One False Move (12 page)

“Shit!” Jared yelled, making her jump even before she recognized the sound of the helicopter. “We need to get moving. Into the fucking field and stay low.”

When Melanie didn’t move, he shoved her from behind, almost knocking her to the ground. She saw Charlie disappear ahead, half crawling, half running in the ditch between the rows of stalks. She followed, trying to mimic his moves, Jared prodding her forward. The ache in her chest competed with the pounding in her head and the vibration beneath her feet. And somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered that crows were an omen of misfortune and death.

6:25 p.m.

“I
t’s Barnett.”
Grace only said out loud what both she and Pakula were thinking. “And he’s been in my fucking backyard.”

“We don’t know that,” he insisted.

“Vince special-ordered those pebbles from some landscape place on the West Coast.”

“We don’t know it’s the exact pebbles. They looked like fish-tank rocks to me. Why don’t we wait until you get a sample to Darcy and she checks it out?”

“I know it’s him.”

“There’s no reason for him to do this. And there’s no reason to try to hide the victim’s identity by blasting her teeth to pieces.” Pakula leaned against Grace’s SUV, his arms crossed. He wasn’t buying her theory, or else he was making her work at convincing him.

“Maybe this time it wasn’t to destroy evidence or identity. Maybe this time it was simply to thumb his nose at us. You know, let us know it was him.”

“He just got out less than two fuckin’ weeks ago.”

“You said yourself he got away with murder once. Why wouldn’t he be feeling invincible?’’

“Invincible, maybe, but stupid? I don’t think so.” He shook his head, but his eyes were still watching the bodies being brought out.

Grace looked at the sky and glanced at her watch. On the drive here she had heard they were in a severe thunderstorm watch. She wanted to pick up Emily before the lightning show. Her little tomboy had recently declared her fear of lightning. And now Grace had created yet another fear…a shadow man.

“So, why even do it?” Pakula asked, bringing her back. “It looks like they didn’t even take any cash.”

“Start checking out the victims, and I’ll bet you’ll find some connection.”

He looked at her, meeting her eyes and holding them there as if he wasn’t pleased with her telling him what to do. Had she nudged him too far? “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?” she defended herself.

“It doesn’t usually work with random shooting sprees like this.”

“Have you been listening to me at all, Pakula? I’m telling you this wasn’t random.”

“You sure you don’t want a black and white checking on you?”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, if it is Barnett he’s not going to have much time to be following me in the next few days, is he? I’m a little worried about Emily. Vince said something this morning about me looking for a man in the shadows and Emily overheard. Now she’s worried about a shadow man watching our house.”

“And now you think he might have been watching your house?”

“I don’t know. Emily’s imaginary friend, Bitsy, saw someone.” She meant it as a joke but she could see from Pakula’s frown that he didn’t get it.

“Her imaginary friend?”

“Oh, yeah, didn’t I tell you about that? Ever since we moved in, Emily has had this imaginary friend who seems to be all knowing. You’ve got four daughters, Pakula, did any of them have imaginary friends?”

“I
wish
their friends were imaginary. Angie’s dating a kid who has so many body piercings he looks like a fucking pincushion.” He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck as if reminded of a tension in his muscles. Grace noticed his eyes, though, were still taking everything in. For a brief moment she wondered how a daughter of Pakula’s thought she could get anything by him. And just when she thought his mind had wandered back to the crime scene, he said, “Why the hell would anybody wanna put a hole in his tongue? Wouldn’t that kill your taste buds?”

“It’s supposed to enhance your sex life.”

This time he looked at Grace as if this warranted his full attention. They didn’t usually talk about personal stuff, let alone sex. Whatever they knew about each other’s family and personal life came in short sound bites and offhanded remarks.

“Thanks a lot,” Pakula finally said, but there was no hint of gratitude in his tone, no smile. “That’s just what a father wants to hear, that his daughter’s new boyfriend is
enhancing
himself for sex.”

Grace laughed. She couldn’t help it. Detective Tommy Pakula was one of the toughest men she knew, yet she could easily imagine him worried sick about his daughters.

