Stuart Kaminsky - Blood On The Sun

"No," said Kyle, glancing at Jacob and touching the boy's shoulder.

"Okay," said Mac. "I will. Rufus confirmed what I thought. You helped Jacob hide. Why?"

"I was afraid," said Jacob, shaking.

"Jacob," Tabler warned.

"That the police would say I murdered my family," said the boy.

"No," said Mac. "I think Kyle had a plan, not a very good one, too complicated, too many places to find holes full of evidence, too little time to take care of all the holes."

"Detective," Tabler said, looking at Jacob. "My client is through answering questions."

"We checked your father's background," said Mac. "Found out why you've moved so much."

"No more questions," said Tabler.

"I didn't ask a question," said Mac. "I made a statement of fact. The next one is even more important." Mac pulled a photograph of the vase from the box and held it up. Jacob began to cry. Shelton put an arm around him.

"There was a bruise on your father's arm," said Mac. "His right arm. It was sufficient to make him drop whatever he was holding and shatter the vase that he was hit with. Your father was the one with the knife. When you came into your sister's bedroom, she and your mother had already been killed by your father. You grabbed the vase, hit him, took the knife when he dropped it and stabbed him."

Tabler rose and said, "We're leaving."

"No," said Jacob. "We told you what happened."

"The knife wounds on your mother and sister were all approximately the same depth, made by someone considerably stronger than you. The ones on your mother and sister were straight in. The wounds on your father weren't deep and were at an upward angle. They were made by someone much smaller than he was."

"It was me," said Kyle.

"You didn't kill anyone," said Mac.

"I killed many," Kyle said.

"In Iraq," Mac said.

"He's had enough," said Kyle, looking at Jacob, who had taken off his glasses, placed them on the table and leaned against him, his eyes closed and sobbing.

Mac nodded and said to the lawyer, "You should take him in the other room now. A detective will show you where you can have some privacy with your client."

"My client…" Tabler began, suddenly sorry that he was involved in this whole mess.

"… didn't commit any crime except not coming forward as a witness to murder," said Mac. "He killed his father in self-defense. I doubt if a family court judge will do anything but order that he get therapy. I'll recommend it."

"Come with me," Tabler said to Jacob.

The boy continued to cling to Shelton, who handed the boy his glasses and gently urged him out of his chair and toward the lawyer. Jacob put on his glasses and let Tabler guide him out of the room.

"Howard Vorhees came to his daughter's room with a kitchen knife," said Mac. "He came for a sexual attack, threatened her with death. She fought, screamed. He killed her. Jacob heard the noise, ran in just behind his mother. Howard Vorhees killed his wife. That's when Jacob picked up the vase, hit his father's arm, dropped the vase, picked up the knife and stabbed his father."

"How…?"

"Reconstruction from the evidence," said Mac. "That's about when you came through the door, right?"

"Right," he said.

"Wrong," said Mac. "What were you doing there at the exact time of a triple murder in the middle of the night?"

"I was going to be with Becky," he said. "She was expecting me. She left the front door open."

Mac shook his head "no."

"There was a call from Becky's cell phone to yours after two-fifteen."

"She called to ask if I was on the way," he said.

"She was dead, Kyle. Jacob called you and you came to the house and moved the bodies. It took you about half an hour to get there. The trail of blood from the floor to the bed would have shown more blood if Becky and her mother were moved shortly after they were killed."

"Jacob called me," admitted Shelton. "When I got there, he was covered with blood. So was the knife in his hand. He was just standing there looking down at his dead mother. He wasn't concerned with being accused of murdering his family. He was afraid of the world finding out the horror in that house. Better an intruder than the truth. I knew the intruder story wouldn't work. Too much evidence. I sent Jacob to his room and put the bodies on the bed."

"Why?" asked Mac, though he thought he knew the answer.

"It was the right thing to do," Shelton finally said. "Lay out the respected and loved dead and leave a dead dog at their feet."

"Then?" Mac prompted.

"Then I helped Jacob hide, put his bike and clothes in my car, found that wooded area and scattered it all in the clearing."

"You knew we'd find them," said Mac.

"I wanted them found. They were. Without Becky I was going back to a life of grief and despair, a life I had brought home inside me from Iraq. I could live in grief, growing old in low-pay jobs, or I could do it in prison for life and possibly save Jacob. It was worth a try."

"Did you know the leaf was on your shoe?"

Kyle didn't answer.

"You wanted us to find him in the house," said Mac. "But you didn't want to tell us directly and have Jacob think you'd betrayed him. So, you called me, left clues that got more and more simple. The quote you attributed to Anne Frank was obviously not by Anne Frank. You were telling me to look for a child hiding in the house.

"You're guilty of helping to conceal a crime," said Mac. "Considering the crime and why you did it and the fact that you have no record, my guess would be suspended sentence. That's what we'll ask the court for."

"You think they'd let me take care of Jacob?" Kyle asked.

"Stranger things have happened," said Mac, but he didn't believe Kyle getting custody of Jacob would be one of them.

" 'Nobody should pin their hopes on a miracle,' " said Kyle.

"Who said that? Voltaire?" asked Mac.

"Vladimir Putin," answered Kyle.

"WE'RE ALMOST BECOMING FAMILY," said Bloom, opening the door to his shop with a look of resignation. "You have a warrant, I assume?"

Stella, Flack and a backup uniformed officer, who looked as if he could be a National Football League lineman, stood in the doorway.

"We're not here to search," said Flack.

Bloom said nothing and waited for them to make their move. Bloom was wearing a pair of neatly pressed navy trousers and a white shirt, also neatly pressed. The clothes did nothing to hide his paunch. He continued to look at them over the rimless lenses of his glasses. Stella thought he looked like anyone's second-favorite uncle.

There was a smell of fresh coffee mingling with the pleasant smell of wood.

"We'd like to talk," said Flack. "Will you please come with us?"

"Can we talk here?" asked Bloom. "I've got coffee brewing."

"We'd like you to come with us," Flack said.

The big uniformed cop shifted his weight, ready to move.

"My attorney has said I should cooperate with you no more," said Bloom. "You'll have to arrest me."

"Sure," said Stella. "You're under arrest for the murders of Asher Glick and Joel Besser."

Bloom shrugged and started forward toward the door.

"Stop," said Stella.

Bloom stopped. Flack's gun was out now. He motioned for the big cop to move forward and pat down Bloom as Flack began to issue the Miranda warning. The cop, whose name was Rossi, was taller than Bloom, easily six foot four. He had been a college wrestler at Rutgers and had tried out for the Steelers, who decided Rossi was just too slow.

"Clean," said Rossi, standing up and taking out his cuffs.

Slump-shouldered Bloom put his hands behind his back. He heard the metal jangle of the handcuffs and made his move. He turned and leveled a sudden sharp chop to Rossi's throat. The big cop went down on his knees, gasping for air, still grasping the handcuffs in his right hand.