by Simon Wood
“Because she deserved it,” Jake answered.
Terry rose to his knees. Jake emerged from behind the model windmill, one hand holding a bloodstained hunting knife, the other casually hidden in his pocket. He stood behind Sarah and stroked her hair from her face.
“You bastard,” Terry spat.
Jake sighed. “Stick and stones, Terry. Really.”
Terry cuffed his running nose. “You didn’t have to kill her.”
“Are you crazy?” Jake stared at Terry like he was insane. “She’s the cause of this.” He pointed at Sarah with the knife. “She destroyed my life.”
Terry shook his head. He reached behind him and tugged from his back pocket the newspaper he’d discovered hidden inside the picture frame. He tossed it on the ground at Jake’s feet. It fell open to the front page with Jake’s shame splashed across it.
“She just reported the news. You were a rapist. She didn’t make you into anything that you weren’t already.”
“It was statutory rape.” Jake jabbed the knife in Terry’s direction. “The girl was a high-school senior. She lied about her age. Nothing was forced.”
“That’s not what it says in there.” Sarah’s report alleged that the girl had pleaded for Jake to stop, and he’d ignored her.
“That’s because that bitch wife of yours made me out to be a pedophile.” Jake kicked the newspaper back at Terry. “Christ, you’ve got no idea the humiliation of being busted by your own dad.” He stared at the ancient newspaper, reliving old nightmares. “And do you know what it’s like to be a sheriff’s son and a rapist in the joint? Do you?”
Terry didn’t answer. He didn’t care.
“You’re the lowest of the low. No one gives a damn whether you live or die, and don’t think the correction officers step in to help.”
“My heart bleeds for you.”
“It should, Terry. Because, guess what? During every beating, one thing kept me alive. Through the pain, I saw a face. Just one.” His stare bore into Terry. “Your wife’s.”
“So why the other women, Jake? What made these other women so special to you? They didn’t have a part in your conviction.”
“But they would have, given the chance.” Jake sneered. “When I got out of jail, it was no better. No fresh starts for Jakey-boy. Someone always found out about my past. In every city I moved to, Megan’s Law ratted me out.” He laughed bitterly. “Christ, by making sex offenders’ information public, Megan’s Law was meant to save lives. What a joke. It forced me to take them.”
God, it was pathetic. Jake’s excuse for all the misery and pain he’d inflicted was feeble. It was no better reasoned than one from a child striking out at an unwanted punishment. Did he honestly expect Terry to feel sorry for him when he’d just murdered his wife? It was beyond ridiculous.
Terry watched Jake work himself into a frenzy, losing control of himself and the situation. Jake realized it too. He snapped out of it, sniffed, and smiled.
“Do you want to know why I killed those women? Huh?”
Terry didn’t answer.
“Because they were just like Sarah. They all liked to point the finger. They made the headlines by destroying other people’s lives. They poked their noses into things that had nothing to do with them.”
“Those women pointed the finger at people who broke the law.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” Jake shook his head. “Are you saying a whore who blew the whistle on cops was right?”
“They were dirty cops.”
“A know-nothing nurse exposed a doctor who saved lives every day for a mistake he made.”
“A person died because of that doctor.”
“You’re a piece of work, Terry. Do you know that? You’ve got an answer for everything.”
Terry glanced at Sarah. He didn’t have an answer for tonight. He didn’t have an answer for anything anymore and he shook his head.
“A couple of times, I really thought I’d be able to settle down, you know?” Jake said. “I thought, this time I’m going to get on all right. But just as I would get settled, someone would yank the rug from under me. They’d find out about the conviction, and they’d want me to go. Jesus, I’d paid my debt to society. I should have been left alone.” Jake palmed away a tear. “Soon I found I wasn’t the only one being given the shaft. I’d notice the likes of Alicia Hyams and Judith Stein sticking it to others like me. I’ve moved every year after getting out of prison. But it wasn’t until I saw Hope Maclean that I decided to even things up.”
