The Killing Vision

MONDAY, JULY 16

8:45 AM

Joel had been sitting at the table watching Marla on the phone now for thirty minutes. She had been calling and calling, but none of the attorney’s offices were open yet. “Just give it up for a few minutes, Marla,” he told her. “They’ll be in after nine.”

Joel had called into work and told Betsy he and Wade had some family issues going on. She had said little, but he could tell she had not been happy. He left her with the promise he would explain everything when he came in later.

In truth, he felt hung over. He had barely slept, and when the room began to lighten around five, he had climbed on out of bed, exhausted but wired. He had allowed himself one cigarette—the first since Friday—but had stubbed it out before he was halfway done with it.

He could not stop thinking about Wade and the visions he had seen. Most of all he could not get the image from his head of Clifton coming at Wade with the bottle. It made him hurt for his brother, knowing what they had both endured over the years, but it also made him angry as hell that he and Wade had never discussed their abuse, had never tried to get past it. But no matter what the two of them had endured, no matter what else Wade had done, he was no murderer. Joel had seen it. Had felt it.

Beside him, Derek sat with an untouched glass of orange juice. He had been biting his fingernails again, and Joel noticed with a wince that his thumb was bleeding.

What about Derek? Hadn’t he known her as well? Could he have something to do with girl’s disappearance? Evidently, the police didn’t think so. But sometimes the police could overlook obvious clues. Joel steeled himself for what was to come, then placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

Instantly he was met with visions and feelings, mostly about girls and cars, and Derek’s job at the Dairy Queen, which he evidently hated. He saw Derek talking to the girl at the college, one of many he had also seen Wade rolling around with. But there was nothing else. Derek was innocent as well.

Joel removed his hand and felt the pain between his eyes. Sometimes these episodes left him with migraines, and he was afraid he was getting one now.

Marla slammed the phone down and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Damn lawyers,” she muttered. “No one’s answering the phone yet.”

“Just give them time,” Joel said.

She picked up her coffee, then set it back down. “I don’t know why I even care.” Fresh tears spilled down her face. “I should have left him years ago, while I was still young.”

“You don’t mean that,” Joel said, but after what he had seen in Wade’s head yesterday, he knew that she was right.

“He’s been out screwing around on me since we got married. I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, that it was just my imagination. And then, when I knew he was really doing it, I told myself it was just temporary. A phase he was going through. I figured he’d settle down after a while, after he got it all out of his system. I should have known.” She wiped her face with her sleeve. “And now the dumbass has gone and probably killed somebody. I should be surprised, but I’m not.”

Joel rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. Surely his head was going to explode. “He didn’t do it, Marla.”

“How do you know?” she said, and her voice was sharp.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, meeting her gaze evenly. “I just know,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I should just leave his ass in jail. Let him rot in there.”

“You can’t do that,” Joel told her. “He needs you now.” He looked at Derek. “He needs all of us.”

Marla turned her gaze toward the back door to the outside and took a sip of coffee. “It’s just too f*cking bad,” she said. “When all this is over, I’m gone.”

* * *

2:17 PM

Wade opened the bottle of water and took a sip. It had been a rough twenty-four hours. Dragged off to jail in front of his family. Suffering a sleepless night in a cell with a passed-out snoring drunk. Having meals with a bunch of punk kids who thought they were hard asses. Meeting with the attorney for the first time—a balding scrap of a boy with a stained shirt and rampant eczema on his elbows—and finding out he had been denied bail. It was almost too much. He was about ready to do anything to get the f*ck out of here.

Halloran, the detective across the table from him in the interrogation room, shuffled through his notes. Beside him, the younger detective, Chapman, looked at Wade with cold green eyes, and Wade couldn’t help but think his red hair made him look like a big leprechaun. Next to Wade, the fledgling attorney—Wade couldn’t even remember his name—scribbled something in a notebook.

“Now,” Halloran said, “what’s your relationship with Abigail Saunders?”

“I know her,” Wade said, “just like I told you yesterday. I met her and her roommate at the Capitol a couple of weeks ago.”

“Have the two of you had a sexual relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Have you and Miss Mitchell also had a sexual relationship?”

Wade stared at the table, but he had to suppress a slight grin. “Yes.”

“Did you ever threaten either of them?”

