by Michael Beck
I had popped a couple of pain killers, but my bandaged hand still throbbed painfully. I wondered if I could get the knife back after the police had finished with it. I had grown attached to it.
"All you have is a painting of an angel done by a twelve-year-old boy," he continued. "Oh, that and the fact that he cut lawns. Not exactly a slam dunk case. If it went to trial he would have walked." He looked glanced up at me. "That didn't cross your mind before you pushed him out the window, did it?"
"I can't remember."
"Yeah, I bet." He stared down at Malcolm Fox. "Doesn't really matter anyway, does it? If he was Cupid, good riddance. If he wasn't, he still was a sick fuck and deserved what he got."
"Who deserved what they got?"
Detective Sanders had appeared at my shoulder.
"Jesus," she said, while looking me up and down. I was still wearing my playing gear. "I couldn't believe it when I heard. It's true. You actually played?"
"It was nothing. I threw two touchdown passes and then had time to run out at half time, get stabbed, save a kid and catch the baddy." I shrugged modestly. "It's what I do."
Sanders just looked at me and sighed. "Who'd you kill this time?"
"His name's Malcolm Fox. Tan thinks he's the real Cupid," said Fulton.
"Why does he think that?"
"He painted a picture of an angel and he liked gardening," Fulton said sarcastically.
"He also was expelled from school for hitting the first victim, Susie Hanlon," I said. "And he was one of Bailey's altar boys."
"That doesn't prove anything," Sanders said.
"How about the fact that he confessed to me?"
"Was that before or after you made his head into beef stew?"
"Before."
"Well, it can't be said he wasn't in full charge of his faculties then, can it?" She looked down at the body bag. "Cupid, eh? Bensen will never buy it, but it doesn't really matter, does it?"
By the time the cops finished with me, the game had been over for two hours. The same length of time, I thought, as my football career. The dressing room was deserted, except for two people, when I walked in. Decker and Coach stopped talking when they saw me.
"Sorry for disappearing on you, Coach. Something came up," I said.
"I heard what happened. Was he the one responsible for what's been happening to Troy?"
"No. He was something else. You okay?"
Decker had a butterfly clip holding a cut on his eyebrow together. "Yeah, it's just a scratch. Bear's in the hospital though. He has a broken leg."
"Angie told me."
"We were only a block from my place when a car came through a stop sign and rammed into us. If I had been driving, which I normally do, he would have collected me. As it was, Bear took the brunt of the collision. It took them a couple of hours to cut us free."
"Did you see the driver?"
"Partially. It was our Broncos-cap guy. I couldn't see his face though."
"That doesn't matter."
"Why doesn't it matter?"
I ignored his question. "How's the back?"
"My back? It's fine, why?" Decker said, sounding puzzled.
"It's a long piggy-back ride back to my place."
"Oh, my bet. I guess that's one I'm happy to lose."
"Who won the game?"
"We did," said Coach. "Thirty-six to thirty-two. Lucky Troy got here at half time, after you did your disappearing trick. Otherwise we were goners." He grinned. "I was just about to teach Jeffries how to throw when Troy walked in." Coach scrutinized me. "You did well. Have you thought about what I said?"
"You still want me after I disappeared on you?"
"Wasn't your fault. How did it feel?"
"Playing? Unbelievable. Just about the biggest high imaginable. I don't know how anyone could not want to do that for as long as possible."
Coach regarded me. "But you don't, do you?"
"I don't think so, Coach."
"That's a shame. You've got about the best natural throwing arm I've ever seen. You could have been anything."
The door opened and Sanderson stuck his head in. "Coach, time for that TV interview."
Coach nodded then stopped with his hand on the door.
"You said football was just about the biggest high," he said. "What was the biggest?"
"Saving my goddaughter."
"Thanks for covering for me," said Decker, when Coach had left.
"I didn't have much choice."
"You saved my career. I'm not sure if Coach would have forgiven me if we'd lost that game. I know the media wouldn't have. You should listen to Coach. You have a hell of an arm. You could still have some good years in front of you."
"It's not all about that."
"What is it about?"
"It's about making a difference. I'm not going..."
"To make a difference playing football?"
"That's not a criticism, Troy. You do what you're good at."
"And you're good at helping people and I'm not? No, it's okay. I know it's true." Decker hung his head and gazed down at his right hand which was stroking the white spots on the back of his left. "So true," he whispered again.
"Troy, you have to let it go. You did everything you could for Ashley."
Decker snorted and glared at me. "I did everything I could for her, did I? That's a good one. Remember how I told you how I found Ashley in the snow? Well, that wasn't all of it. Oh yes, I did carry her as far as I could. That part's true. I fell over and I could hardly stand on my own let alone carry Ashley. I couldn't feel my hands or face but I wasn't going to leave her. I bent down to lift her again, even though I knew it was hopeless. She woke up and whispered Kyle's name and at the same time I realized she wasn't wearing any panties."
Troy shook his head and his voice shook. "I thought that she had had sex with Kyle after she made love to me. I don't know why I thought that. Perhaps because Kyle and Ashley went on a date just before that weekend. Or it might have been because Kyle was so damn fucking rich.
