by Blake Pierce
Sure enough, the encrusting substance was dried blood.
Riley said to her companions, “This is it. This is proof. I’m sure the DNA will match the Bonnett family.”
Looking at the hammer with amazement, Bill added, “He never cleaned it during all those years. He must have left it like this as a reminder, to punish himself.”
As Riley held the hammer, that feeling of fury faded. In its place she sensed shame and self-loathing. She knew that Bill was right. Wylie Pembroke had probably held this hammer every single day to remind himself of what he had done, to assure himself that it hadn’t been just some nightmare …
But he couldn’t punish himself enough.
In the end, suicide had proved to be his only way out.
Chief Crane said, “I still don’t understand. Wylie always seemed like such a nice guy. Nobody would have ever thought he was capable of murder.”
Thinking again of the fury she’d felt at the Bonnett home, Riley said …
“It was a crime of passion. It wasn’t something he would normally even dream of doing. And after he did it, he had trouble believing he had done it. He was driven to do it by something really dire.”
“But what?” Chief Crane asked.
What indeed? Riley thought.
She sensed that the answer to that question was somewhere right here in front of her. She looked closely at the closet walls but saw nothing odd. Then she stooped down and groped around the floor.
There!
She’d found a loose board.
Riley heart raced as she pulled the board away.
Under it was a shoebox. She opened it and saw that the old cardboard box was full of handwritten letters.
She unfolded one and saw …
Dearest Connie—
I don’t know how much longer I can keep going on like this. I love you so much and want you for myself …
She glanced to the end of the letter and saw that it was signed …
I love you always,
Cosmo
Chief Crane exhaled sharply as he looked at the letter over Riley’s shoulder.
He said, “Cosmo Bonnett wrote these letters to Connie, Wylie’s wife! They were having an affair!”
Riley nodded and said, “Wylie must have found these letters. That’s what drove him to murder. He was so wild with fury, it wasn’t enough for him to just kill Cosmo. He killed the entire family.”
“Is that even possible?” Crane asked. “Do people really do such things?”
Bill said, “We’ve seen things like this before. It really was a case of temporary insanity.”
Crane slouched with discouragement and said, “We should have kept searching through the house after he killed himself. We should have found this.”
Bill commented, “Why would you? As far as you knew, you were looking into a suicide. You had no reason to believe Wylie Pembroke was also a murderer.”
Crane took the box and glanced through the letters. He still looked as if he could hardly believe his eyes.
Meanwhile, a vague tingle came over Riley—a feeling that they were still overlooking something vitally important.
Then she remembered …
Those pictures in the living room.
She said to Crane, “Didn’t you tell me that Wylie didn’t leave any surviving family?”
“That’s right,” Crane said.
Riley added, “And you said that he became reclusive after his wife left him.”
“Yeah, a complete loner,” Crane said. “He just kept delivering the mail. He was nice to everybody, but he didn’t socialize, had no friends that anybody knew of. But good God—do you think Connie left him because she knew what he’d done?”
Possibly, Riley thought, without saying so aloud.
But Wylie’s ex-wife wasn’t what worried her at the moment.
Riley rushed back into the living room, followed by the others. She pointed to the pictures on the wall of the young boy holding the fish he’d caught.
She asked Crane, “If Wylie was such a recluse, who was the boy in these photos?”
Crane peered closely at the photos and said …
“Why, I recognize that kid. That’s Brandon Hitt. He must have had some special relationship with Wylie. I never knew about it. I don’t think anybody else did either.”
Riley felt a jolt at those words …
A special relationship!
An impressionable young boy had become close to a man who harbored a terrible secret.
How might the boy have been shaped by that strange friendship?
What had he come to learn about his older friend?
And now that he was a grown man, how might he have reacted upon learning of Wylie’s suicide?
Riley felt overwhelmed by questions she couldn’t yet answer.
She was also seized by an awful thought …
Sam said she’s on her way to meet Brandon.
Without a word to her companions, Riley grabbed her phone. She found Sam’s number and punched it in. She could hear the phone ringing again and again and again.
She’s not answering, Riley thought with dread.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
As Sam walked out of the diner, she punched in a text message to Agent Paige …
On my way to the fishing pier. Hope to find Brandon there.
She didn’t know whether it was important to keep Agent Paige informed of her whereabouts. But it seemed like the right thing to do, since Agent Paige had been kind enough to allow Sam to go look for Brandon in hopes of clearing her father.
She remembered her phone call from Brandon. He’d just called to check in on her, he’d said, which had seemed kind of him. But when she’d mentioned that her father was a suspect, he’d sounded alarmed …
“That’s impossible, Sam. Your dad couldn’t have committed those murders. In fact I know …”
But he’d balked at telling her …
“I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I … misspoke.”
