Skies of Ash
Page 33
“Cody,” he whispered.
I froze. Didn’t speak and silently watched a single tear roll down his cheek.
“He wasn’t supposed to… he was my boy.” He squeezed shut his eyes and wept.
Sarah Oliver had done what Chatman had refused to do—kill his son, his blood. Which was why, according to Brooks’s toxicology tests, Cody had less Valium in his system than Chloe.
And Sarah Oliver also did what Juliet couldn’t do—destroy the house that Juliet had hated for so long.
As I stood there, I wished that Juliet had tried to flee that house with her children sooner. And I wished that Randall and Maris Weatherbee had pushed tradition aside to force their daughter to act. Alas, none of this happened.
The fire was burning—for twenty years, it had been burning. But Juliet didn’t smell the smoke until it was too late.
It happens to many of us. For a few of us, that failure to act, that failure to end it, costs our lives.
* * *
It was almost eleven o’clock when I drove back to the station. I still could not figure it out, and a part of me feared that I would never completely understand the lies, the money, the murders. I knew that Christopher Chatman had been truly shocked as he’d pulled up to see his house on fire. That he did try to break past the barriers and the firemen to save his son—and only his son. Other than that, though, I feared that the Chatman case would remain a monstrous ball of string and that I would keep pulling the string but never reach the end of that spool.
As a child, I had been introduced early to the devils within men. Friends had been raped. My father had abandoned my mother, sister, and me on a Sunday morning. And my sister had been kidnapped and murdered. So when I joined the police force, I thought I had been prepared to meet the worst.
But I soon learned that no one is prepared to find the mummified remains of a forgotten aunt collapsed on the living room floor. No one is prepared to discover a bloody tub filled with a teenage girl’s decapitated body parts. No one is prepared to stand over a man as he takes credit for murdering his family in spectacular fashion.
Someone has to stand there, though. Rough men, George Orwell said, who stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm. To survive in the murder game, you had to dip your heart in molten steel. You had to pray to whoever answers prayers, and you had to believe unrelentingly in Better.
Or else…
59
A FEW MINUTES BEFORE NOON, I PULLED INTO MY HOME GARAGE.
Greg’s Ducati was parked in its spot.
My stomach churned with dread.
He was home.
I took cautious steps inside.
The kitchen and living room were dark. A fire report completed by that arson investigator Kendricks sat on the dining room table. Christmas presents that hadn’t been there before today sat beneath the tree.
I sniffed.
The scent of Friday night’s fire remained.
I climbed the stairs, one by one.
In the bathroom, water pounded against the shower tiles.
I stepped into the bathroom and over a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and size 13 Jordans.
Through the clear shower curtain, Greg’s muscular figure was silhouetted in the water vapor. Soapy, white lather slipped down his body.
Arms crossed, heart pounding, I leaned against the sink. “Hey.”
He stopped scrubbing and turned to face me. “Hey.”
We stared at each other with nothing but the curtain between us.
In five seconds, my sneakers were off.
In ten seconds, my pants and shirt also lay in a heap on the tile.
In twenty seconds, I stood with him, naked in the shower, my mouth on his, his hands clenching my ass, my hair soaked with hot water.
He carried me from the shower and back out to the sink.
Wild breathing, trembling, clammy sweat, months and months gone by…
He held me tighter and tighter… His knees locked.
We waited until the shakes passed, and then our eyes locked.
He wiped away tears I didn’t know I had cried.
Throat tight, I whispered, “Good-bye.”
He kissed me. “I’ll love you forever.”
“I know.”
He backed away from me, then slipped out the door.
I stayed on the bathroom sink, knees drawn to my chest.
His footsteps grew lighter, fainter.
The front door’s alarm sensor chimed.
He was gone.
Wearing only a towel, I tiptoed down to the guest room to peek out the window.
Andrew, my brother-in-law, stood on the curb as Greg loaded suitcases into the Mazda SUV.
I retreated to the living room and lay on the couch. Still dressed in the towel, I stared at the dark television screen, seeing nothing and feeling even less. I reached for the remote controls. Turned on the television. Pressed PLAY on the DVD’s remote. The title sequence of The Poseidon Adventure—big cruise ship, sun glinting off the ocean—filled the screen.
