One Last Breath

by Lisa Jackson

  He shot her an affectionate look. “Want to know why I picked her out? Little Teri who was panting for me?”

  His eyes seemed to caress her and she thought she might be sick. What had she heard, that the dead woman had resembled Rory? Her skin crawled. No . . . it had nothing to do with her. Surely not. “No,” she whispered aloud and felt the crumpled cup in her hand. She was crushing it so hard it dug into her flesh. “You were there,” she realized, her brain engaging again. “You followed me to Point Roberts. You were the one stalking me. It was you!”

  “Nah. Jacoby was following you. You were right on that. What a joke that Beth hired him first, then didn’t tell Liam what she’d done. Thought I would die when I heard. Had to pretend for my bro that I was as surprised as he was. Hah!”

  She opened her hand. The crushed cup opened like a flower. “But you were there . . .”

  “Just once. Okay? Yeah, guilty as charged. But only to see if you really were there. Everyone was so upset about you. I gotta admit, I wondered where you’d gone to. Didn’t know about Cal.”

  They were slowing for a light and Rory gathered herself. She could get out of the truck. She could run. They weren’t anywhere near the route to the police station. He was taking her somewhere else.

  “Don’t do anything,” Derek warned. He’d slipped the gun into his left hand and was pointing it at her, across his body. “I really don’t want to use this, but I will if you try to get away.”

  “They’ll catch you . . . see you . . . if you fire it . . . they’ll get you!” Fear was making her nearly incoherent.

  “If that happens I’ll kill myself, too,” he said matter-of-factly. “But you really should think about that. For your daughter. You don’t want to leave her.”

  Charlotte. Her perfect baby. Who depended on her. “Don’t bring her into this.”

  “Just reminding you that you’re a mother.”

  “I know that.” The gun. If she could somehow get the gun and turn it on him. Could she? Would she have the nerve to shoot him? Think of Charlotte. “What are you going to do?” she asked, a catch in her throat. She stared at the gun, its barrel like a dark, soulless eye staring at her.

  “You mean right now? Good question.”

  They passed through the light. Rory was frozen. She believed him now. Believed he meant to do exactly what he said.

  “You kind of caught me unawares, so I’m winging it. Not how I thought this would end between us.”

  Between us . . . was there meaning there?

  As if he read her mind, he said, “Go on. Ask me.” He wiggled the gun and every muscle in her body contracted as more cars surrounded them and he actually managed to merge onto the freeway.

  Rory’s thoughts were moving at warp speed. She had to get away. Had to. She could barely follow the conversation. “Ask you what?”

  “Why I chose Teri.”

  “Didn’t you say because she was easy?”

  “No, that’s why I killed her. That’s not why I picked her.” He was irritated now, driving faster again.

  “Okay. Yeah. Why . . . why did you choose Teri?”

  Another indulgent look her way, his gaze cresting to the top of her crown. “Because she had red hair . . .”

  * * *

  “We have video from a camera down the street from the Hallifax building the night Teri Mulvaney was killed,” Detective Grant was saying. “Here are stills from that video. You can see that we captured a number of vehicles that were parked in the area.” He laid the black-and-white photos in front of Liam. “We checked out the ones we had full license numbers for. Nearby residents. A couple we don’t have the full plate. This one . . .” He pointed to the tail end of a dark sports car with no license plate on the back. A Corvette.

  Liam felt himself go cold inside. A Corvette? Like the one Derek drove? Still . . . it was nothing. Just a coincidence.

  Mick Mickelson said, “Do you mind if I take a look at those?”

  Grant looked at him askance and he explained, “Seattle PD’s got pictures of vehicles around the Nile the day DeGrere was murdered. I just want to compare.”

  Shanice said, “Want me to call? And see if they’ll release them? If not, maybe we can upload these pictures to them.”

  “There’s no connection between Teri Mulvaney and Pete DeGrere,” Liam heard himself say. He felt like he was in a vacuum. His voice sounded tinny and far away as if it belonged to someone else.

