The Kill (37 page)

Every cop in the room froze, ready to jump on Driscoll if he tried anything. He didn’t move.

Zack asked, “Why didn’t you kill Bruce?”

Driscoll’s eyes locked on Zack’s. “That’s what
she
said.”

“Angel?”

“The bitch. The bitch in the car. Before she fucked everything up and tricked me.”

Olivia?

“I would have killed him. I would have! I needed time, and Angel didn’t want to give me time. Planning. We needed to plan. But she didn’t give me the time to plan. She was scared. I protected her the best I could. I did everything for her. I cleaned her up. I took care of her. I kissed her bruises. I would have taken care of her. She wanted to run away, but how would I feed her? How could I take care of her?”

Zack glanced at Quinn, then said, “Why did you kill Angel when you loved her so much?”

A strangled cry escaped Driscoll’s throat. “She was going to run away. Leave me. I couldn’t protect her.” He heaved out a mournful sigh and stared at the picture, unmoving. “I wanted to protect her. I wanted to stop Bruce from hurting her. She told me she wanted to be free. But then—she wanted to run away. Run away
from me
.

“Angel, sweet Angel, I had to free your soul. You’re free. You’re happy. I know you’re happy now and no one will ever hurt you again.”

Driscoll stared at Zack, but his eyes were unfocused.

“Spirits don’t die,” he whispered, almost pleading with them. “Souls feel no pain. Angel doesn’t hurt anymore. She has eternal life.”

Quinn cleared his throat and asked softly, “Why the other girls?”

“My angels—they’re all my angels. They all hurt. Because that’s what people are—in pain. Constant, torturous pain.

“I had to free their souls, give them a painless life forever and ever. They’re at peace now. They’re with my Angel.”

Olivia sat at Miranda’s kitchen table holding an empty coffee mug and staring out the window.

Miranda sat across from her. “Liv, give him some time. Zack is one of the good guys. He’ll come around. He’ll understand. He just needs to work through his feelings.”

She shook her head. “You weren’t there, Miranda. I explained everything. I really thought he would understand. And he’s right: I should have told him sooner. When did I become such a good liar?”

“You’re not. You’re the worst liar in the world.”

“Not anymore. I’m a master deceiver.” Zack’s words had felt like a physical assault. The more she tried to explain, the angrier—and more hurt—he became.

Olivia’s cell phone rang, but she didn’t make a move to get it. Miranda glanced at the number. “It’s someone in Virginia,” she said.

Olivia reluctantly picked up the phone. “Olivia St. Martin.”

“Olivia, it’s Rick Stockton.”

She sighed and braced herself. “Hello.”

“I know everything.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I knew it’d come out, but I wanted to explain—” She rubbed her eyes. Her excuses were already sounding lame. Last week, she couldn’t think of any other options. Today? She wished she’d done everything differently.

Not because she might lose her job, but because she’d lost Zack.

“We’ll talk about that later. We have more serious issues to deal with.”

She sat up straighter. “What happened?”

“I got a call from the deputy district attorney in San Mateo County, California, this morning. Two prominent people from the Hall investigation were murdered in their homes this week. Hamilton Craig, the district attorney; and Gary Porter, the detective originally in charge of the Hall investigation thirty-four years ago.”

“Gary? Dead? I just talked to him earlier this week. He was going to Hamilton’s funeral—I thought it was an intruder, a robbery gone bad.” Olivia’s heart rate increased.

“The bullets from both victims came from the same .38.”

“Oh no.” Her hand drifted to her mouth. Both Hamilton and Gary gone. Murdered. “Who did it? Do they have a suspect?”

Rick paused. “They got a warrant to search Brian Harrison Hall’s apartment. They found blood evidence that he killed both men, and ammunition that matches the fatal bullets.”

“Hall?” Her voice cracked. She could barely speak.

“That’s how I learned about your activities this week. When I spoke with the attorney, he told me that an ‘Agent Olivia St. Martin’ had been in Redwood City just yesterday morning. I called Greg. He told me everything.”

