Alez Kava - One False Move

"Cool. I've got the Colorado map, too. I've never been to Colorado."

Melanie picked up her backpack, hugging it to her chest, ignoring the crusted mud flaking off and smearing the towel. She stood up, ready to go change, but waited, watching the two men in her life plot her future. Neither of them had even asked if she wanted to go to fucking Colorado. They had gotten her into this mess and yet neither of them seemed to realize how much of a mess it was.

"They said you killed four people, Jared." She didn't mean for her voice to sound so hysterical, but it worked. It got both their attention. "Is that true? Four victims. That's what they said on the news. All shot at close range. Dead."

"Four?" Jared repeated and he looked to Charlie, who nodded his confirmation. "You mean one of those fuckers is still alive?"

8:32 a.m.

Grace took the last bite of her sausage biscuit just as Frank Irwin pulled back the drop sheet from the corpse.

The woman looked smaller now laid out on the stainless-steel table. With all the blood washed away Grace could see that the gunshot wound had sliced open her jaw. The gash started just under the chin and stretched almost to her ear.

"The bullet shattered all her teeth on that side," Frank said, opening the woman's mouth with his gloved fingers. "Entrance was here below the chin. Exit was here, taking out the left tonsil and the side of the neck."

"Pretty strange way to shoot someone, right, Frank?"

"Pakula already told me your theory, Grace."

"And?"

"It was seven years ago. I wasn't here back then, although I heard about it. I pulled the photos and X rays."

He walked over to the light box, flipped a switch and propped up two X-ray films side by side.

He didn't need to tell her. Grace knew the other X ray was of Rebecca Moore's shattered jaw. Rebecca's body had been found in a ditch, north of Dodge Park seven years ago. She had been raped, stabbed three times, shot in the mouth and her body stuffed in a huge, black garbage bag before being thrown into a ditch. Another high-school student, Danny Ramerez, thought he saw her get into a pickup outside of Central High School with Jared Barnett. Seven years later Danny Ramerez suddenly said he was mistaken.

"The injuries are similar," Frank said. "I wasn't able to determine the caliber. And it sounds like we don't know for sure what kind of weapon he used here, or do we?"

"We recovered a casing in the wall behind her," Pakula answered. "It's a.38, but that's all I know right now. It looks like there were two guns used. Ballistics report probably won't be back until tomorrow."

"What do we know about her?" Grace was anxious to find out why Jared Barnett may have singled out this young woman, this bank teller.

"Her name is Tina Cervante," Pakula began, not needing a file or notes. "She was twenty-three years old, single, lived with two girlfriends in West Omaha. She's from Texas. All her family's down there. She came up to go to college, dropped out and landed the bank job. I'm gonna talk to one of the roommates later today. But here's something interesting. About a year ago she got busted for DUI, her third offense. Pretty serious stuff. Guess who her fucking attorney was?"

Grace was more interested in the woman's hands. "Hold on a minute." She pulled the sheet back and checked out her toes. "She probably lived with two roommates because she wasn't making enough money to be out on her own. Maybe she even had some college loans to pay, especially if her parents were pissed off that she didn't stick with it. And yet she could afford to have her fingernails and toes professionally manicured? Maybe even on a routine basis."

"She's also had a nose job." Frank pointed to a hairline scar that Grace would never have noticed otherwise. "A very professional job. Not cheap. Probably within the last six to eight months."

"So she had screwed-up financial priorities. It's an epidemic with kids that age." Pakula sounded impatient, as if talking from experience, perhaps reminded of his own daughters. "She could have had someone else helping out or taking care of her. What I wanna know is how an attractive, clean-cut young woman like Tina Cervante ends up with a scum-sucking attorney like Max Kramer."

"Kramer was her attorney on the DUI?" Grace wondered if Pakula was simply fishing for something. Kramer handled all kinds of cases. A DUI wouldn't be anything unusual, especially since the client was an attractive young woman.

"It's not my job to pass judgment," Frank interrupted. "But I'm not sure how clean-cut a young woman with three DUIs could be. Also…" He brought over a stainless-steel basin from the equipment tray and lifted the towel off to show them. "She was about two months pregnant."

9:00 a.m.

The nausea had finally passed, though Andrew's panic had not. While Jared and Charlie prepared for their cross-country trip, Andrew's mind raced. He tried to go over everything he had brought with him and then began visualizing the contents of the cabin. He remembered there were several dull knives in one of the kitchen drawers, a poker for the fireplace-which he couldn't see anywhere-but nothing else. Even as the light crept over the treetops in brilliant oranges and began to illuminate the dark corners of the cabin, it seemed hopeless.

His vision still blurred without warning, going in and out of focus like the TV reception. He hardly noticed his shoulder anymore. What did it matter that he couldn't move his right arm when his entire body had become numb?

He tried to test his feet, but Jared was suddenly there waving the gun at him. He wondered why they didn't just get it over with, just put him out of his misery. His answer came soon enough, and he couldn't help remembering one of his father's favorite sayings, "Be careful what you wish for."

Jared plopped down in the chair opposite him. The gun was tucked inside the waistband of a pair of Andrew's jeans, held there by a leather belt and strange buckle, some kind of carved emblem Andrew didn't recognize. He was staring at the belt buckle, when he realized Jared was talking to him. He caught only the last words.

"…Pretty fucking good. How do you know all this stuff about murder?"

That's when he saw his latest hardcover in Jared's hand, his trigger finger inside the pages, marking his place. He must have taken it with him for his nap in the back bedroom. He was reading Andrew's book. Jesus! And now he wanted to sit and chat about it.

"You must do like lots of research, huh? I mean, I know you make it up, but some of this…man, I'm telling you, it's pretty fucking real. I loved the autopsy scene where they find out the killer took the stiff's thumb. How do you come up with that crap?" He opened the book and started flipping the pages, still keeping his place. "Yeah, it's pretty fucking real." Then suddenly he looked up and smiled. "I think you like your killer."

Andrew leaned his head back against the worn fabric of the sofa. He wished the throbbing would stop. It skewed his thinking and interrupted his hearing. If he didn't know any better he'd say a murderer had just given him one of his best reviews. He smiled to himself, wondering how his publisher might use it, maybe on the paperback-four-time, no make that five-time murderer says, "It's pretty fucking real."

Jared didn't seem to mind that he wasn't getting any response, any feedback. Maybe the man preferred one-sided conversations. He continued to remark on the realism before he launched into his analysis of the parts Andrew had gotten wrong. Yep, a true book reviewer after all.

Andrew simply rubbed his aching head and listened. Somewhere during Jared's diatribe Andrew realized that Charlie and Melanie had been in and out of the cabin, packing the car. He noticed his belongings being carted off. He jerked forward, sitting up and twisting around. Where the hell were his briefcase, his notebooks and laptop?