by Blake Pierce
“I understand,” he said.
“In the meantime, I was hoping you might be able to help me out. We were told you were very worried about your wife at one point. Why was that?”
He frowned. She watched as his shoulders slumped and he slowly withdrew.
He remained silent.
“Mr. Woodward,” she pressed on, “I know this is difficult. I know you don’t want to implicate your wife in anything that may have been…unseemly. But, however concerning or embarrassing it may be, I need to know. We have a man locked up right now who may or may not be the right suspect. And I suspect that you may know of some difficulty your wife was in, some difficulty that may help us know for certain if we have the killer.”
He stared back at her, his eyes dull and vacant, and opened his mouth to speak several times.
But each time, he remained silent, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
But there was more to it than that.
As she observed him closely, she noticed, just for a fraction of an instant, a flicker in his eye. It was something that made no sense. It wasn’t one of recognition.
It was one of rage.
It came, and then it left as soon as it did—so fast that she wasn’t even sure whether she saw it or imagined it.
Suddenly, her heart started to pound wildly.
No, she thought. It can’t be him.
But could it?
She thought suddenly of what Tate O’Brien had said about murders committed in the acts of both rage and love.
Several wives were killed. Not just his. If he had killed his wife, that meant…he would have killed all of them.
But why? Why kill all the wives if he only wanted his own dead?
It couldn’t be, she thought. Could it?
Were all those murders just to cover up his trail? To make this seem like a serial killer? To deflect attention from the real wife he wanted dead? From himself as a suspect?
To create the perfect murder?
“Did you hear me, Agent Wise?”
Kate snapped out of it, back to the present. She found Daryl staring at her questioningly. Her mind spun, and she felt light-headed, wondering if she could be standing a few feet from the killer.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling, trying to keep it calm. “I wasn’t listening.”
“I asked you if there was anything else I could help you with?” he asked, his voice so calm that she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.
His hand, she thought fast. Get him to write something. See if he’s a lefty.
She cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice calm.
“Yes,” she said. “There is just one more thing. Could you perhaps give me the names of a few friends that Taylor hung out with?”
“OK,” he said with a frown. “Want me to text them to you?”
“I’m old-school,” she said as gently as possible. “Could you just write them down?”
He eyed her suspiciously, seemed to hesitate.
Finally, he turned and walked to the left side of the kitchen and opened up a drawer. He took out a pen and a Post-It.
He started writing.
With his left hand.
As his wedding band shone dully from his ring finger.
Stay calm, she told herself. This still doesn’t prove anything. You have to goad him. It’s now or never. You can’t walk out without knowing for sure.
“I spoke with your mother out front,” Kate said. “She wanted me to tell you she was going to run to the pharmacy.” She paused a beat and then added: “Are you close to your mother?”
There it was again. The flicker of rage in his eyes, this time recognizable, and stronger.
And that was when Kate knew for sure. Many killers she had dealt with had been oppressed by their mothers in some way or another; too many times that had been the trigger to vent their feelings.
Daryl just gritted his jaw and stared back, the hostility pouring through his face.
“What business is that of yours?” he asked.
He sneered at her slightly and then turned his head. He walked to the coffeemaker and started pouring himself a cup of coffee. His hand was visibly trembling.
She didn’t wait for him. She knew it was now or never. She knew she should leave the house, call for backup.
But she just couldn’t bring herself to.
Her entire career, she just couldn’t bring herself to. She always had to push it, just a little too far. Always had to disregard that voice of caution.
“Mr. Woodward, the coroner is all but certain that your wife was punched by a lefty—a lefty wearing a ring on his left ring finger,” she said. “Julio Almas is right-handed and has no rings,” she lied. “Why do you think that is?”
Daryl Woodward stopped for a moment, in the midst of bringing his coffee cup to his mouth. His back was mostly to her but she could see from the posture in his shoulders that he was taking a defensive position.
“You’re a lefty, aren’t you?” she asked.
He tensed up, his back still to her.
“You’re insane,” he muttered, his voice growing darker.
Now, she told herself. Stop now and call for backup.
She knew she should. But she just couldn’t. She had to finish this thing. On her own.
“You hated the other women but didn’t really want to kill them, did you? You really truly only wanted Taylor dead. But how could you kill her and not have the cops suspect you? Easy. You kill a few other wives and make it look like a serial. That way, a lone husband wouldn’t so clearly be a suspect.
“But you went a little too far with your wife, Daryl. That was a murder of passion. The only one.”
He turned around and smiled at her, as if impressed.
Then he charged.
Kate threw her arms up to defend herself, fully prepared to catch his left arm—which he was leading with—and whip him over onto the floor.
But she did not expect the hot coffee thrown at her. It splashed against her face, getting into her eyes. It was very hot, but not freshly hot. Still, the sting of it was enough to take her off guard.
Daryl threw his full weight into her. Her back slammed against the kitchen island behind her and as she recoiled and fell to the floor with her back spasming, she felt the first punch fall, splitting open her lip.