“I’m sorry, Rick. I—I didn’t have a choice.” As she said it, she knew it was true. She really hadn’t had a choice. She’d never have been able to live with herself if she’d done nothing and more girls died.

She’d helped save Nina Markow. She’d helped put Christopher Driscoll behind bars. She would do it again if faced with the same choice. She hadn’t known Zack when this started. And while she regretted not telling him the truth sooner, she didn’t regret coming to Seattle.

She had to explain it to him. Again. And again. Until he forgave her.

He had to forgive her. She loved him.

“So Hall’s in prison again?” she asked.

“They can’t find him.”

Olivia tensed. “What?”

“They found a vehicle registered in his name at the San Francisco International Airport. The time stamp indicates that he parked at 4:30 yesterday afternoon. We’re reviewing all security tapes and airline records to figure out where he went. He may have fled the country.

“Or,” Rick continued, “he may be trying to find you.”

“Me?”

“You testified against him, not only when he was convicted, but when he was up for parole. He killed a sixty-nine-year-old prosecutor and a sixty-year-old retired cop. Two men who simply did their job thirty-four years ago.

“I talked to Vigo, our profiler, right before I called you. Vigo thinks if Hall knows where you are, he’ll go after you. Where are you in Seattle?”

“Right now? I’m at Quincy and Miranda Peterson’s house.”

“Agent Peterson? Stay there until you hear from me. That’s an order,
Dr
. St. Martin. And I expect you to obey this time.” He hung up the phone.

“What happened?” Miranda asked, worried.

“The police think Brian Hall killed two men who were involved in his prosecution.

“My boss thinks I’m next.”

Again, Zack couldn’t sleep.

Quinn had driven him back to Seattle, but they didn’t talk much, other than to take care of jurisdictional issues. The sheriff’s department would be transporting Driscoll to the county jail in the morning, and on Monday he’d be arraigned. The powers that be—meaning the county prosecutor and the U.S. Attorney—would work out the legalities of prosecution.

Zack didn’t care what they decided, as long as Driscoll never saw the light of day. Driscoll’s interview had disturbed him deeply. He’d interviewed dozens of killers, but none had been as disconcerting as Driscoll. He’d felt chills listening to him.

Quinn tried once to talk about Olivia when he dropped Zack off at his house after midnight.

“Olivia did what she thought she had to do,” Quinn had said.

“Don’t talk to me about her. The case is over. We’re all going our separate ways.”

Now, physically and emotionally drained after the most stressful week of his career, he wanted to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t.

What would he have done in Olivia’s position? If he could have, would he have lied to be part of the sting operation that ended his sister’s killer’s life? Would he have manipulated people to find the gunman who’d shot her?

His phone rang. Pierson had given him three days of comp time, so who the hell would be calling him at one in the morning?

“Travis,” he answered, his voice gruff.

“It’s Olivia.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Liars are always sorry when they’re caught.”

“I told you myself. I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? I tell you I love you, and you tell me you’ve been lying to me since the beginning?”

He could almost feel her anger vibrating over the phone lines. What right did she have to be angry? She wasn’t the one manipulated and betrayed.

“I’m not sorry I came to Seattle. I helped with this investigation, however much you want to deny it. You may never forgive me, but you know what? That’s okay. Because I did what was right at the time. I’m sorry I hurt you in the process. Do you think I planned it like this? I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to fall in love with you!”

She sucked in her breath and Zack stared at his empty bed.

Could he ever trust her again?

“Olivia, I don’t know anything anymore. I’m tired.” Weary. He didn’t know what he believed, or how he could get over the pain in his heart.

“I know something, Zack. I know that I love you. I know that I’m sorry for hurting you. And I know one more thing. I helped put Christopher Driscoll behind bars and he will never destroy another family again. And if that’s all I have when I leave Seattle, I can live with that.”

She hung up.

Zack stared at the phone.

Clearly, the ball was in his court. He just didn’t know if he wanted to play anymore.

Freedom comes at a price.

The only sign of Paul Benedict’s shaky nerves was his sweaty palms. He stood military straight in the cold fog outside the back entrance of Seattle Justice Center. Justice! He’d laugh if he had an ounce of humor left in his soul. What did the court know about justice? What did anyone?

