James Patterson - Murder House

Justin turns and looks at me, the gravity of what we’ve just heard sinking in. “He just released you, and now he’s after you again?”

After talking to Noah, apparently. And here I thought Noah didn’t get along so well with the chief.

I get out of the car, and Justin follows suit. We go into his house, his beautiful, spacious kitchen.

“You said you have a gun,” I say.

“Um — yeah, I do,” he says, still distracted. “Hang on.”

“And a flashlight,” I call out to him as he leaves the kitchen.

I take a breath. Isaac and Noah got together, had a nice little chat, and now the STPD is after me with full force.

Isaac and Noah. They’ve made a very public show of not getting along so well. An act? An act I fell for hook, line, and sinker?

“Okay.” Justin returns to the kitchen with not one gun but two, holding each of them with two fingers, the barrels dangling down.

“A regular arsenal,” I say.

But not really. One is a shiny, polished revolver, new and, from the looks of it, unused. The other is a beat-up revolver with a pearl handle, a vintage piece, a .38 special with a very short, maybe two-inch barrel that is probably thirty or forty years old.

“Take your pick,” he says, placing them gently on the kitchen table.

I laugh. “Take my pick? How old is that thirty-eight special?”

Justin shrugs. “My dad bought it years ago — probably the seventies. This new one, I bought. I assume it works.”

“You assume?”

He shakes his head. “Never used it. Bought it for home protection. Some silly notion that I’m safer with it. I have a feeling if I ever had to use it, I’d end up shooting myself in the foot or something.”

“You’re probably right.” I choose the shiny new revolver, hold the gun toward the floor, pop open the cylinder, and confirm the presence of rounds in all six chambers.

Justin looks at all of this like he’s scared to death of guns.

He probably is. This isn’t his thing. He isn’t cut out for this. He’s a nice guy, a wonderful guy, but he lives in a world where people are decent and gracious. He doesn’t live in a world full of bad guys. That’s where we differ. That’s where we’ll always differ.

“And the flashlight,” I say.

“Oh — right,” he says. He removes one from a kitchen drawer and hands it to me.

Then he claps his hands, as if ready for action, but the paleness of his face suggests otherwise. “Where to?” he asks. “Where do you think Aiden is hiding out?”

I stuff the revolver in the back of my pants. “I have to go now,” I say.

He looks at me. “Don’t you mean we have to go?”

“No, I mean I have to go. This is my problem, not yours.”

“Jenna—”

“You’ve done enough. You’ve given me your gun and a flashlight, and a ride. But I can’t ask for anything else.”

“For the last time, you didn’t ask, ” he says. He puts his hands on my shoulders. “You can’t do this by yourself. I may not be a veteran police officer or some Navy SEAL — shit, I wasn’t even an athlete — but you can trust me. I’d do anything for you, Detective Murphy. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

I look into his eyes. Yes, there’s something there, something more than gratitude for all his attempts to help me. Maybe what I feel for him is enough. Maybe. But now is not the time to be gauging my emotions.

I have to do this, and I have to do it alone.

“I’ll just follow you,” he says.

“Not if I shoot you in the leg.”

He laughs, in spite of the circumstances.

Then the doorbell rings. We both turn our heads toward the front door. Justin takes a couple of cautious steps backward and peeks beyond the kitchen, presumably through a window.

“Police car,” he says.

“East Hampton PD?”

“Southampton,” he says. “That’s Isaac Marks at my front door.”

“Shit,” I say, panic swirling inside me. “Shit.”

Justin puts out a hand for caution. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here.”

“I should hide.”

“No place to hide. He’d see you running through the kitchen. Sit tight.”

Justin walks out of the kitchen. A moment later, I hear him opening the front door. I steel myself, close my eyes, listen carefully.

“Isaac,” he says.

My blood goes cold.

“Hello, Justin. I’m looking for Jenna Murphy. Is she here?”

“Here? No. No, she’s not here. Why?”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No idea,” says Justin. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s a police matter. When did you last see her?”

“I dropped her off at her house earlier today. After she was released from custody.”

“And?”

“And nothing. That’s it. I dropped her off and I drove here.”

“You drove here? Why not to the restaurant?”

A pause. “I’m the boss, Isaac. I come and go as I please. I didn’t think I had to get the police department’s permission.”

“You come and go as you please.” A pause, this time from Isaac. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Justin? Because you know it’s a crime to lie to a law enforcement officer, don’t you?”

“I think I’ve heard that somewhere,” Justin says. “Oh, I know — it was on TV.”

I smile but don’t dare laugh.

“You think this is funny? Listen to me, and listen to me very closely. We are actively seeking to bring Jenna Murphy into custody. She’s not who you think she is.”

“I think she’s an honorable and decent person.”

“Well, she isn’t. I’m gonna take her down. The easy way or the hard way, I’m gonna do it. I prefer the easy way. The safe way. But if you’re helping her evade us, you become an accessory. You ever heard that term from TV? It means you’re just as guilty as she is.”

Justin doesn’t respond.

“I’ve known you a long time, Justin. Never had a beef with you. You’ve always been a good egg. And you make the best damn barbecue shrimp on Long Island. So I’m going to give you one more chance. And think about what I said. You can help us find a dangerous person who’s committed some very serious crimes. Or you could lie to me and spend a very long time in prison. And I will personally see to it that you do.”

My heart is sinking as Justin himself sinks deeper and deeper into my problems.

“I understand.” Justin’s tone is cold and flat.

“Do you know where Jenna Murphy is?”

I hold my breath. I’d come out right now and show myself, and spare Justin any further trouble. But if I do, it’s game over. I’ll never know the truth.

“I have no idea where she is,” Justin tells Isaac.

Justin returns to the kitchen, his face ashen, after Isaac drives away.

“Well, that was fun,” he says, trying to maintain a brave front, but he can’t even bring himself to smile.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I’m going to leave now.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No. I leave now, you have plausible deniability. I’ll scrape the serial number off your gun so it can’t be traced back to you. No one will ever know you helped me. But if you go with me, you spend the next decade in prison. Assuming you don’t get killed.”

“I don’t care.” He touches my arm. “I understand the risks. But you need help, and the risk of losing you is worse than...” He swallows hard. His eyes fill. “I don’t usually — I’ve never responded to anyone like I do to you.”

I step away from him. “Justin, you know I can’t reciprocate those feelings. I just don’t know—”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t care. You just haven’t figured out what a wonderful guy I am yet. You will, someday.”