"It was hard to not be intimidated by so much money. I might have thought that Kyle's money had turned Ashley's head. She was dirt poor like all the rest of us so that might have been at the back of my mind. And no one could sweet talk a girl like Kyle. Whatever the reason, for a moment there, I doubted her. I dropped Ashley and took a few steps away...I was angry...bitter. Then Ashley woke up and she called my name and raised her hand towards me. I realized what a dumb-ass I was being and that of course Ashley wouldn't have just slept with me and then gone straight to someone else. It was ridiculous to think that. But I had thought that, just for a moment. And that was all it took. One moment of doubt."
He regarded me with dark, haunted eyes.
"You see, just after she called out my name, the snow got twice as thick and it was like a curtain had suddenly cut us off. She disappeared. I ran back to where I thought she had been but I must have miscalculated. I couldn't find her. I doubled back but it was no use. I became completely disorientated and had no idea where she was. The wind was like standing next to a jet plane and I had no chance of hearing her.
"In the end, the boys pulled me back in by the rope and I was too weak to resist. So you see, I always thought that she didn't die by accident. She died because of me. Because I doubted her. Because I didn't trust her."
So that's why he hadn't wanted to talk about Ashley's death. Guilt.
"Is that why you had nothing to do with your friends after that weekend?"
"I didn't want to see anyone who reminded me of that weekend ever again. I wanted to forget it, erase it from my mind. But you can't, can you? Guilt never dies, does it?"
"No, it doesn't," I said quietly, thinking of the Afghanistan family I had inadvertently killed. "But, Troy, now you know it wasn't your fault. That it was one, or all of your friends who were responsible for her death. In fact, there's a good chance that Kyle did rape Ashley, so it wasn't your fault."
He stared at me with dead, empty eyes
.
"Don't you see? That makes it even worse. Ashley had been assaulted and I doubted her. She needed me, more than ever, to be there for her and I wasn't. She was dying in my very arms and I doubted her. How do I live with that? How?"
To that, I had no answer.
Decker was silent on the drive home. He sat with his head back and eyes closed, looking wrung out from the day's events. I knew how he felt. When we arrived at his place he paused as he climbed out.
"Tan, I want to thank you and Bear for everything you've done for me. I know it may not have seemed like it but I appreciate it. Thanks."
He slammed the door shut and walked off before I could reply. I drove off and had gone three blocks when a phone rang behind me. I swiveled around and realized Decker had left his bag behind. As I did a U-turn, I reached into the bag and pulled out his cell.
"Troy?"
"Hi, Liz. Troy left his cell in my car. I'm on my way back to his house now."
She was silent.
"How's Bear?" I said.
"Good. He should be out of hospital in a couple of hours, as soon as he gets his leg set."
"How are Angie and Lucy holding up?"
"They're okay. I'm going there now."
The line was silent again as we both thought of things we didn't say. I pulled into Decker's driveway and climbed out of the car.
"You played great today," she finally said. "Your parents would have been proud."
"The shortest career in football history."
"Why does it have to finish? Troy told me Coach offered you a place on the team."
"It's not for me."
The house was quiet as I walked up and pressed the doorbell.
"The trouble with you, Tan, is you're too busy trying to save everyone."
"You asked me to, Liz," I reminded her.
"Yes, but once you've saved Troy, you'll find someone else. There will always be someone else with you."
"I thought you'd be happy Decker's problem was solved?"
I heard a loud thump inside the house.
"What do you mean solved? Do you know who the Broncos-cap guy is?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"I'll tell you later. Something's not right."
CHAPTER 80
The door was unlocked and the house was silent. I moved cautiously through the living room into the kitchen. Gagged, Decker sat in a chair with his hands tied behind his back and his feet tied to the chair legs. I stepped into the kitchen and a tall figure wearing a Broncos cap tackled me. As we fell, I saw a metallic glint, a flash.
I ducked and the knife missed my face by a whisker. I grabbed his wrist and rolled him over my shoulder. He hit the floor hard and the knife skittered across the floor until it hit the fridge.
He jumped up and kicked me in the thigh. I grabbed his foot, ignoring the pain in my wounded hand, and heaved. He landed on his back against a cupboard, sending crockery and cooking utensils smashing to the floor. Grabbing a barbecue skewer and a long, serrated knife, he aimed them toward me.
"Do you really want to do that?" I said. "I warn you, I am a trained chef."
For some reason this failed to deter him and he slashed at me with the knife, narrowly missing again. Following through, he stabbed me in the forearm with the skewer.
Pissed off, I scooped a kitchen knife out of a wooden knife-block that had fallen on the floor.
Again he came at me, brandishing the knife and skewer. I held the knife by the point, and then threw it into Broncos-cap's thigh.
He screamed, but still held onto his weapons.
"I can do this all day." I pulled out another knife. "Drop them."
He limped towards me, the knife still embedded in his left leg.
So I threw another knife, this time into his right thigh.
He screamed again and dropped to his knees. His weapons fell to the floor and he bent over, gripping both legs.
"No one ever seems to take my chef-warning seriously," I mused, as Broncos-cap keeled over and lay in a fetal ball. I flicked his cap off with my foot.
