However Many More

by Bo Thunboe

  The black lady cop again. “You admit you were here in Weston the day Henry Fox was murdered.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you hated Mr. Fox for coming between you and your husband.”

  What the hell is she talking about? Conner wondered.

  “Detective Diggs,” said the lawyer. “Is my client, Mr. Bowen, no longer a suspect in Mr. Fox’s murder?

  “That’s correct, counselor.”

  Conner’s dad crossed his arms and looked at the lawyer. “I told you I didn’t do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Conner’s mom asked.

  “We found his real alibi.”

  “What alibi?” Conner’s mom scooted to the front of the couch.

  Conner’s dad swept a big hand around and put it on her knee. “That doesn’t matter, Susan. What matters is I’m totally innocent, just like I’ve been saying.”

  She flinched and pushed his hand away.

  “We have a video of your husband—”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Conner’s dad shouted. He poked the lawyer in the shoulder. “Tell them, Don.”

  “I agree—”

  The black lady cop continued. “—with Mark Griffin, the owner of Paget County Coins, at the time the murder occurred.”

  “With him?” Conner’s mom asked, her eyes narrowed at her husband. “Were they ‘writing’?”

  “We have also learned that before your husband’s current romantic relationship with Mark Griffin at the coin shop, he was in a romantic relationship with Mr. Fox.”

  Conner’s stomach flipped and folded around itself. Mr. Fox was gay too? Did April know that?

  “That gives you a motive,” the cop said. “So, again, why did you tell Detective Houser you were in Cincinnati?”

  “Because… it’s hard to admit to myself, much less to a stranger, that my marriage is over. And how it ended,” she waved the back of her hand toward her husband, “makes the whole marriage a lie. Twenty-one years of lies.” Conner’s mom pushed back into the couch, shot an ugly look at her husband, and said, “Look what you’ve done to us.”

  The cop nodded and started pacing. As she turned she spotted Conner and froze, their eyes locked. She grimaced, shook her head as if in apology, and turned back to Conner’s mom.

  * * *

  As Jake drove, he sent his mind back through how he’d handled the case. Thanks to Lynn’s phony alibi he hadn’t wasted a lot of time on her or on Bowen, but the lie still pissed him off. So did April’s omission about the big bar Henry had given her.

  He shook his head, his anger with the Fox women flaring. Hell, knowing about the big bars earlier might have made the difference. Might have saved Cole’s life.

  Shit!

  The Fox women were as connected to the silver as Cole and Trane and the rest.

  And Trane had to know the women existed: he’d mentioned the media coverage himself, and the media always talked about surviving family members. And he’d talked to Griffin, so he probably knew April had been along when Henry sold the first bar.

  A possibility.

  More than that.

  A probability.

  Trane was desperate and had nowhere else to go.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Lynn put the pot of tomato soup on a metal trivet shaped like a pumpkin. The frying pan sizzled and she darted to the stove and flipped the grilled-cheese sandwiches, the smell of the melting cheddar so sharp her mouth watered. Maybe her appetite was back. Maybe things were getting better. Her heart didn’t feel like a giant hollow space anymore, and her eyes were dry. Maybe she and April would be okay. Even without the silver.

  She pressed the sandwiches down with the spatula, a glob of cheese escaping the bread and sizzling on the pan. She flipped them again. Both sides were perfectly brown and crispy. She turned off the stove, plated the sandwiches, and put them on the table. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Their favorite meal this time of year.

  Wind rattled the window over the sink. The glass was dark and her hair looked crazy in the reflection. She smoothed it down, then checked the table again. Everything was ready.

  “April!”

  Nothing.

  She pushed through the swinging door to the dining room and clicked it into the open position. April had tidied up—all the loose photos were back in boxes and the photo boards were now leaning against the wall. Lynn turned the stereo on and started a country CD, then reversed course through the kitchen and through the swinging door into the hallway. “April?”

  “A minute.” The closed bathroom door muffled her voice; water ran and splashed.

  Lynn went back into the kitchen, folded paper napkins at each place, and sat down to wait.

  April came in wearing the green hoodie Lynn had bought her with the Paget Community College logo on it. It looked good on her; just tight enough people could tell she was a woman.

  “What’s that bird on the logo called again?” Lynn asked.

  “I looked it up on Wikipedia. It’s a roadrunner.”

  “But that’s not—”

  “The school calls it a chaparral. I guess it sounds fancier.”

  “I like it. You hungry, honey?”

  “I am, actually.”

  They started eating, silence between them, but that was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Lynn dipped a corner of her sandwich into the soup, then blew on it. Now she understood what they meant by comfort food.

  “Jake said he was coming by tonight?” Lynn asked. “To tell us more about the body at the house?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Had to be another guy who got between Mr. Bowen and the silver, right?”

  “Not Mr. Bowen,” April said. “He was with that lady cop when this happened.”

  Lynn put her sandwich down, her appetite suddenly gone. She’d been so focused on April that she hadn’t thought of there being another killer.

  The back door made its familiar squelch as it opened. Jake must be here.

