There were tears in Chief Brown’s eyes. He patted the top of her head as Ellie knelt at his feet. First, she flattened the socks on her thigh, smoothing each one down. Next, she ran her hand down his flannel pajama leg till she reached his foot, which she pulled gently. He wobbled when she lifted it, but Collin held him tight around his waist so he didn’t fall. Ellie looked at his foot, white and smooth, the same feet her mother used to playfully push off the coffee table, the feet that would turn red when he’d run outside in the snow to grab the paper in the middle of the winter. That was the hardest thing about being her father’s caregiver. It wasn’t the time or the exhaustion; it wasn’t living in Broadlands. It was knowing who Richard Brown used to be, and then to be confronted with the reality of where his life had landed them after the stroke.
Ellie sighed and gently dusted off her father’s sole, dislodging a few embedded pebbles and concrete residue. Without looking, she selected one of the socks from her thigh and wiggled it onto his foot and up his slender calf. She put it down and let his pant leg drop till it hit the floor and then repeated the process with his other foot.
“There you go.” Ellie stood and put her hands on her father’s shoulders. “Be careful where you step, Daddy. It’s dangerous in here.”
“Ah no,” Chief Brown responded, and Ellie translated in her mind. I know. Yeah, no way her father had forgotten this place.
“Ellie, we’re not done yet.” Caleb spoke in his calm, soothing voice. “We need to talk about Steve.”
“You can talk while we walk. I’m not staying in here another minute and, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you are going to hurt any of us, so you can’t stop me.” Ellie slipped her arm around her father’s waist on the opposite side of Collin. Their arms overlapped, and though just twenty-four hours ago she’d woken in his arms, now it felt like she was touching a stranger.
Caleb must have known that he’d have to either muster a violent side or start talking fast. As Ellie and Collin urged her father forward, Caleb stood, wincing in pain when his body weight fully registered as he lifted himself.
“Fine, so Steve has both of the reports now. He took one from your father’s house a few weeks ago. He took Amelia’s keys and somehow got into his safe. Right, Chief, do you remember Steve asking you about the report and the combination for your safe?” Caleb’s voice rose, and he slowed his speech when he talked directly to her father. Chief Brown was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, he didn’t seem to fully comprehend that Caleb was talking to him.
“The safe,” he repeated. “Seven, twenty-two, forty-nine.” Though the numbers were difficult to make out, they soon clicked together for Ellie. Her mother’s birthday. Her father had suffered from aphasia as well as several other speech disorders since the stroke, not to mention the vascular dementia, but this . . . these numbers in the right order and with such deep meaning, it made her want to look in her father’s eyes and ask, Are you in there, Daddy?
“Yes, you told that to Steve, didn’t you, Chief? Do you remember what happened here with Steve?” At first, Chief Brown shook his head back and forth in broad strokes like he had to think extra hard about each action, but then he paused and his feet stopped their forward momentum. He looked Caleb right in the eye.
“You . . . ,” he managed to get out, the word coming out thick and dropping off before he finished the vowel sounds. “You killed . . .” Ellie could feel the anger building in her father. He never used to be an angry man, but anytime he was frustrated or confused, anger now seemed to be his default emotion. Now she had a good barometer for his risk of explosion.
“Shhh . . . Daddy . . . it’s okay. Keep walking.” Ellie tried to calm her father and get him moving again. “Back off, Caleb. How about you turn yourself in and I’ll get you your precious reports.” As she said the words, it all fell together. The robbery wasn’t about money for Caleb. It was about getting the report and, simultaneously, freedom.
For a fraction of a second, Ellie felt bad for Caleb and the guilt he must have lived with every day, but then when she thought about how another one of his stupid decisions caused another death and two serious injuries, she wanted to scream. If Steve or her father had done the right thing years ago and turned Caleb in . . . none of this would’ve happened. It was hard to be furious at the shell of a man her father had become. It was almost like he was suffering from his own punishment each torturous day of his life. Goodness knew that Steve had plenty to answer for, but ultimately, according to the law, the guilt for a death in a fire always lay with the one who set it. And that was Caleb.
“You selfish son of a bitch.” Ellie swatted at Caleb, wishing she had both her hands free. “Leave us alone. Haven’t you already hurt enough of my family? God. Just let us go.” She shoved his shoulder as hard as she could, finally close enough to touch him.
“ELLIE!” Collin shouted, and tried to reach across Chief Brown to stop her assault on his brother. “He’s trying to help . . .” But Collin couldn’t finish his thought. A loud pounding from the doorway they were headed toward echoed through the basement, and Ellie swore she could hear cracks erupting all around her.
“Police, demand entry!”
“HELP!” Ellie screamed. “He’s in here!”
Within seconds, the plywood exploded backward, and two officers with guns drawn rushed through the door and split up as they ran along opposite walls. Collin covered his face with his arms, but Caleb stood perfectly still, as if he’d been expecting the intrusion.
“Hands up,” the voice continued, and immediately she knew who was behind the SWAT gear. She’d been waiting for him since she pressed Send on that text message, and if she was honest, she’d nearly given up hope. But now she felt a weight lift nearly immediately, and instead of being scared of the yelling officers, Ellie was relieved because Travis was finally here.
CHAPTER 36
AMELIA
Tuesday, May 10
“Caleb!” Amelia screamed, wanting to run to him. If he responded, she never heard it because a loud crack turned all sound into static, and then a hot searing pain in her shoulder let her know that sound . . . was a gunshot. Shock overriding the pain of the wound, Amelia covered the burning spot with the heel of her palm and slumped back against the door when another devastating blow hit her stomach like someone had shoved something hot and hard through her belly button.
This time there was no shocked calm. She fell to her knees and then hard onto her side, her other arm wrapped around her midsection as though she were trying to keep in the warm gush of blood that ran down the front of her shirt and soaked into the thirsty fabric of her jeans.
As the light in the room started to flicker like someone was covering and uncovering her eyes, she heard one more shot. She flinched and waited for more pain, more blood, wishing she could move or hide, but instead she heard a man groan and then a thump across the room.
“You weren’t supposed to really shoot her.” It was Steve’s voice. He sounded far away, down a tunnel or a hallway. She wanted to call out, maybe he could help her, but then she remembered—he wanted this.