Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

I lashed out a kick, catching him in the chest, and he cussed at me with his meager lung power. I scrambled past him, trying to get the advantage by not being pinned against the door. He clawed at my legs, his nails raking down my bare skin. I twisted away, but not quick enough; his pum-meling fists rained down on the back of my head, driving me to the floor. He smashed a hard blow between my shoulder blades-at a spot no doubt marked hit here for maximum pain -and my wind abandoned me. I tasted the grit of the floor, a nasty mix of dirt, salt, and grease.

“Goddamn little idiot,” he huffed from above me. “You fucking think you know what you're doing. You don't.” I couldn't see Tom's face. I didn't dare look. I was too busy concentrating on inching my leg into position.

“You don't want to delve deep here, okay? Otherwise, you end up like Aubrey-”

Keep lecturing me, butthead.

“-or maybe you end up like Brian-”

Oh, shit.

“-and I don't want to have to pound sense into you-”

He didn't get the opportunity. I swung my leg hard, catching him in mid-sentence and off guard, my foot connecting decisively with the tenderest area of the knee. He hollered and collapsed like fallen timber, his body splaying out next to me. I sprang to my feet, my whole body a bruise, and I seized one of Wendy's heavy blades, held above the chopping block by a long magnetic strip. The handle felt smooth and firm in my hand as I tumbled down onto Tom's chest, my legs pinning down his arms and the cool of the blade hovering near his throat. His eyes widened.

“Jordan-” he gasped.

“Shut up for a minute,” I gasped back. “Just shut up.” I let the knife's tip pirouette near his flesh, barely skimming his Adam's apple.

Tom shut up.

I pushed down on his forehead with my left hand, my fingers tangling in his thick shock of hair. My voice was ragged, a stranger's rasp. “Now you listen. Secrets suck. Believe me, I know this. And secrets here have killed my baby and nearly killed the woman I love. So, Tom, you are going to tell me every secret I need to know.” I drew the knife lightly across his throat, tracing a wrinkle.

“No-”

“Tom. You are standing between me and the person who tried to kill Candace.” I whispered: “And between me and the person who killed my baby. It's not a place you want to be.”

He clenched his eyes shut.

A voice sounded from my throat, but not one I recognized as my own. “I'll cut you to the bone, Tom. No amount of plastic surgery will ever make your face right again. You tell me what I want to know.”

A thick tear rolled from one of his eyes.

I suddenly wanted to cast the knife aside. I felt a violent surge of disgust thrum through my whole body. I had resorted to the basest violence, the most cowardly threats. A sick swell of nausea rolled through me, settling deep in my guts.

“Please.” I coughed.

“It's Mutt,” he breathed, a shuddery whisper. “Mutt poisoned them.”

My breath froze in my throat. Thunder roared. “Why?”

“Aubrey knows Paul died here on the island. Not suicide-”

“How?” I demanded. “How does Aubrey know?”

“Don't know,” Tom gasped. “Claims… he's got proof that Paul didn't commit suicide.”

“What proof?”

“Don't know-Aubrey won't tell me. I got so mad at him I tried to pummel it out of him-but you and Deborah stopped me.” His eyes rolled around, trying to see where I held the blade.

I moved the knife fractionally back from Tom's throat. “And how did you know about Paul's death?”

“Brian told… me he suspected Mutt had lied about Paul's suicide.”

“When did Brian tell you?”

“The day before he drowned.”

“My God. That was fourteen years ago.”

“Yes.”

What had Tom said to me after he'd walloped me? Little boys who don't know better get killed around here.

“Brian-” I murmured. “It wasn't an accident, was it? Oh, God, they killed him. They killed that little boy. Only twelve years old. Just like they killed his father.”

“Not they,” Tom managed to speak. “Just Mutt. And Aubrey's protecting him. Or at least he was.”

“You're sure it was Mutt?”

“Can't prove it. Would love to. Before he gets away with it.”

“He won't. There's no statute of limitations on murder.” I threw the knife away; it clattered across the floor. I stared down at Tom with a deep and abiding shame for what I'd done.

“Except death. And I want to nail the bastard before this brain cancer kills him.” Tom rubbed at his throat and eyed me with new respect. “They teach you to punch like that in library school?”

“I never went,” I answered. I stood, staggering away from him. The grilled-cheese sandwiches were blackened lumps in the ruined pan and I hurled them, pan and all, into the sink. The soup had boiled over, leaving a noxious bubbling mass. It, too, went into the sink.

“You and I should be on the same side,” I said to him. He'd pulled himself to his feet. “Why do you want to fight everyone?”

“How am I supposed to know whose side you're on?” he grumbled.

“Oh, for Christ's sake.” I wanted to throttle him. “Do you think I want to protect Mutt if he poisoned Candace?” My head and back throbbed, aching from Tom's fists.

“No. But you probably want to protect your daddy.” Tom lowered his voice. Oh, God. He knows, too.

The kitchen door swung open. “What is that smell?” Wendy asked as she entered, followed by Philip. Both of them stopped and stared at the mess: a damaged back door, smoking pans in the sink, Tom bleeding from his mouth, my face a massive bruise.

“What the hell-” Philip began.

“Get out of here,” I yelled.

“Tom? You okay?” Philip began, ogling me as if I were deranged.

“Get out!” Tom hollered at his brother. Philip stumbled backward, and quickly escorted Wendy from the room. She shot me a look of stunned amazement before the door swung shut.

I waited long seconds, hearing their footsteps retreat. “How do you know it's Mutt? How did he kill Brian? How did he poison Aubrey and Candace? And Lolly-”

“Goddamn it. Do you think if I had the evidence, I wouldn't have turned him in already? I don't have anything but what Brian told me-that Mutt knew his daddy hadn't committed suicide and had buried him somewhere on the island. And that your daddy had helped.”

“Why didn't you say anything after Brian died?”

Tom sank to the floor. “Oh, God. I wanted to. But you don't break the code of silence.”

“Tom, these people don't deserve loyalty like that. You're making yourself accessory to murder.” I didn't know the legal ramifications, but that sounded accurate. And I wanted to scare him.

The tactic failed. “You think it was loyalty. Hell, no. I just didn't want to end up dead like Brian. And I couldn't prove he hadn't drowned. He liked to go for midnight swims when he could sneak out of the house. Mutt and Lolly'd both tan his hide if they caught him at it.” He broke into gasping sobs. “God, he was a great kid. Fuckers.”

I leaned down next to him, the battle in me spent. “So why'd you change your mind?”

He looked at me with his pale eyes, unfocused and veiled with unshed tears. “Oh, Christ, Brian comes to me in my dreams. He comes to me and tells me to look for his daddy's body. Here on the island. And he drags his fingers across my face, and when I wake up I can smell the dead rot of the sea.” He blinked and stared away from me. “It's driving me completely nuts. So I go and I dig. And I ain't found shit. Crazy, right?”

“No. It's not. It's not crazy at all.” Two days ago I would have recommended a therapist for Tom. But that was before I'd seen the dark-throated boy in the blackness of the attic. I lowered my voice to a hoarse whisper. “What if I told you I've got the evidence Aubrey claimed to have?”