Right as the big wave washed over the boat, the doorbell rang.
Had Greg changed his mind?
Had I changed my mind?
Breathless, I hopped off the couch, ran to the foyer, and threw open the door.
The tall gentleman standing there had salt-and-pepper hair, a matching mustache and beard, and a sharp nose. His eyes dropped to my towel, and his caramel-colored skin flushed. His gaze quickly returned to my face. “Elouise?”
The lit fuse in my chest died, and I gave him a slight nod.
Those eyes… I knew those eyes.
He took a deep breath, then smiled wide. “Elouise… Lulu. It’s Daddy.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
JILL, YOU GOT ME, AND HUGS AND HUGS FOR THAT. KRISTIN, YOU GET ME AND LOU, and much love to you for that. Forge Books and Tom Doherty, you all are amazing, and I’m so happy to be a part of the family. And to Titan, my publishing family across the pond, thanks for bringing this Yankee to the UK! To the best publicists ever, Alexis at Forge and Ella at Titan, thanks so much for introducing me to so many great people and wonderful experiences. You both have helped make dreams come true.
Tyri Williams, thanks for giving me a glimpse into the world of firefighting. And not thinking twice when I asked, “If I wanted to burn down a house, how would I do it?”
Anthony Saunders, we’ve known each other since forever. Never thought I’d be coming to you with video-game questions when we were in choir together so very long ago. Thanks for the help—and for helping to make kick-ass games in real life. Gaming: it’s my getaway drug.
Louvenia Williams Howzell, thanks for all things insurance. I had no clue and you guided me there, and with your help, I created one of my favorite characters!
Mom and Dad, Gretchen, Jason, and Terry, I remain grateful and thankful for all your love and support. I’m also thrilled to share this coolness with you. Cuz it is pretty cool, huh?
David, no words for all you’ve helped me achieve. I’m crazy and I’m driven, and all too often I never take enough time to enjoy it all. Thanks for forcing me to relax and breathe when I won’t do it on my own. I need help now—another trip to Kauai in case you wanted suggestions.
And Maya Grace, thank you for writing Tori’s poem. It’s magic. And also, thanks for helping to edit with highlighters. You probably shouldn’t be reading crime fiction at your age, but you don’t know how to twerk and you don’t eat a lot of candy and you brush your teeth every night and you pray before every meal, so it’s all good. Carry on. I love you so very much, and I can’t wait to cowrite one of these stories with you!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RACHEL HOWZELL HALL IS A WRITER/ASSISTANT DEVELOPMENT DIRECTOR AT CITY of Hope, a national leader in cancer research and treatment. She is the author of A Quiet Storm, which recieved a starred review from Library Journal and was chosen as a “Rory’s Book Club” selection, the must-read book list for fictional tele
vision character Rory Gilmore of The Gilmore Girls. In 2014, Titan published the first novel in the Detective Elouise Norton series, the critically acclaimed Land of Shadows, which received a starred review in Publishers Weekly, was included on the Los Angeles Times’ “143 Books to Read This Summer” and the Telegraph’s “Top Ten Crime Books for Summer.” Rachel was also a featured writer on NPR Crime in the City. She lives with her husband and daughter in Los Angeles, the land of exceptional drought.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
LAND OF SHADOWS
A DETECTIVE ELOUISE NORTON NOVEL
RACHEL HOWZELL HALL
Along the ever-changing border of gentrifying Los Angeles, a seventeen-year-old girl is found hanged at a construction site.
Homicide detective Elouise “Lou” Norton’s new partner Colin Taggert, fresh from the comparatively bucolic Colorado Springs police department, assumes it’s a teenage suicide. Lou isn’t buying the easy explanation. For one thing, the condo site is owned by Napoleon Crase, a self-made millionaire… and the man who may have murdered Lou’s missing sister thirty years ago. As Lou investigates the death of Monique Darson, she uncovers undeniable links between the two cases.
Lou is convinced that when she solves Monique’s case she will finally bring her lost sister home. But as she gets closer to the truth, she also gets closer to a violent killer. After all this time, can he be brought to justice… before Lou becomes his next victim?