He hadn’t even told her where he was at the moment. But she’d heard restaurant noises in the background during the call—clattering dishes and servers taking orders. She knew that the all-night diner was the only eating establishment in Rushville that was open at this hour.
When Sam hadn’t found Brandon in the diner, she’d asked a waitress where he might be.
The waitress had said …
“Oh, Brandon’s always here in the early mornings. When he leaves, he says he’s on his way down to the fishing pier. I guess he likes to go there and see the first sunlight on the water.”
Sam wondered—was that where he had gone this time?
The fishing pier sounded like the best guess if she was going to catch up with Brandon. She really had to find out what he knew.
As she got into the car and started driving, she thought about the strange words Brandon had said to her over the phone …
“Your dad couldn’t have committed those murders.”
But then he’d said …
“I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I … misspoke.”
What on earth did he know?
And why wouldn’t he tell me?
Sam drove to the road that followed the waterfront and continued along it until she arrived at the fishing pier. The big old wooden structure jutted out about a hundred yards or so over the Gulf. She parked her car and got out.
When she first looked down at the beach, she had trouble seeing anything clearly in the pale early morning light, but her eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness. And sure enough, she could see a man standing alongside the pier, looking out over the waves that came roaring in with the rising tide.
She trotted down the beach, calling out …
“Brandon! Is that you?”
But he didn’t seem to hear her over the sound of the surf.
Finally she walked up right behind him and said his name.
He turned around and gave her a big smile. It was Brandon, all right.
He said, “I’ve been expecting you.”
Sam felt a flash of confusion.
Expecting me?
Why had he even supposed that she was coming here?
Suddenly he raised his right arm, and she saw a flash of metal in the faint light. She reflexively flinched as the hammer struck at her forehead. She felt a stab of pain, and her vision was filled with stars.
For a moment Sam barely knew where she was.
Then she heard her cell phone ringing.
In her confusion, she almost reached to answer it, but quickly realized …
Not now.
Sam struggled to come to her senses. She knew that this was a matter of life or death.
She vaguely realized that her flinch had been just enough to prevent him from striking a clean, deadly blow directly to her forehead.
She knew she had to overcome the pain. Another strike would come at any second.
And he’d make sure that it would kill her.
Lurching about clumsily, Sam felt water surging around her legs. She realized that she was wading out alongside the pier, and that there was no escape in this direction.
When she turned around to find her way back to the beach, she saw Brandon wading toward her. Without stopping to think, Sam reached for the service revolver in her hip holster. Hastily, she yanked out the gun and fired a single desperate, poorly aimed shot.
She heard him grunt with pain and saw him whirl around and almost tumble into the waves.
She’d been lucky enough to graze him. Now she took more careful aim at his torso and pulled the trigger again.
Sam’s gun jammed.
Brandon was stunned and staggering now, but she knew he wasn’t badly injured. It wasn’t enough to stop him from trying to kill her. Like a wounded animal, he was more dangerous than ever.
She wished she could run up the beach toward the car, but she knew she’d never make it past him.
She turned around and looked at the relentless waves.
There was only one avenue of escape—and that was among the pilings under the pier.
She holstered her useless weapon and pushed on into the pounding surf.
*
In a daze, Brandon gripped his wounded shoulder …
Such amazing pain.
He was sure it wasn’t a serious wound. The bullet seemed to have passed straight through soft flesh and exited without hitting any bone.
Even so, he couldn’t remember feeling such searing pain since …
When?
It hadn’t been since he was a boy and his father had wreaked such terrible drunken punishment upon him.
For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was or what he’d come here to do …
The woman.
Sam.
He’d targeted her for death when she’d come to his house with her partner and the FBI agents a couple of days ago—a random choice, just like the others.
He’d intended her to be his next victim after Vanessa Pinker.
Until just a moment ago, his plan was going perfectly. She was a smart young woman—too smart for her own good, just as he’d hoped. When he’d called her from the diner, he’d known she would hear the clatter of restaurant noise and realize where he was and come there at once. He also knew that one of the waitresses would tell her that he always came here.
The trick had been to make it seem like her own idea to follow him here.
And it had been a good trick—until the very moment he tried to strike.
Sam wasn’t like Ogden or Vanessa. Her reflexes were swift and natural, and he hadn’t been able to land the perfect blow he’d hoped for. He was disappointed in himself, but he knew that he didn’t have time to wallow in frustration. He had to finish this. He had to strike again, and he had to make the next blow count.
But where was she right now?
He turned around and looked up and down the beach. He knew that he’d be able to see her if she’d fled up onto the sand.
Then he turned around and looked beneath the pier.
She’s under there somewhere, he realized.
She must be crouched behind one of those big wooden pilings not far away.
He felt pleased again.
