Ed’s mouth sagged open. His eyes widened, his fingers clawing talons at Craig’s deathly grip. He dug a foot against the floor and pushed. His body jolted a few inches backward.
The gun popped from beneath his legs. Kaitlan grabbed it.
She flew up straight, weapon glued to both hands, pointed down. Trying, trying to aim at Craig, but she’d never held a gun before, and what if the bullet went through him to Ed?
Craig’s teeth clenched, spittle at his mouth. He shifted his knees to either side of Ed, clamped his fingers tighter. Ed’s face purpled. Desperationglazed his eyes.
Kaitlan folded over, rammed the barrel into Craig’s side, and pulled the trigger. The explosion was loud. Her arms jolted.
Craig convulsed and jerked up. His face slackened, his hands falling from Ed’s throat. Shock quivered across his features like the shedding of snake skin. Slowly, dumbfounded, his head rotated to Kaitlan.
Their eyes met.
Craig’s rolled up. His neck flopped to one side.
Ed shoved him hard in the chest. Craig slid off him and collapsed.
Kaitlan threw down the weapon and ran to her grandfather. He lay on his back in the hallway, feet facing the kitchen. Not moving, his face waxy. Blood stained his left shoulder. Vaguely Kaitlan registered a gun some feet away.
Kaitlan threw herself beside him and cradled his head in her hands. “No, no, please.” A sob wrenched from her lips. “Grandfather, listen to me. Please don’t die!”
Behind her—an animal cry of rage.
Something wrapped around Kaitlan’s throat. Yanked her from her grandfather. She caved sideways and slammed onto her back.
Above her, upside down, Kaitlan saw Hallie Barlow’s fury-drenched face.
sixty-seven
All breath cut off.
Time stalled, the world jerking into slow motion. Kaitlan’s hands floated to her neck, fumbling at the thing around it. Cloth …
The scene warped into normal speed.
Hallie wormed around to Kaitlan’s chest, lifted her head, and deftly wrapped the fabric strip twice. Kaitlan glimpsed a flash of black and green.
“You killed my brother.” Hallie grated the words, inhuman. “He tried to help me, and you killed him.”
From far in the back of her head, a logical voice cried out. The front door. Craig left it unlocked for Hallie to come in. She’d heard the shots.
Kaitlan’s jaw crunched open, her lungs seeking, craving oxygen. For a wild second she saw herself as Ed on the kitchen floor beneath Craig’s stranglehold. Kaitlan’s hands scrabbled through thick air, scratching at Hallie’s face.
“Why’d you come home yesterday, huh? Why’d you have to spoil it?”
Someone screamed. Margaret.
Hallie’s stone fingers tied the cloth ends once and pulled opposite directions. The world faded gray.
Thudding footsteps on the tile. Ed braying a cry, and Margaret screaming again—where was she?—and Hallie’s head swinging up, her hands firm on the cloth, mouth cursing, shouting, “No, no, get back!” and still there’s no breath, and Kaitlan’s lungs shriveling, the ceiling spotting black-red —
Hallie’s face whisked away.
Something hit flesh with a wet smack.
A body thudded.
The cloth loosened—not enough, not nearly enough. Kaitlan hands slashed at it, tearing, her lips racked apart and gurgling air.
Ed’s face appeared—“Stop, I’ll get it.” He thrust her fingers off, and his went to work, untying, unwinding, and Kaitlan’s throat expanded, her windpipe hawking, gusting in oxygen. Her head lolled, and she saw Margaret looming above Hallie, aiming a gun with iron hands, tears streaking her face.
Margaret with a gun, how crazy is that? Kaitlan thought, and then the hallway whirled into a black hole and voided to nothing.
Part 4
Truth
sixty-eight
For the fourth day in a row, Kaitlan sat in the ugly orange armchair at her grandfather’s bedside. The hospital room smelled of steel and emptiness. A setting sun slanted through half-drawn blinds, lining the floor with streaks of yellow. Feet tucked beneath her, temple resting on her fist, Kaitlan fought to keep her eyes open.