  “Hello?” Lynn called out. When he didn’t reply she got up and headed for the door. “Are you letting yourself in now?”

  The laundry room doorway filled with a big man in a long brown coat, his eyes wild and his face red from the cold. His eyes bored into hers then slid to April, and his mouth pulled into a hard smile.

  Lynn jumped in front of him and pushed against his chest with both hands. “Get out!”

  The man punched her between her breasts and she flew back, hit the wall, and sprawled on the floor.

  “Hey!” April screamed and sprang from her chair, circling the table to keep it between her and the man. “Get out or I’ll call 911.”

  “Shut up.” The land line phone hung on the wall by the doorway, and he ripped it down and pulled the cord until it snapped. “The coin shop guy says you know about my silver.”

  Lynn couldn’t breathe. She flopped onto her stomach and rose to her hands and knees, mouth working to pump air in. Her chest was paralyzed. She fought against a rising panic. You’re not dying. You’ve just had the wind knocked out of you.

  April appeared next to her, kneeling. “Mom! Are you okay?”

  Lynn nodded and a squeaking ribbon of air snaked down her windpipe. Relax. She let her shoulders slump, then her abdomen. Another tendril of air, and her windpipe opened and she was breathing again.

  “Help me up,” she said.

  As soon as she was back on her feet she pushed April behind her and faced the man. “Get out!”

  He came across the room so fast he was a blur, and his backhanded slap snapped her head back. She stumbled and her face burned and her right eye watered.

  “Get out of here!” April yelled.

  The man grabbed Lynn’s shoulders and pushed her down into a chair. He jabbed a finger at April. “Sit your ass down.”

/>   April sat.

  Lynn grabbed April’s hand and held it tight. When this nut realized they didn’t have the silver, he would leave. Wouldn’t he? Her cheek stung, but if that was as bad as it got she’d be fine. They’d both be fine. Everything would be fine.

  The man paced back and forth on the other side of the table, his coat flaring around him at each turn. His eyes darted around the kitchen, scraped over them, and moved on. His lips moved constantly, a harsh mumble too low to hear. Finally he stopped and faced them.

  “It’s my silver.”

  “We don’t have it,” Lynn said. It’s my silver. That’s what he’d been mumbling. Over and over.

  “Well it ain’t in your garage,” he said. He spun around and slipped away so smoothly the only sound was his coat flapping. He went to the front window, stuck his head between the sheers, and looked up and down the street.

  April yanked her hand out of Lynn’s and pulled her cell phone out of her hoodie pocket. She held it under the table, stabbing at the screen.

  “Quickly,” Lynn whispered. She kept her eyes on the man.

  The man closed the drapes, yanking the edges together until they overlapped. Then he stepped toward the front door and out of her sight. Sounds came from her bedroom. The closet door. Something hitting the floor.

  “Come on,” Lynn urged.

  The phone clattered onto the floor, and April whimpered. “Shoot!” She bent and scooped it up.

  The swinging door from the hallway burst open. The man’s wild eyes landed on April. “Give me your damn cell phone.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  He came around the table and grabbed a handful of Lynn’s hair, twisting it and wrenching her head sideways. The pain forced tears from her eyes but she kept her mouth shut.

  April threw her phone on the table. The man snatched it up and dropped it in the pot of soup.

  “Yours too, Momma.”

  Lynn lifted her hip, pulled her phone out of her back pocket, and flung it on the table. He dropped it into the soup with April’s.

  “You’re going to tell—” The man twitched, darted into the living room, and pulled aside the curtain to look out the window. He disappeared into the front hall and she heard him moving through the rest of the house, and then he was back. Breathing hard.

  “You killed that man in Henry’s house,” Lynn blurted. She knew it was true. She also knew she shouldn’t have said it.

  His eyes fixed on her. He nodded, then pulled a knife out from under his coat. It had a long blade that curved up in a wicked tip. He moved it back and forth in front of them like he was carving the air; the flat side of the blade caught the light and flashed it in Lynn’s eyes.

  The terror surging through Lynn was overwhelming, paralyzing. Oh, God no. Please don’t hurt us. Please… not April.

  He stepped behind Lynn, reached around, and grabbed her chin. His hand was cold from being outside and rough with callouses. He brought the knife in front of her face so close that her breath fogged on the blade.

  “You’re going to tell me what I need to know,” he growled, “or you’ll end up like him.” He released her and resumed his pacing.

  Lynn grabbed April’s hand. It was cold and damp and her face was pale. April’s gaze jerked toward the small window over the sink, then dropped back to the table. She’d seen something. Maybe it was Jake! Lynn fought the urge to look for herself, hope swelling inside her, mixing with the terror. Adrenaline was coursing through her, but she had to stay calm. She had to buy some time until Jake rescued them.

  “W-we didn’t have anything to do with the silver,” she said. She fought to control the tremor in her voice. “Neither of us. That was Henry’s silver. We don’t know anything about it.”

  The man darted into the living room and again looked out at the street. Why didn’t Jake come in and rescue them? Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe it was up to her. She’d push April ahead of her out the back door then stand guard while she got away. It was now or never.

