“Rob, what are you thinking?”
Rob looked up at him. “Nothing. I don’t know.”
“You’re sure about Derek?”
Rob’s heartbeat started to pound in his ears.
“Rob?”
“I’m—” But was he sure? Not really. He forced himself to nod. “I’m sure. Now when can I take the test?” he asked.
Rob watched the man set up the lie test. Polaski was his name. He was ugly with badly pockmarked skin, a huge scar, and a mean glare. Nick sat in a chair beside Rob and talked to him while the man worked.
“All you’ve got to do is tell the truth,” Nick explained. “The machine reads your heart rate, then prints it out on paper.” He pulled a test from someone else out of the trash and showed Rob. It was a continuous piece of long paper like the kind in the printer at the school library. On each page was a line that squiggled up and down like Rob had seen from the machines on TV that measured people’s brain waves or something.
“When people lie,” Nick continued, “their heart rate increases and the paper shows these peaks.” He pointed to one.
“Unless they’re sociopaths,” Polaski cut in. “Sociopaths can lie without the least reaction at all.” His eyes rested on Rob. “And I’ve seen ’em younger than you,” he added.
Rob’s mouth dropped open, fear preventing him from saying anything. He thought if the machine was hooked up to him now the red line would be off the top of the paper.
“I’ve heard assholes test similarly,” Nick said. “How about you, Polaski? You a sociopath or just an asshole?”
Polaski frowned. “No need to be nasty, Thomas.”
“One more comment like that, and your ass is out of here,” Nick told him. “This is a minor, not one of your usual suspects.”
Flushed, Polaski turned back to the machine and began working intently on something.
Nick turned to Rob and smiled. “Forget about that,” he said, as though the ugly cop had left the room. “Like I said, all you have to do is tell the truth. This isn’t a trial and it’s not going to be used for anything except helping the police figure out who did this. So you’ve got nothing to lose. Understand?”
Rob nodded, thankful Nick was there.
“Fucking prep the witness,” Polaski muttered, barely low enough to be considered under his breath.
Nick patted Rob’s shoulder and spoke without turning around. “Polaski, I’ll be asking the questions. Once you’ve got it set up, you can leave us alone.”
Polaski looked up from the machine, his gaze a hot laser in the back of Nick’s head.
Nick smiled and winked, even though he hadn’t seen the ugly cop’s expression.
Rob almost smiled, but he was still too scared.
Once the machine was set up, Polaski hooked some weird wires to Rob’s left arm, like the doctor did when he took Rob’s blood pressure. “Test it,” he said to Nick.
“What’s your full name?” Nick said to Rob.
“Robert James Austin.”
Nick looked back at Polaski, who nodded and then left, muttering something. Nick pulled his chair closer to Rob.
“So, like I said, just answer the questions honestly, okay?”
Rob nodded.
“You ready?”
Rob nodded again, unable to bring himself to speak while the machine was recording unless absolutely necessary.
“First, can you tell us where you were on the night of Tuesday, July twelfth?”
Rob licked his lips. “I went to the lookout with a bunch of kids.”
“Where’s the lookout?”
“Off Grizzly Peak in Berkeley.”
“What did you do up there?”
“We usually just hang out.”
“Just hang out?” Nick asked.
Rob looked at the floor and then up at him. “And drink.”
Nick just nodded.
He exhaled.
“What time did you get home?” Nick continued.
“About twelve-thirty or one.”
“When is your curfew?”
Rob felt the sweat start up again. “Uh—”
“Just answer honestly,” Nick said again.
“Twelve.”
Nick wrote something down. “Have you ever met Sandi Walters?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Did you kill Sandi Walters?”
“No.”
“Did you ride your bike to Mt. Diablo?”
“No.”
“How about Eva Larson? Have you ever met her?”
“No.”
The questions continued about the women who had been killed. Nick asked about certain streets, about Mt. Diablo, and about his bike.
“I think that’s about it,” Nick finally said.
Rob could feel the sweat on his back begin to cool.
“Have you ever killed anyone, Rob?” Nick asked.
Rob felt his heart lurch, knocking like a pinball against his insides. He thought he might be sick. He gripped the arms of the chair and tried to focus. Images of Becky and his mother came rushing at him.
“Rob?”
He heard Nick’s voice, but he was unable to focus on his face or to make his mouth open even just to say he was okay.
“Rob? You need to answer the question.”
His head spun and his stomach clenched tight and hard against his ribs. He sucked in a deep breath with a heavy wheezing sound. “Oh, God,” he finally said. His eyes found Nick’s and he shook his head.
Nick stared, his expression shocked.
“Oh, God,” Rob repeated, searching for the words to say something else, to try to explain.
Nick glanced at the machine beside them and frowned.
Rob imagined what the machine was registering as he fought to compose himself.
“Who did you kill?” Nick finally asked, his voice low.
Rob met his stare, tears streaming down his face. “No one,” he lied. The machine’s alarm was silent, but Rob felt it, heard the lines registering off the page at his lies. Liar, liar, it screamed. Tight bands gripped his chest, the machine compressing his ribs with every lie. He waited for Nick to say something—anything.