Blood flowed, instantly filling Kate’s mouth. Just as she tasted it, thick and coppery on her tongue, he planted a knee in her stomach. The wind went rushing out of her and for the first time since entering the FBI, she allowed herself to think:
This is it. This is how I’m going to die.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Had the coffee been freshly brewed and piping hot, Kate would have been in much worse shape. As it was, she was more concerned with her back. She’d hit the edge of the island hard and something back there was going numb. Meanwhile, Daryl had her pinned to the floor, a knee in her stomach and both of his hands on her shoulders.
“I wish I had the knife I killed those bitches with,” Daryl said. “I’d slit you open right here, right now. And it would be a shame because you’re not like them. They deserved it, you know?”
Good, she thought. This idiot is going to brag on himself. He’s strong and easily overpowers me, but the longer he keeps me here, in this position, the better chance I have of escaping.
“It wasn’t a mistake that I started with Julie. She’s a…well, she was such a tease. We were sleeping with each other. Had been for months. Taylor didn’t know, though. She was too hung up on her own little activities. And yes, I knew all about the cycling instructor. He’s slept with half the fucking neighborhood. So yeah…why not pin it on him?”
He smiled and a chuckle escaped from his lips. It was this one little cocky action that gave Kate the opening she needed. As his right hand relaxed with his laughter, she pushed forward, sitting up and using her right shoulder to force the weight of the movement. She then threw her elbow up and ou
t, catching him in the chin. She heard the sharp click of his teeth smashing together.
He tottered back, shocked, and nearly fell off of her. Enraged, he threw another punch downward. She caught him by the wrist, twisted hard to the left, and his entire body followed suit. Had he not struck the side of the kitchen island, she would have been able to apply an arm bar, ripping his elbow out of its socket and ending the fight there.
But the island was in the way. As she scrambled to her feet, Daryl opened a nearby cabinet. Kate was so confused by the action that she didn’t see the rolling pin until it was too late. She swayed backward but the end of it still clipped her on the side of the head. She spun around as little black stars swirled across her field of vision.
He came at her again, the rolling pin raised like a club.
No, Kate thought with a maniacal sort of panic. Not like this. Hell no…
He swung the pin again, straight across this time. Kate managed to block it with her left forearm. A bolt of pain rocketed up her arm. She cried out, looking around for a weapon to use. So far, she’d been burned by coffee and struck with a rolling pin. She’d be damned if she’d be insulted any farther.
She backed up against the kitchen sink and found a fork sitting in the edge. It was positioned on a plate with what looked like the remnants of scrambled eggs. As Daryl surged forward one more time, she grabbed it and jabbed forward in a move that reminded her of her younger days. She moved with the speed of a seasoned boxer, and the prongs of the fork tore into Daryl’s left cheek before she yanked it back out.
He screamed, dropping the rolling pin and barreling forward. “Bitch!” he yelled. “I’ll kill you, too. Then Wendy Hudson, then I’ll be done with all of them!” He let out a roar of rage as he collided with her. She jammed the fork into his right shoulder, the prongs completely buried. She left it there. He howled again but kept coming. He rammed her hard against the edge of the sink once, twice…the numbness in her back was spreading. She was afraid it might make her collapse. And if she hit the ground again…
“They all teased me, even Julie,” he went on. “Even during the affair, she’d threaten to tell Taylor if I didn’t do certain things. They’re all controlling…every single one of them. Flirting. Showing skin. Making me weak…they—”
Kate took advantage of his moment of weakness. She drove her knee up into his stomach. He hunched over and when he did, Kate brought her right hand down in hard downward jab. She clipped his chin and sent him to the floor.
On the way down, he grabbed her shirt. Had it not been a to-the-death sort of fight, it might have seemed like he was trying to grab her breast. He yanked down and she fought against it, bringing her knee hard into his chest. They fell in a heap of legs and arms, fighting for control against the side of the sink.
“Freeze!”
The shout came out of nowhere. Both Kate and Daryl turned toward the direction of the voice. Through blurred vision, Kate saw DeMarco standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
“Get off of her,” DeMarco said.
Daryl responded right away. He raised his hands and backed off. He took a stumbling step away and then slowly turned to face DeMarco. The fork was still in his shoulder, standing as rigid as a beam in the ground.
“On your knees, hands behind your back,” DeMarco ordered.
“You don’t understand,” he said as he obeyed her orders. “They were evil. They were using me. Unfaithful. Deranged. They loved to have men look at them…even at the pool, even those teenage kids…”
“You okay, Wise?” DeMarco asked, ignoring him.
Kate only nodded. Her back was a knot of nothingness, the numbness no longer spreading but seeming to centralize. The black stars were still in her vision and she was pretty sure the side of her head that had caught the rolling pin was swelling. She leaned against the sink, watching DeMarco as she moved around behind Daryl.
She saw Daryl moving before DeMarco did, her attention on her wounded partner.
Kate yelled a warning and the next few seconds seemed to explode into motion.
