Michael McGarrity - Everyone Dies

“And before that?”

“For many years, she was a clinical psychologist here in Santa Fe,” Saul said, looking closely at Kerney. What had brought the police chief and a very pregnant woman to his front door to question him about Dora?

“You’re the police chief,” Saul said.

“I am,” Kerney said quickly. “Have you had any problems with rats?”

Saul shook his head. “The only rat I’ve ever seen around here is the one Dora found in her driveway several days ago. She came and told me about it before animal control took it away.”

“Do you have a key to her house?” Kerney asked.

“Yes, and a mailbox key as well. My wife picked up her mail this afternoon.”

“Did you or your wife go inside her house?” Sara asked.

“No, we only check inside when she’s on extended trips, just to make sure everything is okay.” Saul’s worried gaze shifted from Sara to Kerney and back again. “What’s going on?”

Sara smiled reassuringly. “Probably nothing. Could we have the key?”

Saul nodded and left them waiting in the doorway. They could hear him talking in a hushed voice. After a few minutes, he returned with his wife in tow, who handed Kerney a key.

“Is there an alarm system?” Kerney asked.

“No,” the woman said. “This is very disconcerting. Why are you concerned about Dora?”

“We’re just checking on her welfare,” Kerney replied.

He thanked the couple and asked them to remain in their house. They nodded in unison, eyes wide with misgiving.

At the SUV, Kerney got a flashlight and led the way along the dark street to Manning’s house. He thought about asking Sara to remain behind while he looked around, but knew she’d have none of it.

“So, do you know Manning?” Sara asked, as they approached the house.

“Professionally, I did,” he said. “She did a good bit of forensic psychology work for the courts before she gave up her practice to become an artist. I’d forgotten all about her. It was a long time ago.”

He knocked hard and rang the doorbell several times before handing Sara the key. “Stay here. I’ll scout the perimeter and look for any signs of forced entry,” he said, reaching for his sidearm. Sara already had the. 38 out of her purse and in her hand.

He checked every door and window and returned to find Sara with her back against the wall, her weapon in the ready position, and the key in the lock.

He shook his head. “Looks okay on the outside,” he whispered. “We’ll do a room search. Back me up.”

Sara nodded and turned the key.

Together, they swept the house. In the master bedroom they found Dora Manning stretched out on an ornate Victorian bed with her throat cut. Her pajama top and the bed sheet were soaked in blood. On the wall behind the bed, the killer had left a message in red. In block letters, it read:

EVERYONE DIES

They retreated from the house. Kerney turned on the ceiling lights with the butt of his flashlight as they went from room to room, illuminating walls covered with Manning’s framed egg tempera and watercolor paintings. There was no sign that the house had been burglarized or a struggle had occurred.

Under the portal porch light, Kerney holstered his weapon, called in homicide on his cell phone, and told dispatch to roll units running a silent code three.

“Get Chief Otero and Lieutenant Molina up here ASAP,” he added before disconnecting.

“I don’t like this at all,” Sara said.

Kerney thought about the two murder victims, Jack Potter, a former prosecutor, and now Dora Manning, an ex-forensic psychologist. He thought about the message on Manning’s bedroom wall, and the image of Soldier lying dead in the horse barn ran through his mind.

“Maybe you should go up to Montana and stay with your parents until after the baby is born,” he said.

“I am not having this baby without you there to greet him,” Sara said peevishly.

“I’d feel better if you did.”

“No way, Kerney,” Sara said.

“Until we know what ‘everyone dies’ means, it would be the best thing to do.”

Sara shook her head fiercely. “I’m staying. It isn’t negotiable.”

“Fine. I’m sending you home with a patrol officer as soon as my people get here, with orders to sweep the house and remain with you until I return.”

“Try to get home before morning,” Sara said.

“We’ll see how it goes.”

She wrapped her arms around her belly, cradling and protecting the baby. “This is an absolutely crappy thing to have happening right now.”

He pulled her close. “We’ll get through it, I promise.”

Slowly, her arms encircled his waist and she held him tight.

The bald-headed man pulled to the shoulder of Hyde Park Road to let a line of police cars pass by. He followed and caught up in time to see the last unit turn off into the subdivision where Dora Manning lived.

He nodded approvingly. According to his timetable, if Manning’s body hadn’t been discovered by midnight, he would make an anonymous call to the police. He decided to go back to the war room and confirm it on the scanner.

Everything was working perfectly. He wondered where Kerney and his wife were. But it really didn’t matter. Part of the plan was designed to get Kerney scared and scrambling for answers, which he would then supply.

So far, so good.

After Kerney’s people arrived and were briefed, the patrol lieutenant and an officer in a second unit escorted Sara home. At the lieutenant’s request, Sara stayed in the squad car until the two men checked the grounds around the guesthouse and the main residence. She could see the beams of their flashlights as they moved back and forth through the trees and shrubs, until they disappeared behind the buildings. Finally they returned.

“It’s clear,” the lieutenant said through the open driver’s side window, holding out his hand. “Your house key please, ma’am.”

“There’s something tacked on the front door,” she said, handing him the key.

The lieutenant turned on the unit’s spotlight and aimed it at the front door. “Manny, go see what that is,” he said to the patrol officer. “But don’t touch it.”

The officer hurried to the front door and came back at a run. “It’s a typed note on white paper that says, ‘Everyone dies. Two down, two to go, and then you’re dead.’ There’s no signature, but there’s a dead rat on the portal.”

Sara bit her lip and wondered if she and her unborn son counted as two in the killer’s mind. The odds were good that they did.

The lieutenant reached in through the open window for the microphone and called Kerney’s unit number. It took him a minute to respond.

The baby moved, and Sara leaned back against the headrest wondering if she was about to give birth. She held her breath, hoping it was a false alarm. She wanted this madness over before Patrick Brannon Kerney came into the world. She listened as the lieutenant gave Kerney the news.

“Have you searched the house?” Kerney asked, his voice clear on the radio speaker.

“Not yet.”

“Bring in another officer to assist,” Kerney said. “I doubt whoever left the message is around, but play it safe anyway. Call me when you’ve finished the house search, and I’ll send a detective to fetch the note. Is everything else ten-four?”

“Affirmative.” After requesting another unit, the lieutenant dropped the microphone on the seat. “This won’t take all that long, ma’am,” he said.

“Good,” Sara replied, trying not to wiggle, “because I have to pee.”

Kerney sat in Sara’s new car with Larry Otero and watched as a group of detectives huddled in the middle of the street while Sal Molina gave them the word that the scope of the investigation now included a serious threat to the chief and his pregnant wife.