Linwood Barclay - Too Close to Home

But now Ellen was on her feet and moved into position in front of me. The fingers of her duct-taped hands were free, and she used them to pick away at the tape on the hedge trimmer. Even though it was now unplugged from the wall, she seemed afraid it would somehow magically start up. I felt possessed by the same illogical fear.

Drew reappeared a few seconds later. “I couldn’t catch him,” he said, out of breath. “He got in his car and took off.”

Ellen freed my hand from the trimmer and I reached up to gently peel the tape away from her mouth. “Oh, Jim, oh my God,” she said.

Drew helped both of us get freed of the tape. I threw my arms around Ellen, held her a moment, and with one hand reached over and patted Drew on the shoulder.

“I came to fix the mower,” he said.

The first thing I did was make sure Ellen wasn’t hurt. When I told her I was going to phone for an ambulance, she said she didn’t need one. She was shaken up, yes, but not physically injured. She was more concerned for me. My hand was unhurt, but I’d taken a blow to the head. Not something I was going to trouble 911 with.

“I was going to pull down the lane,” Drew explained, “but there was a car blocking the end of it. I thought maybe that was the cop you said would be there, but it didn’t look like a cop car to me. So I just left my car on the shoulder up there, walked in, and I saw that other guy, the one that got away, he was walking this lady here across the yard, all tied up, and I knew something funny was going on.”

“This is Drew,” I said to Ellen, realizing there hadn’t actually been a moment for formal introductions. “The new guy, who worked with me today. Drew, this is my wife, Ellen.”

They shook hands, then Ellen simply threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said, trembling.

Drew, his head on Ellen’s shoulder, looked down at Mortie. Blood from his head had soaked through his stocking mask and was dripping all over the lawn mower.

He said, “I think I killed him.”

Ellen took her arms from around Drew and looked at the man. “God, I hope so,” she said.

“No,” Drew said slowly. “That wouldn’t be good.”

I knelt down next to Mortie, tentatively worked my finger under the bottom of the blood-soaked stocking pulled down over his head, and peeled it off. I let it drop on the mower, put my head closer to Mortie’s. His eyes were open but vacant, and I couldn’t detect any breathing.

“Honey,” I said, “you still better call an ambulance. I think he’s dead, but we need to make the call.”

Drew said, “I have to get out of here.”

“Drew,” I said, “you don’t have to worry. You saved our lives. You did the right thing.”

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “I just got out.”

“Excuse me?” Ellen said.

“I just got out of prison. Something like this, they’ll send me back for sure.”

“Not when I tell the police what happened,” I said. “You’ve got two witnesses. Me and Ellen, we can tell the police what you did. Drew, you’re a hero. You took this one out of the picture, you chased the other one off.”

Drew was listening, but didn’t look persuaded. “The cops won’t care, not when you’ve got a record.”

Ellen reached out and touched his arm. “Drew, you did the right thing. We’ll back you up a hundred percent.”

Still unconvinced, he said, “You don’t know cops. If they’ve got an excuse to put you back in, they’ll do it.” He looked at me. “Couldn’t you say you did it? That you got free, and when he was attacking your wife here, you grabbed the shovel and hit him? They’d understand that. And your wife is your witness. And you don’t have a record, so they won’t give you a hard time like they’ll give me.”

He’d saved our lives. That made this doubly hard. “Drew, the police, they’d figure it out eventually. They’d find a hole in our story somewhere, and then, when they pieced it together, and knew you were involved, and that we’d tried to cover it up, it’d be even worse for you. For all of us, but especially for you, having a record and all.”

He nodded solemnly, but I knew we hadn’t persuaded him. “I don’t know about that.”

“And, Drew,” I said, “there’s more. It’s pretty obvious to me that these two are the ones who killed the Langleys. I mean, it just makes sense. They were looking for the same thing. You haven’t just saved us. You’ve helped nail a murderer, and now the cops have a pretty good chance of finding his partner.”

A light seemed to go on for Drew. “I guess.”

“And on top of all that,” I said, “you may have helped us get our son out of jail.”

I glanced over at Ellen. I could tell she was already thinking the same thing, but was afraid to express the hope out loud for fear of jinxing it. She said, “I’ll go call 911,” and ran back to the house, like every second wasted was another second Derek would have to spend in his cell.

“Thank you, Drew,” I said again.

He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know.” He started moving toward the door.

“Drew, where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He was walking up the lane, toward his car.

I called out after him. “Drew, you should stay. The police, they won’t have any reason to arrest you. You’re not violating your parole by saving someone’s life. They’ll understand why you did what you did.”

But he kept walking in the direction of the road and his car, and soon he was swallowed up by the night.

I wasn’t going to run after him and drag him back. He had to know that I was going to tell the police what I knew, that he wouldn’t be hard to find.

I went to the house-saw my set of keys hanging from the door and pocketed them-and found Ellen hanging up the phone in the kitchen. “They’re on their way,” she said to me.

She came into my arms, and as I held her, I said, “He must have sent them.”

Ellen pulled away, looked at me. “What?”

“Conrad,” I said. “He sent them.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t.”

I moved my hand to Ellen’s shoulders. “Ellen,” I said firmly, “it all fits. These guys wanted the disc of his book. They were probably prepared to kill us for it. That dead guy in our shed? At the very least he was prepared to cut off all my fingers to get it.”

“No, Jim, it doesn’t fit,” Ellen maintained. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Who else but Conrad would want it? He stole that book from that kid, and all these years later, he’s still covering his tracks. I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed that kid years ago, threw him off the falls, made it look like he killed himself. What choice did he have? How could he have Brett Stockwell going around telling everyone he’d written that book, that Conrad Chase was this huge, fucking fraud?”

“Jim,” Ellen said, “you have to listen to me.”

“No, you have to listen. I don’t know why you keep defending this guy. I know he’s your boss, but now it’s looking like he’s a killer, too. If he didn’t kill the Langleys, then he sent those two to do it. And when he found out there was still a disc with that book on it, he sent them here to get it.”

“I gave him the disc,” Ellen said.

I looked at her. I couldn’t process what she’d said to me. “What?”

“The disc. The one you gave to Natalie Bondurant. I asked for it back from her today, I told her she didn’t have to worry about it anymore. And I gave it to Conrad. I met him at lunch.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you do such a thing? Why would you do that without talking to me about it first?”