‘For you, yes,’ Grace said.
‘But it’s so late,’ Felicia said again.
‘I have as much time as you need,’ Grace said.
‘You say you took the Colt so that Kate would feel safe,’ Sam said. ‘Who did she need to be kept safe from, with your father dead?’
‘I’d never needed protection from my father,’ Kate said. ‘If you were paying attention, you’d know that, Detective.’
Sam had been in too many tight spots not to know how to try to navigate a conversation while under threat. But this situation was confusing as hell, because though he had thought something was wrong about Toni, he had not believed he was coming after her looking for a killer. And so far, these two women had only shared confessions about old crimes from which it might be possible for them to emerge free and clear, after so many years. Accidental death and theft. And though Sam found it perplexing that the Louisiana cops had not gone after the sisters back then, he had infinitely bigger things on his mind now.
Kate’s use of those words ‘big black hole’, describing the wound in Jake Grand’s forehead, had not been coincidental.
But the instant Sam asked these women about the Black Hole killings, the stakes in this room would rocket.
No way out for him that he could see.
And then Kate Petit took them there anyway, without being asked.
‘He knows,’ she said.
Toni Petit didn’t speak.
She looked spent. Which was, Sam supposed, part of what he’d observed earlier at Tyler Allen’s. Because this woman had to have been putting on a front for years, covering up for her sister who might, or might not, be insane.
Something had happened, something had changed, and maybe Toni had left that rehearsal tonight because she knew it was time for them to run again.
‘You’re the one who wanted to talk,’ Kate Petit said now to her sister.
‘You must have known we’d have to, finally,’ Toni said.
‘I always knew you’d betray me in the end,’ Kate said.
Bitterness and a kind of satisfaction in the words.
‘Oh, Kate.’ Toni looked sad as an open grave.
Sam let the silence hover for another second.
And then he asked: ‘Where is Billie Smith?’
May 27
Just past midnight, Martinez was outside on Foster Avenue.
Everything quiet.
Sam’s Saab was parked a little way along from Toni Petit’s house, and Martinez was engaging in a little silent debate with himself as to whether he should just wait out here, go knock on the lady’s door or call the Hallandale PD.
Petit had no outstanding warrants.
Then again, so far as he’d been able to ascertain, there was no record of her existence, period.
He figured he’d take a look around.
His cell phone rang.
Mary Cutter telling him she’d had a call from Dr Lopez.
‘The receptionist called him, said she’d been staying up late trying to remember who’d been there when Felicia Delgado got mad at Beatriz. And then it suddenly came back to her that two other people walked out right after them.’
‘She just remembered this now?’ Martinez said acidly.
‘Go figure,’ Cutter said.
Martinez kept his eyes on the house. ‘So who were they?’
‘One of them was a patient waiting to see a gynecologist; she thinks the other woman was just waiting with her. The patient’s name was Toni Petit. That’s Petit like in small, only no ‘e’ on the end.’
‘Shit,’ Martinez said. ‘Would you believe I just ran her tag for Sam?’
‘How come?’ Cutter asked.
‘Would you believe I’m sitting outside her house now?’ Martinez paused. ‘And Sam’s inside.’
‘Are we talking possible suspect here, Al?’
‘I don’t know what we’re talking,’ Martinez said.
And then he saw something.
Someone.
In the darkness at the side of the house.
There one minute, then gone.
‘What the fuck?’ Martinez said under his breath, cut the call, took his phone off the dash, turned off the ringer.
Very quietly, he opened his door and drew his Glock.
‘Billie Smith is just fine,’ Kate answered Sam’s question.
‘Where is she?’ he asked again.
Uncertain whether he was notching down the tension in the woman holding the gun, or maybe lighting the fuse.
‘Billie’s all tucked up and comfy, waiting.’
The beautiful young woman with the stunning eyes and gorgeous voice, who had asked him for help and been turned away.
Making this Sam’s fault.
No question.
