by E. C. Diskin
He jogged to the car and grabbed the first-aid supplies and a blanket from the trunk, jogged back, and wrapped the wounds as best as he could. He covered her in the blanket. “Don’t do this, Lisa,” he begged. “Help me save her.”
Lisa’s eyes, black as the night, stared, unfocused. “She deserves to die.”
“Hackett!” It was Bishop yelling from somewhere behind the house. “Hurry!”
THIRTY
HACKETT RAN TOWARD THE WOOD LINE with his flashlight. “Get a shovel!” Bishop yelled.
He veered toward the shed along the wood’s edge, broke the glass, and opened the door into the dark space. Nausea upended his stomach. He didn’t know if he could stand to see it. Grace, buried in the frozen ground. Cold. He’d failed her.
He flashed the beam at the walls. There in the back—a shovel. He pushed aside the bags of fertilizer and stepped toward a tarp draped over a large pile of something in the corner. He stomach dipped again, fearing the worst. He couldn’t breathe as he grabbed at the material and threw it back.
But it was just machine parts. He shined the light on them: two tires, a massive handlebar, a license plate. And then he saw the emblem. Honda. Tucker was here. He’d probably killed Grace. Rage filled him. He grabbed the shovel and ran out of the shed. “Where are you?” he shouted. “Flash your light for me!”
“I’m about ten feet deep in the woods, north side. Hurry . . .”
Hackett ran toward the voice. He found Bishop on his knees, using his hands to shovel snow and dirt.
“Oh shit.” Even in the dim light, he could see the dirt mixed in with the snow in one large area. It stood out against the fresh snowfall surrounding them.
The ground was frozen, but this patch was freshly moved. He began digging with the shovel, lifting mounds at a time. A siren wailed in the distance, and a moment later, a red strobe swirled in the night sky on the other side of the house. The paramedics would see Lisa right away.
After about six digs, the shovel hit something. He gently pushed the blade down again. It was wood. “Here!” he said, shoveling the area around the sound more rapidly. Bishop knelt beside him. He unearthed what looked like a wooden box about six inches beneath the surface. But the box was small. Too small. Bishop continued to clear away the dirt and pull the box from the ground while Hackett jumped up, grabbed his shovel, and continued digging where Bishop had left off.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, clouding his vision, but he thought he saw something, maybe string, against the black dirt. He dropped the shovel, fell to his knees, and leaned in to see what was in front of him, nearly invisible in the dark. It was a few strands of hair. “Here!”
And that was when he knew—they were too late. Bishop joined him and they both grabbed at the dirt with their bare hands. “No, no,” he said, over and over.
Bishop’s radio crackled. He sat back on his haunches and answered. “We’re in the back. Suspect out front, she’s been shot. We’ve found something. Bring whatever lights you have.”
Hackett heard footsteps running toward the woods; flashlight beams bounced in the trees. “Over here!” yelled Bishop.
Hackett ignored them. His hands had slowed, and he carefully, reverently brushed the dirt away from the body. His Grace. She’d been through so much; she didn’t deserve to be bruised anymore.
Bishop flashed his light on the area, and as he skimmed the dirt off the exposed hair, he realized that it wasn’t brown. It was bright blond. Faster now, he swiped the icy dirt from the face, exposing a nose, lips, and eyes. It wasn’t Grace. It wasn’t Grace. Tears flooded his eyes.
He looked up at Bishop, who’d resumed digging around the torso. He lifted an arm from the makeshift grave. It was covered in tattoos.
“I guess this is Tucker,” Bishop said.
“Over here!” yelled one of the men from about thirty feet away.
Hackett leaped to his feet and ran toward their voices.
Several officers were huddled around the firewood stacked at the wood’s edge. One of them left the group and ran back toward the house. Hackett brushed past them, rushing around to the back of the stack.
It was Grace, slumped over, facedown on the ground, like she’d been propped up against the wood but had collapsed. Her eyes were closed, her body covered in an inch of fresh powder. He pulled her against him, willing her to feel his warmth. Then he leaned into her chest, praying for sound.
THIRTY-ONE
GRACE OPENED HER EYES AND STARED up at the white ceiling tiles, those tiny holes that had held no answers a week earlier. In seven days, it had all come back: memories, images, and a reality she wanted desperately to forget. The sun was rising, the blinds casting a shadow across her hospital bed like the bars of a cage. She was trapped by images she could no longer block out. She closed and reopened her eyes, clutching to the fantasy that this might all be a terrible nightmare. But everything remained—the sterile walls, the snow-covered roof outside her window, the truth.
A soft knock at the door distracted her. Detective Bishop and Officer Hackett—Justin—entered, smiling tentatively, and approached the foot of her bed.
Bishop spoke up first. “It’s good to see you, Grace.”
Justin stepped closer. “You doin’ okay?”
She remembered the gunshots echoing through the trees last night. “Is she . . . ?”
He glanced at Bishop before responding. “She’s alive. Barely. I had to shoot, Grace. I’m sorry; she was trying to escape.”
