“I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter now anyway. With this on my record, the Army won’t take me now.”
“I spoke with Detective Clark. He thinks if we let things cool down, he might be able to get Vargas to drop the charges.”
Jack sat up. “Hold up. What did you just say?”
His dad leaned back. “Jack, I said they might drop the charges. I don’t know if you fully understand the gravity of the situation.”
“No. Wait.” Jack shook his head rapidly, as if trying to knock a thought into place. “You said smart-ass.”
“What?”
“Dad.” Jack’s face lit up. “That’s what the homeless guy said to me.”
“What?”
“The homeless guy who sleeps at that bench.” Jack’s palm smacked the dashboard. “He said some smart-ass broke the light.”
“I’m not following.”
“He’s a witness.”
“What are you talking about? A homeless man? Your mother said you spoke with Alex—”
“No. I talked to this other homeless guy in the park… Murray. He saw the killer.”
“He saw the murder?”
“No, he wasn’t there that night. But he saw the killer.”
“You’re not making any sense. If he didn’t see the murder, how did he see the killer?” His dad shook his head. “Jack, start at the beginning.”
“Dad, we need to go to the park.”
His father looked at him as though he’d just lost his mind. “Are you listening to yourself? Are you listening to me? To anyone?”
“Dad, if I figured out there’s a witness, then whoever the killer is may have figured it out too. If the killer realizes they left a witness behind, they’ll go after him. Murray’s life is in danger.”
“Then we can call Clark.”
“No. He’s not going to send someone out to protect a homeless guy, certainly not on my word. Dad, I feel it in my gut. We have to go now.”
“Jack… there’s still a chance, albeit a slim one, that you can salvage your career. Your dreams. But if you do this, there’s no going back.”
“But Dad, that man’s a witness. I’m sure of it.”
His dad’s voice was stern. “No more going off half-cocked. You start by explaining it to me.”
Jack took a deep breath. “The light fixture. It didn’t dawn on me until just now. The light where Stacy was attacked was broken. The way the homeless guy said it—I think he meant somebody broke that light on purpose. This wasn’t a random act of vandalism. It was the murderer, Dad, planning his crime. He probably tampered with her car, too, so she’d be forced to walk home. He planned it all. And if Murray saw him break the light, he knows who the killer is—or at least what he looks like.”
“Jack, the last few days you’ve been ‘sure’ about a lot of things that turned out to be wrong.”
“Please believe me, Dad. I need someone to believe me.”
His father stopped at a red light. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I know you’re upset about today, and right now you may think that you’re right.” The words stung Jack. “But if you decide to do this, I won’t be able to shield you from the consequences.”
“I’m not asking you to shield me. Are you saying this is my decision?”
“You’re eighteen now. You need to make your own choices, and face your own consequences. I can’t do that for you. But as your father I have to say this: Have you thought this through? You could be giving up everything you’ve worked for. Everything.”
“I know. But I know I’m right.”
“And maybe you are. But there are still consequences.”
That brought Jack up short. “If I prove Jay didn’t kill Stacy, how can I get jammed up?”
“Let me put it another way. Suppose you prove that Detective Vargas is wrong in front of his boss and all his colleagues. Do you think he’ll congratulate you? Or will he still pursue charges?”
Jack looked out the window.
The way to Hamilton Park was to the right. The way home was to the left. Jack’s father looked both ways, and then turned to Jack. “From the time you came home, you’ve wanted to be a policeman. Are you willing to risk losing that for Jay Martin?”
Jack paused, but he didn’t need time to think about his answer. “Wrong’s wrong. It isn’t just about Jay. Not anymore. I didn’t even know Stacy, but… the person who killed her left her in a pond like trash. Like I was.” Jack swallowed. “Yeah, I can close my eyes and go on with my life, and become a police officer, and everything I’ve ever wanted—but an innocent person rots in prison and a killer goes free. If something happens to that homeless guy tonight, I’ll never forgive myself. I can’t let that happen.”