Wade blew out a breath. “No.”

Halloran checked his notes. “Police were called to your house two years ago. Remember that?”

Oh, shit here it comes. “Of course I do.” He and Marla had been in one of their many arguments. He had slapped her and she had locked herself in the bedroom and called 911.

“Domestic assault,” Halloran said. “Against your wife.”

“She dropped the charges.”

“But you have a history of violence against women.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” Wade said. “I never went to jail.” He took another sip of water. God, it was hot in this room. “Look me up. I’ve never been in here or any other jail before.”

“We have looked you up, Mr. Roberts,” the red-haired detective said.

“So you know I’m clean.”

Halloran looked at him. “I’m not convinced. I think you killed Abigail Saunders.”

Panic struck him. “No!”

The attorney looked up from scribbling. “You have any proof besides the driver’s license in his truck?”

Halloran looked at the attorney, but didn’t answer him. “It must have really pissed you off to find out you and your son were both interested in the same girl, huh?”

Rage boiled within him. “Leave my son out of this.”

“I think you got so pissed that you killed Miss Saunders and dumped her body someplace.”

The rage was giving way to exasperation. “I swear to God I had nothing to do with her disappearing. I didn’t kill anybody.”

“Where is the body, Mr. Roberts? Did you dump it in the river like the others?”

He felt a jolt and looked up at Halloran. “Others? What others?”

The attorney became rigid. “What the hell are you talking about, Lieutenant?”

Halloran looked from the attorney to Wade and back to the attorney. “We recovered Abigail Saunders’ driver’s license from your truck, but we also found something else. Two hairs. Two blonde hairs.”

Wade looked into Halloran’s eyes and felt horror washing over him.

“Two blonde hairs that were a match to Sarah Jo McElvoy.”

* * *

4:29 PM

Marla sat on the porch in the afternoon sun, staring across the road at the field of corn and feeling the glass of Coke and Captain Morgan cold and wet in her hand. She had done it. She had gone and f*cking done it. And the a*shole had never suspected a thing. He would never have suspected her of all people. No one would have suspected her.

Abby Saunders certainly never suspected anything. Not when she answered her door. Not until Marla asked how long she had been f*cking Wade. She had sputtered some excuses then, saying how she didn’t know he was married, that he had lied to her. That he had lied to her roommate as well.

And that’s when Marla knew the truth. He had been f*cking both those bitches. The rage had taken over then. Abby ran toward the back of the apartment, but Marla caught her just inside the bedroom door and gave her a punch to the head that sent her sprawling into a bedside table. Abby started pleading with her then. Crying and begging her to stop. But Marla could not control herself. Her anger took over. Beside her was an ironing board. The iron sat atop it. Marla grabbed for it and it went flying, striking Abby in the temple. The girl balled up in pain, then got to her hands and knees to crawl away.

But Marla was too strong for her. Instantly she caught Abby’s ankle and shoved her knee into the small of Abby’s back, then threw her full weight on it. The girl cried out, but Marla already had the iron’s cord wrapped around her throat and was pulling tight. Abby was gasping for breath, and her hands flailed behind her head, clawing frantically at the air. Marla pulled tighter. Sweat was pouring down her face from the effort. She couldn’t see Abby’s face, but she kept her eyes on one of the girl’s ears that stuck out through the mass of curly hair. The ear turned bright red, then violet. Gradually, Abby’s struggles became weaker and Marla felt her go limp. She continued to pull on the cord long after she thought the girl was dead. She wanted to be sure.

Finally, she fell back off the body and slumped against the bed, exhausted. She wiped the sweat from her face with the tail of her shirt and untangled her legs from Abby’s. She watched the girl’s back for several minutes before she was convinced she was dead. Then she collapsed on the floor. Her back and shoulders ached, and she rested for a moment to catch her breath and think. And while she lay there, the plan formed in her mind. It was perfect. As long as she didn’t get caught.

She pulled the sheet off the unmade bed and clumsily wrapped it around the body. Abby was solid, and the dead weight was nearly impossible to maneuver, especially in the confined area between the dresser and the bed. When the sheet was tucked around the body, Marla looked around the room and spotted Abby’s purse on a hook behind the door. She pawed through it until she found a brown leather wallet, and she pulled Abby’s license from the holder and stuffed it into her own pocket.