“I . . .” She struggled to find the right words. Justin stepped closer, but she couldn’t look at him. “She tried to kill me,” she whispered.
“We know, Grace. We know everything.”
She closed her eyes as tears coursed down her cheeks. Did he?
“Lisa and Tucker killed Michael,” Bishop said. “We can place her at his house.”
“Cahill won ten grand at the casino on Friday,” Justin said, as if he hadn’t already shared that information days before. “Tucker was after the money. We found it last night, buried in a box in the woods behind Lisa’s house.”
“We found Tucker buried too,” Bishop said. “He’d been stabbed.”
Oh God. She turned to the window, not wanting to hear any more. She squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t close her ears.
Justin walked around the bed, pulled a chair in front of the window, and sat by her side. “They must have fought after it happened. Maybe she panicked. It’s hard to know what she was thinking.”
“Like I’ve told Hackett, sometimes we don’t get every answer, but we get the ones that matter,” Bishop said. “Do you remember anything, Grace?”
She looked into his eyes, unable to get out the words. She nodded slowly.
“Were you there?”
She nodded.
“What happened?” Bishop asked.
“I came in and found them. She saw me and I ran out of the house.”
Justin leaned forward. “Were you out running?”
She nodded, allowing his words to guide her.
He smiled. “I knew it. I knew you didn’t do it, Grace.”
That smile. She’d been unable to forget it for days after they’d kissed. His face now was just as she remembered, intense and earnest. A wave of relief washed over her.
She looked at Bishop. “She killed our parents. She admitted it to me last night. I guess she figured I wouldn’t live to tell.”
“Did you always suspect her?” he asked.
The idea of this conversation made her want to summon a deep breath, as if going there required more strength, but when she tried, she felt a sharp pain in her chest and struggled to prop herself up. Justin jumped up and helped arrange another pillow behind her back.
“Thanks,” she said. He’d shored up her strength so many times already. She kept her gaze on the bed. “When they caught someone
and said Lisa had an alibi, I figured even she couldn’t do that. But then about a year ago, I was at the house to pick up a check, and I overheard her and Tucker laughing about the man who was in prison. I don’t even remember exactly what was said, but it seemed like Tucker knew who he was.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Bishop asked.
“Michael thought it was a bad idea. Lisa was always one step ahead of me. I had no proof and I didn’t need to give her another reason to go after me. We both knew she was dangerous. She’s been torturing me for as long as I can remember.”
“Like with those naked photos,” Justin said.
She turned to him, relieved. He had figured out a lot. “Right.”
“Well, we know he’d been drugged. If that makes any of this better. He didn’t really sleep with Lisa. Or at least he didn’t know he did.”
“She’s a monster,” Grace whispered.
“She’s not going to get away with it this time,” Justin said.
“If she makes it,” Bishop added.
Lisa dead. It would really be the end. The end of her twisted, psychotic games. She looked up at Bishop. He’d finally softened. His stance was relaxed, or maybe it was exhausted, those dark circles less menacing now that his silent suspicions were gone. She took in Justin’s day-old stubble, the fatigue in his eyes, and became overwhelmed by guilt.
“I gotta say,” Bishop said, as if reading her thoughts, “things weren’t looking too good for you for a while there. But my partner here knew to keep pushing. He didn’t believe that it could have been you.”
Justin sat back in his chair, smiling. She reached out toward him, and he leaned forward and took her hand in his. She looked at their hands together. He was the reason she was alive, and free. “I remember you,” she said.
He let out a sigh and chuckled. “I’m so glad, Grace. I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten that kiss, and I didn’t know what I’d do if you never remembered it—or me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t show up that night.”
“It’s okay. I guess it really wasn’t over between you two.”
Her eyes watered and she shook her head. That wasn’t it at all. “I wanted to come,” she began, her voice wobbling. The details were now vivid in her mind. “It was just so complicated,” she murmured, while inside, she relived that evening in full detail.
She’d come home prepared for a confrontation, her speech about growing apart rehearsed on a loop in her head. But when she’d walked in, Michael was there, ring in hand, tearful, down on one knee, talking about how long he’d loved her, how being with her had saved him. He must have seen the doubt on her face, because he’d collapsed onto the floor, practically begging her not to leave him. Making promises about cleaning up his act. “I’m not going to be like my father,” he said again and again. “I’ll be better.”
Grace had joined him on the carpet. “Why are you talking about your father?” They’d agreed years ago never to mention his name. It was too painful for both of them.
“He’s dead,” Michael said, tears streaming down his face. “I got a call a few hours ago. He hung himself.”
“Oh my God,” Grace said, instinctively wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”
He grabbed her by the arms then, forcing her to look at his face. “That’s not why I’m proposing, Grace. I swear. I bought the ring on Saturday. Please marry me.”
Every excuse, every justification for leaving, melted away. She couldn’t hurt him. He’d taken care of her for as long as she could remember, even as a child. So she’d said yes, despite her doubts. That kiss with Justin, that dream of starting something new, of moving on, was no more than a fantasy. Michael was hers and she couldn’t walk away.