  Mickelson turned to regard him soberly. “I just want to gather all material related to your family in one place. See what crops up.”

  Your family has secrets . . . And I know about them.

  Beth . . . Beth had thrown those words in his face.

  And they know I know about them . . .

  The detectives were talking all around him, buzzing, a hive of voices.

  It’s not Derek, he told himself. It’s not. Can’t be. There are lots of Corvettes. This city, this state is crawling with them, and when you add in Washington . . .

  One question kept scraping at his brain:

  How long has he had that car?

  * * *

  “I liked Beth better when she became a redhead,” he said as they turned off the freeway to a surface street that wound east, away from the city center.

  Beth? What does Beth have to do with . . . Her heart clutched. Beth was dead, too. “What do you mean? About Beth?”

  “You know, don’t you?” he teased, then concentrated on the drive, as if he had the streetlights timed in his head. As luck would have it, he never had to stop for a red light. Not that she could have escaped anyway. The barrel of his pistol was too close.

  Beth. Oh, God, did he kill her?

  Through the dusty, bug-smeared windshield she looked for her chance of escape, prayed for it. But the opportunities were less as he drove expertly through a residential area that bled into suburbia and to a commercial section where there was more land between the buildings. Bigger lots. Older plots of land that had once been rural and were slowly becoming developed. She didn’t know the area well, but knew she was on the east side of the Willamette, far from the heart of the city.

  “Where are we going?” she demanded. “Liam’s waiting for me.”

  “He’ll just have to wait a little longer, won’t he?” Derek said as he slowed for a turnoff and Rory reached again for the door handle.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” he said in a soft voice that was threaded with steel, as hard and cold as the barrel of the gun pointed on her. He drove down a winding drive to an older building surrounded by trees, a once-grand, multi-story home now in ruin, the roof collapsing, the siding rotting, decaying within a small copse of trees and brambles that separated it from other properties. Despite the heat of the summer and the fact that it was still morning, the day new, there was a darkness here, a sinister malevolence that seemed to emanate from the old house with its broken windows and teetering porch.

  Who had lived here?

  That thought was chased away quickly with another.

  Who had died here?

  She licked her lips. There had to be a way. Some way to get out of this. She stared at the house as if within its decrepit hallways she might find an answer. There were signs that someone had been here recently.

  Graffiti in bright neon yellow and blood red had been scrawled across the mouldering walls, the same ugly phrases that had been sprayed on other buildings owned by the Bastians, though some of the vile words aimed at the Bastians had been painted over.

  The graffiti had been painted by Derek. And aimed at his own family.

  Why?

  As if reading her mind, he said, “I blamed it all on your stepbrother, you know. Everett was such an easy target, and so I managed to lay the blame at his feet for years, for everything.” He chuckled. Satisfied and proud of himself. “But hell, it only works so long, right? Who would guess that he’d show up . . . a damned Bible thumper! And you looked so scared to meet him.” He was amused by how it had all worked out. Th
e man was sick.

  Still, she attempted to reason with him, all the while trying to plot her escape. If she could just reach her phone, tucked into her pocket, and call 9-1-1 or Liam or. . . first she had to get away. “Derek, you have to let me go. You’re right. I have a daughter. Your niece. I need to be with her.”

  “And Liam? You need to be with Liam, too?”

  Oh, God, yes!

  He drove around to the back of the dilapidated house, then suddenly stood on the brakes. This was her chance! She reached for the door handle, pulled it back, but the damned seat belt.

  “Shit!” he growled at the sight of another car parked in the sparse, weed-choked gravel.

  Rory’s heart soared. Someone was here. He wouldn’t shoot her in front of whoever—

  Oh, Lord. She recognized the white Lexus, dappled by sunlight, its engine running, that filled the space in front of a listing garage.

  “Damn,” he said, then shook his head and began chuckling, slowly at first, then laughing hysterically, as Stella stepped out of the car.

  “What? What’s she doing here?”

  “Exactly.”

  Stella was shading her eyes, squinting at them.

  “Fuckin’ A. We’ve been caught!”