Ben Hertz was walking toward them, waiting for a police cruiser to pass. He tapped its trunk with the palm of his hand. Grace recognized the gesture. Hertz was always patting backs, punching shoulders and even tapping hoods and trunks in place of saying “good job.” He waved a piece of paper at Pakula as he joined them.

“You’re gonna love this. Plates are registered to a Dr. Leon Matese. But it’s not a dark blue Saturn. It’s a black BMW. And Dr. Matese has been in L.A. since last Tuesday.”

“Let me guess,” Pakula interrupted him. “His car’s been parked at the airport.”

“Yep, long-term parking lot. And the Saturn—”

“Stolen,” Pakula finished.

“You got it. These boys did some planning. But a Sarpy County deputy sheriff’s in pursuit south on 50.”

6:28 p.m.

Razors sliced her skin. At least that’s what Melanie thought it felt like as she tried to run. If the cornstalks weren’t cutting her they were whipping her face. She held her arms up in front of her but kept losing her balance, her feet stumbling over the mounds of dirt. Jared insisted they not stick to the ditches between the rows but instead run diagonally through the field, so they would stay better hidden. But it was impossible to run, one foot plunging into the indent between the rows while the other foot climbed mounds of dirt.

The stalks were stronger than she expected and closely planted. It was more like trudging through a forest of saplings than a field. She was exhausted, her chest felt as though it would explode, and each gulp of air stabbed as it went in and out of her lungs. Her legs ached now, too, and her arms felt battered and bruised. Her ears were ringing with the sound of the wind, the growing roar of thunder and somewhere the whirl of a helicopter. She expected it to swoop down into the field at any minute. Was it possible that it hadn’t discovered the car yet?

She no longer had any sense of direction, and she wasn’t sure they’d ever find their way out of the field. It seemed endless. And hopeless. It was difficult to determine what was the wind and what was the helicopter. But the thunder—another rumble sent a vibration through her—continued to grow. So did the lightning. The flashes made the rolling black clouds come to life. In between flashes it had become so dark Melanie could barely see Charlie in front of her. They were in a tunnel; a tunnel with whips lashing out and no end in sight.

Suddenly a gust of wind whirled overhead and Melanie found herself falling. Her knees slammed into the dirt. Her flailing arms couldn’t protect her jaw and cheek from scraping down the trunk of a cornstalk, the sharp leaves rubbing her skin raw. Jared fell on top of her, smashing her legs underneath his weight.

“Stay down,” she heard him whisper and felt his elbow or knee in the small of her back as if he was making sure she did as he said.

Melanie ached. He didn’t have to worry about her wanting to go anywhere. She wanted to crawl into a hole and get away from all of this. She hurt all over. Then she realized the whirl of wind above them was the helicopter. She tried to quiet her breathing. With Jared on top of her she had no choice but to stay still. She couldn’t move beneath his weight. The side of her face pressed against the ground, the soil actually cooling the sting on her cheek.

She lay perfectly still, waiting, waiting for the spotlight, waiting for the cornstalks to be separated and flattened, waiting for the whipping sound of blades to descend on top of them. She listened to Jared’s breathing. She could hear his heart banging against her back. She could smell his sweat mixed with the corn and the dirt. Or was it fear she smelled?

Maybe it would be quick. Maybe they would simply riddle their bodies full of bullets. It didn’t matter because any second the banging in her chest would surely explode. It seemed as if the helicopter was directly above them. And yet as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. No spotlight, only the flickers of lightning. No hail of bullets, only thunder.

They laid there for what must have been minutes, but to Melanie it felt like hours. Her face was smashed into the dirt. Her chest ached. She couldn’t breathe. And yet she listened. But there was only the ever-approaching thunder. Even the wind had died down. No gusts, no whirls, only a gentle rustling of the stalks.

“They’re gone,” Jared whispered, shoving himself off her with such force he pushed her deeper into the dirt.

“The lightning,” Charlie said. “I bet they can’t fly in this weather.” He crawled up beside Melanie. She realized he had grabbed his backpack out of the car and was hugging it to his chest, rocking back and forth on his knees. “Do you think they saw us?”