Justin put his other hand over hers, pulling her out of the trance. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand, and I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” She smiled.
“Okay, then,” Bishop said with a grin, “I’ll be outside.”
“Wait,” Grace said. “What happens now?”
Bishop’s expression turned solemn. “If Lisa survives, she’ll go away for a long time.”
She wanted to believe it, but she didn’t. When she tried to sit up, her breath caught in her chest, and she winced.
Justin dropped her hand and gently braced her shoulder to stop her from the effort. “Your lung collapsed again last night. We almost lost you. You’re very weak.”
As she looked down at the tube still attached to her chest, her face grew hot. The tears came again. She wondered if they’d ever stop.
“What is it?”
She could barely get out the words. “I wish I didn’t remember. I don’t want to remember.”
Justin took her hand again and held it with both of his. “It’ll get easier. You rest. I’m just going to be outside. I’ve got some calls to make, but I’m not going anywhere.”
THIRTY-TWO
HACKETT SAT IN ONE OF THE chairs lined up across from Grace’s room, listening to a voice-mail message from his mother reminding him that Christmas was now four days away and he still hadn’t let her know if he was coming home. She pleaded again for his return, even joked that his brother Joe was willing to take another punch if that’s what was needed. Hackett smiled. Finally, he felt ready to see them. He looked at the hospital room door, sure that Grace had something to do with it. Olivia hadn’t been right for him. He had always known that, or at least he should have known. Maybe everything did happen for a reason.
Bishop came out of the elevator, coffee in hand, just as he was deleting the voice mail. Bishop took the seat next to him and slapped his leg. “Glad it worked out for you, rookie.”
“I’m sorry about all the lies. I really fucked up.”
“I’m not arguing with you there.”
“I might be in love with her. I don’t know what I would have done if this had gone the other way.”
“Well, luckily, we got our killer, and just in time for Christmas. So I guess I’ll let this one slide. We’ll call it a rookie mistake. I’m not about to ruin your career for it.” Bishop held out his hand and Hackett shook it before Bishop stood to go. “I’m gonna call the prosecutor and head home. But I’ll leave you the paperwork.”
Hackett smiled. “Of course. I’ll get over there later. I just want to be sure she’s okay. She seems pretty shaken.” The truth was that Grace finally remembered him, and he wasn’t ready to let her go again so soon. “Hey, boss, you mind if I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“When we were arguing about the case and you asked me if I was referring to that Detroit case, what were you talking about?”
“Ah.” Bishop sat back down. “Remember I told you about that case where we thought we had the killer but we kept looking for more, and in the meantime the perp killed again?”
“Yeah.”
“It was my fault. The killer was a young girl, and I just didn’t think she could do it. I ignored what was right in front of me. I’ve never forgotten that, obviously. I learned a lot from that case.”
“Sure. And I guess you thought I might be doing the same thing with Grace?”
“And I thought if you’d heard about that case, you might think I was going after Grace just because of it.” Bishop stood. “Well, I’ve gotta go. My family needs me at home, and this case certainly makes me appreciate family right now.”
Hackett nodded. “Me too. And I’m sorry about your mother-in-law. Will you text me when the service is? I’d like to come.”
“Sure thing, kid. Now get some rest, and get that paperwork done.”
“Got it.” Hackett grinned, watching him walk away, grateful to have been on this case, grateful to have Bishop for his partner.
He dialed his mother’s house. Her tone reminded him that it had been entirely too long since they
’d spoken. She avoided going right into the Christmas question and instead inquired about his new job.
“I’ll be there, Mom,” he said when she finally asked, for the hundredth time, whether he was coming home for Christmas. He pulled the phone away from her responding shriek and laughed.
She told him when they were planning the meal on Christmas Eve and who was coming. Dinner would include all the siblings, his brother Joe, Olivia, Joe’s ex-wife, the ex’s new guy, and about twenty kids. It was utterly dysfunctional, but he’d missed them—all of them. She asked if he’d stay for the night. They would all be heading to his older brother Tommy’s house in the late morning for a brunch, and all the kids would bring their new toys. He thought of Donny, of not being with him on Christmas morning, and it still stung, but he figured this was the next best thing. Alice had been right—at least Donny was still family. They’d always be connected.
“And if you want to bring anyone, sweetie, of course that would be great,” she added, ever hopeful that he’d move on and be happy.
He looked at Grace’s door. The thought of her on his arm put butterflies in his stomach. She didn’t have a family. Maybe she’d want a place to go for Christmas. “We’ll see,” he said.
After they hung up, he let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes, thinking of that kiss, her hand in his, her smile. The circumstances were terrible, but at least she was now free. He pictured sitting across from Olivia and Joe at the dinner table, and all the secrets they’d kept and the pain they’d caused. But with Grace by his side, he knew he would be okay. She was different. Secrets would never tear them apart.
THIRTY-THREE
GRACE’S GAZE REMAINED FIXED ON the closed door after Justin and Bishop left. She still couldn’t contain her tears as the full implication of everything that had happened sank in. She couldn’t believe it was over, that Lisa would go to prison, finally paying for everything she’d done.