She couldn’t seem to get enough sleep. Not that the world wanted to give her any.
She’d had two long interview sessions with the San Mateo Sheriff’s Department. Not to mention dodging the media everywhere she went. And the public in general.
No charges would be filed in her shooting of Craig Barlow. Self-defense, they said.
But it wasn’t just a lack of rest. Kaitlan felt a deep tiredness in the marrow of her bones. She carried it around with her, a stone in her chest. Yesterday Margaret said it would pass eventually—that Kaitlan had lost much and been through multiple levels of shock, and that didn’t heal overnight. Margaret was still reeling herself.
They both agreed they and her grandfather were alive only by the grace of God.
More than once they prayed together for their own strength and healing. “Get us through this, God,” Kaitlan had promised Him, “and I’ll give my life to You. All of it.”
She wasn’t quite sure what that would mean. But it was a bargain she intended to keep.
Sighing, she changed positions.
Craig lay in this same hospital, under guard. The bullet had torn through his upper intestine, missing his heart and lungs. With all the evidence against him, he had confessed. When he was discharged, it would be to jail. He faced two counts of first-degree murder, other counts of aggravated assault, plus tampering with evidence and other charges regarding his disposing of his sister’s final victim.
Under interrogation, her brother wounded, a barely controllable Hallie Barlow had melted. She related in detail each murder, including her sinister planning of the third one. Kaitlan still could hardly believe the story. How could Hallie have done this? And if someone seemingly as nice as Hallie could be so black inside, what did that say about the human race?
Kaitlan had turned these questions over and over in her mind.
Unlike the first two random murders, Hallie Barlow had targeted Martina Pelsky. Studying her habits, Hallie learned Martina was bicycling the town every afternoon, leaving campaign flyers at houses. Martina was meticulous about this project, sectioning the town into grids. But Hallie didn’t want to risk an outside killing in daylight. She watched until Martina’s task took her near Kaitlan’s neighborhood. What better place to lure Martina than Kaitlan’s out-of-the-way garage apartment?
In preparation Hallie managed to “secretly borrow” Craig’s key to Kaitlan’s apartment—just long enough to make a copy.
The day of the murder Hallie drove past Martina as she biked not far from Kaitlan’s home. Hallie stopped and invited Martina to “her place,” expressing an interest in helping with the campaign. “No worries, I’ll bring you back here,” she smiled. Hallie was such a likable person. Without a second thought Martina left her bike in the woods and climbed into Hallie’s SUV.
Hallie tried something else new—bringing a camera for pictures. She would have plenty of time afterward to haul the body away and straighten Kaitlan’s place.
But fate intervened. While Hallie was taking the photos, Craig showed up, bearing a half dozen red roses to leave as a surprise for Kaitlan. Shocked out of his mind at what he stumbled onto, he swung into frantic protection mode for his sister. He had Hallie call the salon to make sure Kaitlan was there—only to learn she’d left early and was on her way home.
In sheer panic Craig and Hallie fled before she could spot their cars.
The roses.
Kaitlan had cried many tears over them. To think Craig had bought those flowers for her hours before he picked her up. Before, driven and desperate, traveling a dark streak of his own, he turned into a monster for the sake of his sister.
Didn’t he feel bad about what he was doing to his girlfriend? a detective asked him.
“Anything for family,” Craig had
replied.
Now behind bars, Hallie was reportedly grief stricken and suicidal. She’d been placed on special watch.
A search of her apartment turned up the fabric, hidden at the bottom of a box of books in her closet. Plus scrapbooks full of old photos of Hallie’s and Craig’s mother. Authorities searched for one picture in particular that Hallie had mentioned—a full-length shot of her mother, dressed in black pants and a green blouse. The day her mother walked out of her life, Hallie told detectives, the woman had been wearing that outfit.
Most important, detectives found Hallie’s journal that had recorded her downward spiral. Quite appropriately, she’d titled it Obsession. So far only a few of its pages had been released to the media, but what Kaitlan heard had been heart-stopping.