In the darkened living room, she peeked through the curtains to the street below. Night had fallen and the streetlights didn’t reach where she had parked the truck at the back of the apartment lot. She watched the street for a moment. No cars passed, and there were no people to be seen. This was her chance.

In the bedroom, she grabbed Abby’s body by the ankles and dragged it down the hall toward the door to the apartment. She stuck her head out one more time to make sure the street was clear, then pulled the body out onto the small porch and down the wooden steps. Abby’s head knocked against each step on the way down, and for a moment, giddy with nerves, Marla thought she would get the giggles. She took a deep breath and continued down to the gravel lot. At the truck, she lowered the tailgate and hoisted Abby’s legs into the bed. Then she grabbed the body under the arms and shoved with all her strength. For a moment she thought her legs would buckle, but she managed to find an extra burst of energy and lift the rest of the body. The sheet had come loose and Abby’s hair splayed out across the bed of the truck. Marla climbed up and wrapped the body tighter, then covered it with some of the junk in the pickup’s bed. She took a seat on the wheel well and looked at her work. It would be good enough to get out of town, anyway.

She closed the tailgate as quietly as she could, then climbed into the cab. Her hands had begun to shake, but that was from exhaustion. Her mind was calm and clear. She could do this.

She started the truck and backed out of the drive before she turned on the lights, then she headed down the street toward the intersection that would lead her out of the city limits. She watched the body in the rear-view mirror. The junk kept the sheet in place, but she would not breathe easy until she was completely away from the street lights.

At the intersection she had just started to make the turn when the light turned from yellow to red. She almost ran it, but then she caught sight of a police car in the lot of the Hardee’s across the street, and she slammed on the brakes. She heard the junk in the bed shift, and her eyes instantly went to the rear-view mirror. With sudden horror, she realized Abby’s hair was again visible under the edge of the sheet. She glanced back across the street. The cop car hadn’t moved. The driver of the white Grand Am beside her was keeping his eyes on the light. She took a deep breath and gripped the wheel tighter.

The light finally changed, and she made the turn onto the highway toward the darkness at the edge of the city. After a mile or so, the streetlights ended, and she relaxed a little. Ahead was a turnoff onto a dirt lane that wound back into the woods. The road was easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. She slowed and turned off the highway. The thick growth of trees crowded her from both sides and the ruts in the road jarred the truck like an earthquake. She hadn’t been back here in years, not since she and Wade came back here to mess around before they were married, but it hadn’t changed much.

When she had gone about half a mile, she stopped the truck and climbed out into the heavy night air. The drone of insects blocked all the noise from the highway, and somewhere an owl hooted. It was black as a cave back here, and she stumbled through the tall weeds and undergrowth toward the back of the truck. She opened the tailgate and grabbed the body under the arms. Pulling Abby out was a hell of a lot easier than putting her in, but it was still exhausting.

When the body was on the ground, she rolled it over toward the tree line. Close by were some dead limbs and brush. In the eerie red glow from the taillights, she gathered what loose branches she could and laid them over the crumpled form. When she was satisfied, she shut the tailgate and climbed back into the truck.

At the highway, she turned back toward town. God, she needed a drink, and she wasn’t ready to face whatever might be waiting for her at home. On an impulse she wheeled into the lot of O’Connell’s Tavern, turned off the engine, and watched the cars in the lot. It was still early, and the rough crowd was at least two hours from showing up.

She grabbed her purse, stepped out of the truck, and entered the bar. Some Trace Adkins song was blaring and everyone seemed preoccupied with conversation. No one looked at her. She headed down a narrow hall to the women’s restroom, stepped inside and locked the door.

A stranger stared back at her in the mirror. Her hair was sweaty and tangled and her face was smudged with dirt from the branches in the woods. She quickly washed her face in the sink and patted it dry with some paper towels, then brushed the loose dirt from her shirt; it was dark blue, so it didn’t appear too dirty. She ran a brush through her hair and took a deep breath. She at least looked presentable now.

Back at the bar, she ordered a rum and Coke and surveyed the crowd. Good old boys and rough women, all talking loud, laughing, having fun. She took a long sip of her drink and felt the coolness trickle down her throat.

“Don’t remember seeing you around here before,” a voice drawled next to her.