  Lynn pulled her feet under and started to rise, but her legs shook so badly she collapsed back to the chair.

  It would be up to Jake.

  The man’s boots pounded down the hallway, and she heard a clatter from the mini-blinds on her bedroom window.

  Then he was back again.

  He pointed at April with the knife. “I know your dad took you to that coin shop with him, so you know about the silver.”

  “She doesn’t know any—”

  The big man hit Lynn again, his giant knuckles like hammers against her cheekbone. Her vision blurred.

  “Stop it!” April yelled, coming off her seat.

  “Sit the fuck down.”

  Lynn squeezed April’s hand as her daughter’s face began to fade behind the blackness.

  “Mom!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Outside, Jake ducked down beneath Lynn’s kitchen window. Trane was losing it, waving a big knife and hitting Lynn and darting around the house in a fast circle to check the windows every couple minutes. Maybe he was on something.

  Jake snuck around to the front of the house and stood behind the big tree so Trane wouldn’t see him when he made his next circuit through the house. Trane had no reason to kill the Fox women while he was in control, but if he saw a squad car or any officers… things would escalate very quickly. Jake could not let that happen. Not while Lynn and April were still trapped inside.

  Which meant Jake couldn’t risk calling in backup. He had to handle this alone. He had the gun and surprise on his side.

  Jake could sneak inside and wait for Trane’s next mad dash to separate him—and his knife—from the Fox women. Jake could hide in the hallway and confront Trane there. That way he would be between Trane and the women, and Trane would have the front door at his back if he decided to make a run for it.

  A squad car rounded the corner, tires scuffing on the asphalt, lights flashing, but siren quiet. Jake pulled his badge off his belt and held it up as he ran into the street, heading off the squad before it got to Lynn’s house. He slashed his free hand across his throat and the lights winked off.

  He ran to the driver’s window and started talking while he was still moving.

  “Lights off. Lights off. Hostage situation.”

  “Emergency services got a 911 call. A hang-up.”

  “Park your squad behind that truck.” Jake’s gaze stopped on the truck. It was a large box truck with a double axle in the back and a power lift gate. Heavy-duty. Perfect for loading and hauling a silver hoard. And Trane’s pickup was found less than a block from a company that ran a fleet of these trucks. Trane was making a last run for the silver, just as Jake had guessed.

  He followed the squad and explained his plan to the patrol cop.

  “I’m going in,” he said. “Tell your sergeant I want you all to be invisible until I give a signal.”

  “Is the perp armed?”

  “With a knife. Do you understand my instructions?”

  “Out of sight. Come in on your signal.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s your signal?”

  “You’ll know it when you hear it.”

  Jake left the patrolman and went back behind the tree. He squatted, then darted to the front stoop and waited, crouched well below the window. Less than a minute later a rustle at the front curtain, then a scrape on the floor a few inches away behind the door. Then silence. Trane was headed back to the kitchen.

  Jake eased open the storm door, its piano hinge squeaking long and tight. He waited, listening, until he was sure Trane wasn’t rushing back to the front door, then turned the knob. It twisted smoothly and he pushed gently, increasing pressure until the weather-tight seal gave and the door opened into the house with a slight puff of suction. He paused again. Still nothing. Just Garth Brooks warbling from the s
tereo.

  He pulled his Glock from its holster and held it low in his right hand. He carried it with a round chambered so the pistol was ready. But was he ready?

  The answer to that question had to be yes.

  He stepped through the front door and pushed it closed behind him. The hallway went past three open doors on the right before ending at a closed door that led into the kitchen. The left side of the house held a living room that flowed through a wide arched opening into the dining room, with the kitchen behind it through another swinging door.

  A shadow moved through his line of sight, and he realized the door between the dining room and the kitchen was open and Trane was pacing again. He heard voices, excited and quick, but the country music drowned out the words.

  He stepped carefully toward the hallway. The hardwood floor was solid and didn’t creak as he crept along, his gun in front of him. He closed the bedroom doors and the bathroom door and left the ceiling light off. When Trane rushed off on his next circuit to look out the windows Jake would get between Trane and the Fox women and flush the killer out the front door.

  Or shoot him, if that’s what it took.

  * * *

  The darkness ebbed. Lynn felt April’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her up in a chair. At their kitchen table.

  Then she heard voices. April’s and… the madman’s.

  “I’m not helping you until I know my mom’s okay,” April was saying.

  “You’ll look at this now or you’ll both—she’s awake.”

  Lynn gripped the table and breathed deeply, her vision clearing.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Lynn said. Her face throbbed. She touched it; the skin was sore and blood seeped from an open gash. But she could cry later. Right now she was the only thing between this madman and her baby girl. She grabbed a handful of napkins and pressed them to her face. “Tell him what you know about the silver.”

  “It’s my silver.” The madman stabbed his knife into a notebook splayed open on the table. “This book that your dad used to steal it proves it.” He flicked the knife, and the book slid across the table and hit April in the chest.