Justice was reserved for the criminals. Never for the victims.

And certainly not for the children. Certainly not for his daughter, Jenny. Sweet, sweet Jenny, who would never hurt anyone.

Hinder not the children.

Paul sucked in his breath as he swallowed salty tears. If the dam burst, he couldn’t do what he’d come to do. What he had to do. If he broke down now, justice wouldn’t be served. Clear mind, steady hand.

There was time enough for pain tomorrow. And every day after tomorrow that Jenny should be alive.

He closed his eyes just for a moment, but that was worse. He saw Rachel holding the infant Jenny in her arms. They were both so beautiful, their golden blonde hair halos. Then Jenny taking her first, tentative steps toward him, smiling, arms outstretched. Then Jenny on her first bicycle, wobbling back and forth, scared but excited. He’d wanted to reach out and catch her when she fell that first time, but his daughter would never have learned to ride if he didn’t let her fall.

She’d never have a chance to fail again. She’d never have a chance to succeed.

If only he’d been here. Home, where he should have been. What had happened over the years that had torn him and Rachel apart? They used to be happy. Yeah, they’d struggled. And when he lost his job three years ago he’d been in a hell of a depression.

Why hadn’t Rachel stood by him? Not that he’d made it easy. He’d been a bastard. He could see it now, in the cold light of reality. He hated that Rachel had to go back to work to support the family. That he’d been a failure, couldn’t provide for his own wife and child.

His beautiful, perfect little girl.

When he got the job in Pennsylvania, Rachel refused to move with him. And one thing led to another—the divorce was final last year.

Had he been here, could he have protected his daughter? Kept her from being hurt? Kept her safe and alive?

He’d never know. He’d never know what might have been different.

But if it wasn’t for that bastard Christopher Driscoll, Jenny would be alive today.

Two police cars pulled into the secure lot of the Justice Center, where the courthouse stood next to the jail. This was his only opportunity to find justice for his daughter. After this morning, Driscoll would be escorted to and from the jail through the sky bridge.

A sheriff’s van pulled into the drive behind the police cars, followed by a pair of motorcycle cops.

He’d loaded the nine-millimeter with glazers to maximize internal damage and prevent the bullet from exiting the body and hitting an innocent person.

He was not a murderer. No, he wouldn’t kill a person. But Driscoll wasn’t human, he was an animal. A sick, deranged animal who attacked little girls.

Paul slowly drew in his breath, the steel warming in his grasp.

The cocky bastard emerged from the van, handcuffed, two cops on either side.

Jenny was in Heaven.
Hinder not the children
.

Benedict aimed his gun. Driscoll was going to Hell.

Early Sunday morning, Zack found himself at the cemetery, which wasn’t a place he normally visited. He felt compelled to see his sister’s grave site and sit and try to figure out why the thought of letting Olivia slip out of his life terrified him as much as the thought of her betraying his trust again.

A man sat next to Amy’s headstone, a blanket spread before him. As Zack came closer, he recognized Vince Kirby. Tense, he stalked over.

“What are you doing here?”

Kirby looked up at him and sipped a can of cola.

“I should be asking you that question. I come here every Sunday.”

Zack hadn’t known that. He swallowed uneasily, shifted on his feet.

“Want a soda?”

“No,” he snapped. He’d wanted time alone with Amy’s memory. He certainly didn’t want to stand around and chat with her lover, a man he didn’t even like.

“Good work catching Driscoll. I was impressed.”

Zack grunted. “You’re not going to get me to comment on the case, Kirby.”

“I don’t want you to. I have enough stuff to write a different article every day for a month.” Kirby drained his soda and put the empty can in a bag. “Maybe this was fate, or divine intervention, or something. That we’re both here at the same time.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Just my dumb luck.”

“You didn’t like me because I dated your baby sister.”

“I didn’t like you because you were a cocky reporter who made cops look incompetent. And,” he added reluctantly, “because you dated my baby sister.”

Zack sat down on the other side of the headstone. “And, because you knew what she was up to and didn’t tell me.”