White Lies (31 page)

“Of course,” she said, wondering how she was going to explain herself.

Murray turned to Zach. “Wait here—”

“He did it,” Zach said woodenly, staring at Jack. “He murdered the old man. I saw him.”

Zach had been watching the unfolding drama with incredulity and dread. Jack was going to get away with it. He was going to get away with murder. He was too smooth; the cop, too gullible. All the voices in his head screamed at him to remain quiet, to let this thing play out on its own, but he knew he couldn't listen to them. If he didn't do something now, he never would. He didn't think he could live with that on his conscience.

“He did it,” Zach said, looking at Jack. “He murdered the old man. I saw him.”

The expression on Jack's face twisted from cool satisfaction to stunned disbelief to a hatred so intense Zach wanted to run for his life.

But then Jack grinned, his face once more a mask of calm. “He's crazy,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.

“A pickup truck came to the cabin,” Zach explained. “The old guy you're talking about, he started arguing with Jack. When Jack bent into his Porsche to get something, the guy whacked him on the head with his cane. Then he hit him again. That's how Jack got those marks on his face. The old guy started down to the dock, to tell everyone to leave. But Jack got up, snuck up behind him, and beat the living shit out of him. Then he dragged the body into the bushes and went inside, like nothing happened.”

“That's complete garbage,” Jack said. “I told you what happened, Mike. Why don't you ask Zach here what he was doing off in the bushes anyway? Spying again? Who the hell hangs out in the bushes?”

“I wasn't in the bushes. I was on the dock one lot over with Katrina's sister. When I saw the truck go by, I went to see who it was.”

“Tell us why you went to the other dock in the first place, why don't you?” Jack said.

Zach shrugged. “The party was lame.”

Jack held up a hand to cut him off. “A couple things need to be explained here, Mike. First and foremost, Zach apparently has some unhealthy crush on Katrina. When he saw me at the party, and he realized she was with me, he made a drunken scene— something he evidently does often. He was going on about how much he hated me. Everybody there heard him. I had to remove him from the cabin with force, which probably didn't raise his opinion of me any. This … this absurd accusation is simply his attempt to get back at me. Either that, or now that his perverted little secret is out, he's trying to bring someone down with him.”

The cop's shoulders jerked. He studied Zach. “You have anything you want to say to that?”

“Yeah,” Zach said. “Jack's full of shit. He came over to my house today and threatened me. Said he was going to kill my mom if I didn't keep quiet about what I saw.”

Zach noticed Katrina's eyes widen, which confirmed she wasn't in total cahoots with Jack. That relieved Zach more than he would have thought possible.

“Theoretically speaking, then,” Jack said, “you've just risked your mother's life. You're either one hell of a shallow person, or you haven't thought your story through very well.”

The truth was Zach didn't believe Jack's threat. Maybe he had at first, but the longer he'd thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion it was all too convenient and artificial. “If you go to prison, you can't kill her,” he said, willing Jack to slip up and say there was a second man, thus proving he had knowledge of the plan. The look in Jack's eyes said it all: “Good try, chump, but I'm not stupid.”

Zach turned to Katrina for help. She appeared torn, unable to decide what to do.

“Do you have any proof to back up these allegations?” Mike said.

“I saw it happen.”

“Did anyone else see any of this besides yourself?”

“No.”

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“No.”

“So someone commits murder, but you keep it to yourself?”

“Who was I supposed to tell?”

“The police.”

“That's what I'm doing now!”

The cop shook his head, as if he was embarrassed to have considered Zach's story. “Sorry to have bothered you with all the questions, Mr. Reeves, Ms. Burton.”

“Katrina,” Zach said desperately.

Katrina was so pale she had turned white. Her eyes were haunted.

The cop noticed as well. “Ms. Burton?” he said, frowning. “Wasn't there something you wanted to tell me earlier?”

She nodded. “It's true,” she said in a voice so soft Zach wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

“What's true?”

“Jack. He killed Charlie. And I helped him make it look like an accident.”

“She's traumatized,” Jack snapped. “Doesn't know what she's talking about.”

