Nicole and Sam were still in an embrace as Sam watched Jenkins being escorted to the police car. Hogarth opened a rear door and guided Jenkins inside. Jenkins suddenly glanced over at Sam with a mixture of defeat, defiance and dread in his face. Sam wondered what would become of him now since he had been arrested in a foreign country. Would he serve time here or be extradited to the States?
Who gives a shit? he thought. Either way, he’s toast.
Chapter 32
Sam was exhausted as he drove past a sign that read, Smithtown, 10 miles. After the long trans-Atlantic flight and subsequent layover in New York, he was looking forward to going home, having an ice cold beer and relaxing with some music in front of the fireplace. He was beat, but not at all sleepy.
His departure from London had been bittersweet. On the positive side, he had at last accomplished something he’d wanted to do for years and in the process fallen in love with the city and its bounties. The highlights of his short visit would be cherished forever: the book signing/reading, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and other historical sites, his trek to EMI Studios on Abbey Road and being photographed crossing the famous crosswalk. Not to mention the time spent with Nicole Heaton.
He refused to consider the arrest of Stanley Jenkins a highlight or a positive aspect of his trip. But certainly considered it the end of a horrible chapter in his life. Stanley Jenkins would never be free again to murder or wreak havoc on his life. For that he was eternally grateful.
What made his departure bittersweet was saying goodbye to Nicole. In the brief time he’d been with her, he’d discovered something he was already struggling with. He missed her badly. After all they’d endured at the hands of Stanley Jenkins, it was as though they’d spent an entire lifetime in a single night. Something about coming within minutes of imminent death that tends to bring people closer together in short order.
But Sam wasn’t so delusional to think anything could ever come of their whirlwind relationship. Nicole was a difficult read. He wasn’t even sure if she was interested in him beyond their professional relationship. And even if she was, the reality of the situation was clear and basically non-negotiable. She lived over there and he lived here. End of story. It wasn’t like they were living just a few hours apart with potential for a long-distance relationship. She might as well live on Mars.
He had therefore decided it would be in his best interest to subtract Nicole Heaton from the equation, as tough as it was to do. Otherwise, he’d be doing nothing but kicking a dead horse. He had to move forward and let it go.
Which brought him to the present and where he’d been prior to embarking on his trip to London. Throughout the long flight he had literally spent hours mulling over his relationship with Maisy Fleming and came to a realization: before Nicole had come along he had actually considered he was in love with Maisy, and there was a future with her. No need to ponder any further, right?
Most of the remainder of time had been spent thinking about Stanley Jenkins. Yes, he was relieved the bastard had finally been caught and would spend the rest of his life behind bars. But what haunted Sam was what he now knew for certain: Jenkins had in fact murdered Ann. Before they’d carted him off to the police station that night, Sam asked Inspector Hogarth for a moment with Jenkins. Hogarth had been reluctant at first but finally complied after hearing Sam’s intent. Sam then proceeded to ask Jenkins if he’d murdered his wife point blank. He’d never forget the look on the killer’s face as he gave his blasé reply: “Does the sun rise in the east?” Jenkins’ eyes were as vacant and lifeless as a shark’s. The man had absolutely no compassion for what he’d done or gave a damn how his actions affected anybody else in the world. To him, Ann had been just another casualty in his killing spree.
Sam felt no better knowing he’d been right after all. All it meant was the murderous freak had succeeded in destroying every Smithtown High woman he’d had in his sights. Not to mention the others. And Sam wouldn’t be surprised if there were even more victims out there that had not yet been accounted for.
Life in prison was too good for Stanley Jenkins. With luck, perhaps a gang of inmates would butt-fuck the bastard to death.
Sam recalled Inspector Hogarth’s account of what had gone down that terrifying night. He’d told Sam and Nicole that prior to receiving Sam’s text message, he was already aware that they’d never arrived at the Islington police station. Something had apparently gone wrong. The inspector had in turn requested a search for the make, model and license tag number of Nicole’s car and then issued a city-wide BOLO for Nicole’s blue Vauxhall. Having finally received Sam’s text message (he explained that the cellular service in Chelmsworth was slow and unreliable) Hogarth suspected Jenkins was planning to force his hostages to some remote area in the vicinity and eliminating them.
Hogarth requested assistance from the Chelmsford police to organize a stakeout of Nicole’s car at all of the local exits from the A12 . When one of the patrol officers spotted the car, he radioed Hogarth who in turned told the patrol to follow behind at a safe distance. In the meantime, Hogarth and his partner sped toward the scene from the opposite direction. By the time they arrived, they were told that Jenkins and his hostages had taken an old abandoned road through the forest that had no exit. More backup officers had arrived and they traveled the road on foot and eventually surrounded Jenkins.
Sam took a right on to Mill Road and heaved a long sigh. Had it not been for Inspector Hogarth’s quick actions, he would not be alive now. Nor would Nicole. He thought back to just how close they had both come to being murdered and shuddered. What a trip!
The prospect of seeing Maisy again excited him. He’d told her the night before that he should arrive sometime in the late afternoon and that he’d call her the moment he got home.
