by Alex Kava
“It doesn’t usually work with random shooting sprees like this.”
“Have you been listening to me at all, Pakula? I’m telling you this wasn’t random.”
“You sure you don’t want a black and white checking on you?”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, if it is Barnett he’s not going to have much time to be following me in the next few days, is he? I’m a little worried about Emily. Vince said something this morning about me looking for a man in the shadows and Emily overheard. Now she’s worried about a shadow man watching our house.”
“And now you think he might have been watching your house?”
“I don’t know. Emily’s imaginary friend, Bitsy, saw someone.” She meant it as a joke but she could see from Pakula’s frown that he didn’t get it.
“Her imaginary friend?”
“Oh, yeah, didn’t I tell you about that? Ever since we moved in, Emily has had this imaginary friend who seems to be all knowing. You’ve got four daughters, Pakula, did any of them have imaginary friends?”
“I wish their friends were imaginary. Angie’s dating a kid who has so many body piercings he looks like a fucking pincushion.” He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck as if reminded of a tension in his muscles. Grace noticed his eyes, though, were still taking everything in. For a brief moment she wondered how a daughter of Pakula’s thought she could get anything by him. And just when she thought his mind had wandered back to the crime scene, he said, “Why the hell would anybody wanna put a hole in his tongue? Wouldn’t that kill your taste buds?”
“It’s supposed to enhance your sex life.”
This time he looked at Grace as if this warranted his full attention. They didn’t usually talk about personal stuff, let alone sex. Whatever they knew about each other’s family and personal life came in short sound bites and offhanded remarks.
“Thanks a lot,” Pakula finally said, but there was no hint of gratitude in his tone, no smile. “That’s just what a father wants to hear, that his daughter’s new boyfriend is enhancing himself for sex.”
Grace laughed. She couldn’t help it. Detective Tommy Pakula was one of the toughest men she knew, yet she could easily imagine him worried sick about his daughters.
Ben Hertz was walking toward them, waiting for a police cruiser to pass. He tapped its trunk with the palm of his hand. Grace recognized the gesture. Hertz was always patting backs, punching shoulders and even tapping hoods and trunks in place of saying “good job.” He waved a piece of paper at Pakula as he joined them.
“You’re gonna love this. Plates are registered to a Dr. Leon Matese. But it’s not a dark blue Saturn. It’s a black BMW. And Dr. Matese has been in L.A. since last Tuesday.”
“Let me guess,” Pakula interrupted him. “His car’s been parked at the airport.”
“Yep, long-term parking lot. And the Saturn—”
“Stolen,” Pakula finished.
“You got it. These boys did some planning. But a Sarpy County deputy sheriff’s in pursuit south on 50.”
CHAPTER 25
6:28 p.m.
Razors sliced her skin. At least that’s what Melanie thought it felt like as she tried to run. If the cornstalks weren’t cutting her they were whipping her face. She held her arms up in front of her but kept losing her balance, her feet stumbling over the mounds of dirt. Jared insisted they not stick to the ditches between the rows but instead run diagonally through the field, so they would stay better hidden. But it was impossible to run, one foot plunging into the indent between the rows while the other foot climbed mounds of dirt.
The stalks were stronger than she expected and closely planted. It was more like trudging through a forest of saplings than a field. She was exhausted, her chest felt as though it would explode, and each gulp of air stabbed as it went in and out of her lungs. Her legs ached now, too, and her arms felt battered and bruised. Her ears were ringing with the sound of the wind, the growing roar of thunder and somewhere the whirl of a helicopter. She expected it to swoop down into the field at any minute. Was it possible that it hadn’t discovered the car yet?
She no longer had any sense of direction, and she wasn’t sure they’d ever find their way out of the field. It seemed endless. And hopeless. It was difficult to determine what was the wind and what was the helicopter. But the thunder—another rumble sent a vibration through her—continued to grow. So did the lightning. The flashes made the rolling black clouds come to life. In between flashes it had become so dark Melanie could barely see Charlie in front of her. They were in a tunnel; a tunnel with whips lashing out and no end in sight.
Suddenly a gust of wind whirled overhead and Melanie found herself falling. Her knees slammed into the dirt. Her flailing arms couldn’t protect her jaw and cheek from scraping down the trunk of a cornstalk, the sharp leaves rubbing her skin raw. Jared fell on top of her, smashing her legs underneath his weight.
“Stay down,” she heard him whisper and felt his elbow or knee in the small of her back as if he was making sure she did as he said.
Melanie ached. He didn’t have to worry about her wanting to go anywhere. She wanted to crawl into a hole and get away from all of this. She hurt all over. Then she realized the whirl of wind above them was the helicopter. She tried to quiet her breathing. With Jared on top of her she had no choice but to stay still. She couldn’t move beneath his weight. The side of her face pressed against the ground, the soil actually cooling the sting on her cheek.
She lay perfectly still, waiting, waiting for the spotlight, waiting for the cornstalks to be separated and flattened, waiting for the whipping sound of blades to descend on top of them. She listened to Jared’s breathing. She could hear his heart banging against her back. She could smell his sweat mixed with the corn and the dirt. Or was it fear she smelled?