  * * *

  You should tell them. Tell them about Derek’s car.

  How long has he had that car? Liam couldn’t remember. The interrogation room suddenly seemed airless. Confining.

  Shanice was looking at him hard, taking the decision from him when she asked, “What kind of vehicle does your brother drive?”

  She saw it in the driveway. Was that just yesterday?

  “He has a Ford truck . . . and . . .”

  All of their attention was on him. He was under the microscope, but it was a mistake. A coincidence.

  “He has a new Corvette,” Liam admitted. “I’d never seen it before yesterday.”

  “Does it have a plate on the back?” Grant asked him.

  “I don’t know,” Liam admitted.

  “Did he know Teri Mulvaney?” the mustached detective then posed.

  “No!” Liam said quickly, defensively, then said, “I-I don’t know.”

  “Does he have a beef against your family?” That was from Mickelson.

  He’s thinking about the wedding shooting. That’s his deal. He wants to pin the wedding shooting on my brother!

  “Mr. Bastian?” Shanice’s gaze was boring into him.

  “It’s his family, too,” Liam said, but his mind caught on something that felt out of place. What was it? He thought, then twigged to it: the wedding photos that he’d stashed away but never been able to throw away. He’d just looked at them again with Rory this morning. Something about the wedding photos.

  He looked at Mickelson. “I gave the police the pictures the photographer took at the wedding.”

  “I have copies,” Mickelson admitted, pointing to the thick file he carried with him.

  Liam felt as if he couldn’t breathe, but he managed to ask, “Could I see them?”

  The two Portland detectives looked at each other, but neither stopped Mickelson from pulling out the photos and handing them over to Liam. Once again, there was Vivian in her bright yellow dress. Once again there was his father, moving down his row, intending to take matters into his own hands, angry at the delay. And once again there he was himself, hit by bullets, starting to fall.

  And Derek was way off to the right side. Moments before he’d been standing by Liam. Now he was nearly to the edge of the seats, as far from the aisle as he could probably be in those few seconds.

  * * *

  “What are you doing here, Mommie dearest?” Derek asked Stella as he swung out of his truck. He was still training the gun on Rory, keeping the driver’s door of his truck open. “This is your stop,” he told Rory. “The Flavel apartments. Aren’t they nice?”

  Why wasn’t Stella doing something? Why the hell was she here? Did she have any idea? Surely she could see the gun in her stepson’s hand, the way he was brandishing it.

  When Rory didn’t move, he waggled the gun at her and she stiffly released the seat belt and opened the passenger door. Thinking about fleeing somehow, some way, she climbed out of the car.

  “What is going on?” she asked her mother-in-law.

  Stella was utterly rigid. She stared in disbelief at Rory. “What . . . what are you doing here?” Then pointing to the pistol, “For the love of God, Derek, are you out of your mind?”

  “Don’t panic. Everything’s under control,” he said.

  “What? Don’t panic? Is that what you said? Seriously. And everything’s under control? What planet do you live on?”

  Rory took a step and Derek spun, aimed the gun straight at her face. “Don’t fuckin’ move. And if you scream, I’ll drop you, like that!” He snapped his fingers and she froze. Believed him. There was nothing between her and the madman with the gun.

  He was nuts. Certifiable. And he would kill her in an instant, she knew it. And Stella . . . what was her part in all of this? But there was no time for conjecture. Not now. She forced her eyes on Derek, on the damned gun, but in her peripheral vision she was taking stock of her surroundings. Trees . . . bushes . . . cover, if she could get there. But Stella . . . could she just leave her with Derek?

  “What are you doing here?” Derek asked her again, then inched up his chin a bit. “Ahh, you were looking for me. I said I was going to be here, didn’t I? Want a little quick one at the scene of my latest crime. That it?”

  Latest crime? Did he kill someone else here? Rape them? What? Or was he talking about her?

  “Oh, my God. You’re crazy!” Stella cried.