On TV talking-head psychologists were going wild with the story. Childhood abandonment issues, they said. Bitter anger welling up when Hallie happened to read Darell Brooke’s novel Life After Death—about a murderous doctor using fabric of black silk with green stripes to kill. The women Hallie strangled were representations of her mother, the psychologists surmised. Each victim Hallie perceived as a poor mom, abusive to children. Not worthy of life.
Hallie reportedly sees none of this. Her answer to why she killed?
“I don’t know.”
Such sensationalized publicity for the King of Suspense. All copies of Life After Death—an apropos title for a book now thirty-five years old—sold out almost overnight. The publisher had rushed a large reprinting.
But this kind of publicity Kaitlan’s grandfather did not enjoy. Beyond his closed hospital room door a private security employee posted himself in a straight-backed chair. No reporters allowed. Except for Ed.
Kaitlan stretched and blinked at the wall-mounted TV. It was on but muted. Commercials.
In his bed her grandfather was sleeping.
He was scheduled to go home tomorrow. It could have been sooner after the surgery to remove the bullet in his shoulder, but he’d lost a fair amount of blood and struggled with weakness. Except for his tongue. Kaitlan had seen her grandfather send more than one nurse scurrying.
The door cracked open. Ed stuck his head inside. Kaitlan smiled and motioned for him to come in.
Ed entered, closing the door quietly behind him. “He asleep?” he whispered. He soft-footed it over to sit in a wooden chair beside Kaitlan.
“I was until you bothered me,” Kaitlan’s grandfather crabbed. Beneath the covers his legs shifted. He opened one eye. “That you again, Wasinsky?”
“Yes, sir.”
The eye closed. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, coming here every day. It’s not me you’re wanting to see.”
Kaitlan’s face flushed. Which no doubt looked terrific on her mud-yellow cheek.
“Ah, don’t give me that.” Ed rose to stand by the bed. “I want to see you too.” His fingers grazed her grandfather’s hand. “How are you?”
“Spiffy.”
“Well, good.”
Her grandfather heaved a sigh. “Where’s Margaret?”
“Home,” Kaitlan said. “Cleaning the place up. Getting it ready for you. She’ll be in to see you soon.”
He grunted.
They fell silent. Her grandfather’s eyes slipped shut once more, and Ed wandered back to his chair. He regarded Kaitlan with raised eyebrows—how are you?
She tilted her head.
Kaitlan’s gaze pulled to her grandfather. His wizened jaw relaxed but his lips were closed, further hollowing his cheeks. His wild eyebrows needed trimming.
Guilt and gratitude panged her heart. Crazy old man. Willing to give his life for hers. She’d tried to express her overwhelming appreciation—more than once. “Thanks for what?” her grandfather retorted. “Coming up with a cockamamie plan that near got us killed?”
“No, for—”
“Couldn’t even remember one of my own stories. Not to mention misreading the entire crime. What a mind I got.”
“But you did it for me. You purposely pushed Craig—for me.”
He’d batted a hand at Kaitlan. “Girl, you’re talking nonsense.”
Ed rubbed his forehead. “I went to Sam’s funeral this afternoon.” He spoke in low tones.
Kaitlan’s eyes welled. Man, she was crying a lot lately. Yesterday she and Margaret had waded through reporters to attend Pete Lynch’s memorial service. The private investigator had left behind an adult daughter and two grandchildren. “I’m so sorry about Sam.”
“Yeah. Me too. We’d worked together for five years.” Ed’s gaze fixed beyond her. “Guy filmed to the end.”
Including Craig pulling the trigger on the first bullet that hit him.
Kaitlan caught a tear on her knuckle. She wiped it on her jeans.
Ed’s eyes lowered to hers and held. In them shone caring and kindness. His mouth curved in a sad smile.
Kaitlan looked away.
Ed was thirty, with a great job and TV looks. He was clearly interested in her, which was beyond belief—but he didn’t know. And she didn’t know how to tell him. She was pregnant with Craig Barlow’s baby. A baby she loved. When Ed found that out, he’d stop coming around.
He cleared his throat. “Hear about Chief Barlow?”
“Hear what?”