The light turned green. Jack’s dad hesitated. He took a long time to decide. Finally he exhaled, and turned toward Hamilton Park.
“Thanks for believing in me.”
His father sped up. “That’s what dads are for.”
As they walked into Hamilton Park, the wind blew in gusts and the air was sticky. They didn’t see anyone else. As the wind picked up, Jack kept turning his face toward the sky, waiting for the rain.
“It’s going to rain soon, so let’s find him fast,” Jack’s dad said.
They reached the bench where Jack and Chandler had seen the homeless guy the other night, but he wasn’t there. Then they headed to bench thirteen. He wasn’t there either.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Ted asked. “The light is working.”
Jack looked up. “They must have fixed it. But it’s the right place.”
His father took off his glasses and wiped them. “Let’s try the shelter. He probably went before—”
“Evening,” said a voice. Jack and his father jumped as the homeless man walked toward them out of the darkness. “Didn’t see me, did ya?”
“Nope.” Jack’s dad popped the end of the word and his eyebrows lowered. “That’s why we jumped.”
The man grinned. “Murray Pratt.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ted Stratton. This is my son, Jack.” He reached out to shake Murray’s hand, but then thought better of it.
Jack spoke as calmly as his pounding heart would allow. “Murray, you remember me? I spoke with you a few nights ago. You said that a smart-ass broke your light, is that right?”
“He sure did.” Murray nodded curtly.
“So you spoke with him?” Jack held his breath.
“Not really. He walked over and started throwing rocks at my light. I asked him what the hell he was doing and he told me to get lost. I told him that that’s where I sleep, and do you know what he said? ‘No one wants to sleep with the lights on.’ Then he broke the light and left.”
“What did he look like? Was he white? Black?” Jack asked.
“A white guy. Big. Taller than you.” He pointed at Jack. “Light-brown hair.”
“It wasn’t Vlad or any of the other homeless guys around here?”
“Nope.”
“Would you recognize the guy again if you saw him?” Jack asked.
“I think,” Murray said.
“Would you be able to tell the police what you just told us?” Jack’s dad asked.
Murray shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked nervous. “I don’t know.”
“It would be a big help to a lot of people. I’d be personally grateful and—”
“How grateful? Money grateful?”
“Possibly.” Jack’s dad smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you dinner. All you have to do is tell the police what you just told me.”
“Really?” Murray eyed him suspiciously.
“Really.” Jack’s dad raised his hand in promise.
“Deal,” Murray said.
A rumble of thunder echoed through the park.
Jack’s dad shrugged. “No time like the present then. There’s a Waffle House near the police station.”
“I love waffles.”
“Waffles it is.”<
br />
“Right after you talk to the cops,” Jack added.
As the three of them headed back to the car, Murray kept talking about what he wanted to order. Jack’s dad just kept nodding and saying, “That sounds good, Murray. Get that.”
They rounded the top of a hill, and Murray pulled up short.
“Is everything all right, Murray?” Jack’s dad asked.
The color drained from Murray’s face. “No. You know… I can’t.”
“What’s the matter?” Jack asked.
“No.” Murray took a step back. “Snitches get stitches,” he muttered.
“You’re not snitching,” Jack’s dad explained. “This man murdered—”
“What?” Murray looked back and forth between Jack and his father as if they might grab him. “I thought he just broke the light! You think he’s a killer?” He took a step away. “I didn’t see nothin’.”
“Murray, you could already be in danger.” Jack’s dad stepped closer. “If that man realizes that you could identify him—”
“I’m not identifyin’ nobody.”
“The police can protect you.”
“Get away from me.” Murray spun on his heel and hurried away.
Jack started after him, but his father grabbed his arm. “Let him go.”
“But he knows. He saw the guy!”
“I’ll talk to Clark.”
“But what if Murray chickens out? He knows, Dad. He saw him.”
