Killing Spree (45 page)

Now Ethan ran at him with that shard of glass raised in his hand. He plunged it into Chase Scott, just missing his neck. Blood spurted from Chase’s shoulder. He dropped the flashlight. Ethan cut his hand. But he barely felt it. He stopped to stare at the hunk of glass embedded in his abductor’s shoulder—and the blood gushing out around it.

Chase seemed stunned. He fired his rifle—twice.

Ethan glanced toward his mother to see if she was hit.

The flashlight rolled across the hardwood floor until it bumped against the brick Gillian had taken from the ledge outside.

Two shots went off, echoing through the room.

Gillian grabbed the brick and hurled it at Chase with all her might. The brick just grazed his head and continued on through the sliding glass door. “Goddamn it!” he howled.

But the loud explosion of glass drowned him out. The brick and broken glass tore through the tarp. The tattered plastic covering billowed out with the breeze, and moonlight poured into the room. Chase blinked over and over again as blood trickled down the side of his face.

Ethan lunged toward the gun, knocking it out of Chase’s hand.

“Son of a bitch!” Chase grabbed Ethan by the hair. He yanked his head back. For a moment, Gillian thought he might have broken her son’s neck. For a moment, she couldn’t move.

Chase had him in a choke hold. As much as Ethan squirmed and kicked, Chase wouldn’t let go. He backed into the sliding glass door. A few large pieces of glass broke off and fell onto a tiny balcony off the bedroom. The black plastic covering fluttered in the breeze like an open curtain.

Gillian could see the moon and stars in the sky behind Chase as he held onto her son. He grinned at her. Ethan tried to struggle free as Chase held him by the scalp with one hand. He tipped back Ethan’s head, exposing the boy’s throat—with the black ribbon decorating it.

Paralyzed, Gillian watched in horror as Chase plucked the piece of glass from his shoulder. Blood bubbled up from the wound and gushed out even more. He brought the sharp, bloodied shard of glass to Ethan’s throat. “Watch this, Gillian,” he said over the flapping noise from the tarp. In the distance, police sirens wailed.

Gillian stole a glance at the sniper’s rifle on the floor—too far away. Helpless, she locked eyes with Chase and shook her head. “No, please…”

He gave Ethan’s hair another tug. “I don’t think this is in any of your books, Gillian. Watch your little boy die. You—”

A shot suddenly rang out. Chase dropped the piece of glass, and looked at her, stunned. His grip on Ethan’s scalp seemed to slacken. He opened his mouth, and blood poured over his lower lip.

Ethan broke away from him. Chase staggered back, entangling himself in the black tarp. He grabbed at it, and tore off a few huge pieces as he went hurtling off the small balcony.

There was a loud thud. They could hear it over the police sirens.

Ethan rushed into his mother’s outstretched arms. They clung to each other, unable to talk for a moment.

The sirens’ pitch became louder. Fragments of glass left in the sliding door reflected a swirling red light. “The police,” Gillian gasped. “He wired all the doors….”

Ethan broke away from her and hurried across the room toward Chase’s knapsack. Glass crunched under his bare feet, and he winced in pain. But he didn’t hesitate. His last few steps to the large canvas bag were imprinted in blood on the hardwood floor. Biting his lip, Ethan reached into the sack, but then he hesitated. He seemed perplexed for a moment. Finally, he flicked one of the switches on the detonation device. He stared at it for another few seconds. “It’s off, Mom,” he said, at last. “Everything’s okay.” He plopped down on the floor, and reached for his shoes.

Gillian moved toward the sliding doors. Beyond the small balcony’s railing, she saw the yard bathed in a red glow. The police had arrived.

Jason stood alone near the bluff’s edge, leaning against a tree. He lowered the Winchester from his shoulder. He looked ready to collapse, but he still managed to smile up at her.

Gratefully, Gillian smiled back at him. Then she carefully opened the sliding door, and peered down over the railing.