"Hello, Jason."
CHAPTER 81
There was a light snow falling when I parked outside the Hunter residence. Henry Hunter, as he had on my first two visits, sat in front of the bay window. He glanced my way incuriously then gazed back up the hill. The black windows of the rental car prevented him from seeing me. I climbed out, keyed the child lock and walked up the path to the porch. Our eyes locked. He didn't nod or acknowledge me in any way. Chalk up another admirer.
I didn't bother knocking. He was alone when I came to a standstill behind him, and he continued staring toward the cemetery. "Back again, Mr. Pinnut?"
"No need for that," I said. "You can call me by my real name."
His gorilla hands flicked the wheels and he spun around facing me. "Pardon me?"
I could tell by his eyes he already knew the answer. "It's funny, how our subconscious works, isn't it? It seems to have a mind of its own."
"I'm not following."
"I could tell your wife really missed your dead family members. The careful and thorough way she weeded their graves during my last visit showed how much she loved them. She must miss them all greatly. Your parents and brother. Your daughter, Ashley, and...your son."
Hunter just stared at me, expressionless.
"Funny thing about that though. Tammy weeded all the graves but one. Want to make a bet which one she left untended? No? I thought not." I crossed to the mantle and picked up the photo I had seen before, of Ashley and her brother and her mother. "You should never have left this one on display. I was an idiot for not realizing it when I saw this picture. Especially, when you told me the three of them loved going to the football games." I held up the picture. "All I had to do was read the name on the flag Tammy is waving in the picture. You can see it quite clearly. See? The Broncos. The Denver Broncos."
I put the picture back on the mantle. "Why did you fake Jason's death?" My words were like stones falling into a still pond. I felt like a fly that had just landed on a spider web. The web vibrated. Out came the spider.
"We had to. It was either that or Jason would have spent the next ten years behind bars." Hunter spoke quietly, dispassionately.
"What are you talking about?"
"Jason was a troubled kid. By the time he was fourteen, he had convictions for burglary and grand theft auto. He fell in with a bad crowd and he wouldn't listen to his mother or me. He started using and selling coke. Then, a year before Ashley died, he was charged with dealing coke, resisting arrest and aggravated assault. He was on parole, waiting for his trial, when he picked up a hitchhiker. Jason had been on a booze and coke bender and wasn't in a fit state to even ride a bicycle, let alone drive a car. He went off a bridge on Route 17. Jason was lucky. He was thrown clear and landed in the river.
"It's funny how luck seems to favor the culpable, isn't it?" Hunter didn't smile at all. "The boy he had picked up wasn't so lucky. The car blew up and he was incinerated."
"So you identified the hitchhiker as your son?"
"It was easy. He was about the same height and build as Jason and his face was horribly burnt. Jason put his watch and ring on the body. I just pointed to a couple of identifiable marks the boy had on his body. The police believed me. No one was going to question a grieving father, were they?"
"So Jason got a second chance?"
"Yes. And believe it or not he hasn't drunk or used since."
"And why's that? Because he's been too busy destroying the lives of the Fantastic Five?"
Hunter regarded me levelly. "So, now we come to it?"
"Yes we do. You knew what he was doing?"
Silence.
"He was only giving them what they deserved," he finally said. "An eye for an eye."
"What about turning the other cheek?"
"Like you did? With your parents?"
It was my turn to be silent.
"Where did Jason find the girl who framed Ma
tt Maxwell?" I said after a while.
"Rebecca?" Hunter's tone was sneering. "It was only poetic justice that Maxwell's life was destroyed by a hooker after what happened to Ashley. It's amazing what you can get if you're willing to pay for it."
"And Jason put the child pornography on Maxwell's computer?"
"Can you think of a better way to bring down a fornicator?"
"Did Jason kill Maxwell?"
Hunter's eyes bored into mine. "That's between God and Jason."
"Why did you wait so long to seek revenge? Ashley died nine years ago."
"We didn't know what really happened until about a year and a half ago."
"How did you find out?"
"I don't suppose it matters if you know. We received a letter."
"A letter?"
Hunter nodded.
"A letter from who?" I said.
"Ryan Franklin."
"Ah huh. And what did the letter say?"
"Here. Read it yourself." Hunter picked up a Bible from the table next to him. Another Bible. For so many supposedly religious people, there had been an awful lot of killing. Hunter opened the Bible, lifted out an envelope and handed it to me.
I took out the letter. It was smooth and thin from much handling.
Ashley,
I'm so sorry for what we did. You were our friend and we wronged you. What happened was evil and I know God will never forgive us for what we did. I should have said something but I was weak. I can't live with this anymore, so I'm saying sorry now. I'm sure I won't be seeing you on the other side. I would change it if I could but I can't. I'm sorry.
Ryan
The envelope was addressed to Ashley Hunter in the same handwriting as the letter itself. I held it for a moment as something of interest struck me, and then handed it back to Hunter, who slipped it back into the same place inside the Bible.
"It came two days after Ryan died in that car crash," Hunter said. "He must have mailed it just before he got in to that car. At least he repented. There might be some hope for his soul. For the others, none."