It was much colder than he’d expected and he’d actually had to turn on the Jeep’s heater to stay warm. It was hard to believe that little more than eight hours ago he was wearing a light jacket in London’s moderate climate. He began his ascent up his long driveway and couldn’t wait to go inside his new home on the hill. It seemed as though he hadn’t even broken it in yet. When he pulled up beside the house he looked out at the breathtaking view of the town and sighed. He had certainly lucked out the day he’d bid on this place and still couldn’t believe it was his.
He shut off the engine and got out. He went around the back to get his suitcase and shut the hatch. That’s when he spotted the paper stuck in the front door. His first thought was that it was probably a handbill or advertisement somebody had taken the trouble to deliver. As he drew closer he realized it was an envelope with his name handwritten on it. He withdrew it and slid his finger along the sealed flap, pulled out the contents and began to read:
Dear Sam,
So glad you made it home safely! I have been thinking long and hard whether to say this to you in person or write a note and finally decided a note would be best. I really don’t think I could face you right now and I apologize for my cowardice.
There is no way to sugar-coat this so I’ll come right to the point. I am the one who killed your wife last year. It wasn’t on purpose, believe me! I had been out drinking that night and why I decided to go out and get drunk is irrelevant. But it happened. I have always thought I could handle my liquor well enough to drive so I didn’t think twice when I stepped behind the wheel of my car after I left the bar. I was driving along, lost in thought over the incident that had compelled me to get smashed in the first place when all of a sudden I heard this huge thump. I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw a body lying in the road and realized in horror that I’d run over someone! I knew it was a woman because I could see her purse laying off to the side near her body.
I kept on driving. I knew that if I stopped I’d be thrown in jail since I was drunk. And besides that, I had my reputation to think about. It’s scary how easy it was for me to not stop and just keep on going. Maybe it was my bitterness toward the person who had made me so an
gry that day that brought the devil out in me. Or maybe I was just plain terrified of the consequences. Whatever the case, I know now what I already knew then: I am a selfish coward.
When I arrived at my home I pulled into the garage, staggered into my bedroom and passed out. The next morning, I awoke and recalled what had happened the night before. My first thought in my sobriety was to turn myself in. I mulled it over all morning and finally decided to put it off and just see what happened. My guess was that somebody had surely witnessed the accident and would describe my car to the police. I would be caught anyway, so I guess I decided to just hang around and let nature take its course.
The day went by and that evening I read in the Observer that it was your wife I’d run over and that she’d died at the hospital. I cried my eyes out, thinking of all you had already gone through with the Stanley Jenkins case and now I had just murdered your wife. But although I cried and felt absolutely horrible, I never followed through with what I should have done in the first place.
So I have spent the past year in a living hell fraught with a guilty conscience. You wouldn’t believe how often I picked up the phone to call the police only to hang up at the last minute. I just couldn’t do it, Sam! There I was, a single parent raising my daughter alone and all I could think about was how I needed to be there for her, not locked up in prison. I guess that helped make me feel a little less selfish—like I was really doing this for Emma, not for myself.
I never told a soul about the accident in all this time. As time went by, I finally felt confident that nobody would ever find out and I was apparently safe. But that didn’t by any means make the guilt go away—it only intensified it. Then one day while I was jogging up on the hill, I saw you come out of your house and go into the woods. I couldn’t believe that you of all people were the one who purchased the old Maynard house! I freaked out and nearly ran after you. I was going to tell you what I did to your wife and come clean at last. I saw this as a stroke of fate and finally felt the courage to confess what I’d done. I would try to explain how this all happened and beg your forgiveness. And then I’d turn myself in. I thought it over for a while and suddenly got cold feet. I wanted to do it, but I just didn’t have the courage to confront you. So I decided I’d wait one more day and follow through no matter what.
That’s when I just so happened to run into you that wonderful Monday morning. As we started talking, I not only lost my nerve to follow through with my plan, I realized that I was beginning to fall for you. Isn’t that pathetic!? I just felt so comfortable around you and started thinking how nice it would be to get to know you better. Well, you know the rest of what happened that day. And ever since then I’ve waged a battle within myself that you wouldn’t believe.
Now it’s time to put an end to my cowardice and selfishness before either of us get any more involved with each other. By the time you read this I will have already turned myself in. PLEASE, I beg of you, don’t try to interfere! I have spent a year in guilt for a crime I committed and it’s time for me to face the consequences. You’ll never know how sorry I am for doing what I’ve done and I pray that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
Please have a wonderful, happy life, Sam. You deserve it.
Sincerely,
Maisy
Sam’s hands were trembling as he stood there staring blankly down at Maisy’s letter. He was in utter shock, trying to process what he’d just learned.
Maisy had killed Ann. Jenkins had lied to him. The woman who only moments ago he thought was a serious love interest had mown his wife down while drunk at the wheel. She had never told a soul in all this time. Nor had she been charged with the crime. She had led him on all this time, pretending to be some random jogger when he’d first met her when in fact she had been in the process of implementing a secret agenda.
Jesus Christ! Is this for real?
