He let himself out, locking the front door behind him. I stood there watching the air where he had been, contemplating my loss. Then, I did a Scarlett O'Hara and put it out of my mind to think about later. I thought the Internet might update me on the manhunt.
I surfed the news sites, accumulating bits and pieces about the investigation and the manhunt. Our adventures in Parkview hadn't made the wire. A small article reported Ervin's statement clearing Detective Stone of any involvement in his ex-wife's death. I suspected Ray had my tape recorder and the inflammatory tape tucked away for insurance. Damn him, I thought, I'd given him the proof to clear his name, and he hadn't even acknowledged that I'd saved his butt.
I printed all of the articles about Pyle, sorting them chronologically. He completed his stint as a guest of the great State of Alabama and married Amber Lillian Ronolder during his probation. Pyle and his new wife relocated to Florida. The timeline I constructed was vague. I didn't find any mention of when Amber was born. The next article announced the birth of Pyle's son. There was a two-year skip to the murder of Pyle's family and the start of the manhunt.
I clicked on a small icon and a headshot of Pyle appeared in the top left of my computer screen. The caption indicated the photo had been provided by Pyle's employer, Pay-a-Day Equipment Leasing. It was the first picture I'd seen of Pyle—oval face, muscled neck, sculpted mustache and beard. I thought of the men I'd seen in Virginia who resembled him, solid looking country boys sporting retreating hairlines and advancing facial hair. I wondered if Ervin ever wore a beard.
I found an article mentioning the manhunt and commenting on the stolen Ranger. Authorities lost Pyle's trail in Georgia and believed he had headed west. Unnamed reliable sources speculated Pyle would surface in Montgomery, his old stomping ground.
The next article quoted Captain García.
We've gotten numerous reports about Pyle's location. We're pursuing each lead and believe we will apprehend Pyle in the near future. He's the prime suspect in the slaying of his wife and child. We also want to question him in connection with the death of Detective Richard Reeves Schneider.
I clicked on a link and saw Ray's name in the headline. The underlying text summarized a news briefing in which García said,
Virginia authorities have cleared Detective Stone of any wrongdoing in the death of his ex-wife in Virginia. Stone was in Florida at the time of her unfortunate demise.
Captain García went on to rehash the transfer of ownership of Ray's condominium, the similarities between the two men, and possibility Ray was the intended victim. The concluding paragraph read,
Stone, who I removed from the case and reassigned to desk duty pending the results of the internal investigation, returned to full duty today. He and Deglin Lewis are handling the investigations of both the Pyle family and Reeves murders.
I continued to search but found no additional information. There was no clue about Pyle's present location. Ray believed Pyle was coming back to Florida, but why would he come back here? I wondered. Why not alter his appearance and take off to parts unknown?
I glanced out the window and realized it was pitch dark. Feeling alone and vulnerable, I checked the locks on the doors and windows, stopping short of setting the burglar alarm. Sunshine wanted to go outside, so I left the back door open rather than bothering to uncover the inside doggy door. Sunshine usually did his business in the dark, so I didn't switch on the yard lights. Intent on learning something new and useful, I returned to the computer, thinking I might make a connection.
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The dog's there's-a-cat-in-my-yard yap caught my attention. A trespassing cat often produced a brief barrage of panicky barking, a rapid retreat, slapping doggy doors, and raspy, labored breathing. I waited. The barking escalated.
Deciding to investigate, I flipped on the yard lights in time to see Sunshine charge through the outside doggy door, causing it to smack behind him. Alfred Leon Pyle, Jr. stood in the yard. Buddy Lee. There was no question about Pyle's identity. His picture did him justice. I hoped the legal system would as well. I gulped at the lump rising in my throat.
Pyle was fast. He barreled through the screen door before I thought to retreat into the house and lock the door. A flash of reflected light drew my attention to the palm-sized revolver he held loosely in his right hand.
"Sophia, is it?"
"Yes, and you're Buddy Lee." Fear glued my feet to the floor.
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." He moved his weapon to his left hand and extended his right in greeting. "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to wait here for Stone to get home from work. He and I need to talk."