Jake smiled and nodded to himself, reveling in his past achievements. He exhibited the smug warmth of a job well done. Terry couldn’t help but wonder at the depth of Jake’s sick delusions.
“Did you really think no one was going to catch on to you?”
Jake snorted. “It wasn’t meant to be a secret.”
Terry was incredulous. Every time he thought Jake couldn’t shock him any more, he said something to drag the nightmare another level lower.
“At first, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t until I killed Judith Stein that I realized these bitches’ deaths needed to be recognized. People have to understand there are consequences for their actions. So I gave myself a crusade.”
“And you contacted Sarah.”
Jake snorted. “You know what? Of all the women I wanted to teach lesson, the one woman I really needed to teach was your wife, and it never crossed my mind until I spotted her back in town. I’ve been sending her notes for months.”
Terry’s insides turned to stone. Sarah had known about the murders all along and kept them to herself. She’d played a stupid, stupid game with a killer and paid the price. He hated to admit it, but she deserved Sheriff Holman’s damnation. If she’d gone to the police earlier, Alicia Hyams might not be dead.
“At first, I was pretty cryptic, but she wasn’t connecting the dots, so I had to spell it out for her. She wasn’t as smart as she liked to think she was.” Jake pointed at Sarah. His finger touched her head, which lolled to one side.
Revulsion clawed up Terry’s throat. He wanted to puke at the sight of that monster touching his wife. How dare he? How fucking dare he?
“Don’t touch her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t touch her,” Terry repeated.
“Terry, listen to yourself.” Jake pointed the knife at him. “You are in no position to make any demands here. You are here as a courtesy. Remember that.”
Terry didn’t reply. There was no arguing with Jake. Not that Terry was trying to reason with him. They were all beyond that stage.
Jake frowned and lowered the knife. “I wanted her to work it all out and know that she was responsible. I wanted her to suffer the way she’d made me suffer. Suffer like all the people she’d wronged.”
Terry could only imagine what it must have been like for Sarah. The shock and exhilaration of communicating with a killer must have seemed like a journalistic gift from heaven. But that excitement must have turned into a fear-driven sweat when she realized Jake had orchestrated the murders for her benefit—and her demise. No wonder Sarah ran.
“Jake, why have you brought me here? If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
Jake frowned. “I could have killed you a thousand times, but I wanted you to see what kind of woman you married and what she did to me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We could have been friends.”
Terry felt nothing but hatred toward Jake Holman. “I knew what kind of woman Sarah was. I didn’t need you to show me.”
“You really piss me off, Terry. Do you know that? You kept giving me the brush-off and that’s why I didn’t just kill you. I wanted you to experience this pain, this suffering”—Jake pointed at Sarah with the knife—“so you might just find some compassion for me in that pea brain of yours.”
“Are you finished?”
Jake sneered. “No. This is only the beginning of your agony. I killed Sarah just so I wouldn’t have to listen to her bleat.” He came behind
Sarah and lifted her head. “But I wanted you to be here when I hacked her blabbing tongue out.”
“No!”
Terry wasn’t going to let it happen. He’d failed to save Sarah, but he’d be damned if he would let Jake desecrate her any further. Adrenaline ignited in his veins, and he propelled himself at the killer. Jake’s eyes widened, but for only for a second. He wasn’t expecting the attack, but when he realized it was happening, he grinned, relishing the challenge.
“C’mon,” Jake beckoned and dived out from behind Sarah.
Terry body-slammed Jake, sending him sprawling into the windmill. The structure tottered on its foundations, and a rotating windmill sail thudded into Jake’s side, stopping the sails from turning. He didn’t show any sign that the sail had made an impact on him.
Terry snatched both of Jake’s wrists. Jake shoved Terry backward. They danced a surreal death waltz with Jake leading. Terry’s grip was tight on Jake’s wrists, but his effect was negligible. Jake’s strength was overwhelming, and Terry had no option but to follow his partner’s lead.