“And right now he’s scared. We can’t drag him to the police station.”
“I can.”
His father shook his head. “You can’t legally.”
“So we’re just going to let him walk away? What about Jay? What about Stacy?”
“I’ll talk to Clark.” Jack’s dad reached for his phone and made a face. “Shoot, I left my phone on the hall table. We can go home and I’ll call him right away. Okay?”
As Jack stood there, fuming, the first drops of rain fell. He glared at the sky as the water hit his face. “I hate this cursed day,” he grumbled, and stomped toward the car.
They walked in silence the rest of the way. By the time they crested a hill and the parking lot came into view, wind was whipping across its surface, shaking the nearby trees. Then something caught Jack’s eye—a car parked in the far corner.
“Damn,” Jack said.
His dad frowned. “Don’t swear.”
Jack pointed at the silver Toyota. “That’s Michael Shaw’s car.”
His dad stopped walking. “Are you sure?”
“It’s the first car I ever tailed. I’ll never forget what it looks like.”
His dad stared across the parking lot. “Why would he be here now?”
Jack scanned the park. “Dad, why else? He’s here for Murray. He knows Murray saw him break that light. Murray’s in trouble.”
His dad frowned. “Even if you’re right—why wait until now? If Shaw wanted to hurt Murray, he could have done it any time.”
“Because I stirred things up,” Jack said. “He probably thought he was safe, and killing Murray wasn’t worth the risk. But Vargas brought him in again today, questioned him again, because of the GPS. It made Shaw scared. Now he’s trying to cover his tracks.”
His dad considered this for only a minute. “We need to get the police.”
“There’s no time.” Jack walked back into the park.
“What? No.” His dad grabbed Jack’s arm. “Haven’t you learned anything? We need to get the police.”
“But Murray’s out there. And Shaw might be with him already.”
“And Shaw could have a gun! Jack… are you going to risk your life for him?”
Jack felt the warm glow of adrenaline sweep through his system. “I have to, Dad.” He stepped backward. “You need to go get the police.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“There’s no time. I’m faster than you. I’ll run back to the bench.”
“We go together.”
They started running, but before they were halfway there, Jack’s dad was huffing and had to slow down.
“Dad, let me go on ahead. Trust me.”
His dad stopped and placed his hands on his hips. He ground his teeth in frustration. “If you see Shaw, run. Do you promise me?”
Jack nodded.
“Go.”
Jack took off like the lightning in the distance. The rain was already starting to slicken the asphalt. His eyes scanned the path and grounds. The wind gusted and the rain stung his eyes.
At the top of the next hill, he saw the bench. He raced down the hill, skidded to a stop, and peered through the thick rain. No one was in sight.
Jack cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “MURRAY! MURRAY!”
The storm howled in response.
Jack searched the area, calling for Murray, but the man was nowhere to be seen, and by now the rain was really coming down. After a few minutes, he decided to start back toward his dad. Maybe he’d find Murray on the way. Maybe they could search together.
Then, from over the hill, he heard his father’s voice. “STOP RIGHT THERE!” Jack had never heard his dad sound so commanding.
Jack sprinted toward the sound, ignoring the driving rain. His feet flew over the slick pavement.
At the top of the hill, he froze.
Below him, in the grass just off the path, his father stood with his legs planted shoulder-width apart. Michael Shaw stood twenty feet in front of him. And Murray lay in a heap at Shaw’s feet.
“Stop hitting him and move back, now,” Jack’s dad ordered in his sternest teacher voice.
Shaw straightened up.
“Move away from him!” Jack’s dad walked forward. “Just back away. We can work this out.”
Shaw took a couple of steps back.
Lightning flashed, and from Jack’s position on the hill, he saw the light gleam off something clutched in Shaw’s right hand. A tire iron.
Shaw started toward Jack’s dad.
“Dad! Look out!” Jack’s feet pressed into the ground as he kicked into a full sprint.