I relaxed some and was able to step back, but I ignored his offer of a handshake. I have better manners when a gun isn't involved. "Ray doesn't live here anymore."
"Don't take me for a fool. I've made it my business to know where Stone was for years. Stone moved in here with you after he sold his apartment."
I was trying to keep an impassive expression, not show my fear. "If you knew Ray lived here, why did you try to kill him at the condo?"
"I didn't."
I frowned and squinted, deciding to pursue the topic. "You meant to kill Dick Schneider. Why? He was only doing his job."
"It wasn't me. I wasn't in the state at the time. But I don't believe anyone will listen to me, except maybe Stone. That's why I need to talk to him. Stone was the one who sprung me from prison in Virginia."
"Judge String'em Up told Suzanne and me all about it. Elaine was with you when Bullock was killed."
Pyle raised an eyebrow. "When's Stone going to be here?"
"I told you he won't be here. We split. He's moving back into the condo."
"Prove it."
With Sunshine clinging to my legs and Pyle following close enough be prevent me from slamming a door in his face, I led him from closet to closet and bathroom to bathroom, showing him the empty spaces. Back in the Florida room, he motioned for me to sit on the sofa, and he sat on the far end of the loveseat. I noticed his gun wasn't in sight. In his pocket, I thought.
I patted the cushion next to me, telling Sunshine to join me. I knew the dog sensed my suppressed panic, and I wanted to reassure him. While keeping my eyes on Pyle, I laid my hand on Sunshine's chest and felt his heart pounding from a combination of heart disease and fright. I petted and soothed him, hoping to hide my fear.
"I said I'm not here to hurt you, but don't try anything foolish. I want to talk to Stone and figure a way out of the mess I'm in without getting shot in the process." When I nodded my agreement, he said, "Call Stone. Get him here."
"I don't know if he'll answer. Why don't we call the police and arrange for you to talk to them? Tell them you're innocent. Or I could call a lawyer for you, someone who can smooth the way."
"I tried that once before. Call Stone. If I'm here with you, he'll have to listen."
I had no clue where Ray was staying. I didn't think he had time to move into the condo yet. "The only thing I can do is try his cell phone and the PD. What if I have to leave a message?"
"Say it's important he call you right away. I don't want a SWAT team. I want to get out of this mess, not into another one."
"Even if you didn't kill Dick, they'll still come after you for killing your wife and son and raping Amber."
"I didn't do any of those things."
"The police think you did."
"Why would I kill my family? They were the first good thing that happened to me in my life—the only good thing that happened to me." He stared into the distance, perhaps at the shadows created by the yard lights on the patio. "Make the call."
While keeping one hand on Sunshine, I reached for the portable phone and punched the speed code for Ray's cell phone.
The system patched me through to the voice mail, and I had no choice but leave a message. "Ray, call me. It's an emergency. It's ten o'clock on Thursday night." I left the same message on his extension at the station. I shrugged my shoulders as I looked at Pyle.<
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"Now, we wait." Apparently satisfied I wasn't planning to flee, Pyle reached for the television remote control. "Do you mind?"
"It's fine with me." I didn't feel afraid anymore.
Pyle was rational and controlled, though he was armed and dangerous. He had forced his way into my home—he could have used the front door, but then I'd have called 9-1-1, and the SWAT team would have put in an appearance. I wondered how to get the drop on him. He appeared tired, maybe he'd doze off.
The Ten O'clock News logo flashed across the big-screen, and Pyle seemed to relax, leaning back and raising the footrest.
I envisioned Ray listening to my message and imagining I wanted to continue our conversation from earlier in the day. Fat chance. I've never been the type to beg or rehash the obvious. I slipped the phone into my pocket, and said, "I need to go to the bathroom. Do you mind?"
"No, be my guest." Pyle stood and grabbed my dog. "Lay the phone on the table before you go. Don't try anything stupid. I'll hang onto your precious pooch here."
"I need to go to the bathroom. That's all."
When I came back out, Sunshine snuggled next to Pyle on the loveseat. Pyle had a hand on the back of the dog's neck and the gun in his other hand.
