“Stop fighting me! Just listen—”
She broke away from him and ran toward her car. He caught up to her, grabbed her arm. She spun around, swung at him, hitting him in the side of the neck.
Surprised, he released her. She lost her balance, fell forward. As if in slow motion he saw her head hit the ground with a horrible crack.
Billy Ray realized he was crying. Blubbering like a baby. “I loved her. I’d never hurt her. Never lay a hand on her!”
“But you did hurt her. You did lay a hand on her.”
“I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what to do! You have to understand! She was acting crazy. Irrational. All I wanted to do is stop her, make her listen to me. To understand.”
“This ring is the proof. Just like the other trophies are. The ones you wanted the sheriff’s detectives to find. It’s why you were so desperate to get a search warrant.”
Understand. She had to understand.
“It’s how you’ve always known the bodies were all buried at Abbott Farm. Because you buried them there.”
He blinked again. The tears mixed with his sweat, stinging. He swiped at them. What was she talking about? It was Abbott. It’d always been Abbott.
“This ring is proof of what you did, Billy Ray. You took it as a trophy, didn’t you?”
“A trophy?” He shook his head. “She wasn’t his anymore. So I took it and put mine on her finger.”
She took a step backward. “You’re insane.”
“Give me the ring.”
“No.” She took another step back. “I’m going to the sheriff’s office with it. And you’re going to jail. Where you belong.”
“I can’t let you do that, Stephanie.” He got to his feet, reaching for his sidearm.
It wasn’t there.
He’d removed his holster, he remembered. When he’d gotten home. Dropped it onto the couch, then stopped, gaze on the loaded Glock, picturing himself slipping the gun from its holster, pressing the barrel to his temple and pulling the trigger.
Stephanie had seen the gun, when she’d come in.
He saw it in her expression.
She turned and ran at the exact moment he lunged. He knocked the table sideways, the whiskey flew, splashing like amber-colored tears on the floor and wall.
She reached the living room before he did. She had her hands on the gun, around the grip. Pointed at him.
“Don’t make me do this, Billy Ray!”
He charged. The sound of the shot rang in his head. The blast reverberated through his body.
He stopped. Brought a hand to his chest. “Give … me … the—” His knees gave. He grabbed the chair for support. It went over, him with it. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling the blood pulsing, gushing from the wound in his chest. His vision dimmed.
True smiled and beckoned him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Friday, April 25
1:50 A.M.
Stephanie sat across from the two sheriff’s detectives. True’s wedding band lay on the table between them. She’d called 9-1-1 and calmly told the operator that she had shot Wholesome Police Chief Billy Ray Williams in self-defense. He was alive and needed medical attention, and requested Detectives Rumsfeld and Carlson by name.
The ambulance had come, as had the detectives. They had taken her into custody. And now, here she sat.
She folded her hands in front of her, surprised with how steady they were.
“Start at the beginning, Ms. Rodriquez.”
“The beginning,” she repeated.
“How you came to be at Chief Williams’s home this evening.”
“Because of the ring. I confronted him about it.”
“You told us it belonged to True Abbott.”
“Yes. I knew because of the inscription. Did you read it?”
“‘My True Love.’”
“Yes.” She lowered her gaze to her folded hands, then returned it to Rumsfeld’s, then Carlson’s. “He had it. So I knew he killed her.”
“True Abbott?”
“Yes.”
Rumsfeld looked at his notes, then back at her. “You say ‘he had it.’ How did you know that?”
“I found it. In his bedroom.”
The two detectives exchanged glances. “You were romantically involved?”
“Once upon a time. I still had a key. I used it this afternoon, to get in.”
“Were you alone?”
“No. Bailey Abbott was with me.”
“To look for the ring?”
She shook her head again. “The box of trophies.”
The detective frowned slightly. “What kind of trophies, Ms. Rodriquez?”
“You know. A killer’s trophies.”
The energy in the room changed. She felt tension. The heightened electricity.
“Maybe you need to back up a little more. I’m confused.”
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “How is Billy Ray? Have you heard?”
“In surgery. You’re a very good shot, Ms. Rodriquez. He’s lucky to be alive.”
“I couldn’t let him get the ring. He wanted to keep me from telling you about it. About what he did.”
“We expect Billy Ray to live, Ms. Rodriquez.”
“Good.” She nodded for emphasis. “He needs to pay for what he’s done. The women he hurt.”
“Women? More than True?”
“All of them.”
“Let’s talk about the box of trophies you mentioned. What made you think he had such a thing?”
“Bailey Abbott told me about it. The day of the accident, my uncle showed it to her.”
Again the exchanged glances. “She’s recovered her memory?”
“Yes. She asked my help getting into Billy Ray’s.”
“She thought the box was there?”
“No. She was certain Billy Ray had planted it, to frame Logan.”
“Why would she think that? Your uncle had the box. It seems to me that would make him look guilty?”
“Because—” She stopped. “It was gone. She looked for it.”
“Anyone could have taken it. Logan, for starters.”
“I caught Billy Ray at my uncle’s. When I arrived he was putting something in his trunk. He told me it was the crime scene tape. He said you’d asked him to take it down. Or he offered.” She brought a hand to her head, bone-numbing fatigue crashing down on her. “But you confirmed he lied about that.”
“What would you say if I told you August Perez killed your uncle?”
“August?” She frowned. “He couldn’t have.”