She turned and was staring into the intense blue eyes of a stubbled masculine face. Short brown hair peeked from beneath his ball cap, and his t-shirt clung so tightly to his frame she could see the outline of his chiseled chest. He was smiling at her. She smiled back. “I don’t come here much,” she said, and took another sip of her rum and Coke.

“Yeah, I think I’d remember you,” he said.

She realized he was flirting with her, and she felt a surge of adrenaline, like lightning through her body. She could have him, she thought. She could take him outside to the truck right now and climb on top of him in the seat and go at it. And maybe when she was done with him, she’d come back inside and grab another guy. And then she would go home and tell Wade all about it. Wouldn’t that just be fitting?

Instead, she drained her glass, paid for her drink and left without another word. Right now she just wanted to get home and stand in a hot shower.

She drove back the way she had come, past the hidden dirt lane, and turned up the road to home. She saw that Derek was already home, and she was surprised when she looked at the clock on the dash. She had been gone almost six hours.

She stepped out of the truck, suddenly wobbly from exhaustion and the rum, and was just about to head into the house when she remembered Abby’s license in her pocket. She pulled it out, rubbed both sides of it with her shirt and flicked it into the darkness under the seat. Let the bastard explain that one.

And now she stretched in the sun, feeling the warmth deep in her muscles, and closed her eyes. Tonight she just might head back to O’Connell’s. She might find the guy in the ball cap. And this time she wouldn’t run away.

* * *

4:45 PM

Joel had just pulled up to the stoplight when his cellphone rang. He looked at the screen and felt a rush when he saw Dana’s name. “Hey, girl.”

“How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know. Okay, I guess.”

“What’s new with Wade?”

He filled her in with what he knew regarding Wade being denied bail. “I think something else is going on, though,” he said. “I don’t believe Marla’s told me everything.”

“Why would she keep anything from you?”

“I don’t know.” Truth was, he wondered if Marla was involved somehow with the girl’s disappearance. He had seen how Wade treated her, and if she had the chance to even the score, he thought she might take it. “I’m on my way home right now. I’m going to stop by there and see if she heard anything else from the attorney today. I know this has all got to be a big misunderstanding.”

“Why don’t you let me fix dinner for you tonight?”

He smiled. The traffic light turned green, and he pulled on through the intersection. “That’s awfully sweet of you,” he said. “What time do you want me?”

“Why don’t I come over to your place?” she said. “I’ll bring all the stuff and fix it there.”

“Sounds good.”

“You like spaghetti?”

“This is sounding better all the time,” he said.

“I’ll try to be there about six-thirty.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He hung up the phone stared at the road ahead. He could feel the silly grin that was plastered to his face. He imagined what he looked like to other drivers and that made him laugh. Tonight would be just what he needed to get his mind off everything else.

* * *

5:03 PM

Halloran leaned back in his chair, blew out a breath and closed his eyes. Tomorrow they would formally charge Wade Roberts in connection with Abigail Saunders’ disappearance and the murder of Sarah Jo McElvoy. Even though most of their evidence was circumstantial, Halloran was sure they could get a conviction. They had not even told Roberts yet; the plan was to meet with him and his attorney, then hold a press conference and make the announcement.

It had been a godawful couple of weeks. No one in the department had slept much since Sarah Jo’s body had been discovered, and now that they were all seeing some light at the end of the tunnel, a sense of relief had swept through the office. People seemed a little happier, a little friendlier. It was almost like Christmas.

“Taking a nap?”

Halloran opened his eyes. Chapman stood in the doorway with a smirk on his freckled face. “I could sleep for two weeks,” Halloran said.

“I know what you mean,” Chapman told him.

Halloran rubbed his eyes. “I really hope this is the end of it. The only thing that would make this any sweeter would be a full confession.”

“Don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Chapman said.

“You’re probably right.”

“Hey, how about you come over to our house for dinner tonight?”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” Chapman said. “I’ll call Sheri and tell her you’re coming over. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Honestly, all Halloran really wanted to do was go home, strip down to his boxers, and relax in front of the television with his cat and a cold Bud Light. But he hated to turn down any invitation for a free home-cooked meal. “Okay, you twisted my arm.”