Maybe it would be quick. Maybe they would simply riddle their bodies full of bullets. It didn’t matter because any second the banging in her chest would surely explode. It seemed as if the helicopter was directly above them. And yet as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. No spotlight, only the flickers of lightning. No hail of bullets, only thunder.
They laid there for what must have been minutes, but to Melanie it felt like hours. Her face was smashed into the dirt. Her chest ached. She couldn’t breathe. And yet she listened. But there was only the ever-approaching thunder. Even the wind had died down. No gusts, no whirls, only a gentle rustling of the stalks.
“They’re gone,” Jared whispered, shoving himself off her with such force he pushed her deeper into the dirt.
“The lightning,” Charlie said. “I bet they can’t fly in this weather.” He crawled up beside Melanie. She realized he had grabbed his backpack out of the car and was hugging it to his chest, rocking back and forth on his knees. “Do you think they saw us?”
“They had to have seen the car.” Jared was trying to look over the tops of the cornstalks. “It shouldn’t be much farther.”
“Much farther to where?” Melanie wanted to know. “How do you even know where the hell we are?”
“Trust me. And stay close.” Her brother started through the rows again. Melanie and Charlie had to scramble to their feet to catch up with him.
The thunder and lightning took turns now almost in rhythm to Jared’s steps. When they finally stumbled out of the field all Melanie could see in the flickering dark were trees and brush so thick she couldn’t imagine them finding their way in the pitch-black. The field was separated from the forest line by a barbed-wire fence. She could barely see the five strands of wire, but as soon as she reached out she felt a barb prick her finger.
Once again she couldn’t help remembering their mother’s superstitions. It occurred to her that she wouldn’t be surprised at all if hell were sectioned off by barbed wire.
That’s when it started to rain.
CHAPTER 26
7:10 p.m.
Andrew ripped another page from his notebook, crumpled and tossed it at a stack of its comrades
in the corner. One had gotten caught in a spiderweb, dangling in the wind. The spider didn’t seem to mind. It was still there; hardy creature out here in the woods. It would take more than badly written prose to make it evacuate its home.
Andrew sat back, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was pointless. Here was the perfect setting for a psychological suspense thriller with his very own thunder and lightning. What more did he need to get in the mood to create a masterpiece of murder? Maybe he just couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t even blame it on his injured collarbone. Yeah, it hurt like hell when he gripped a pen, but somehow the pain seemed less annoying than the absence of words.
He stared at the lantern’s flame, its light dancing across his page. He had left only a small lamp on in the cabin, not realizing that the storm had brought nightfall much sooner than usual. Actually he had no idea what time it was. But then that was one of the reasons he came here to write. He had always loved the disconnect he felt from the rest of the world.
Below the screened-in porch he could see the lake’s surface glittering in the flash of lightning. The storm had swallowed every last shadow, and everything outside the cabin’s cozy confines was veiled in darkness. Across the lake a single light at the boat dock glowed yellow.
Andrew knew there had to be a dozen cabins tucked back into the woods around the park’s lake. It was just impossible to see any of them at night without their lights on. Up until yesterday they had probably all been occupied, one last getaway. Wasn’t that what Labor Day weekend usually signified for everyone? Everyone, it seemed, except Andrew. His getaway began the day after, and he had been counting on the isolation and seclusion. Yet he always forgot how complete and total the darkness could be out here. The storm only seemed to add another thick blanket of dark and quiet.
He loved the quiet when he was writing, but not when the words wouldn’t come. Not when he felt as if he had to yank them out one by one. Times like this the quiet, the silence, was too much. It was annoying. It made him hear things that he would never have paid attention to before, like the refrigerator’s motor and the gurgle of water in the toilet bowl.
Outside, tree branches creaked and scratched against each other. There had been whippoorwills earlier, calling to each other across the lake, crickets, too, but the steady rumble of thunder had quieted the night creatures. Even the spider stayed put. Andrew realized he couldn’t hear the helicopter anymore, either. For a while, it had been a swirling hum in the distance, but now it, too, was gone. He was completely alone. Not such a bad thing. Not at all like Tommy seemed to think.
He had spent plenty of time alone in the past several years since Nora had left. His choice. He had decided to focus on his new career. He told himself he didn’t miss feeling obligated and then guilty when he didn’t follow through on those obligations. He liked not having to answer to anyone. He needed the freedom to take off and seclude himself for weeks without Nora accusing him of shutting her out. These were the things he told himself.
He had grown up in a house listening to his father and mother argue about anything and everything. He’d shared a bedroom with his older brother, who allowed him two drawers in the dresser they also shared. His younger sister tattled on him whenever she caught him reading in one of his hiding places. He grew up longing for his own space, a piece of privacy. Now he had all he wanted. Why would he ever consider giving that up? And, as much as he missed Nora, he had to admit…God, he hated to admit it but it was true—when she finally left it had been a relief. And he wasn’t even sure why.