Chase was sprawled on the stone tiles of an elevated terrace directly below. His foot had somehow caught on the railing so it was raised and oddly twisted away from his body. Beneath him, a dark pool of blood began to bloom on the stone tiles. Long pieces of tarp were tangled around his lifeless body. They fluttered in the wind.

Like black ribbons.

It wasn’t much of a birthday for Ethan. The fat lip from Joe Pagani and the quarter-size discolored bump on his forehead—courtesy of the late Chase Scott—were both less than forty-eight hours old. And he felt miserable.

After everything that had happened Monday night, he’d spent two hours at Harborview Medical Center’s Emergency Ward, where a nice East Indian doctor with a white streak in her hair had carefully removed seventeen pieces of glass from the soles of his feet. Even with a local anesthetic, it had still hurt like hell. She’d ordered him to stay off his feet for the next few days.

Jason had gone into surgery Monday night at the same hospital.

In still another part of Harborview that night, in a room guarded by a police officer, Joe Pagani, recovering from a substantial head trauma, was ratting on his cohorts. He cut a deal with authorities, naming names and citing enough incidents to put his associates away for years and years.

“Well, the heat’s off you guys,” Ruth had said. She’d also logged in some time at the hospital, after having had her stomach pumped earlier in the evening. “It’s another story with our pal Joe. If he lives to testify, Joe’s probably going into the witness protection program. And I can assure you, that son of a bitch will be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.”

On Ethan’s birthday, Jason was moved from the Intensive Care Unit to a regular room. Ethan wanted to visit him, but was still convalescing. Ruth and his mom spent most of the day talking with cops and FBI agents. The duplex was surrounded by reporters, TV news camera crews, and curiosity-seekers. Everyone wanted a peek at the ravine where the two bodies had been buried. Everyone wanted a statement from the suddenly famous author and her son. The story had gained national attention. Overnight, Gillian’s book sales shot through the roof. Her Amazon.com listing had thousands of hits in less than twenty-four hours. Everyone wanted to read the killer’s reviews. Chase Scott had a readership at last.

Gillian McBride books were suddenly hot properties, and Hollywood came knocking. How the hell the film people had managed to read any of his mom’s books in less than twenty-four hours was a mystery to Ethan. They were also bidding for the rights to his mom’s story. Was she interested in writing a screenplay about what had happened?

She wasn’t.

His mom said she was grateful to see Boyd Farrow cleared of all murder charges. But she refused to write his story or any other story having to do with the Schoolgirl Murders. She didn’t care how much money they offered her. Chase Scott had wanted her to write about those murders, and that was reason enough for her not to do it.

His mom managed to break away on Tuesday and pay Jason a brief visit in the hospital. But she said he was pretty doped up when she saw him.

Ethan didn’t want her making a big deal out of his birthday. He didn’t even want any cake or presents. They agreed to celebrate his birthday on Saturday, when he was feeling better. He had the next few days to think about what he wanted to do. He hoped Jason would be out of the hospital by then.

So it was a very low-key birthday. They ordered pizza Tuesday night. The poor Pagliacci Pizza delivery guy got mobbed by reporters, but his mom gave him a big tip for his troubles. They took the phone off the hook and ate in front of
October Sky
on cable. Ethan realized pizza and a movie with his mother was a pretty damn pathetic way to spend his fourteenth birthday. But hell, he was
recuperating
. Besides, it was a good movie, and Jake Gyllenhaal was in it.

By the next day, Ethan was hobbling around a little—in some old fleece-lined slippers that had belonged to his dad. He asked his mom if he could come with her to visit Jason in the hospital that afternoon.

But his mom took a look at the bottoms of his feet and vetoed the idea. “Maybe tomorrow,” she suggested. “There’s a phone in Jason’s room. Why don’t you call him? I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

When he asked the Harborview operator for Jason Hurrell in Room 201-C, the woman on the other end of the line said something that made Ethan’s heart stop. “I’m sorry,” she replied solemnly. “He’s gone.”