Chapman gave him a wide grin. “Great. You head on over there, and I’ll call Sheri and tell her to meet you at the front door with a monster margarita.”

Halloran laughed. “Just a beer will do.”

* * *

5:10 PM

Joel pulled the cable truck into Wade’s driveway and immediately knew something was different. Marla was sprawled in a lawn chair on the porch, and you didn’t have to be psychic to know she had been drinking. Her eyes were glassy and unfocussed, and her face was colored with a flush Joel knew wasn’t sunburn. “What’s up?” he said, sliding out of the truck.

“Not a goddamned thing,” Marla said, and Joel winced at her slurred speech. “How’s my favorite brother-in-law?”

“Any more news from Wade?” Joel asked. “You talk to the attorney again today?”

“No.” She turned up her glass and Joel caught the strong whiff of alcohol. Marla had evidently been at this for a long while.

“Did you try to call him?”

“What for? I’m sure he’ll call if he knows anything.”

Joel shrugged. “Okay, whatever.” He turned to go. “Well, let me know if you hear anything else.”

“Hey, Joel,” Marla said, “when all this is over, we should go on a trip. You and me and Derek. All three of us.”

“Sure.”

“We should go to Disney World. I always wanted to take Derek to Disney World.”

“Whatever you want.”

“We’d have a real good time,” she said. She reached over and grabbed his arm.

And suddenly he saw it all. He saw the struggle with Abby, Marla strangling her with the iron cord, then dumping her on a secluded road. He saw the years of beatings and verbal lashings from Wade, the brutality and cruelty, and he knew his fear was real. She had set Wade up. Had wanted to see him punished. And she had done it the only way that would keep him from retaliating against her. And she was proud of it. She had used Wade’s own indiscretions against him.

He backed off from her, staring at her. He was sure his face gave away what he knew, but Marla was too drunk to notice. “I’ve got to go,” he managed to sputter. He whirled around and headed to the truck.

Inside the cab, he pulled Halloran’s card from his wallet and dialed the police station with shaking fingers. But the call was answered by Chapman, and Joel remembered he was the younger detective he had seen yesterday. “Is the lieutenant in?” Joel asked.

“Already gone for the day,” Chapman said. “Anything I can do for you?”

“This is Joel Roberts. I’ve got some. . . information about my brother’s case. It’s urgent. I need to talk to him.”

“Tell you what,” Chapman said, “I’m getting ready to leave here myself. How about I just swing by your place on my way home and talk to you there?”

“Sure,” Joel said. Talking to Chapman surely would be just as good as talking to Halloran.

* * *

5:37 PM

Halloran pulled into the drive at Chapman’s modest brick house. Even though the grass needed to be mowed and a couple of toys littered the lawn, the place looked comfortable and homey. He thought of his tiny apartment across town, with no one waiting there for him but Mel, and he suddenly felt old and worn-out. He knew he was just tired. After tomorrow he would finally be able to get some rest.

Sheri met him at the door before he could even ring the bell. “Come on in,” she said, and stepped back to let him enter. She was blond and petite and moved with the grace of a pixie.

Halloran sniffed the air. “Something smells good.”

“Enchiladas,” she said.

He looked about for Chapman’s daughter. “Where’s Isabel?”

“Taking a nap,” Sheri said. “She’ll probably wake up just in time to be cranky for dinner.”

Halloran followed her into the kitchen. “Hope you don’t mind me coming over like this.”

“Not a problem,” Sheri said. She stirred the rice on the stove. “I’m used to John bringing home strays.” They laughed, and then she whirled around. “Oh, I forgot. He just called and said he’s going to be a little while. Said he would tell you about it when he got here.” She opened the fridge. “You want a beer? You can relax for a while in the den until dinner’s ready.”

“Sounds great, thanks.” He smiled. Sheri certainly knew how to take care of a man.

* * *

5:57 PM

Joel opened the door just as the detective stepped up onto the porch. “Saw your car pull in,” he said. “Thanks for coming out here.”

“My pleasure,” Chapman said. He stepped into the kitchen and looked around.

Joel had been tidying up since he got home, preparing for Dana, so at least the place didn’t look too bad. He motioned toward the table. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Chapman slid into a chair and pulled out a small memo pad.

“Would you like something to drink?” Joel asked. “Coke or water or anything?”

