Jeffery Deaver - Shallow Graves

Ambler nodded.

Him? He's the one?

Meg, come on… This guy?

Ambler muttered sarcastically, "Oh, she'd be in good hands with you… Jesus. You gave Sam that fucking heroin or whatever it was and practically killed him…"

The surprise in Pellam's eyes must have seemed genuine. Ambler stopped talking.

"I didn't give Sam that stuff."

Ambler frowned. Finally he said, "You seduced her, didn't you?"

"Nothing happened between us. We talked. We had dinner."

Ambler looked at him for a moment, a lover's examination of a possible rival. How they hang on every flutter of eyelash, every syllable.

Pellam said, "She's a captivating person."

Ambler said, "Too good for you."

"That's probably true."

Ambler said, "I love her."

"That's why you did it?" Pellam asked. "Why you had me set up? Because you thought I was taking her away from you?"

"Yes! And here you come to threaten me. To tell me to stop seeing her-"

Pellam said, "I didn't even know you were seeing her."

"Then what're you doing here tonight?"

Pellam looked at Ambler's face carefully, judging. Tommy Bernstein had said there were times when a man has to make a leap. He meant it philosophically, muttering something about a leap of faith, though when he said it he was drunk and poised to leap off the second story of his Beverly Hills house into the swimming pool that Liberace had supposedly done something scandalous in.

Pellam said, "I'm going to show you something."

"What?"

"I'm going to reach into my pocket, okay? I just want to show you something."

Pellam's hand disappeared into his pocket and it returned with the two shell casings.

"What are those?"

"These were the shells from the shots that killed my partner. Whoever did that is the same person who's been selling the drugs that Sam got. I assumed it was the same person who had me beat up."

"And you thought it was me?" Ambler's face was horrified. Pellam slowly rocked forward, off the balls of his feet. He'd forgotten about the knife. Ambler said, "I'm a Christian."

Pellam laughed. "Well, you vandalized our camper, right? You planted the drugs in the car and you called the sheriff and said Marty was selling stuff, right?"

Ambler didn't answer for a moment. "The day you and your friend came to town I was with Meg. She was so excited. I've never seen her that way. She was obsessed with the idea of being in a movie. That's all she talked about. If you made a movie here, I was afraid I'd lose her. She'd try to get a part, she'd go off to Hollywood. I did have somebody plant something in the car. And then, yes, he called the police. But I didn't have Marty killed. I'd never do that."

"You were the one who ordered the parking lot plowed over?"

"When the accident happened-when the car blew up-I was terrified that I'd be accused of it. I told Moorhouse to have it dozed to hide any evidence."

"And Sillman? The rental place."

"I had my man talk to Sillman. We arranged to offer Marty's family some money. A lot of money. It looked like an insurance settlement."

"And you had those two locals pay me a visit? Beat me up?"

Ambler nodded. "I wanted you gone so badly. All she did was talk about you. Talk about movies. I was losing her. I was desperate." He looked down at his hands, studied his long fingers. Ambler broke open the shotgun and put it on the counter. He picked up the bullet casings. "Winchester.300's. But there's something different about them."

"Magnums," Pellam said.

"I don't have a gun that'll take these." He looked up. "You want to check?"

Pellam glanced at the shotgun, which Ambler could still grab, close and loudly obliterate Pellam with before he was halfway to the knife. He said, "I believe you."

Ambler handed the cartridges back. "Those're unusual rounds."

"Used for real long distance shooting."

"What kind of weapon would that be?" Ambler asked.

"You can get a Beretta bolt-action chambered for them. SIG-Sauer has a.300 Magnum and-"

"Beretta, you say?"

Pellam said, "You know somebody who's got one?"

"I do, but I don't think-"

"Who?"

"You don't know them. A couple brothers."

Something flashed through Pellam's mind.

Pellam said, "They wouldn't be twins, by any chance?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, they are."

"You aren't gonna like it," the deputy said to the sheriff.

"I don't like a lot of what's been happening around here lately," Tom said.

They were in the police station, Sunday night, though one thing about Cleary: the Sabbath wasn't any quieter than any other day. The only difference now was that all three of them were working-two in the office, and the other deputy in the field-and they were expecting a visit from a detective and another deputy from the County Sheriff's office, who were going to be assisting in the investigation of Ned's murder.

"I was talking to people who had seen him in the past twenty-four hours. Who'd seen Ned, I mean."

The sheriff knew this, since he'd sent the deputy to do just that. "And?"

"A coupla folks saw him with Sam Torrens. At the festival."

"So?" Tom was exhausted. A blown-up car, drugs, arson, fights. And now a high school boy murdered. Life in small-town America. Crap.

"It was just before the kid got sick."

"Kid? Which kid? Explain it to me, will you?"

The deputy said, "I'm saying that it looks like Ned was the one who gave the drugs to Sam Torrens. That heroin shit."

"Oh." The sheriff closed his eyes and rubbed them with his knuckles. "What aren't I going to like? You said before I wasn't going to like something."

The deputy continued. "Keith Torrens got his boy a.22 for Christmas last year. I seen him buying shells."

"When?"

"I don't mean recent. I just mean I know he's got a.22 in the house. And had some shells."

"Come on, Randy. Everybody in town's got a.22. They practically come with the house when you buy one."

"I'm just saying."

"And we don't know for certain it was a.22 killed Ned. Could've been a.25 or a.222."

"Maybe. But you'd think there'd've been more damage-"

"We. Don't. Know."

The deputy nodded. Finally he said, "Closest thing to justifiable I've ever seen."

The sheriff wondered where the hell that was coming from. The deputy had worked on exactly one murder in his four years on the force and that had been when Barnie Slater's wife used a deer slug in his sleep to keep him from taking the lamp cord to her anymore. She had fresh coffee for the deputies when they'd arrived. The sheriff said, "Justifiable's the prosecutor's decision, not ours."

After a moment Tom asked, "When was the time of death?"

"About ten this morning."

"Church time. Meg was here bailing out that movie guy-now that's a fact I don't want to think too much on. What about Keith? He do church?"

"I don't know," the deputy answered. "We can call. They're in First Presbyterian."

"Who's that? The Minister?"

"Jim Gitting. Good man. Gives a good sermon."

Tom didn't care whether he was the devil's own brother. "Call him. Find out if Torrens was there today."

The deputy picked up the phone. "Reverend Gitting please… Hey, Reverend, how you doing? Look, I'm real sorry to be-"

Tom took the phone from his hand. "Reverend, this is the sheriff. Was Keith Torrens in church this morning?"

"Uhm, no, Sheriff." The voice was whiny. Didn't sound like he'd give a good sermon at all. "Can I ask why?"

"Just looking into some things. He usually attend services?"

"Hardly ever. He was working this morning-like usual."

"Wait. You said he wasn't there. How'd you know where he was."

"He wasn't in church. He just dropped off Sam for Sunday school. Is this about that thing with Sam this morning? It wasn't a big thing. Just gave the teachers a little fright is all."