Тесс Герритсен - I Know a Secret

“We thought she had to be wrong, because she saw Cassandra sitting with a woman.”

“And she was right. Cassandra was sitting with a woman.” Jane slapped the steering wheel in triumph. “We’ve got him. We’ve got them both.”

“Unless that wine doesn’t come back positive for ketamine.”

“It will. It has to.” Jane glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Crowe and Tam were right behind them, their vehicle hugging close in heavy traffic.

“All thanks to that crazy Holly Devine,” said Frost.

“Yeah, she’s crazy like a fox. She knew we were watching her. She baited the trap, and look who walked in. A woman.” Monsters came in all shapes and sizes, and the most dangerous are the ones you never suspect, the ones you think you can trust. Middle-aged women like Bonnie Sandridge were too often overlooked, so invisible that they failed to show up on anyone’s radar. Everyone focused on the pretty young girls and the strapping young men. But older women were everywhere, hiding in plain view. Decades from now, would Jane be just another among the gray-haired legions of the invisible? Would anyone look closer and see the woman she really was, focused and formidable and perfectly capable of pulling a trigger?

They parked outside Bonnie Sandridge’s house, and as she and Frost stepped out of the car, Jane was already unsnapping the holster at her belt. They didn’t know if Stanek would resist when cornered, and they had to expect the worst. Across the street a dog barked, alarmed by this invasion of its neighborhood.

The lights were on inside, and a silhouette moved past the downstairs window.

“Someone’s home,” said Crowe.

“You two take the rear,” said Jane. “Frost and I will go in the front door.”

“How’re you gonna approach this?”

“We’ll try it the polite way. I’ll just ring the doorbell and see if Stanek—” She paused, startled by the unmistakable sound of gunshots.

“That came from inside the house!” said Tam.

There was no time to adjust their plans; they all sprinted for the front door. Tam was first into the house, with Jane barreling in right after him. In that first split second, she registered the blood in the living room. It was everywhere, a bright explosion of it on the wall, more splatters on the sofa. And on the floor, a pool of it was slowly spreading like a halo around the shattered skull of Martin Stanek.

“Drop it!” yelled Tam. “Drop your weapon!”

The man standing over Martin’s body did not release his gun. Passively, he regarded the four detectives who stood with their weapons aimed at him, a firing squad ready to unleash a hail of bullets.

“Mr. Devine,” said Jane. “Drop your weapon.”

“I had to kill him,” he said. “You know I did. You’re a mother, Detective, so you understand, don’t you? This was the only way to keep my Holly safe. The only way to be sure this piece of crap can’t hurt her.” He looked down in disgust at Stanek’s body. “Now it’s over and done with. I took care of the problem, and my girl doesn’t have to be afraid.”

“We can talk about it,” Jane said quietly. Reasonably. “But first put down the gun.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about.”

“There’s a lot to talk about, Mr. Devine.”

“Not for me.” His gun came up a fraction of an inch. Jane’s hand snapped taut, her finger primed to fire, but she didn’t. She kept her aim on his chest, her heart thudding so hard she could feel every beat transmitted to the grip.

“Think about Holly,” said Jane. “Think about what this will do to her.”

“I am thinking about her. And this is one last gift I can give her.” His mouth tilted up in a sad smile. “This takes care of everything.”

Even as he raised his arms and pointed his gun at Jane, even as Crowe fired three bullets into his chest, Earl Devine was still smiling.

So this is how it ends, thought Maura, as she watched morgue attendants wheel the pair of stretchers out of Bonnie Sandridge’s home. Two final deaths, two last bodies. Frigid air swept through the open front door, but that rush of fresh air was not powerful enough to cleanse the stench of violence from the house. Murder leaves a scent of its own. Blood and fear and aggression release their chemical traces into the air, and Maura could smell it now, in this room where Martin Stanek and Earl Devine had died. She stood silent, inhaling the scent, reading the room. Police radios chattered and she heard the voices of CSRU personnel moving through the various rooms of the house, but it was the blood that spoke to Maura. She scanned the spatters and overlying drips on the wall, studied the two puddles on the wood floor where the bodies had fallen. The police might call this bloody conclusion to the case justice well served, but Maura felt unsettled as she regarded the twin pools of blood. The larger one came from Martin Stanek, whose heart had briefly continued to beat and pump blood from the mortal wound in his skull. Earl Devine had not lived or bled as long. All three of Detective Crowe’s bullets had hit what would be the mid-chest bull’s-eye on a firing-range target. Gold stars for Crowe’s marksmanship. But after every fatal police shooting, questions followed, and the autopsy would have to address those questions.

“Trust me, it was a good shooting. We’ll all swear to that.”

Maura turned to Jane. “ Good shooting is an oxymoron, if ever I heard one.”

“You know what I mean. You also know that I’d be happy to throw Darren Crowe under the bus if I could, but this was definitely justified. Earl Devine killed Stanek. He confessed to it. Then he pointed his weapon at me.”

“But you didn’t fire at him. You hesitated.”

“Yeah, and maybe Crowe saved my life.”

“Or maybe your instincts told you Earl Devine wasn’t really going to shoot you. Maybe you were better at reading his true intent.”

“And if I was wrong? I might be dead now.” She shook her head and snorted. “God, now I owe a debt to that jerk Crowe. I’d almost prefer getting shot.”

Maura looked down again at the mingled blood, which was now congealed and drying. “Why did Earl Devine do this?”

“He said he was protecting his daughter. Said it was the last gift he could give her.”

“Why did he then point his gun at you? He knew what would happen next. This is a clear case of suicide by cop.”

“Which spares everyone the ordeal of a trial. Think about it, Maura. If he lived and this ended up in court, his defense would be that he was protecting his daughter. That would dredge up the old Apple Tree case, and the whole world would learn that Holly was molested as a child. Maybe this was Earl’s ultimate gift to his daughter. He kept her safe. And he protected her privacy.”

“There’s no privacy in murder. Those details will probably become public anyway.” Maura peeled off her exam gloves. “Who has custody of Crowe’s weapon?”

“He surrendered it.”

“Please keep him away from the morgue tomorrow. I don’t want any questions raised about my autopsy of Earl Devine. When The Boston Globe reports that a sixty-seven-year-old Navy veteran was gunned down by a cop, it’s not going to go down well with the public.”

“But that Navy veteran pointed a gun at me.”

“A detail that won’t show up until the second paragraph. Half the public doesn’t read past the first.” Maura turned to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the autopsy.”

“Do I really need to be there? I know how these two men died, so there won’t be any surprises.”

Maura paused and looked back at the room. At the blood-spattered wall. “You never know what will turn up on an autopsy. I feel like this was all wrapped up too neatly, and there are still a lot of questions with no answers.”