Terry backed up another step and his heel clipped the shallow step at the edge of the carpeted fairway. He lost his balance, but he didn’t let go of Jake. He went down hard into the landscaping, taking the killer with him. The sandwiching impact of Jake and the ground blasted the air from his lungs. His ribs flexed under Jake’s weight and at least one rib broke, draining Terry’s strength.
Jake shook off Terry’s feeble grasp and straddled him. He had the advantage, and they both knew it. That knowledge was aflame in Jake’s eyes. Terry fought to regain his grasp on Jake’s wrists. Jake head-butted Terry, and pinpricks of light twinkled in his vision. Jake head-butted Terry again and again, until Terry’s hands slipped away. He grabbed Terry’s throat, choking him. Terry tore at the restraining hand. Jake raised the knife high, his mouth open with anticipation. Terry gurgled.
“This is it,” he said. “End of the line, old chap. Are you ready?”
“No,” Sheriff Holman bellowed.
The sheriff stood a few yards away with his gun aimed at his son’s chest. Relief washed over Terry, although he didn’t relax his grip on Jake. He was far from being out of the woods. A gun was hardly the thing to strike fear into Jake.
Jake laughed. “Come to do the right thing again, Dad?”
Terry squirmed under Jake’s choking grasp. The sheriff’s son tightened his grip, keeping him pinned. Starlight burned in Terry’s vision.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, son.”
“Doesn’t it? Do you think you’re going to make things better by taking me in?”
Holman cocked the long-barreled revolver.
“You’d better do it. I’m not doing a second stretch, not for you, not for anybody. It’s your call. What you gonna do, Dad?”
Holman was frozen, petrified in a moment of decision that would determine all of their fates.
“This is a tense moment. There should be music.” Jake delighted in his father’s pain even more than he delighted in Terry’s. “C’mon, Dad. Ticktock.”
“Put the knife down.” A faint tremor contaminated Holman’s speech. “Don’t kill him.”
“You disappoint me, Dad.” Jake shook his head. He flung his arm back again to plunge the blade into Terry’s chest.
“Don’t, Jake,” Holman said with overpowering compassion. He wasn’t a law officer. He was a father reaching out to his son in a moment of supreme need.
Jake hesitated. “Why?”
“If you don’t kill him, I’ll stand by you.”
“You’ll hold my hand in the gas chamber?”
“No, I’ll help you.”
“Help me, how? You can’t prevent me from going to prison.”
“Yes, I can.”
“How?”
“I’ll pin it all on him.” Holman nodded at Terry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jake stood, dragging Terry to his knees. He came behind Terry and rested the knife against his throat. Holman trained his gun at Terry.
“You’ll make him the killer?” Jake asked.
Holman nodded. “He’s been under suspicion before. This time, he was apprehended red-handed and killed during his arrest.”
Terry couldn’t believe they were planning his demise in front of him. They spoke of him as if he weren’t there—an imbecile too stupid to understand. But it was hard to be much of a force with a knife pressed to his neck and a gun pointed at his head.
“Holman, you son of a bitch. You’re an officer of the law, for God’s sake.”
Holman ignored Terry. Jake pressed the knife a little harder against Terry’s throat.
“Jake, I didn’t do enough for you last time. I can make it up to you this time.”
Jake smiled. “You’re really going to come through for me?”
Holman didn’t return the smile. He was grim faced. “Yes. This time, yes.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Jesus, Holman. Your son has killed six people. You can’t condone this. You can’t let him get away with this.”
Jake snatched a fistful of hair and yanked Terry’s head back. “Shut up.”
“We need to make this look like he killed his wife. Did his friend see you?” Holman jerked his head in the direction of the arcade and Oscar.
“He saw me.”
Holman inhaled, mulling over Oscar’s significance as a witness. “I’ll take care of him.”
“You’ll kill him?” Jake asked.
“There’s no other way.”