Ethan’s eyes welled with tears. “What—what happened?”

“The patient checked out this morning.”

He let out a tiny, grateful laugh.

“Is there anything else?” the hospital operator asked.

“Um, yes. Do you know where he went? I’m trying to get ahold of him.”

“One minute, I’ll transfer you.”

One minute became several, and his mom got on the line. She was put on hold twice, and had to explain three times that she was trying to get in touch with their former patient, Jason Hurrell. When she finally hung up the phone, his mom was frowning. “He went back to Montana,” she said. “His—ah, ex-wife signed him out. At least, she’s supposed to be his ex-wife. I’m not so sure anymore. I guess she flew in from Missoula early this morning.” His mother tried to smile. “Anyway, I guess the good news is—he’s out of the hospital.”

Ethan felt gypped. Jason had been sent here by his dad, and he’d ended up saving their lives. Yet he’d gone away without even saying good-bye.

His mom left Jason messages at his home in Missoula. Ethan even left a message too, letting him know they’d planned a quiet, little memorial service for his dad on Friday morning at St. Mark’s across the ravine. But Jason never called them back.

They didn’t expect much of a crowd on Friday morning. None of the news stories about the murders mentioned the service. Only people turning to the obituary page would have known about it. His mom figured a few reporters might show up, but there wouldn’t be much for them to see. His dad was getting cremated, so there wouldn’t be a coffin. The only one talking would be the priest conducting the service, and he barely knew Ethan’s dad.

To their astonishment, the large cathedral was nearly full. Sitting in the front pew with his mother, Ethan wondered if all these people really knew his dad. Some of them must have, because he noticed several people crying during the service. Afterward, he and his mother stood in the vestibule, thanking people as they filed outside. “I work at a Safeway in Ballard,” one middle-aged woman told him. “It was on your father’s delivery route. Everyone in the store just loved him. I was so sorry to hear he passed away….”

A lot of the mourners were like her, store employees on his dad’s truck route. A few of them were handicapped or challenged in some way. There were fellow truckers from his union, wait staff from truck stops, and people he knew from casinos. His dad had turned many of them into Gillian McBride mystery fans. Several strangers asked Ethan if he still played the violin. His dad had been so proud. He heard it over and over again. Ethan couldn’t believe these people still cared about his father after two years. He hadn’t realized how many lives his father had touched.

Everyone had a little story about his dad. Saying good-bye to members of the congregation took longer than the service itself. It was overwhelming—especially for his mom. When they returned home, she hugged him for a long time, then went into her bedroom and cried.

Ethan had been moved as well, but a little disappointed, too. No one from his school had shown up at the service. Of course, maybe they couldn’t get out of their classes. But the big letdown had been Jason pulling a no-show. Ethan had kept looking for him in the crowd, even as it had panned out to a few people.

His mom offered to take him out for a birthday dinner on Saturday, but Ethan had visions of the waitstaff making a big deal of it, bringing a cake to their table for two and singing “Happy Birthday” to him. He might as well go there wearing a sign:
I’M A FRIENDLESS LOSER
.

Ethan opted to stay home. He liked his mom’s lasagna. She could cook that. In honor of his dad, they’d watch his favorite movie,
The Great Escape.
His mom asked if he wouldn’t mind having Ruth and Eustace over too. That was fine by him. Considering what they’d gone through together, he felt like a war buddy with Ruth and Eustace.

Present-wise, he’d made out pretty well. His mom had just taken the lasagna out of the oven to cool when Eustace started barking, and someone knocked on the front door. Ethan immediately thought of Jason. He raced Eustace to the door, grabbed his collar to hold him back, and then flung open the door.

Looking sheepish, Craig Merchant stood on the front porch. He was kind of dressed up with jeans, a button-down shirt, and a corduroy jacket. He had a gift-wrapped CD in his hand.

“Oh, hi,” Ethan said, trying not to seem disappointed.

“Did you get a dog?” Craig asked, eying Eustace.