Daryl moved with the energy and desperation of a trapped man. In a motion that was so morbid it was nearly comical, he yanked the fork out of his shoulder and plunged it into DeMarco’s leg. When she buckled and let out a scream, Daryl instantly went for her right hand. He sank his teeth into her wrist and yanked her hard by the arm.
She dropped the gun in her surprise and the moment it hit the floor, he went for it.
Kate raced forward, hoping her numb back would simply remember what it was supposed to do. She noticed that DeMarco was now on her knees, clutching her wrist. She was losing a hell of a lot of blood.
But Kate had to look beyond that. Daryl’s hand was on the gun. His fingers were closing around it…
Kate brought her right knee up, connecting squarely with his face. There was a crunch as his nose shattered. He reeled back, dazed. His eyes swam and blood came gushing out of his nose. Kate retrieved the gun and kept it pointed at him. Her arms were trembling and she did everything she could not to just pull the trigger.
“DeMarco…how are you?”
“Bloody.”
Still, she got to her feet and came forward, still clutching her bitten wrist. She yanked a dish towel from the handle of the oven door and wrapped it around her wrist. She then expertly put handcuffs on a nearly comatose Daryl Woodward. When she had them secured, she let him go. He took a single stumbling step forward and then fell face down on the floor.
The two women looked at one another in stunned silence. Kate could not remember the last time she’d taken such a beating. But that concern was secondary to what she saw in DeMarco. The younger agent was stumbling, having to catch the kitchen counter for balance. The dish towel she had laced around her wrist was pretty much soaked through with blood. Daryl had apparently bitten deep, perhaps nicking an artery.
“Stay with me, okay?” she told DeMarco. She pulled out her phone and dialed 911.
“Yeah,” DeMarco said with a sleepy smile. “Not going anywhere.”
She even managed a nervous little laugh before her eyes closed and she fell to the floor right beside Daryl Woodward.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Kate found herself sitting in Duran’s office for the second time in a week. This time, things weren’t quite as cordial, though. DeMarco was sitting next to her and it was apparent that she was not used to being scolded. It was also apparent that she was not used to being injured. She’d received two shots and twenty-six stitches due to Daryl Woodward’s bite. She’d lost a lot of blood but had been stable the entire time, as soon as the ambulance had arrived.
As for Kate, she was sore. The fight with Woodward had taken it out of her. It was proof of just how unconditioned she was these days. And it was more than not working out like she once had. It was age—something she had no say about.
Duran had just read them the riot act for going into Daryl Woodward’s house two days ago. He was more aggravated about their direct disobedience than the fact that they had both been injured and had ended up nearly killing a man.
Their saving grace came in a series of audio recordings on Daryl’s phone. He’d kept a record of the comings and goings of Julie and Lacy. The recordings went back over the course of over two months. He’d call them degrading names while he narrated their schedules. One particular recording had gone into great detail about a recent tryst with Julie. The description of a tattoo on her inner thigh basically sealed the case for them.
“So here’s my conundrum,” Duran said. “I will admit to thinking the case was over when you nabbed Julio Almas—another part of the case you should have never been involved in, Wise. But you were intuitive enough to see through that. Yes, you damn near killed a man before you were absolutely certain if he was the killer, but in the end it seems you might have saved a life. One of those recordings of his made it clear that Wendy Hudson was next.”
“I have to apologize again,” Kate said. “I had the hunch but
wanted to be sure before I informed you. But as you know, I never really got the chance.”
Duran waved it away. “You caught a killer, Wise. I don’t keep up with this sort of thing, but that makes more than fifty for your career, right?”
She shrugged. She had honestly never kept up with it, even when other agents had whispered about her numbers and accolades in awed reverence.
“This case proves one thing to me, Wise. The fact that you still managed to get results—even after everyone else around you was saying the case was closed—shows that, fifty-five or not, your mind is still as sharp as ever.”
“Thanks…I think.”
“I’ve spoken with the other directors,” Duran said. “We want you back. We can get around the rules, find a way to get you a waiver to come back for one year. See how you feel then. We know you’re bored with retirement. And we need you. And clearly, you are as capable now as you were one year ago when you left. What do you say?”
Kate nodded. She wanted to jump at the offer right away. But in the back of her mind she thought of Melissa, of Michelle…and even of Allen Goldman.
I’m going to call him when I get back home, she thought, the idea random and foreign in Duran’s office. I’m going to call him and take him up on dinner. And if he tries to kiss me, I’m going to let him.
She wondered why the thought occurred to her. And then she realized: it was a yearning for life. For real, normal life. For the chasing killers to end.
And yet, as much as she yearned for it, she also yearned to be back in the action.
She felt torn.
A part of her was tired. But another part, the stronger part, needed the action.
“Can I think about it?” she asked.
“Yes. And if you take this, I’d like for you to partner up with DeMarco indefinitely. She needs you, too.”
“Thank you, sir.”
DeMarco looked over to Kate with a sleek kind of smile—a look that said: The ball is in your court…