Douglas Knox sat alone in his home. For the first time in years, he’d turned his chair toward the windows and stared out at the still waters of the lake. The full moon dripped light over water so peaceful and so serene. It would be easy to believe this was a place of goodness.
He glanced in his lap at the revolver. Lifting it, he clicked open the chamber and made sure it was fully loaded. He snapped it closed and cradled it close to his chest as he glanced at the note he’d written. The quickly scrawled words were paltry. I’m sorry. I should have done more.
The creak of floorboards had him turning. Death stood silhouetted in the hallway. He came more and more often these days. Knox had been afraid at first but not so much anymore.
“What are you doing here?” Knox asked.
“Came to check on you. You didn’t look so good the other day. I worry about you.”
Knox coughed. “I never look good. I’m dying.”
Death knelt beside his chair and carefully took the gun and inspected it. “I heard.”
Knox stared at Death, wishing he’d end it all for him now. To do what he didn’t have the courage to do. “News travels fast.”
“Small town.”
“What do you want?”
Death opened the revolver’s chamber, then clicked it closed. “What did you give Sharp?”
“I gave him the files I collected during my investigation of his sister’s death.”
“Why?”
Knox leaned closer, staring into Death’s cold eyes. “The guy is smart. He’ll figure out what happened to Kara.”
Death rose, tucked the gun in his waistband, and sat beside Knox. He pulled a syringe from his coat pocket. Gently, he pushed up Knox’s sleeve and searched for a vein.
“What are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing. I’m giving you your freedom.”
Knox’s heart kicked up a notch as he thought about dying. He’d been too afraid to live all these years and oddly was now afraid of letting go.
Weak thin blue veins threaded up his arms, which Death poked and prodded. Finally, Death found one vein plump enough to work.
“I let you down,” Knox said.
“You didn’t.”
Knox let his head drop back against his chair. “I tried to help you, but everything I did for you failed.”
“Time to release all those thoughts.”
He wanted release, but didn’t have the courage to do it himself. He was tired. And ready to face whatever fate his maker had planned for him.
Death slid the needle into Knox’s arm with such tenderness, he barely felt more than a slight pinch. Slowly, Death pushed the plunger until the warmth spread through his old body, giving him a temporary boost.
“Thank you,” Knox said.
Death patted him on the arm. “We’ve known each other a long time. We’ve got to look out for each other.”
Knox’s vision blurred. And seconds later, he stopped breathing.
It took Sharp less than a half hour to reach the lakefront community north of Richmond. He showed his badge at the security entrance to the development and drove up to the lake house. It was a massive home full of windows and wide porches to take maximum advantage of the view. Roger once had a friend with a home on this lake, and he had brought Kara and his mother up here often. They’d loved it.
He parked in the circular driveway and walked along the brick path to the front door. Sharp knocked, but he didn’t get an answer. He looked under the flowerpot for the key Veronica had mentioned. Inside the house, he flipped on the lights. The house was utterly still, and he sensed no one had been there for months. He did a systematic search of all the rooms, but he did not find any signs that Elena had been here. For a long moment he stood in silence, tapping his finger against his belt.
Back in his car, he called Vargas and confirmed there was no sign of Elena in the house. As he reached the main road, he turned toward Knox’s house.
Time he and the old man had a chat.
He reached the small rancher lit by a single light in the front window. When he approached the front door, he knocked. He tried the doorbell. No sound in the house. “Mr. Knox.”
Silence.
He tried the door and found it unlocked. He opened it. “Mr. Knox!”
The hair on the back of his neck rose. He clicked on a light and drew his weapon. Papers and magazines were stacked high in the hallway. There were dozens of pizza cartons. The place smelled of rot and mold.
He moved slowly, checking left and right as he reached the center room overlooking the lake.
The back of a worn recliner patched in several places with duct tape faced the water. The stacks around the chair had toppled, suggesting the chair had been recently moved.
The air in the room grew heavier, and the worry in the pit of his stomach gnawed like a rat. Bracing, he came around the recliner and found Knox slumped back, a .35 in his lap, clutched loosely in his right hand.
Knox lay in his chair, his jaw slack, his heavily lidded eyes staring blankly into the air. Sharp approached the man and touched fingers to his neck. There was no pulse, but his skin was still warm. He was dead. Next to his body on the cluttered nightstand was a scrawled note. It read, I’m sorry. I should have done more.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sunday, October 9, 7:00 p.m.
Tessa arrived at the home of Douglas Knox along with Jerry in the medical examiner’s van. The residence was lit up with flashing lights from three squad cars.
“This is a lot of cops,” Jerry said.
Tessa grabbed her kit. “He was a chief of police at one time. Always strikes a nerve with cops when one of their own dies.”
“Right.”
Out of the van, Jerry unloaded the stretcher from the bay. Tessa set her kit in the center and pulled on latex gloves, and the two pushed the stretcher toward the front door, where a state police trooper stood.
Tessa held up her identification badge. “Medical examiner’s office.”
He glanced at the tag. “Go on in, Dr. McGowan.”
One step in the front door and she realized it wouldn’t be easy to get past all the stacks and clutter. “Tight fit.”
“I’ve been through worse.”
They edged the stretcher past the piles, at one point catching several stacks of newspapers with the back wheel. In the center room, she saw the forensic tech shooting pictures of a recliner facing the lake.
“Dr. McGowan.” Dakota’s voice cut through her thoughts, making her stand a little straighter.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Agent. I understand this is a possible overdose.”
His gaze held hers a beat. “No signs of trauma on the body, but there’s a note beside it that reads, ‘I’m sorry. I should have done more.’”