Sunshine wiggled free and moved to my lap. I smiled to myself. The dog was true to form. I hoped Ray would be true to form as well and hurry to rescue a damsel in distress. Me.
When the news was over at eleven, Pyle switched to a late night talk show. "Would you mind making some coffee?" His manner was polite, his tone kind. I had almost forgotten he was an unwelcome guest in my home.
I made a pot of coffee. If he didn't intend to fall asleep, neither did I. I needed to find a way to disarm Pyle or to grab Sunshine and escape. The prospects of Pyle making a mistake looked grim. He was in control of himself and our situation. It occurred to me he wasn't as dumb as both Ray and Ervin implied.
As I swung the basket back into the coffee maker, the phone rang.
"Don't tell him I'm here," Pyle said. "Tell him to come. Make something up." Pyle pushed the button for the speakerphone, then stayed close enough to assure I did as instructed.
I thought it convenient Pyle wanted to listen in. Ray knew I didn't like speakerphones in general and the speaker on my kitchen phone in particular. It had a hollow quality on both ends of the connection and had elicited numerous negative comments over the years. I used it when I was in the mood to annoy telephone solicitors.
"Sophia," Ray boomed, "what do you want?" He was pissed.
Going with the unusual and trying to signal I was in trouble, I used his whole name. "Raymond," I said, "I need to see you. It's important." Never, in all the years we'd known each other, had I called him Raymond. His family called him that, and he'd made it clear he didn't want anyone else taking that liberty. Also, Raymond was the name of one of my high school sweethearts, one I didn't like remembering.
"Sophia, this is silly. We've said everything there is to say. Have you been drinking?"
I knew he was aware something was amiss. I never drank alone. Even in company, I confined myself to a glass or two of wine. Our coded conversation was working.
"No, I'm not drinking, and our earlier discussion doesn't have anything to do with why you need to come. Dick's wife, Kathy, stopped by and left an envelope for you. She says it's important." I laid it on thick, saying Kathleen's name wrong and implying the problem had something to do with his case.
Ray didn't say anything right away. Then I heard the muffling sound of his hand covering the telephone. Several seconds later he said, "I can't come now. Can it wait until the morning?"
"Raymond, please. I don't want to talk about our relationship. It's important you come here as soon as you can." I glanced at the caller ID. He'd called from his desk at the PD. He was less than five minutes away.
"Okay, but it's going to take me a while—twenty, thirty minutes at least. I'm on the other side of town."
He'd use the extra time to gather his resources. I had to keep Pyle entertained and convinced of my sincerity until Ray arrived.
Jay Leno had finished chatting with his second guest when I heard the distinctive rumble of the V-TEC in the driveway. Ray had revved the engine enough to announce his arrival and cover the sound of other vehicles. Pretending not to notice, I feigned interest in the introduction of the next guest, Cody Coburn, a hot young stud shilling his latest action flick.
Sunshine, however, gave Ray away, running to the front door, tail wagging, ears flying. I had no choice but to follow. Pyle followed, pressing his hand to my back. He could have used his gun, but because he didn't, I believed everything he had told me.
Ray approached the front step. By the lack of expression on his face, I surmised the sight of an accused murderer and rapist holding his former girlfriend captive didn't surprise him, and my lack of fear wasn't incongruous with the situation in his opinion. He looked me over from head to toe—I thought he was checking to see if I'd been hurt—then he bent and picked up Sunshine.
"Pyle," Ray said, "I didn't expect to see you here."
Pyle stuck his head out the door, all the while poking his finger into my ribs. The way he forced me to move wrenched my body to the left, then sharply the other direction, and sent a searing cramp into my right hip, ripping to my knee.
"Ouch, that hurts." I tried to pull away. "You're hurting me."
"I'll hurt you even more if lover boy here doesn't cooperate." He pulled me into the house. "Stone, take the gun out of your shoulder holster and the one out of your pants leg and lock them in the trunk of the car."
Ray sat Sunshine inside the door and signaled him to stay. Then he did as Pyle ordered.
