desk in the lawyer’s lavish home office, he’d left feeling cold and empty. Nothing had spoken to him. Nothing at all.
    Of course there were a lot of people who would’ve liked to have seen Randall Donovan dead. But how was the lawyer connected to Rodriguez and Guerrera?
    Only Vlad knew for sure.
    Without the connection to the Colombian cartels tying the victims together, the killings could almost be seen as random. But Markham knew in his gut that Vlad’s victimshad been chosen because