Nick stared at him, but didn’t speak again. Instead, he just shook his head. “Slow down, Rob, and tell me everything right from the beginning.”
Rob looked at Nick and took a breath. Then, nodding, he started his story.
Chapter Forty-five
Sam ran into the empty house. “Derek,” she cried.
She needed to find Derek and get back to the station house. Derek knew some of what was going on, but they needed to be together now. A family. And she needed to get back to Rob. He needed her now more than anyone. Nick would take care of him, but she needed to be there.
“Derek,” she cried again, running to the back of the house.
By the time she’d spoken to the judge and Corona and gotten back to the station, Nick had already started the test, and encouraged her to go find Derek so that he wouldn’t be alone or hear the news from someone else. She hadn’t wanted to leave Rob, but she agreed that Derek needed someone with him. And she trusted Nick.
That Rob could be guilty seemed impossible. Why would he do it? The same Rob who had come into the den and encouraged her to find the real killer? She couldn’t get the pieces to fit.
The phone rang as she reached Rob’s room and glanced in at the hurricane the police had created in their search. She ran back into the kitchen and picked up the extension, praying it was Derek. “Hello.”
“Sam, it’s Aaron. You sound winded. Are you okay?” His voice was hoarse and he sounded tired, but she knew from the doctors that he was going to be all right.
“I’m just looking for Derek. He’s gone off without telling anyone,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Still sore in the leg and arm.”
“The doctors sound positive, though,” she said, looking around for a sign as to where Derek might be.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. With a little physical therapy, doctors can fix almost anything.”
Neither of them mentioned the fact that he was still in his wheelchair.
“I wanted to thank you for the pack.”
Sam was thinking about the lie detector test. Was it over? Why hadn’t Nick called? And how would Derek be after this? She didn’t blame him for running off. How had she expected him to react? His identical twin had been accused of murder.
Where was Derek?
“Sam?”
“I’m here. Sorry.” Bringing her concentration back to Aaron, she thought about the pack she’d sent. “I guess you’re going to miss the marathon.”
“Yeah.” His voice rang with disappointment. “But there will be others.”
“I’m really sorry, Aaron. I had no idea that Williams was a threat.” She stopped. “I should’ve known.”
“Hey, don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t know. I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”
But he was wrong. There was no excuse for not knowing. The same was true about Rob, she realized.
Who else besides Aaron was in jeopardy because of her?
“Sam!”
She stared at the phone and blinked hard.
“What’s going on?”
“Aaron, I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Are you home from the hospital?”
“Yeah, I’m home. But what’s going on over there?”
“I can’t explain right now. Can I call you back tomorrow?”
“Sure. I’ve got physical therapy in the morning, but I’ll be back home around eleven.”
Sam picked up a pen and wrote “call Aaron at 11A .M.” “I’ll call you then.”
“You sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”
“I wish there was. Just work hard at your physical therapy.”
“Talk to you in the morning.”
Sam held the phone to her ear until she heard the click of Aaron hanging up. Now he was going to worry about her for no reason. She should have explained herself. But what could she tell him? My nephew’s been arrested for the very murders I’ve been working to solve? The ones I was suspected of until they found someone else close to me to blame?
She straightened the phone and put the notepad back next to it, tearing off the sheet and placing it on her pile of things to do. She saw the calendar and noticed that Derek had physical therapy in the morning.
Unable to move herself to do anything constructive, Sam scanned the kitchen, thinking maybe Derek had left a note. She could use the company, and she hated the thought that he was out, dealing with this alone. She thought about the night less than a week before when she’d actually drawn her gun on him.
In the kitchen with the lights out, Derek had moved across the room so quickly. She could have sworn it was an intruder. The image of that figure flashed across her vision. Then she saw the man take the stand and swear that he had seen Rob run down the street in Walters’ neighborhood. Rob had looked so genuinely shocked, it was impossible to believe he was guilty. “Not guilty,” she whispered. A wave of nausea rushed over her, and she clapped her hand onto the countertop. It wasn’t Rob. But the alternative was no better. She had to be wrong. He couldn’t have faked a limp all this time.
She turned and looked at the calendar with Derek’s physical therapist appointment and felt a steely numbness wash over her skin like ice water. God, not Derek. But the image of his smooth motion snapped in front of her again and she knew something was desperately wrong. Scrambling for the phone, she dialed the physical therapist’s number.
“Walnut Creek Sports Therapy,” a receptionist answered.
“Patricia Lark, please. This is Sam Chase.”
“I’m afraid Patricia is gone for the day.”
“This is an emergency,” Sam said, her own heart racing at the impending doom of her discovery. “I need to reach her.”
“I can try her on her car phone.”
“Give me that number.”
“I’m afraid I can’t—”
“This is a matter of police business. Give me the number.” She knew that it wasn’t anger but fear that created the harshness in her voice.
The woman recited the number and Sam scribbled it down. Before the receptionist could speak again, Sam hung up and, hands shaking, dialed the number.
Ring. Ring. “Come on, damn it!”