“They had to have seen the car.” Jared was trying to look over the tops of the cornstalks. “It shouldn’t be much farther.”

“Much farther to where?” Melanie wanted to know. “How do you even know where the hell we are?”

“Trust me. And stay close.” Her brother started through the rows again. Melanie and Charlie had to scramble to their feet to catch up with him.

The thunder and lightning took turns now almost in rhythm to Jared’s steps. When they finally stumbled out of the field all Melanie could see in the flickering dark were trees and brush so thick she couldn’t imagine them finding their way in the pitch-black. The field was separated from the forest line by a barbed-wire fence. She could barely see the five strands of wire, but as soon as she reached out she felt a barb prick her finger.

Once again she couldn’t help remembering their mother’s superstitions. It occurred to her that she wouldn’t be surprised at all if hell were sectioned off by barbed wire.

That’s when it started to rain.

7:10 p.m.

Andrew ripped another page from his notebook, crumpled and tossed it at a stack of its comrades in the corner. One had gotten caught in a spiderweb, dangling in the wind. The spider didn’t seem to mind. It was still there; hardy creature out here in the woods. It would take more than badly written prose to make it evacuate its home.

Andrew sat back, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was pointless. Here was the perfect setting for a psychological suspense thriller with his very own thunder and lightning. What more did he need to get in the mood to create a masterpiece of murder? Maybe he just couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t even blame it on his injured collarbone. Yeah, it hurt like hell when he gripped a pen, but somehow the pain seemed less annoying than the absence of words.

He stared at the lantern’s flame, its light dancing across his page. He had left only a small lamp on in the cabin, not realizing that the storm had brought nightfall much sooner than usual. Actually he had no idea what time it was. But then that was one of the reasons he came here to write. He had always loved the disconnect he felt from the rest of the world.

Below the screened-in porch he could see the lake’s surface glittering in the flash of lightning. The storm had swallowed every last shadow, and everything outside the cabin’s cozy confines was veiled in darkness. Across the lake a single light at the boat dock glowed yellow.

Andrew knew there had to be a dozen cabins tucked back into the woods around the park’s lake. It was just impossible to see any of them at night without their lights on. Up until yesterday they had probably all been occupied, one last getaway. Wasn’t that what Labor Day weekend usually signified for everyone? Everyone, it seemed, except Andrew. His getaway began the day after, and he had been counting on the isolation and seclusion. Yet he always forgot how complete and total the darkness could be out here. The storm only seemed to add another thick blanket of dark and quiet.

He loved the quiet when he was writing, but not when the words wouldn’t come. Not when he felt as if he had to yank them out one by one. Times like this the quiet, the silence, was too much. It was annoying. It made him hear things that he would never have paid attention to before, like the refrigerator’s motor and the gurgle of water in the toilet bowl.

Outside, tree branches creaked and scratched against each other. There had been whippoorwills earlier, calling to each other across the lake, crickets, too, but the steady rumble of thunder had quieted the night creatures. Even the spider stayed put. Andrew realized he couldn’t hear the helicopter anymore, either. For a while, it had been a swirling hum in the distance, but now it, too, was gone. He was completely alone. Not such a bad thing. Not at all like Tommy seemed to think.

He had spent plenty of time alone in the past several years since Nora had left. His choice. He had decided to focus on his new career. He told himself he didn’t miss feeling obligated and then guilty when he didn’t follow through on those obligations. He liked not having to answer to anyone. He needed the freedom to take off and seclude himself for weeks without Nora accusing him of shutting her out. These were the things he told himself.

He had grown up in a house listening to his father and mother argue about anything and everything. He’d shared a bedroom with his older brother, who allowed him two drawers in the dresser they also shared. His younger sister tattled on him whenever she caught him reading in one of his hiding places. He grew up longing for his own space, a piece of privacy. Now he had all he wanted. Why would he ever consider giving that up? And, as much as he missed Nora, he had to admit…God, he hated to admit it but it was true—when she finally left it had been a relief. And he wasn’t even sure why.