At least Billie was alive, if that wail had come from her, and he had to believe that was true. And if they had her prisoner, then that alone explained the change in Toni. Because whether or not Kate Petit was the Black Hole killer, whatever had gone down with Billie Smith was too damned close to home, and Toni had to have known they were finished.
‘OK.’ Sam sounded reasonable. ‘So the first thing we need to do right now is let her go.’
‘Wrong,’ Kate said.
Toni had stopped speaking. She seemed lost, Sam thought, elsewhere; and maybe she was back on their old Louisiana farmstead, or maybe she was with the victims.
Her sister’s victims.
And then, everything turned upside down.
Kate stood up.
Unfolded from the footstool, with only a trace of unsteadiness.
She crossed the small room, keeping the gun trained on Sam, and sat down again, perching on one arm of the sofa.
‘Hey,’ she said, ‘big sis.’
Toni Petit looked up at her.
‘Here,’ Kate said.
And, very carefully, keeping control of its aim, she placed the Colt into her sister’s hands.
‘Shoot him,’ she said.
Sam saw shock in Toni’s eyes.
‘No,’ she said.
Sam stopped breathing. If he was going to make a move, it had to be the instant this woman’s grip wavered even a little, because Toni did not want this, so this had to be his best, perhaps his last chance.
Except the gun was still leveled at him, Toni’s grip looking tighter and steadier than her sister’s had. And Sam saw that the threat against him had just intensified, because suddenly Toni no longer looked spent.
Suddenly, she seemed replete with, fueled by, tension.
‘You have to shoot him, Toni,’ Kate said. ‘You know it.’
‘I don’t know that at all,’ Toni said, though her grip on the weapon spoke otherwise.
‘No,’ Sam said quietly. ‘You don’t, Toni. What you do have to do is show me where Billie is, and then you have to let her go. You have to do the right thing now, both of you, before it’s too late.’
It was not enough, and he knew it.
Knew it was going to take more than that.
Like a SWAT team, maybe.
‘Shoot him, Toni,’ Kate Petit said again.
And Toni raised the gun.
‘I’ve been so scared,’ Felicia said to Grace.
Grace looked at the tear-stained face, at the dark, wounded eyes, always hidden away from the world because of a lifetime’s fears of a different kind.
‘Of course you have,’ she said. ‘How could you not be?’
‘But what I’ve done is so bad.’ Felicia reached up for her glasses, was about to put them on, then changed her mind, gripped them instead, took a deep breath. ‘Not talking all this time, after what happened to my mom, and I knew I should tell, I knew it, but I just couldn’t seem to do it.’
‘And now?’ Grace said, very gently. ‘Do you think you can tell me?’
‘I have to,’ Felicia said. ‘Except maybe it’s too late already, and maybe they’ve already done it again to someone else.’
Grace heard the word, needed t
o be clear.
‘They?’ she asked, a chill running down her spine.
‘I saw them,’ Felicia said.
‘Hey,’ Martinez said.
Seeing the man now.
Seeing the window open at the back of the house.
The guy was climbing in, one leg already inside.
Thomas Chauvin.
Martinez trod silently up behind him, stuck the Glock right up against his back. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?’ he hissed in his ear. ‘Get your butt out here right now.’
‘I think Sam might be in trouble,’ Chauvin whispered, still astride the ledge.
‘You want to get out here,’ Martinez said, ‘and tell me why the fuck you think that.’
‘I was watching when he went inside. Something didn’t feel right to me.’
‘I told you to get out here’ – Martinez relocated the handgun to the other man’s thigh – ‘before I put a bullet through your leg.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Thomas Chauvin said.
And slid the other leg over.
Into the house.
‘Sonofabitch,’ Martinez said.
His cell phone vibrated.
‘Shit,’ he said, and slammed it into complete silence.
And then, swearing under his breath, he followed Chauvin over the window sill and into the house.
‘Two women,’ Felicia said.
The chill inside Grace turned to sickness.
Her conflict beginning, an almost painful tearing, because she was here as this child’s psychologist, but Sam and all the other investigators were out there struggling to find this killer – and she had just learned more than any of them knew.
