Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“Well, I see you two were out before the sun came up,” she said, clearly annoyed.

“We had some things to look into,” said Robie, deciding not to tell her they had actually been out all night. He looked at the bucket and the drenched Tyler. “He’s having fun.”

“We were just doing some chores when I decided this little guy needed a cooling down.”

“I can see that,” said Robie, who was watching Tyler with amusement. He was pointing at the hose and then at himself.

Reel said, “I think he wants another blast.”

Victoria sprayed Tyler again, while he once more ran in a circle. If he could speak Robie could imagine the boy screaming with delight. The day was already very hot and the water was no doubt very cold.

Robie eyed his father’s Range Rover, his gaze flitting over the New Orleans Saints sticker on the back hatch. He still didn’t know if his father had been driving the SUV on the night of Clancy’s murder. The fact that his father had refused to say whether he had or not made Robie suspect that his father had been driving the Range Rover. If so, where had he been going to or coming from at that time of night?

“So what have you two early birds been up to?” asked Victoria.

Robie glanced at Reel, who shrugged.

“We’ve actually been out all night,” he admitted.

“What?”

Robie explained to her what had happened, keeping his voice low so that Tyler couldn’t hear.

She dropped the hose, went over to Tyler, and lifted him, soaking wet, and pressed him to her chest.

“I... I don’t understand. What is going on?” she said, her voice cracking.

“We don’t understand it, either,” said Robie. “It seems like whenever we start to make some headway, we lose that advantage. First Pete disappears and now this.”

Victoria stroked Tyler’s head. “What are you going to do now?”

Robie shook his head. “Not sure.”

“Do you think Dan should be kept in jail?” she asked. “At least there no one can” — she glanced down at Tyler — “do anything to him.”

“That might be best, actually,” said Robie.

Victoria carried Tyler over to a little red wagon and put him in it. “We’ll head back to the house in a minute, sweetie, and get you all dry.” She turned back to Robie and Reel.

“So if Dan didn’t kill Sherm Clancy, then the person who killed the Chisum girls might have killed him, too?”

“It’s certainly possible. We know that my father couldn’t have killed Sara Chisum. He was locked up. So if the murders are connected, then that lets him out.”

Victoria nodded thoughtfully, the look of fear still evident in her eyes.

“Well, that’s certainly something to be thankful for. But—”

“But that means a killer is still on the loose,” said Reel.

Victoria nodded. Then she took the wagon handle and slowly pulled Tyler back to the house.

“That woman is scared,” said Reel.

“That woman should be scared,” replied Robie.

Late that night Robie opened his eyes when he heard it. He blinked a couple of times then sat up, his body tensed, his mind alert and ready.

There it came again.

Outside.

No, inside.

No, it was both outside and inside.

His mind clouded over for a bit but then snapped back.

Two sounds, in and out.

Two sources for those sounds.

He rose, slipped on his pants, and gunned up.

He chose to work from in to out.

The hallway upstairs was clear. Robie stood next to his door in a crouch, his gun pointed in front of him, directed in a swiveling arc at the darkness.

He waited, listened. His head jerked to the left when he heard the sound again.

Crying.

Someone was crying.

It wasn’t Reel, he knew that. The woman didn’t cry.

It wasn’t Tyler, because it was clearly a woman and Tyler didn’t make any noise at all.

It might be Priscilla, but her room was downstairs and on the other end of the house.

That left Victoria.

He slipped over to her door and knocked.

“Victoria?”

The weeping instantly stopped.

“What?” said a hoarse voice.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fi — no, I’m not okay.”

Robie placed his gun in the waistband at the small of his back. “Can I come in?”

He heard footsteps crossing the floor and a few moments later the door was opened.

Victoria stood there wearing a T-shirt and silk pajama shorts.

Her eyes were puffy and her hair was in disarray.

“You were crying?” he began.

She didn’t answer, but turned around, walked over, and perched on the edge of the bed.

Robie closed the door, pulled up a chair from a small vanity, and sat across from her.

“You want to talk about it?” he said.

“What’s there to talk about?” she snapped. “My life is for shit. End of story. I’ll probably be crying the rest of my life.”

“You can’t know that, Victoria.”

She reached over, snagged a tissue from a box off the nightstand, and blew her nose.

“I can know that. I do know that. Even if Dan gets off, so what? People around here will always have doubts. That will kill him as much as being found guilty and sent to prison.”

Robie slowly took this in. That was what his father had told him, too. Perhaps he had told his wife the same thing.

“You need to take this one day at a time. Don’t jump ahead. Don’t think too much about it. It’ll overwhelm you.” He paused. “And you have Tyler.”

She nodded, tears still leaking from her eyes. “If I didn’t have him, I think I’d already be in the loony bin.”

“Well, you do have him. And you have me, too.”

She looked up at him. “Your being here has really helped, Will. I mean that. With all my heart.”

She leaned over, gave him a hug, and kissed him on the cheek.

Then she dried her eyes with the tissue and said, “Well, thanks for letting me vent. I’m sure things will look better in the morning.”

“We’re going to find the truth, Victoria. I promise you that.”

She looked at him, her eyes raw. “And what if you don’t like the truth, what then?”

“I’ll deal with that when it comes.”

She blew her nose once more. “I guess we all will.”

“Good night, Victoria.”

“Good night, Will. You should get some sleep. Sorry I woke you.”

He left the room and closed the door behind him. His father, he felt, had married a good person. A strong woman. He would need that. He would need all of that.

And that was when he remembered.

The sound from outside.

And then he heard something moving in the hall.

He turned in an instant, his weapon out and pointed at the new noise.

Jessica Reel was staring back at him, her gun in hand.

She said, “What’s up, besides you?”

“I heard a noise.”

“I did too. From outside.”

“Let’s go check it out.”

“I also thought I heard somebody crying. Did you?”

“It was Victoria. She just needed to talk to someone. This all has to be overwhelming.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“That we were going to find the truth. So let’s see if we can start with whoever’s outside.”

The sound was not repeated.

At least not right away.

But Robie and Reel were patient. They could sit for hours or days or weeks waiting for what needed to come along and be killed.

And finally their patience was rewarded.

The crack of a twig.

The flutter of leaves on a bush.

A breath released too quickly for concealment.

They converged in an instant, guns pointed at their prey.

“Don’t shoot. Sweet Jesus, please don’t shoot me.”