“Mr. Reeves,” the cop said in a none-too-confident voice while puffing up his chest. “You're under arrest.”

“Get out of here,” Jack snarled. “And take that lying piece of shit pervert with you.”

“Turn around, Mr. Reeves. Put your hands on your head.”

Jack stepped forward, dwarfing the cop. Zach was roughly Jack's height, but he nonetheless felt as if he was standing in the path of an approaching tsunami.

“Don't be difficult, Mr. Reeves,” the cop said, his hand going to the gun in the holster beneath his windbreaker.

“I said get the hell out of the house.”

“Jack,” Katrina said, coming up beside him, “it's over.”

He shoved her roughly to one side. She fell to the floor, crying out in surprise. The cop whipped out his pistol and aimed it straight at Jack. Everybody froze. Zach no longer felt shamed at having been caught or triumphant at seeing Jack lose it. Now he was plain scared.

“Turn around,” the cop told Jack again.

“You're going to shoot me?” Jack said. “An innocent man?”

“If I have to, yes.”

Seething with rage, Jack turned around and raised his hands to his head. The cop snapped one cuff around his left wrist. Before he could lock the second in place, Jack spun, surprising everyone. What followed happened very quickly. A gunshot fired, loud as a cannon in the small room. Jack jerked sideways, as if hit by a sledgehammer. Somehow he managed to drag the cop down with him, batting the pistol free. It skittered across the hardwood floor.

Zach dove for the weapon. Jack lunged also. They reached it at the same time, both grappling for control. Jack drove an elbow into Zach's face. When he shook the stars clear, he saw Jack clutching his wounded shoulder, grimacing in pain, but holding the pistol.

Regaining his wits, the cop charged into the melee. Jack whirled in time to fire off two quick shots. Both hit the small police officer square in the chest. He dropped to the floor, motionless, blood staining the Polo shirt beneath his windbreaker as if he had been wearing a big red bull's-eye.

Katrina screamed.

And in that moment Zach knew he was going to be next. Fueled by desperation, he ducked his head, raised his arms, and leapt through the large bay window. Glass exploded all around him. He hit the ground on all fours and screamed in pain. A shard of glass had gone through his left hand like a skewer. Nevertheless, he didn't sit there worrying about it. He scrambled along the front of the house until he reached Katrina's Honda Civic. He crouched behind it, alert and hyperkinetic, as if he'd just been given a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. Rain poured down on him as he buzzed through his options. Flee up the long driveway? No way.
Jack would pick him off before he reached the street. Remain where he was? Double no way. Jack would be outside any moment to hunt him down. That left one option. Keeping low to the ground, on the far side of the Honda, he made a mad dash toward the east wall of the house.

A gunshot rang out but missed. Then Zach was racing safely along the side of the bungalow. The forest that bordered the back of Katrina's property loomed before him, tall and sinister. He ran for his life.

“You bastard!” Katrina shouted. “You killed him!”

Jack was leaning out of the broken window that, incredibly, Zach had leapt through. Bandit had escaped from the bedroom and was running in circles, barking crazily, likely confused as to who was the good guy or bad guy in all this.

“I had to,” Jack said, not looking at her. “He was attacking me.”

“You
shot
him! You said you wouldn't! You
promised
!”

“Circumstances changed.”

“He was half your size.”

“It was unavoidable.”

Jack faced her. His shoulder was a big red mess. The gunshot had torn a wad of shirt and flesh free. The blood from the wound had soaked his white button-down a bright crimson all the way to the elbow. Nevertheless, he seemed to be doing a superhuman job of ignoring the pain. He pushed past her, went to the dead cop, searched his pockets, and found a second magazine for the pistol. He started toward the back door.

“Let Zach go,” Katrina said, hurrying to catch up. “You're in trouble enough as it is.” But those were just words. They wouldn't change anything. Jack was beyond reasoning with now. So she grabbed his arm, twisting him around, and hit him as hard as she could in his injured shoulder. He roared with pain, thrusting her aside. She landed a few feet away, in a sprawled heap. Bandit immediately took up position in front of her, growling fiercely, his body so stiff it was trembling. Winded and unable to summon a strong voice, she said quietly but with deadly intensity, “Do not kill
Zach, Jack. If you do, I swear to God I will make sure you spend the rest of your life behind bars.”