  Derek’s smile was almost a rictus as he turned to Rory. “It’s all gone to shit, you know. Too bad. But to be truthful, it wasn’t a good plan to begin with. Not well thought out. I didn’t see it, you know. About Pete. Thought I’d just wind him up about fucking rich people. Get him to shoot dear old Dad. Saved a lot of little dollars over the years, didn’t we, lover?” This he threw at Stella, who had drained of all color.

  She seemed about to faint, but caught herself. “You stupid, stupid, stupid boy . . .” She choked.

  He laughed. “I wasn’t much more than a boy when we started. Well, okay, you didn’t make your move till I was of age. I’ll give you that.”

  Stella moaned and covered her face with her hands.

  Derek and Stella? Lovers?

  Rory thought she’d be sick. Her stomach turned over and she had to fight the urge to wretch as she began to understand what had happened, how cruel the world had turned.

  “Hate to break it to you, Aurora. But Mommie dearest never liked you.”

  Rory didn’t respond. Didn’t care how Stella had felt about her. Right now, she had to think. To ignore anything other than to find a way to escape. He was a killer. Derek Bastian was a killer. He’d hired Pete DeGrere. And murdered Teri Mulvaney . . . oh, dear God. How many others? Beth? Panic grabbed her by the throat.

  She moved ever so slightly away from him, inching her way, feeling sweat collect on her scalp and run down her back. All the while she focused on the gun. The damned gun.

  “She wanted to take you out, too, you know. At the wedding? But you wouldn’t come down the aisle. And then DeGrere must’ve thought he had a good shot, and bam. Pulled the trigger and down goes Geoffrey Bastian. Stella wanted the money and to be rid of the bastard, and well, so did I. But she wanted you dead, too, and I guess Pete just thought, fuck it, might as well kill all the rich people I can.”

  “Derek!” Stella yelled.

  Rory inched a little closer to the bushes. Oh, Lord, could she get away from them? A few more feet and she could spring to scramble away. And go where? Two of them, one with a gun, would hunt her down like a wounded fawn.

  Derek added to Rory in an aside, “Old Petey. He wasn’t the most stable, you know.”

  “You were supposed to take care of this!” Stella’s fury increased to a fever pitch, but
it only seemed to amuse Derek as he went on with his story.

  “But dear old Dad didn’t die, did he? And then, Mommie dearest gets cold feet. Afraid we’ll be found out if there’s another attempt on his life.”

  “You shot Liam, too!” Stella shrieked, her eyes wild.

  “Not me.” He held up both his hands in a plea for amnesty. The pistol shifted a little. “Pete. I got nothing against my brother. Except maybe that he scored all the beautiful women.” His gaze caressed Rory as it took her in.

  “Enough with all this ancient history,” Stella said, approaching her stepson finally. “What are we gonna do now? What’s your latest and greatest brilliant idea?”

  “Well, we’ll have to get rid of her,” Derek said reasonably as a hot wind scattered some dry leaves across the ground. “She figured out it was me, and I had to bring her here before she told Liam.”

  “She figured out it was you? What did you do! You’re such a careless fool. You want to get caught!”

  “I took care of Beth, didn’t I?”

  So it was confirmed—what Rory had suspected. She fought to keep her voice from quivering as she asked, “You killed Bethany?”

  “She saw me with Stella. Caught us having a quick one in the back hallway of the house.”

  Stella shrieked and grabbed her hair. “You pushed me up against the wall and I didn’t want it!”

  “Oh, yes, you did. You were hot and wet as a sauna. You just didn’t want to get caught.”

  “Now look what you’ve done!” She waved her arms at Rory as if she wanted to make her disappear.

  “Fine! Let’s take care of it.” He leaped across the patchy dry grass separating himself from Rory and as she turned to run, he grabbed her, and holding her tight, jammed the barrel of the gun against her temple. “Want me to do it now?” he asked Stella silkily.

  “What? God, no!” All of the starch left her and suddenly Liam’s mother sank onto her knees in the dry weeds and gravel. “No . . . no . . .”

  “Maybe after Rory and I have a little time together . . . ?” he added.