He took out his key, opened the door and went inside. Heading straight to the fridge, he took out a beer, opened it and drained half the contents. He sat down at the kitchen table and re-read Maisy’s letter. When he read the final line, he nearly lost it. She wished him a wonderful life while at the same time knowing hers would be falling completely apart the moment she stepped into the Smithtown Police Department—
I have to stop her!
Fumbling in his pocket for his phone he wondered how long ago she’d left the letter. Ten minutes? Two hours? Who knows? Maybe he could catch her in time.
He called her number and held his breath. After letting it ring ten times he finally hung up and immediately called Roger’s number. He would know if Maisy had turned herself in.
“Hey now! You back home already?” Roger answered.
“Yeah, just got in the house. Anything new happening?”
“I haven’t heard back from Vegas yet. I called them after hanging up from you last night. I still can’t believe this shit! I mean, what are the goddamn odds of your not only being in London the same time as Stanley Jenkins, but actually being there when he was caught? It’s unreal, man!”
“Sure is. Listen, Rog, I’ve got a lot to tell you but I need to get a few things around here first. I’ll call you later on.”
“Okay, man.”
Sam disconnected, drained the last of his beer and headed for the door. As he turned the Jeep around his mind was awhirl. What if Maisy is already downtown, just now heading toward the police station? It would be too late. As fucked up as everything was, he knew he couldn’t let Maisy ruin her life. He needed to talk to her, get a feel for what to do next.
He flew down the driveway and in less than three minutes was pulling into Maisy’s driveway. He got out and ran around to the side of her garage. He peered through the window and saw her white Mazda parked there—she must be inside! An odd feeling came over him as he wondered how long Maisy had waited before trading in the SUV she’d been driving when she struck Ann. And why in the hell hadn’t the cops ever been able to track her down?
Sam ran around to the front porch and rang the doorbell. Then he beat on the door, expecting to hear Chester bark. Dead silence. Could it be she had taken her dog somewhere for boarding before turning herself in? He continued beating on the door a couple minutes more then ran back to the Jeep.
He backed out of her driveway and headed downtown. He wondered if maybe her daughter was in town and had driven her to the station. If that were the case, Sam tried to imagine what an emotional experience that would have been, hearing that her mother had killed somebody and needed a lift to go confess to the police. Jesus.
The police station was about ten minutes away. He floored the engine, spun the wheels and sped south on the boulevard. He called Maisy again, hoping and praying she would pick up. As it kept ringing, he wondered if he was being crazy trying to stop the woman who had killed his wife from going to jail. Shouldn’t he be livid right now, and thankful that the murderous bitch was finally going to pay the piper? After all, Maisy Fleming was not only a hit and run felon, she had never in all this time felt badly enough to confess her sins and face the consequences.
Yet none of this had registered in his mind until now. His first reaction had been quite the opposite and it felt right. Ann must be turning in her grave right now. Maybe he should just go back home and let this play out. He owed Maisy Fleming nothing; she was a flake, a charlatan. She had murdered his wife for chrissakes!
She had also decided to confess to him, however late. Something she didn’t have to do.
His phone suddenly rang and he looked at the screen. It was Maisy!
“Maisy where are you?” he answered.
“At your house,” she replied weakly. She’d been crying.
“You’re shitting me! I just left there a few minutes ago.”
“I know—I saw you leave.”
“Listen, stay where you are and I’ll be right up. I’m so glad you called.”
“I asked you not to interfere but you have. You shouldn’t have done that, Sam.”
&nbs
p; “We’ll talk about it when I get up there. Will you wait for me?”
“Yes, I’ll wait.”
“Three minutes,” he said before disconnecting.
Sam swung into a driveway and turned the Jeep around, wondering why Maisy was up at his house. Had she been hiding in the woods, waiting to see his reaction after reading the letter? That had to be it. No doubt his sudden departure led her to believe he was trying to find her. His phone calls would only have confirmed that.
When he pulled up along the house he saw her sitting down on the porch. She had Chester with her on a leash. Sam hopped out and ran over to her.
“I’m so glad to see you!” he said. “I thought you’d made a terrible mistake.”
“Why would you say that? I ran over your wife, Sam! I’ve spent the last year a free woman when I should have been locked up. I’m despicable!”
Sam refrained from embracing her. Instead he petted Chester and unlocked the door. “Let’s go inside.”
Maisy followed him into the kitchen, Chester in tow.
“Sit down, please,” he said.
She took a seat on the sofa and Chester hopped up into her lap. Sam continued standing as he spoke.
“Look, Maisy. I’m not sure what to make of all of this—I don’t think it’s really set in yet. But what I do know are two things: One, your running over my wife that night was an accident. Granted you were drunk, but I’d be lying if I told you I’ve never been in a similar condition while behind the wheel of a car. In fact, I don’t know too many people in this town who haven’t been there before. My point is, this could have happened to anyone stupid enough to drink and drive.
“Secondly, although you indeed took my wife’s life away, your going to jail won’t bring her back. Nor will it make me feel any better. All it would do is ruin your life and your ability to be a mother to your child. Which in turn would negatively affect your daughter’s life. I don’t think you deserve that, Maisy. I think you’ve punished yourself enough already, just living with the guilt you no doubt have had to live with.
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