Nothing she could do about that now.
Not yet.
Just be here for this teenager, just listen.
‘We had a fight,’ Felicia said again, and stopped.
Not the prelude to another shutdown, Grace felt; rather that the girl was waiting for recrimination to rain down on her. Because she had fought with her mother on the last day of her life.
Felicia’s eyes flicked to Grace’s face, found no censure there, but could not hold her gaze.
Her hands played with the sunglasses. But she did not put them on.
‘It was one of those dumb arguments,’ she went on at last. ‘And I was being a brat. Worse, I was being a bitch, and all it was about . . .’
Grace waited a few seconds.
‘What was it about?’ she asked, quietly. ‘Can you tell me?’
‘Maple syrup.’ Tears welled up again, but she went on. ‘Can you believe that? I wanted French toast with maple syrup, but there wasn’t any, and Mama said why didn’t I have cinnamon toast instead, but I said I wanted . . .’
She had to stop to weep again, and Grace passed her tissues and resisted her impulse to embrace and comfort, just laid a hand on her upper arm for a moment to connect, and Felicia did not shake her off, just cried for another moment, then blew her nose hard, angrily.
‘I said I had to have French toast, and why couldn’t she be like other, normal moms who made sure they had the things their kids liked? And Mama said she was sorry, and she would get some later, and I said that was going to be too damned late – only I didn’t say “damned”, did I? I said something much worse – to my mother, who was going to die, who was about to be . . .’
‘It’s OK,’ Grace told her.
‘It’s not OK,’ Felicia said. ‘Oh, God, it’s not OK, and it’s never going to be.’
And the tears came again.
‘What was that?’
Kate’s head turned toward the hallway, her chin jutting as she listened intently.
Still sitting on the sofa’s armrest, Toni on the seat beside her.
The Colt still leveled at Sam.
A figure appeared in the doorway.
Sometimes – the thought struck Sam in that microsecond – it really was hard to believe your eyes.
‘Drop it,’ Thomas Chauvin said.
And all hell broke loose.
Kate grabbed the gun from Toni.
Did it fast, in one smooth motion, so that it was still pointed at Sam, and there was nothing he could have safely done to disarm her.
‘I knew you wouldn’t do it,’ she said. ‘Call yourself a fucking sister.’
‘Kate, don’t,’ Toni said.
She stood up, reached for the gun, but Kate stepped sideways, eluded her.
‘I said drop it,’ Chauvin said.
And hurled himself at Kate Petit.
Who pulled the trigger.
Joe Duval’s black Dodge Magnum had just come to a halt about fifty yards along from Sam Becket’s Saab when he heard it.
Unmistakable.
He grabbed his phone, punched in 911, identified himself and his location to the Broward Sheriff’s dispatch for Hallandale PD and reported hearing a single gunshot.
‘Officer inside,’ he said. ‘Request backup. One woman suspect believed to be inside, possibly more, and possibility of a female African-American hostage. Police officer also African-American, six-three, MBPD Detective Samuel Becket.’
Duval got out of the car, closed the door quietly, popped the trunk, pulled out his black bullet-proof vest and suddenly noted the Chevy Impala parked a little way along the road.
‘Possible second MBPD inside, Detective Martinez, five-ten, Cuban-American. Note, both officers may be armed, so attending should ID themselves immediately. Request 10-40, no lights, no sirens. I’m Caucasian, five-ten, armed, wearing bullet-proof vest, and I’m going inside. 10-4.’
‘No!’ Toni screamed. ‘Kate, no!’
‘I’m OK.’ Kate Petit scrambled to her feet, hands shaking but still gripping the pistol.
‘Chauvin?’ Sam addressed the man on the floor. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m shot.’ Thomas Chauvin lay on the rug and groaned, clutched his bloodied left arm. ‘She shot me.’
‘Who the fuck is this joker?’ Kate demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Toni said. ‘Kate, I’m begging you—’
‘Shut up, sis,’ Kate said.