“Hello.” The hum of traffic buzzed behind the far-off voice.
“This is Sam Chase, Derek Austin’s aunt.”
“Hi. How did you get this number?”
“It’s not important. I need to know Derek’s status.”
“His status?” The voice crackled over the line.
“How he’s doing. How the therapy is coming along.”
“It’s coming along great.”
“Great, how?”
“Great. I don’t know. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I could call—”
“No,” Sam’s voice cracked. “I need to know now.”
“What do you need to know?”
Somehow, despite the urgency she felt, Sam couldn’t get herself to say the word.
“Mrs. Austin?”
“Does he—”
“Hello?” she repeated.
“Does he run?”
“Run?”
“Yes,” she croaked.
“Oh, yeah. He’s up to about three miles with me. He said he runs with you, too. Don’t you run together?”
Sam’s legs could no longer support her weight. Setting the phone down, she splayed her palms on the counter and exhaled. “Oh, God.” She didn’t know how long she sat there before she heard the faint moan of the floor beneath her, shifting under someone’s weight.
She spun around and saw Derek in the doorway to the living room. She held back a gasp and stared at the front door. “You didn’t come in the front door.”
Derek didn’t answer.
When she forced her eyes back to him, his expression was dark. She took a step toward him before she noticed the black steel piece in his hand.
Her Glock was tight in his grip and aimed just above his right ear.
Chapter Forty-six
Lights flashing, sirens blaring, Nick drove the car with the pedal flat to the floor. He pointed at Rob. “Put your seatbelt on,” he directed as he steered the car onto Highway 24 toward Walnut Creek and Sam’s house.
“I don’t need it,” Rob answered.
“Put it on—now,” Nick demanded.
Rob pulled the strap across his chest and locked it into the metal fastener.
Nick thought about Rob’s performance on the lie detector test. There was no way anyone could interpret the results otherwise. Rob had simply not been involved in the murders of Sandi Walters or Eva Larson. The test was clean, even with Polaski’s badgering.
But if two eyewitnesses had identified Rob and it wasn’t Rob, that left only Derek.
After Nick had pressed Rob again on the subject of Derek, Rob confessed that he was starting to have doubts of his own. It had seemed impossible that Rob could be involved, but at least Nick had seen Rob’s anger. He’d seen Rob overheat—seen the potential of deep anger in him.
Derek was the opposite. Nick had never seen him angry. He seemed so mild-mannered, timid almost. How could he be a killer? Still, when Nick hadn’t been able to reach Sam by phone, he’d had to get to her to be sure she was all right. It had taken a few minutes to get his captain to agree to let him take Rob along, but he had lied and said that he was taking the boy to one of the crime scenes to scare him into a confession.
Nick took his foot off the gas, then pressed it down harder as though it might give him a new boost of power. It just wasn’t fast enough.
If only he had known, Nick would have been on his way to Sam’s an hour ago. If Derek was behind these murders, would he take that same anger out on Sam?
Nick swerved the car off the exit ramp and around a car that had failed to yield to the sirens and lights.
“Moron,” he snapped, thinking something even less kind.
As they sped toward Sam’s house, neither spoke. Nick gripped the wheel and studied the road as if he were taking an entrance exam for the Indy 500. Damn. If anything happened to her . . .
Only one night. There had to be more. He needed more. He deserved more. He pounded his hand against the wheel and blasted the horn at a driver in his lane.
At the corner of Sam’s street, he switched his siren and lights off. If Derek was in there with Sam and something was going down, he at least wanted to retain the element of surprise. He parked in front of the house across the street and jumped out of the car. He pushed the door shut until metal touched metal, but he didn’t latch it. He didn’t want Derek to hear it.
Rob was right behind him as he crossed the street.
“Wait in the car.”
“No.”
Nick continued toward the house. There wasn’t time to argue. He had to get to Sam. He reached the front door and heard a low murmur of voices, but was unable to make out the words.
“What’s going on?” Rob asked.
Nick pressed his finger to his lips and moved around the side of the house. At the first window he stopped and crouched low, looking through the corner of it. He could see the kitchen. Sam stood at one side, her back to him. Derek was in front of her. They appeared to be talking. He exhaled.
Just as he was about to move back to the door, he caught sight of something in Derek’s hand. Ducking back, he squinted into the window and saw that Derek was holding Sam’s Glock, the barrel trained on his own head.
Nick dropped, his knees cracking. “Shit.”
Rob leaned toward the window, and Nick grabbed him and dragged him down. His expression was wide-eyed and startled, and Nick remembered that this wasn’t just another hostage situation for Rob. This wasn’t his job—this was his life. “It’s going to be okay,” Nick lied.
“What’s going on?”
“I need you to go back to the car and call for backup. Just pick up the radio and press the lever on the side. Tell them you’re with me. Give them the address and have them send someone immediately.” Nick gave him the code for an armed suspect holding a hostage rather than telling Rob what he’d seen through the window. He was better off not knowing. And Nick didn’t need any panicking on his hands.
(2002) Chasing Darkness Page 31