by John Philpin
I waved at Bolton, caught his attention, and pointed at the bar where Waycross sat hunched over his shot and beer chaser. Bolton nodded, slowed his pace, and moved to the side of the corridor.
Farther down the corridor the media gang came running—cams, booms, mikes, cables.
Waycross slumped lower over his drinks.
I pointed at the approaching TV storm. Bolton turned and tried to wave them back.
“Detective Bolton,” Lily Nelson called.
Waycross raised his head, pushed himself from his stool and away from the bar. His eyes disappeared upward, and he crashed to the floor. He was dead before he got there.
“Not terribly exciting for the late news,” I muttered, walking into the bar.
I crouched and felt Waycross’s neck for a pulse.
“Did you know that there is a single moment of consciousness when past, present, and future are one?” I asked.
Bolton stood beside me and the cameras rolled.
“Felix Zrbny told me that,” I said. “Do you think Waycross caught the triple feature?”
“Dr. Frank,” Lily Nelson said.
I looked at Bolton. “Stroke? Heart attack?”
He shrugged. “The gun came back to him. He killed Braverman trying to get to Pouldice. She was a threat to find out that he’d killed Shannon. So was Danny Kirkland. Then Zrbny took out Pouldice, a whacko took out Zrbny, and that left you.”
I found the nine-millimeter semiautomatic in Waycross’s deep coat pocket and gave it to Bolton. “No one studied the lab reports,” I said.
“Not until Waycross did. That’s when he panicked. The case was a lock. Zrbny was crazy. He walked out of the woods covered with blood. He was carrying a murder weapon. He attacked a cop. And he never denied anything.”
“Shannon fit,” I said. “She made a perfect lady of darkness. He watched her out his rear window.”
“The log was right. She placed a call two hours after she was supposed to be dead.”
TV lights ignited behind us.
“Pouldice lived in Ravenwood,” Bolton said. “He could’ve gotten her whenever the spirit moved him.”
“Not on camera.”
“Detective Bolton,” Lily Nelson said again. “Will you comment on the information we’re getting that …”
“You clear things with Willy?” Bolton asked.
“I stopped on the way here. Willy needed a little help understanding the advertising potential of bullet holes in his floor and bloodstains in his bathroom. He thanked me for my help.”
Bolton looked down at Waycross. “He smells bad.”
“Sphincter failed,” I said. “You going to retire now?”
Bolton’s backup sprinted down the corridor.
“This is Lily Nelson broadcasting live from the departure area at gate …”
“I have the paperwork. I’ll get to it tonight.”
“Have you talked with Mrs. Stallings?”
He nodded. “We took Theresa’s remains out of the dungeons. The family can have a funeral now. We’ve identified one of the other kids.”
“My flight is boarding,” I said.
“Always good to see you, Lucas.”
Bolton’s officers cleared the bar.
“… told that the dead man is former Boston detective Neville Waycross, whose wife …”
“You tell her that?” I asked.
Bolton shook his head.
“Fuckin’ amazing,” I said, shoving my way through the crowd.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JOHN PHILPIN is a retired forensic psychologist—an internationally renowned profiler. His advice and opinions on violence and its aftermath have been sought by police, newspaper writers, TV producers, mental health professionals, private investigators, attorneys, and polygraph experts throughout the country. He is the author of Beyond Murder, the story of the Gainesville student killings, published by NAL/Dutton in 1994, and Stalemate, which tells the true-crime story of a series of child abductions, sexual assaults, and murders in the San Francisco Bay Area. Along with Patricia Sierra, he is the author of The Prettiest Feathers and Tunnel of Night. He is also the author of the psychological thriller Dreams in the Key of Blue. He lives in New England.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE MURDER CHANNEL
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam paperback edition / May 2001
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2001 by John Philpin
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-57367-4
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