Sam stared at the gun, knew he was back in her sights, any chance of jumping her gone again, thanks to Chauvin.
He heard the soft creak of a floorboard just before a new voice rang out.
Oh, so familiar, and oh, so welcome.
‘Like the man said, drop the fucking gun.’
Martinez stood in that doorway now, his Glock pointed center mass at Kate Petit.
Who turned her face briefly toward the newcomer, gave a strange, twisted smile. And then looked back at Sam.
Leveled the Colt.
With another scream, Toni Petit threw herself at her sister, wrenched the gun out of her hands and backed into a corner, weapon still aimed at Sam.
‘That’s good, sis,’ Kate said, panting. ‘That’s more like it.’
‘No.’ Toni was parchment pale, bright tears in her eyes. ‘Not this time, Kate. I can’t let this go on anymore.’ She took a breath, and a deep, gut-wrenching sob came with it. ‘I’m so sorry.’
She moved.
Hardly more than a pivot.
Sam saw her trigger finger moving.
‘Jesus, no!’ he yelled and tackled her.
He felt the force of the gunshot, his ears deafened.
Kate Petit was beside him on the floor, blood pumping from her temple.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he heard Toni say again, very softly.
Sam stared up at her, saw the Colt turning, its black muzzle travelling swiftly up to her own forehead. He lifted off the floor, slammed into her, grabbed the gun, and Martinez pounced, pinioned her arms behind her.
‘Jesus, man,’ Martinez said, cuffing her.
A crash jolted the room, the front door being smashed open.
Special Agent Joe Duval entered, moving into the living room in tactical combat fighting stance, low, his personal use Glock 27 in both hands, as ready as he could be for whatever was wait
ing for him.
‘Good to see you.’ Sam’s heart was pounding like a jackhammer.
Duval took in the scene, registered enough to straighten up. ‘You guys OK?’
‘We’re good,’ Martinez said.
‘Please.’ Toni Petit’s voice was despairing, her eyes tormented, fixed on Sam. ‘Please shoot me, Sam.’
Sam took a breath, his pulse calming. ‘No can do,’ he told her.
‘Oh, God.’ Toni’s whole body was trembling. ‘Oh, God, if you won’t do it, please let me.’ Still the appeal to him. ‘I shot my sister. I just want to die.’
‘Got a few questions to answer first,’ Sam told her.
He knelt back down beside Kate, checked her pulse, shook his head, then carefully removed her dark glasses.
She had closed both her eyes while dying, but there was an old, ugly scar running from her left eyebrow down to just above her cheekbone.
The pitchfork’s legacy, he supposed, as Toni began weeping.
‘Backup on the way,’ Duval said. ‘Anyone care to fill me in?’
Still on the rug, just feet away from the dead woman, Thomas Chauvin groaned again. Sam moved over to him, crouched, took a look at his arm, his touch not especially gentle. ‘You’ll live, and you’re damned lucky.’
‘I saved your life,’ the Frenchman said, hurt.
‘What did you think you were doing?’ Sam said. ‘Playing some fucking fantasy game? You’re a jerk, Chauvin.’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Martinez said, and then, still holding on to Toni Petit, he started to call it in.
Sam straightened up, looked at Toni.
‘Where’s Billie?’ he asked.
‘So can you tell me what happened?’ Grace asked.
Going as gently as she could.
‘I stormed out of the house,’ Felicia said. ‘Said I was going out for breakfast before school, and my mom said she’d take me, but she wasn’t dressed so I told her not to bother. I grabbed my bag and opened the front door, and she said I needed a ride, and I knew she was trying to be patient, I knew she didn’t want to fight, but I didn’t care, did I? I was too busy being a spoiled brat nightmare kid. So I left, and I slammed that door as hard as I could.’
Grace could almost hear its reverberation, could see the ravages of its repercussions in Felicia’s face. A commonplace argument now forever elevated to something that had to feel like the worst sin she could have committed against her mother.
Eclipse Page 20