“Fast, funny, heartbreaking and wise… Elouise Norton is the best new character you’ll meet this year, and Rachel Howzell Hall is the best pure storyteller you’ll read this year.”
Lee Child, New York Times bestselling author
“Lou Norton is a black female cop worthy of following in Philip Marlowe’s footsteps down the mean streets of LA.”
Telegraph
TITANBOOKS.COM
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
ELISABETH DE MARIAFFI
The year is 1993. Rookie crime beat reporter Evie Jones is haunted by the unsolved murder of her best friend Lianne Gagnon in 1982, back when both girls were eleven. The suspected killer, a repeat offender named Robert Cameron, was never apprehended. Now twenty-two and living alone for the first time, Evie is obsessively drawn to researching the real story of who killed Lianne. She leans on childhood friend David Patton for help – but why does every trail seem to lead back to David’s own father, Graham? As she gets closer and closer to the truth, Evie becomes convinced that the killer is still at large – and that he’s coming back for her.
“De Mariaffi delivers the requisite heart-in-mouth moments of pure paranoia, but she balances these thrills with shrewd character studies and the odd nugget of wisdom.”
New York Times
“[F]or those who love a good whodunit with an unpredictable ending… totally riveting novel.”
New York Journal of Books
“[De Mariaffi] expertly builds suspense throughout this character-driven debut novel. As it nears its climax, readers will dread turning the pages for fear of what comes next.”
Library Journal
TITANBOOKS.COM
COMING SOON FROM TITAN BOOKS
DUST AND DESIRE
A JOEL SORRELL NOVEL
CONRAD WILLIAMS
The Four-Year-Old, an extraordinary killer, has arrived in London, hell-bent on destruction… PI Joel Sorrell is approached by the mysterious Kara Geenan, who is desperate to find her missing brother. Joel takes on the case but almost immediately, an attempt his made on his life. The body count increases. And then Kara vanishes too… as those close to Joel are sucked into his nightmare, he realizes he must track down the killer if he is to halt a grisly masterplan – even if it means sacrificing his own life.
“A gritty and compelling story of the damned and the damaged; crackling with dark energy and razor-sharp dialogue. Conrad Williams is an exciting new voice in crime fiction, and Joel Sorrell is a character you will want to see plenty more of.”
Mark Billingham
AVAILABLE NOVEMBER 2015
TITANBOOKS.COM
SONATA FOR THE DEAD
A JOEL SORRELL NOVEL
CONRAD WILLIAMS
It’s four months on from the events of Dust and Desire… Joel Sorrell has recovered from the injuries he sustained in his fight with The Four-Year-Old. A body has been found, sealed into the dead space behind a false wall in a flat in Muswell Hill.
Beheaded and surrounded by bloodstained pages of typewritten text, it is the third such murder committed by a killer known as The Hack. And it may be linked to his daughter’s disappearance.
PRAISE FOR THE AUTHOR
“Williams is so good at what he does that he probably shouldn’t be allowed to do it anymore, for the sake of everyone’s sanity.”
Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Conrad Williams writes dark and powerful prose balancing the poetic and elegant with needle-sharp incision.”
Guardian
AVAILABLE JULY 2016
TITANBOOKS.COM
HACK
AN F.X. SHEPHERD NOVEL
KIERAN CROWLEY
It’s a dog-eat-dog world at the infamous tabloid the New York Mail, where brand new pet columnist F.X. Shepherd finds himself on the trail of The Hacker, a serial killer who is targeting unpleasant celebrities. Bodies and suspects accumulate as Shepherd runs afoul of cutthroat office politics and Ginny Mac, a sexy reporter for a competing newspaper.
But when Shepherd is contacted by the Hacker, he realizes he may be next on the list.
“A witty and incisive mystery set in the raucous world of tabloid journalism. Laugh out loud funny and suspenseful—it’s like Jack Reacher meets Jack Black.”
Rebecca Cantrell, New York Times bestselling author of The Blood Gospel
“The man is a legend, a master of his craft, and Hack is a seamlessly flowing, imaginative translation of these realms, blended together in exciting, suspenseful and oftentimes hilariously moving prose.”
Long Island Press
AVAILABLE OCTOBER 2015
TITANBOOKS.COM