"Your jacket, too."
Ray took off his jacket, folded it loosely, and laid it in the trunk.
"Now, come here and turn around, so I can make sure you don't have anything else."
Ray did as requested. I was surprised when Pyle produced handcuffs and secured Ray's hands behind his back.
"Pyle, why don't you let Sophi go outside? You have me now. I'm the one you want."
He pointed at the dog. "Take the dog and leave. When Stone's friends arrive, tell them to take it easy. When we're finished talking, we'll be out."
I saw the trace of a smile on Ray's face as he glanced at Pyle's empty hands.
With Sunshine in my arms, I walked to the corner and looked both ways. As I suspected, Ray's partner, Lewis, sat in an unmarked car around the corner. One patrol car had stopped a block away, and a second sat in a driveway thirty feet beyond. I waved to Lewis and pointed to the house. He took the hint, started his car, and parked in the driveway behind Ray's Honda. A minute later, the two patrol cars pulled into the cul-de-sac, followed by two more unmarked cars. Ray was prepared.
Lewis, a hulking, hairless African-American with wire-rimmed glasses and a schoolteacher expression, ambled up the drive, turning sideways to fit between Ray's car and the edge of the driveway. I updated him on what was happening, including Pyle's claims of innocence and promise to come out voluntarily in a few minutes.
"Can you tell the patrol cars to leave?" I asked. "I don't think their being here will help the situation. Pyle is trying to convince Ray he didn't kill Dick or his family."
"What about Elaine?"
"We didn't talk about her, but I suspect Pyle will claim innocence there as well."
"Do you think he'll hurt Ray?" Lewis asked.
"No. Pyle handcuffed Ray to control the situation. I think we should wait and see what happens. How long can it take him to convince Ray he has an alibi or to give up? He said he didn't want the SWAT team being called and all hell breaking loose."
"Pyle has thirty minutes. Then I'm calling for backup."
Six police vehicles excluding Lewis's Buick idled in the street. I wondered how much backup he needed. I didn't voice my opinion. Instead, I suggested we sit in Ray's car and wait.
Lewis grinned at me, seeming to peer beneath his lenses. "Young lady,
I have never, nor will I ever, fit into that little red wagon. We'll sit in my car." He sent the other officers on their way, then squeezed behind the steering wheel of his Century.
A tense twenty minutes later, Ray and Pyle appeared in the doorway. Ray had Pyle's small revolver stuck in his belt, and Pyle's hands cuffed in front of his body. Ray stepped out first, shielding Pyle with his body. When Lewis slid out of his car, I climbed out, too, settling the dog under my arm where I supported his weight on my hip. I followed Lewis at a safe distance, not wanting to interfere, but wanting to hear the conversation.
Ray said, "We'll take Pyle into custody and check out his alibis. He says he can prove he was in Alabama when Dick and Elaine were killed, and he says he has an alibi for when his wife and son were killed and his stepdaughter raped." Ray handed Lewis the small revolver. "This was empty."
Lewis left with Pyle in the back seat. Ray remained on my porch.
I put the dog down to attend to his needs in the grass and turned to Ray. "Thanks for hurrying."
"Your code was obvious, I'm surprised Pyle didn't catch on."
"Maybe he did. He wanted to turn himself in without getting shot and have a fair chance of having his story checked out." A thought occurred to me. "I don't think Pyle killed his family. He's telling the truth."
"What makes you so all-fired sure?"
"I remember his wife was beaten on the right side of her head, and Amber was bruised on the right side of her head, too. Based on Amber's injuries, her attacker was facing her. He's left-handed."
I rubbed at the sore spot on my right shoulder. "He held me from the back and pretended he had his gun in his right hand." I demonstrated. "Pyle's a righty. He even moved the remote control from his left to his right hand to use it."
"Good observation." He paused. "Thanks for telling him I was the one who gave him his get-out-of-jail-free card. He wouldn't have believed it coming from me. It bought me a lot of credibility. I owe you." Ray reached out and touched my arm. "You okay?"
"I'm fine. He already knew you were the one who went to the judge. I didn't tell him."
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