Who was he kidding? He knew why. He was afraid of commitment, plain and simple. He was afraid of depending on someone other than himself, of counting on someone and then being let down. He had come to believe that maybe he was meant to be alone. And then Erin Cartlan came along, and suddenly he realized what he was missing in his life—what he truly wanted all along—was standing right in front of him. Right in front of him but miles out of his grasp.
He rubbed his shoulder and readjusted the harness. He stared at the blank notebook page, then glanced back into the cabin. The thunder had begun to change from rumble to cracks and came now as a resounding crash. He hadn’t noticed that the rain had started until he felt a spray of it coming in through the screen.
He stacked his notebooks and file folders on top his laptop and headed inside. Maybe tomorrow would be more productive. There was always tomorrow.
CHAPTER 27
7:25 p.m.
Grace tried to hold the umbrella over her and Emily. The stupid garage remote refused to work. Maybe it was the batteries. Maybe the lightning. Figures it would go on the blink during a thundershower and one of her first attempts to actually use the garage.
She couldn’t keep up with Emily, who raced up the porch steps to the front door as if trying to outrun the next flash of lightning.
“Hurry, Mommy,” she called, just as Grace stepped ankle deep into a puddle. More a hole than a puddle and right in the middle of the front yard.
The house was pitch-black and now Grace wondered if the electricity was out. Vince had programmed timers on several lamps, one downstairs, two upstairs. It was his answer to Grace constantly forgetting to use the security system.
As she unlocked the front door, she glanced around at the rest of the neighborhood. All the streetlights were still lit. She could see a couple of porch lights on, and across the street the reflection of the Rasmussens’ big-screen TV glowed in their front window.
She reached for the first light switch, the one in the entry, and was relieved when it came on. Relieved enough that she decided not to worry about why Vince’s timers hadn’t worked. Maybe there had been an interruption in service. It was an old house. She didn’t want to think about Jared Barnett sneaking around her backyard. It was bad enough that she already had Emily worried about a shadow man. Besides, if Barnett had tried to pull off this bank heist, it was only a matter of time before they caught him. Maybe they already had.
Emily stayed so close to her that Grace could feel her bumping against her leg. Her tough little tomboy wouldn’t admit she was scared, an annoying habit she had picked up from her mother.
“Are you still hungry?” Grace dangled the McDonald’s bags to remind her. She had let Emily talk her into fast-food takeout. Not much of an argument. Grace was a fast-food junkie, too. Another habit she seemed to have passed on to her daughter. But they only exercised it when Vince was away. They both were usually able to hold out longer than the first night of his absence, but it was long past dinnertime and Grace was exhausted, especially after spending almost an hour explaining to Grandma Wenny that everything was fine. Emily had told her about the shadow man, and the old woman’s vivid imagination had gone into overdrive. She had never liked the idea of Grace pursuing a career in law enforcement, following in her father’s footsteps. And so once again she’d lectured Grace to be careful, offering her the Smith & Wesson .38, Grace’s father’s service revolver, that the old woman still kept in the drawer of her own bedroom nightstand. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. It wasn’t the first time the offer had been made and refused. But it was the first time Grace wondered if perhaps she should get a gun of her own.
“Can we eat in the family room?” Emily asked. “On the floor?”
“Yes to the family room, but on trays. No floor.”
Emily was already getting out the folding contraptions, half carrying, half dragging them into position. Grace knew better than to suggest helping. Instead, she went into the kitchen and took out two plates, unwrapping and arranging their cheeseburgers and fries. She could still teach Emily the art of enjoying a meal—it didn’t count as fast food if you put it on real plates, or so she told herself.
She doused both orders of French fries with ketchup, her contribution to making their meal “homemade.”
“Could I have Pepsi, too?” Emily asked, but her eyes were watching out the kitchen window as flickers of lightning illuminated pie
ces of the backyard. The same backyard that Jared Barnett might have been sneaking around in. Grace needed to stop thinking about it.
“Take our plates to the trays, please, and I’ll get the Pepsis from the garage. We’ll need a couple of glasses of ice, too.” Grace wanted to keep her daughter busy, keep her eyes and mind off the storm. It would soon pass. “One plate at a time, Em,” she said over her shoulder as she opened the door to the garage, then flipped on the light.
She almost tripped over the toy on the first step down to the garage. Before she yelled at Emily for leaving her things out, she realized she didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t a toy at all. She picked it up to get a better look. It had to be one of Vince’s practical jokes. Maybe his idea of a housewarming gift for their front lawn.
The ceramic gnome was so ugly, it was almost cute.
Thursday, September 9
CHAPTER 28
2:09 a.m.
Andrew jerked awake. It must have been a clap of thunder that woke him. The lightning outside the bedroom window reminded him of a blinking neon sign, constant but dim. The rain tapped against the glass. But the thunder was gone. No, wait. A flash of lightning lit the room, and Andrew began to count, “One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand, four, one thousand—” The crack wasn’t quite as loud as when he had gone to bed. The storm seemed to be moving away according to his brother, Mike’s, archaic meteorology.
He turned on his side, the wrong side, and the jolt of pain flipped him to his back. He had forgotten what it felt like to sleep in any position he chose. Or to sleep through the entire night.