He seemed momentarily conflicted, as if he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and carry her away from all this. But the vulnerability passed as quickly as it had come, and a look she could only describe as a killer instinct replaced it.

“Stay here,” he told her. “It's still okay. We're still okay.”

He threw open the back door and charged into the night.

Wheezing, she climbed to her feet and followed.

Zach risked a glance behind him and wished he hadn't. Backlit by the light of the open door, Jack was a raging silhouette, stampeding across the lawn and closer than Zach would have thought possible, given his head start. He reached the edge of the forest but didn't slow. He hurdled over fallen trees and wet shrubs and was soon swallowed by the vegetation, which was good. If he couldn't see where he was going, Jack couldn't either. He only wished he could muffle the noise he was making. With each step he was raising an alarm of snapping twigs and flapping branches, all of which were dead giveaways to his position. Distinct from the racket he was making, he could hear Jack behind him, hopefully having an equally difficult time navigating the thicket blindly. In the distance Katrina was yelling for Jack to stop, to come back. Her dog was barking loudly, almost howling.

Zach caught his foot on a root and slammed into the muddy ground. Dazed, he lay where he had fallen. He listened. Aside from his labored breathing and trip-hammering heart, which seemed to be beating directly behind his ears, there was no sound of pursuit. Just the hard drone of rain.

Something was wrong. Something felt wrong.

Then he understood.

No one was crashing through the woods in pursuit. Jack, Zach knew with morbid certainty, must be waiting not far back, motionless, a predator listening for its prey to give itself away.

Zach didn't dare move.

The seconds ticked by.

Five. Ten. Fifteen.

Katrina called out.

More barking.

Twenty seconds. Twenty-five.

The waiting became unbearable. Particularly since Zach was becoming more and more convinced Jack knew exactly where he was and would pounce any moment.

A crackling noise, like a stick breaking under a foot. Fifteen feet to his right.

“Zach?” Jack said softly. “I know you're listening.”

Crickets. Rain.

“Why didn't you just keep your stupid mouth shut?”

A few more steps, parallel to his hiding spot.

“You fucked me up, Zach.”

To Zach's horror, he realized Jack had turned in his direction and was coming directly toward him.

Katrina called out again.

“You ruined what I had with her. And I'm going to make you pay for that.”

Twigs snapping.

“I'm going to find you,” Jack went on in his homicidal whisper. “Then I'm going to kill you. I swear to you, I'm going to rip your fucking head off and impale it on a stick.”

Less than ten feet.

Zach knew if Jack didn't spot him, he was likely going to step on him. He had to do something. But what? Fleeing was no longer an option. Jack was too close. Fighting? Yeah, right. Even shot, Jack would make quick work of him. He was a machine. He was tracking Zach down with a bullet in his shoulder. Not to mention he had the cop's gun.

As silently as he could, Zach maneuvered his good hand into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He rolled onto his side, praying nothing was going to crack under his weight and reveal his presence. Nothing did. He lobbed the wallet into the trees.

It made the thinnest of sounds as it whistled through the vegetation—but it was enough to send Jack steamrolling in that direction.

Zach used the barrage of noise as cover. He pushed himself to his knees and felt about on the ground for something else to throw. A stick? Too long. Something flat and rough? Bark? Whatever it was would have to do.

Off to his right there was a commotion of thrashing sounds, likely Jack kicking aside undergrowth, searching for Zach. Zach gripped the bark like a Frisbee and sent it off with a good flick of his wrist. It sounded as if it had gone much farther than his wallet. Made more noise as well. But to Zach's confusion he did not hear Jack take off after it. In fact, the night had once again become as still as it was black. That lasted only a moment before he heard Jack prowling stealthily through the trees and bushes. Coming back in Zach's direction.