Chapman licked his lips. “I’d love some water if it’s not too much trouble.”

Joel pulled two bottles from the fridge and offered one to Chapman. “I never drink the tap water,” he said. “When I was growing up we had well water, and it was good and sweet. Then when the county came along and put in lines, the water always had a funny taste after that.”

Chapman unscrewed the cap and drank thirstily. “Oh, that’s great,” he said. “Been dry all day.” He set the bottle down and pulled a pen from his jacket pocket. “So what did you need to talk with us about?”

Joel hesitated. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about this without sounding crazy. “It’s my sister-in-law,” he said. “I think she had something to do with that Saunders girl’s disappearance.”

Chapman’s expression became puzzled. “What makes you think that?”

This was where Joel had no idea what to say. He could tell the truth and risk being thought of as a nut, a hindrance to law enforcement. Or he could lie. And even if he lied, he would still be doing the right thing in the end. Right? He looked at Chapman. “She told me,” he said.

Chapman stared at him for a moment. “She told you? What did she say?”

Joel looked at the table. “She said she did it. She killed her.”

For a second, Chapman didn’t move. He sat with his mouth open, pinching his bottom lip. He shook his head and reached for his water. Instead of grabbing it, he grazed it with his knuckles, and the bottle tipped over. Water flowed over the table. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Chapman said, rising from his seat.

“I got it,” Joel said. He grabbed some paper towels and began to blot the puddle.

“Here, I’ll help,” Chapman said. He reached for the paper towels and brushed his hand against Joel’s arm.

* * *

6:10 PM

Halloran sat in Chapman’s den, sipping his beer and flipping through the television stations. God, he hated TV. He stopped on the news—the channel out of Springfield. They’d have a big top story tomorrow. He looked at the anchor, Randy Webber, with his blow-dried hair and shit-eating smile and felt sickened at the thought of him delivering that news with unseemly excitement.

He stood and wandered over to the shelves on the back wall. The bottom was full of board books for Isabel, and he laughed as he saw a couple of Cheerios wedged between the covers. There was a set of encyclopedias—no doubt John’s or Sheri’s from high school. And someone really liked Stephen King. Hardbacks. They were book club editions, but hardbacks just the same.

He had just taken another sip of beer and turned back toward the television when something in the corner between the bookshelf and the paneled wall caught his eye. A black case with a silver latch. He pulled it out and opened it and suddenly the beer was like acid in his stomach. He was staring at a clarinet. And even before he looked at the nametag, he knew what he would see.

Sarah Jo McElvoy.

He pulled his phone from his pocket to call the station. He had to know where Chapman had gone.

* * *

6:17 PM

Joel pulled his hand back.

It was as if he had plunged his arm into a mass of writhing, slimy worms. And worse was what he had seen. The girls—Sarah Jo McElvoy. Carmelita Santos. Another named Brittany. He backed away from the table, not wanting to meet Chapman’s eyes.

“Mr. Roberts?” Chapman said, and his voice seemed far away. “What’s wrong?”

Joel looked at him then. His eyes were so green. So innocent. Surely he was wrong. This had to be a mistake. Maybe it was leftover from where Chapman had touched someone else. But deep down he knew. It was the truth. He continued to back away. And before he could stop himself, before the reasoning part of his brain could take over, he blurted out, “You killed them.”

Chapman froze. “What did you say?”

Joel didn’t move. He continued to stare at Chapman. He realized Chapman’s eyes didn’t look innocent at all. They had suddenly become cold and dark. Joel took another step back and felt the counter against the small of his back. He was cornered.

Chapman kept his gaze steady as he reached inside his suit jacket and brought out his gun. He pointed it at Joel. “Tell me again what you said.”

Joel’s mouth was dry as sand. “I said. . . you killed them.”

Chapman moved around the table and took a step toward Joel. “Killed who?”

“Those girls. You did, didn’t you? You murdered them.”

Chapman shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You killed them. You strangled them. Then you froze them. Then you dumped them in the river.”

Chapman was closer now. He leveled his gun at Joel’s chest. His voice was a whisper. “How do you know that? Who have you been talking to?”

The back door swung open and Dana called out, “Joel?”

Chapman turned toward the sound.