“He’s resigning. Well, taking early retirement.”
“Oh. Wow.” But Kaitlan wasn’t that surprised. Under his leadership, investigations of the murders had been badly handled. And his children …
He hadn’t known, Russ Barlow was insisting. He’d had not the slightest suspicion of his own daughter. Despite how hard-nosed he’d been to Kaitlan, she could believe that. Who would have suspected Hallie?
But how ironic—the chief’s worry that Kaitlan would be the one to ruin his son’s life.
What a broken man Russ Barlow must now be.
The door swished open and Margaret entered. She smiled at Ed, no hint of surprise at his presence. “Whoo, it’s warm in here.”
Kaitlan gestured toward the bed with her chin. “He likes it that way.”
Her grandfather kept his eyes closed. “When you getting me out of here, woman?”
“Tomorrow, D. You know that.”
He sniffed. “I think you like me stuck in here. You’re probably running around free as a breeze, painting the town red.”
“You’re right.” She laughed. “That’s what I do best.” Margaret patted his arm. “How you doing?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
“Probably because you’re lying in a hospital bed.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Okay.” She rolled her eyes at Kaitlan.
Her grandfather scratched his cheek. “I got to get home; I got work to do.”
“Oh? What work?”
“Writing, what else?”
“You been lying here thinking of a plot for Leland Hugh?”
He made a sound in his throat. “Something like that.”
“That’s great.” Margaret’s face lit. “That’s really wonderful, D.”
The King of Suspense gave her a look. “Don’t sound so surprised, woman. It is what I do for a living.”
sixty-nine
On a Saturday afternoon Darell stood before the mullioned windows in his office, brooding at the Pacific Ocean. Was it only five weeks ago he’d been in this very spot, brewing with frustration over his fight to plot a book?
It seemed like eons.
Beyond the closed door he could hear Margaret calling Kaitlan. He could swear his assistant’s voice sounded lighter, happier. How lonely she must have been in this house with only him for … hardly comfort. More like harassment.
Darell pushed up his lower lip and sniffed.
Margaret called again. Fool woman. So much for quiet in the house. Didn’t she know he was setting to work today?
Imagine what writing’s going to be like with a baby around.
His lips relaxed, then hinted at a curve.
The com
puter called.
Darell glared at it. Leland Hugh sat in there as silent and enigmatic as ever. No thanks to Craig Barlow, who’d proved no help at all with Hugh’s motives.
Now Hallie Barlow’s journal—that was a different story.
In the hospital Darell had spent day and night trying to slough the mud from his brain and plot the manuscript he so wanted to finish. The one that would rejuvenate his career. Sure, it was great that sales of his back list were soaring—though for all the wrong reasons. People no longer had forgotten Darell Brooke. But he wanted to write now. Give his fans something new.
Nothing worked.
As the sun dared rise three days ago, the King of Suspense finally gave up.
In that nascent light Darell had stared at his white bedroom ceiling and seen his life. Blank. Vain emptiness. Oh, he’d built a career, a worldwide reputation. His books were still selling. He’d made all the money he’d ever need. But he trampled over people to get it. Worse, he’d trampled over family.
In that moment of stillness, a profound knowledge pierced Darell as surely as an arrow: It’s your fault that you’ve been alone.
Why hadn’t he seen this before? How does one miss the ocean from the beach or stars in a clear night sky?
Perhaps he’d known all along and refused to see. And he’d thought himself so clever.
On the office door a knock sounded. Darell turned. “Come in.”
Kaitlan timidly stuck her head inside. “I’m so sorry to bother you—”
“Kaitlan.” He gazed at her with intensity. “You are never a bother.” Surprise crisscrossed her face, followed by a slow smile that yanked at Darell’s heart. “Okay.”
Two weeks ago Kaitlan had returned to working at the beauty salon. She missed it, she said. And salacious-minded people were finally beginning to leave her alone.
She hung in the doorway, eyes roaming the office as if seeing it for the first time. Impatience gurgled inside Darell. “You wanted something?”
“Yeah. Just to tell you Margaret and I are going shopping.”
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