His dad took a step forward. He raised his fists.
Jack had never thought of his father as small until now. It was a lopsided matchup: the huge, hulking man versus the short scholar.
Shaw screamed in rage and charged, his arm raised high. The tire iron gleamed.
Jack’s hands clawed the air as he raced forward.
Shaw swung. The tire iron swept toward Jack’s father’s head.
Jack dove between the two men. Jack’s back took most of the impact. The base of his skull took the rest. His momentum carried him into Shaw and his weight drove the man back, but Shaw remained on his feet while Jack collapsed to the ground.
The rain sparkled and the world spun. Jack’s eyes rolled in his head. He tasted the tang of metal in his mouth—blood.
Shaw stared down at Jack in disbelief. His lips pulled back so far all his teeth showed. “YOU!” he shrieked. Lightning gleamed off the whites of his bulging eyeballs. Gripping the tire iron in both hands, he raised it high.
Jack’s father slammed into Shaw’s ribs and threw all his weight into knocking the bigger man down.
Shaw’s feet slid out from under him on the wet grass and he tumbled backward. The tire iron dropped from his hand. The two men rolled, and Jack’s dad came out on top. His knee pinned one of Shaw’s arms to the ground.
But Shaw’s other hand was free, and he was the stronger of the two men. He swung at his attacker’s head. His first blow glanced harmlessly off the smaller man’s shoulder.
His second blow caught Jack’s dad square in the face.
The teacher’s glasses broke. The broken frame sliced into the skin above his right eye. Then an uppercut caught him under the chin and knocked his head back. He fell off Shaw and onto his side.
By now, Murray had managed to stand. Blood ran down the side of his face and into his beard. He looked at Jack, then he turned and fled, disappearing over the hill.<
br />
Jack’s vision blurred. He looked at his father. For the first time in Jack’s life, he saw terror in his dad’s eyes.
“RUN, JACK!” his father ordered.
Shaw’s huge hands circled his throat.
Jack tried to get to his feet, but he was still dizzy from the blow to the head. He stumbled and crashed back down to the ground, helpless.
Shaw leaned all his weight forward, trying to crush the smaller man’s throat. Jack’s father’s fingers clawed at Shaw’s grip. His face turned blue. His back arched, and his eyes bulged in his head.
Jack tried again to rise to his feet. Again, he failed.
A shrill, ear-piercing whistle cut through the storm. Again and again the whistle shrieked. A red baseball hat appeared on the horizon.
Robyn dashed over the hill, blowing her whistle for all she was worth.
“SHUT UP!” Shaw screamed. He released his grip on Jack’s father and stood.
Jack’s father didn’t move.
Robyn ran up beside Jack. Her whistle quieted. Tears poured down her face. She was furiously huffing, but the only sound coming out was a strained wheeze.
Shaw picked up the tire iron and glared at Jack.
“It’s over, Shaw. Give up,” Jack said. He coughed up blood. “The police know everything. The phone app. The broken light. You couldn’t find Stacy’s handbag because someone picked it up while you were hiding her body. So you took your own set of keys and drove the car into the ditch to throw off the investigation.”
“Shut up. Shut up.” Shaw raised the tire iron over his head. Jack was helpless to fight back.
“Stop,” croaked a hoarse voice. Jack’s father. Jack’s heart skipped a beat. Thank God, he’s alive. “Please, stop.”
Michael Shaw had circles under his eyes so dark they looked black. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. He looked back at Jack’s father, then eyed Jack and Robyn, one by one. Jack realized he was trying to figure out whether he could finish off all of them. And he’d have to track down Murray too.
Shaw nodded his head as though he’d reached a decision.
Jack forced himself to his feet. His vision blurred, but he tried to focus on the large blur in front of him. He balled his right hand into a fist. One punch. He might have one good punch left in him.
Maybe.
“There he is!”
And Then She Was GONE: A riveting new suspense novel that keeps you guessing until the end Page 27