Joel flew at him, grabbing for him, but Chapman was too quick. He sidestepped out of the way, and Joel crashed to the floor. And before Joel could utter a sound, Chapman had Dana’s arm and the gun pointed at her. She screamed, dropping her bags and scattering tomatoes and cans across the floor.

She looked at Joel, her eyes round and scared. “What’s going on?”

Joel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dana.”

“Your boyfriend knows a lot,” Chapman said. “I don’t know how, but he knows too much for his own good.” He pulled Dana toward the door. “We’re going for a little ride.”

Dana grabbed for the door frame as Joel struggled to his feet. “Joel!”

Chapman turned and fired, shattering the window over the sink, and Joel ducked back to the floor.

“Joel!” Dana screamed again, but Chapman had already dragged her out to the back porch.

Joel grabbed a chair to pull himself up with, and that was when he saw the blood on his shoulder. Suddenly numb with fear, he touched the torn red-soaked sleeve and felt the raw flesh where Chapman’s bullet had grazed him. It was the jolt he needed to get to his feet and lunge for the door.

Just as he crossed the kitchen, a dark sedan and two patrol cars wheeled into the drive. Chapman and Dana stood with their backs to him on the steps, facing Halloran and the other cops as they emerged.

Halloran raised his hands. “John! I found Sarah Jo’s clarinet. What the f*ck? What the f*ck!”

The other officers had taken positions behind their open doors. All of them had their weapons pointed at Chapman and Dana.

Halloran continued to move toward the house. “Why? I don’t understand. How could you do it? How could you kill them?”

Chapman shook his head. “Why does anyone do anything?”

“I trusted you,” Halloran said. “You lied to me. You planted evidence. You tried to frame innocent people.”

“It was all so easy to do. No one stopped me. No one asked any questions. Not even you. Not even Sheri. She never once wanted to know what I was doing out in the shed behind the house. Never.”

Halloran took another step closer and Chapman shoved the gun to Dana’s head. Dana was whimpering, and the fact that Joel couldn’t see her face made it worse. “Don’t come any closer,” Chapman said. “I’ll kill her.”

Halloran blew out a breath. “How do you think this is going to end, John? It’s over. Give it up.”

Just at that moment, Joel locked glances with Halloran, and Halloran looked away. Had Chapman noticed? If so, he gave no indication.

Barry’s words echoed through Joel’s head: Tackle him.

But Chapman held a tight grip around Dana’s neck. Surely if Joel grabbed him now the three of them would plunge off the porch and break Dana’s neck. Or Chapman’s gun would go off.

Even if you think it’s too dangerous. Do it anyway.

Joel slipped through the door, keeping his eyes on the back of Chapman’s head.

Halloran raised his hands again. “Let her go, John.”

“Back off, Mike,” Chapman said.

“Let her go and I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of the electric chair. I’ll testify you were sick. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I knew what I was doing,” Chapman said. “Every time.”

Chapman had moved slightly away from Dana and Joel saw his grip loosen.

You’ll know when.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Joel launched himself at Chapman and Dana. He grabbed the smaller man around the waist and the three of them plummeted off the steps to the ground below. Joel felt something pop in his shoulder as they hit.

The cops were on them at once. Chapman was gasping; the landing had knocked the wind out of him. Two officers had him cuffed in seconds and were leading him back to one of the patrol cars.

Instantly, Dana was beside him. “Joel! Oh, my god, are you all right?”

He realized she was touching him and he saw that everything else within her was silenced by her concern for him. He managed a smile. “I’ll be okay.”

Halloran squatted in front of them. “Mr. Roberts, that was either very stupid or very brave, I’m not sure which.”

Joel laughed. “A little of both, I think.”

Halloran gave him an approving nod. “In any event, thank you.” He stood and glanced over his shoulder at the activity behind him. “You two sit tight. We’ll have an ambulance here shortly.” He headed back toward the patrol car where Chapman sat in the back seat like a statue.

“My God, Joel,” Dana said, looking at him. “You’re bleeding!”

“I think I got shot when he was taking you out,” he said. The swirling lights on the police cars were starting to nauseate him. He rested his forehead against his knee. Everything was starting to spin.

She touched his shoulder gently, and her eyes were soft and round with worry. “Oh, my God, Joel,” she said again, whispering this time.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told her. And everything went black.