Now all he had to do was wade under the pier and search from piling to piling.
But as he plunged ahead into the water, breaking waves hit him with startling force. His thoughts were becoming jumbled due to blood loss and the shock of pain.
With unexpected power, memories slammed into Brandon’s awareness.
It was as though he could see the kindly mailman he’d first gotten to know on his paper route when he was still a teenager. People had said Wylie Pembroke was a mysterious loner who had no friends, but he had befriended Brandon, making him feel special and wanted.
Images of long hours spent in in the man’s little home raced through Brandon’s mind. He remembered how they’d gone camping and fishing together.
They’d been fishing for trout one day when the man broke down and cried …
“I killed them, son. I killed them all. Nobody knows except you.”
Brandon had been astonished by this revelation—that his good-hearted friend was none other than the murderer of the entire Bonnett family …
The struggle against the waves brought Brandon back to the present. He was wading among the pilings now, still gripping his hammer tightly. He could see no sign of the young woman he intended to kill.
She had to be right there somewhere. But when he tried to focus on his search, he felt sick and dizzy and in pain, and memories kept distracting him.
He remembered how tormented the poor man had been by what he’d done.
That had always seemed unfair and unjust to Brandon.
After all, he had acted to right a wrong.
Cosmo Bonnett had had an affair with Wylie Pembroke’s wife.
Wylie had a right to his revenge.
And what a breathtaking act of revenge it was—to take out Cosmo’s family before finally killing the adulterer himself!
Waves were coming at Brandon harder and higher now, and he found it hard to stay on his feet, and he couldn’t find his prey, and he still kept thinking about Wylie …
Brandon had always wished he had Wylie’s courage and audacity. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t have let his father cause so much grief to his mom and his little brother. He wouldn’t have allowed his father to pound on his own young hands with a hammer, causing pain that he still felt today and would surely suffer from for the rest of his life.
Maybe Brandon would have taken that hammer to his own father sometime when he lay sleeping, rather than let him run away from his abused family for good.
Brandon had spent years wishing he could be more like Wylie Pembroke. He wanted to be that brave, that powerful.
Whenever Brandon fantasized about doing what Wylie had done, he always imagined making one single improvement.
Wylie’s act had been crazed and chaotic.
The whole town had buzzed with wild descriptions of the blood-drenched bedrooms and the crushed skulls and the pulverized, unrecognizable faces.
Brandon thought that the murder hadn’t really been in keeping with his friend’s character. Wylie’s vengeance would have been better served by more coldness, calculation, swiftness, precision …
Neatness.
Brandon always dreamed of performing such an act to sheer perfection.
And then, two weeks ago, Wylie’s guilt had caught up with him and he’d killed himself …
A wave broke high and strong and almost knocked Brandon down. The rising tide was slowing his search, but it brought him back to his present problem.
Did she get away? he wondered.
No, he couldn’t imagine how she could have gotten past him. She still had to be somewhere near here, cringing behind a piling, hoping he’d give up his search and go away.
He wasn’t going to do that.
I’ve got to do this—for Wylie.
For what were these murders except a tribute, a homage to a man Brandon had loved and respected despite that man’s own guilt and self-loathing?
He’d hoped that Wylie was watching when he’d killed the man and the woman.
He’d hoped that Wylie’s spirit could at last see that revenge been right all along.
He’d hoped he could show Wylie how beautiful such a deed could be.
But now it was all at risk, and things had gone awry. He had to finish this killing as best he could. It wouldn’t be perfect, but …
There will always be time for another. It will be perfect next time.
Brandon’s eye was caught by something bobbing behind one of the pilings.
She’s there, he thought.
Another wave crashed past him as he approached the piling. He reached down under the water and groped around and felt a pair of hands pushing back at him vainly and frantically.
In another instant, he gripped her by the hair and pulled her face to the surface.
She gasped and coughed, still trying to push him away.
But he had a firm grip on her with his left hand, and his hammer was tightly gripped in his right, and now, with one single swift movement, he could …
Suddenly Brandon felt something close around his neck and yank him backward. He found himself thrashing wildly, like one of those fish he and Wylie had caught when he was younger.
He felt himself pressing tightly against something enormous and soft.
Was it some sort of huge aquatic animal?
No, he realized. It’s a man.
With a cry of fury, Brandon wrenched around to kill the intruder.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Jenn was the first one out of the FBI car when Bill pulled it to a stop on the waterfront drive in sight of the pier. She looked toward the big structure and saw a person staggering out of the surf and up onto the shore.
It’s Sam! she realized.
Sam was drenched and appeared to be disoriented. Jenn saw that her head was bleeding near the temple. Jenn started running toward Sam, calling out her name.
Sam seemed to hear. She stared at Jenn dazedly and then pointed under the pier.