Carla Neggers - The Widow

“You won’t stop. You won’t ever stop.”

“Neither will the FBI, Doyle Alden, Owen Garrison or Lou Beeler, even after he retires. The Maine State Police will keep the Browning file open. I know a couple of Boston detectives who’ll hunt you.”

“This is you. All you.”

“It’s not just me. It’s never been just me. And that’s not why you’re out here now. If you wanted me dead, you could have shot me while I was sitting out on the rocks reading a book.”

Linc licked his lips. “Ellis, you’re sick. Let your family help you-”

“Shut up!” He pressed the barrel of his gun against his nephew’s temple. “I don’t want your help. I’ve lived in my brother’s shadow my whole life. I’ve kept to myself. I’ve done so much for you and Grace. For him. And what’s my thanks? He decides to sell my house. My sanctuary.”

“You made it your sanctuary because you loved Doe,” Abigail said.

“Because I love her. Present tense. I’m not a pervert who likes young girls-who goes from one girl to the next to the next. I keep Doe’s memory alive every single day. I honor her.”

“What if her ghost is here now, where she died, watching you?” Keep him talking, Abigail thought. If he’s talking, he’s not shooting. She went on, brisk but choosing her words carefully. “Everything I know about her tells me she was a kind, gentle soul. I saw the picture of her you left. The one you took. You knew that even in death, she was beautiful. Did you leave it for Owen to remind him?”

“He never appreciated her. It’s his fault she died. Not mine.”

An eleven-year-old boy, a little brother. Ellis’s twisted expectations had poisoned him. But Abigail wanted to keep him talking. Owen would be missing her soon. All she needed was a distraction, a break.

“No one appreciated Doe as much as you did,” Abigail said. “I see that now.”

“She didn’t understand. She was so young…so innocent…I was only eleven years older. What I felt for her wasn’t unnatural.”

“She was fourteen.”

“I promised her I’d wait for her.”

“That’s not why she ran crying. That’s not why she was so upset she slipped and fell to her death.” Abigail paused, making sure his attention was on her and what she was saying. She saw his spark of anger, the resentment in him. “And it’s not why you let her drown.”

“I didn’t let her drown!”

“Sure, you did. She was upset because of you. You didn’t just express your love and tell her you’d wait. Your interest in her wasn’t so innocent, was it?”

“The love we had was pure-”

“Did you rape her?”

His face reddened. “She died unspoiled.”

“But you came on to her,” Abigail persisted. “That porcelain skin, that silken hair-you wanted her, Ellis. You wanted her all to yourself. You had no intention of waiting until she was older. If you didn’t rape her, what did you do? Expose yourself to her? Make her expose herself-”

“You slut! You bitch.”

It was her opening. In his fury, he lowered his gun.

Abigail yelled to Linc. “Jump!”

But he needed no prodding. Knew it was his one chance. The tide was up, the water was deep-and he wasn’t a frightened distraught thirteen-year-old. Linc propelled himself over the cliffs, even as Abigail dove for his uncle, grabbing his gun hand and, using a hold she’d practiced countless times, snapped his ulna in his right forearm. She heard the break. He screamed in pain, dropping his gun. It slid off the edge of the rock wall into the water. She sliced a low kick to the inside of his leg, bringing him down onto exposed rock.

“You bitch!” he yelled.

“Where’s Mattie? He was here. I found a poncho-”

Ellis grinned, smug, as she held him on the ground. “Mattie’s in the water, too. He’s been there for a while. You needed a killer. I needed an end to your scrutiny. I needed to give my brother a reason to take my house off the market. The murderous yardman, the publicity-no way would Jason find a buyer. And Grace. It wasn’t easy, Abigail, to sacrifice my own niece, but I had to. For all our sakes, we needed a killer.”

And in Ellis’s twisted logic, Mattie was there. Again. “How long has Mattie been in the water?”

“Too long. If he’s still alive, he won’t last. Linc won’t be able to save him. He’s not a strong swimmer. The water’s cold. The waves are brutal.”

“You could have saved Doe.”

“I did save her. That’s what you’ll never understand.”

“Chris didn’t go down to the water to find Mattie or Linc. He went down there to find you. He knew about your obsession.”

“He’d seen Doe’s room.”

Her room. Abigail looked into the eyes of the man who’d let a fourteen-year-old girl drown. The man who’d murdered her husband.

“You make me sick.”

He tried to reach for her throat with his good hand, but she smashed his head against the rock. He went slack, unconscious. She checked him for hidden weapons, then scrambled to her feet and looked over the edge of the cliffs.

A huge swell took Linc against the rocks to her left, but he grabbed one with both arms and held on.

Directly below her, she caught a glimpse of Mattie right before a wave took him under. He didn’t fight it. If he was conscious, he clearly had no strength left in him.

If she didn’t act now, he’d drown or smash his body on the rocks.

The water was deep. She was a good swimmer.

Owen would have missed her by now. He had to be on his way. All she had to do was get to Mattie and stabilize the situation.

Abigail couldn’t just let him die.

She jumped.

No one was at the cliffs when Owen arrived. Dead branches clicked and cracked in the strong west wind that blew hot through the trees. Dark clouds had moved over the island, a storm imminent. He noticed tufts of wild grass that had been trampled.

He knelt down, saw a smear of blood on exposed ledge.

He heard a sound in the trees behind him.

Ellis staggered out from under a low fir branch on his walking stick. “There’s nothing we can do. Abigail’s in the water.” He spoke rapidly, blood pouring down the right side of his head. “She jumped in to save Linc. Mattie-he was out of control. He pushed Linc into the water. He was about to push me, but I had my walking stick. I got to him first. They’re all down there now. Abigail, Mattie, Linc.”

Owen stood up. “How did you bloody your head, Ellis?”

“What? Oh, this.” He wiped his fingers through the blood. “It’s nothing.”

“Abigail smashed your head on this rock, didn’t she?”

He seemed confused. Snot dripped out of his nose. Sweat beaded on his forehead and darkened his armpits. “It’s your fault. She wouldn’t have slipped…”

“I don’t have time for this.”

Owen heard someone on the trail coming in from the road. The FBI agents, Lou, Doyle-it didn’t matter. He needed to deal with Ellis and get to the people in the water.

Ellis lifted his walking stick, blood dripping into his right eye. “Move away from the cliffs. I want them to drown before you can rescue them. Just as your sister did.”

In two steps, Owen was at him. He snatched the walking stick and tossed it aside, just as Doyle and Lou arrived, guns drawn.

“It’s his fault,” Ellis screamed. “It’s all Owen’s fault!”

Owen ignored him and looked at the two police officers. “I need to get in the water.”

Abigail had never been so damn cold in her life. She huddled with Mattie in the cold water, the waves pushing them against the sheer rock face of the cliffs. His thin frame was limp from the battering it had taken from the rocks and water. His teeth chattered. He tried to speak, but his words were slurred. She recognized the signs of hypothermia and knew she’d be feeling them herself before too long.