“No, you leave him alone,” Terry yelled. He pinwheeled an arm back to slip Jake’s grasp, but Jake brought him back into line by slamming a fist into his left kidney. The blow sent a burst of pain up through his spine and into his brain. “You bastard!”
“Behave yourself, Terry. I won’t ask again,” Jake said. “How do we do this thing?”
“You give me the knife.”
Terry felt Jake tense. He knew what Jake was thinking, because he was thinking it too. Was Holman playing his son? Was he lulling him into giving up his weapon so he could take him down? Terry hoped the sheriff was a good man after all.
“Why?” Jake asked. Caution hung thick in his question.
“Because I need it to be in his hand.” With his gun Holman pointed to Terry. “And not in yours.”
“Where’s your deputy?” Jake checked behind him.
“Off duty. At home. I don’t know. Now give me the knife.”
The knife fell away from Terry’s throat. He swallowed, clearing his airway, and sucked in untidy breaths. He fell forward, his hands resting on his knees.
“Okay,” Jake said.
He stepped back from Terry. He and Holman circled Terry in a counterclockwise arc until they swapped places. Holman eased in behind Terry and gripped his shoulder with the strength of a pipe wrench. The shadow of the sheriff’s gun darkened the corner of Terry’s vision.
“Now the knife,” Holman instructed.
Jake hesitated. “I’ll give it to you when he’s dead.”
“Give to me now, Jake. I don’t want you here when I kill him.”
“What?”
Jake’s actions said everything. He took a step backward. His doubts were now suspicions. Holman was losing his grip on his son, and Terry didn’t like being in the crossfire.
“Jake, I don’t want you here. If there are any questions, I want you to be elsewhere with an alibi. I don’t want anything to go wrong, son.”
The razor edge of panic nicked Holman’s composure. Terry could hear it. Holman knew he didn’t have a leash on his son, and any control he thought he did have was slipping away. The sheriff was playing catch with a lighted stick of dynamite. There was no telling when Jake would go off.
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Jake, please. Look, I’m here, aren’t I? Would I be doing any of this if it weren’t to help you? I’m putting everything on the line for you.”
To Terry’s amazement, J
ake wavered. He glanced down at the knife, weighing the situation. He bounced the blade on his open palm.
“C’mon, Jake. We don’t have all night. Give me the knife. You know I’m right.”
Jake smiled and nodded.
Then it went all wrong. Terry saw how it was going to happen before it did. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Oscar sprang up from behind Jake, jack-in-the-box style, with a golf club in his hands, the handcuffs flailing from one wrist. Jake was totally unaware of Oscar’s presence. Oscar swung the club back to bring it down on Jake’s skull.
Holman had a clear view of Oscar and reacted like a machine. His actions were simultaneous and fluid. He jumped back from Terry, raised his gun, and drew a bead on Oscar. Terry lunged for the sheriff, but snatched air. “Jake!” Holman screamed.
Jake misread everything. Betrayal and anger blackened his features. He guessed his dad had sold him out and had strung him along for a spectacular arrest. Jake drew back his knife hand and threw.
The knife wasn’t meant for Terry, but he saw the flying blade coming straight for him and threw himself to the ground. He heard, then saw, the blade bury itself up to the hilt in Sheriff Holman’s stomach. Blood blossomed across his groin, the bloom doubling in size by the second.
Oscar was primal and his yell voiced his baser instincts. The golf club’s head connected with the side of Jake’s skull. The sound was hollow and overshadowed by the crack of his skull giving way.
Jake’s face was thick with pain and shock. A realization overwhelmed his features. He realized that he’d been wrong and he’d made a mistake. He’d turned on his father when his father was trying to save him. There was nothing he could do for his dad, but everything he could do to his attacker. He turned to see who had dared to harm him.
Fear swept across Oscar’s face when he saw Jake wasn’t going to be stopped with a single blow. He swung for a second shot, but Jake grabbed the end of the club—the end greasy with his own blood and hair.
Holman groaned and collapsed, his gun clattering to the ground before him. He tugged the blade out of his stomach, opening the floodgates.