“No, this is Eustace. He belongs to my mom’s friend.” Ethan led the dog back into the house; then he stepped out to the porch and closed the door behind him.

“Sorry I missed your dad’s memorial thing yesterday,” Craig said. “A bunch of people wanted to go, but they wouldn’t let us out of school. Everyone’s been asking about you.”

“What have you been telling them?”

Craig shrugged. “I tell them I haven’t seen you in a while, because you’re probably pissed off at me for acting like such an asshole.”

Ethan grinned. “Do you really tell them that?”

“Sure, more or less.”

“I’m not so pissed off.” Ethan frowned at him. “Is that why you’re here? Because suddenly everybody’s interested in me?”

“No.” Craig rolled his eyes. “I’m here because I miss you, man.”

Ethan couldn’t quite let down his guard. “What about all your other friends?”

Craig curled his lip. “They’re okay in a group. But you’re the only person I can really talk to.”

“If that’s true, why didn’t you talk to me about what’s been bugging you?”

“Jesus,” Craig muttered. “You’re not making this easy for me, are you? So—what was I supposed to do? Everyone in school and all my other friends kept on asking me, ‘Is Tanner gay? Is he a homo?’ And I’d tell them it was none of their goddamn business, or I didn’t know, or it didn’t matter to me. But then they’d think
I
was gay or hiding something, because I couldn’t give them a direct answer.”

Ethan sighed. “Well, from now on, you can tell them that I am.”

“I kind of knew you were,” Craig said with an awkward shrug. “But you should have been honest with me and told me earlier,”

Ethan let out an abrupt laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re always telling me not to
act like a fag,
or not to
fag out
on you. And the last time I spent the night at your house, you accused me of looking at your butt. If you were in my shoes, would you come out to
you?”

“Hey, you know, you always tell me when I’m acting like a
dumb jock.
And I don’t take it personally. And let’s be honest, you
were
checking out my ass that night.”

Ethan shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

Craig stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. “It’s a pretty fine ass too, isn’t it? I’m sorry, man, but I’m saving it for Margarita McGovern.”

Ethan cracked a smile. “Dumb jock.”

“Fag.”

Ethan nodded at the gift-wrapped CD in Craig’s hand. “What’s that?”

“It’s a bicycle. What do you think it is, stupid?” He gave the CD to Ethan. “Happy Birthday.”

“How did you know we were celebrating my birthday tonight?” Ethan asked.

“Your mom called on Wednesday and invited me over.”

Ethan was dumbfounded. The last time his mother had spoken to Craig and Mrs. Merchant had been over a week ago in the school corridor. Ethan had only caught the last part of their conversation, but clearly, she’d been yelling at them.

“I don’t think our mothers like each other much,” Craig said. “But considering your mom just got made a widow and she’s in the news and all, my mother could hardly throw any attitude at her when she called. You should know, a few weeks ago, your mom tried to put together a surprise party for you. But I screwed the whole thing up. I was an asshole. I’m sorry, man. I’m glad your mom gave me another chance. She’s pretty cool.” He shrugged. “So what’s the deal? Are we okay?”

Ethan nodded. He wanted to hug Craig, but hesitated.

Craig, however, didn’t hesitate. He put his arms around him. “Happy birthday, Ethan,” he whispered in his ear.

Ethan felt himself blushing as they broke apart. “You want some dinner—and cake?” he asked.

“Hell, yeah,” Craig said.

Things must have been back to normal that first Saturday in December, because Gillian felt lonely and depressed. She sat at the wheel of her Redi-Rental Chevy Aveo, heading to a Barnes and Noble signing in Tacoma. She had about a half hour to get perky. Ethan was spending the night at Craig’s, and Ruth was having dinner at her daughter’s house in Everett. So after this stint in Tacoma, what she had to look forward to was a Saturday night at home alone.

It had been over two weeks since she’d seen Jason, half-doped-up in his hospital bed. He’d never returned any of her calls.