Cheryl Bradshaw - Sinnerman

“Yeah, just like you said.”

“What did she say?”

“She gave me one of her cards,” she said. “And she told me to stop by her office. But that was before the guy came out of the room and things got crazy.”

“Give it to me.”

“What?” she said.

“The card.”

“Why?”

Sam’s patience had crossed the finish line. He flashed the bills in front of her face.

“You want the money,” Sam said. “Give me the card.”

She shrugged and shook her head.

“Alright then,” she said.

Sam gave her the money in exchange for the card.

“Remember,” he said, “there’s more to come after you testify. A lot more. But keep your mouth shut and stick to the story.”

The woman nodded.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. He didn’t respond so she persisted. “This guy is guilty, right? ‘Cuz he just didn’t look like the type of person to do all those horrible things.”

Sam was halfway to his car when she finished. He turned and said, “Nice dealing with you Trisha.”

CHAPTER 35

Right outside Park City is a mountain range along a dirt-filled back road that’s overspread with towering trees and wildflowers in all sorts of shapes and sizes. If you stand in a certain spot trees are all you see for miles and miles. Hiking was one of my favorite things to do in the whole world, especially on a day like today. The morning dew was still on many of the flowers, and the air had an aroma that was fresh and new, like the smell of rich Earth when I plunged my spade into the dirt and planted my summer garden. I often thought it was what a tropical rainforest must smell like.

Lord Berkeley kept pace alongside me until he spied a butterfly, and then he was off to capture it. I reached the top of the hill I’d climbed and took a deep breath in and absorbed every bit of beauty that embraced me on all sides. It was times like this when I realized just how much everyone was connected to each other in one way or another—good and evil, young and old; we all shared a part of ourselves with the universe in which we all lived. And yet, we were all so different from one another.

I thought about Sinnerman and what kind of a life could have driven him to the madness that came with his decision to take a life, or in his case, several lives. I’d studied the profiles of other killers before him, but I never grasped what must have gone through their minds the second they killed for the first time and took their first life. And that wasn’t the only thing that plagued me. The more I studied the lifestyle, the more I came across the same thing—their troubled childhoods. It wasn’t always the case, but in many instances it was, and I wondered what would have become of them had they been raised in an environment different than their own; one where they were engulfed in love. Would it have changed them from the beasts they’d later become?

I didn’t know what I would do when I came face to face with him one day. The hatred I had burned so deep within me all I could think about was seeing him dead. I pictured it in my mind over and over again. I wondered if I would be able to hold back if I ever had the chance to put an end to his wasted life. Would I take it or would I let him go—it was the one question that haunted me every day.

Halfway back to my car, I heard a sound. A twig snapped and then another. Lord Berkeley’s head shot up, and he backed up to me until his backside touched the front of my pant leg. He gnashed his teeth and sounded off a series of warnings, but the wooded area had gone quiet around us.

“Come on, Boo,” I said. “It’s okay.”

He looked up at me and then canvassed all sides of the woods and then gave me a look that indicated we were clear for takeoff. We made it back to my car and I opened the door. Lord Berkeley hopped in and I shut him inside and then circled around to the trunk and popped it open. I tucked the bag of pinecones I’d collected to the side and then pushed the lid down.

I grabbed the door handle and heard someone approach from behind. I turned just in time to see a needle plunge toward my neck. I swerved and felt it brush the side of my face when it forced its way by me, but it didn’t connect. The man who held it was dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt which he had up over his head. The tassels were tied in a bow under his chin. A blue ball cap peeked out under the hood, and his eyes were shielded by glasses that made him look like an oversized wasp. It didn’t matter how many precautions he took to conceal his identity; I knew who he was.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lord Berkeley inside the car trying to scratch his way through the window. I planted both feet into the soil beneath me, regained my footing and aimed my left foot straight for an area a man resists injury the most. Upon impact the needle shot out of his gloved hand into the air and twirled around in circles before it stuck to a branch on the tree; fluid still remained inside of it. I ran to my car, whipped the door open and went for my gun. He sprinted after me, but once he saw what I held in my hand, he turned and made a mad dash to the nearest thicket of trees. I fired off a shot, and his squeal echoed around me. His hand gripped his shoulder—he’d been hit. It wasn’t where I intended to get him, but at least it connected, and now the hunter had become the hunted. I was the predator and he was my prey.

I fired off another shot but by now he’d hidden himself well within the trees. I ran toward the path Sinnerman hobbled across before me and then stopped when I heard two more shots go off that didn’t seem to be aimed in my direction. Two other men stepped forward out of the trees. The heavy set one nodded at the thin one, and the thin one disappeared. The other guy walked toward me. I crouched down behind a tree and aimed.

“I’d stop right there if you don’t want a bullet between your eyes,” I said.

“Sloane, are you alright?”

“Who are you?” I said. “And how do you know my name?”

He accelerated forward.

“I said stop! I’m in no mood to screw around, so don’t test me.”

He halted but was close enough now that I was able to get a good look at him. His face was familiar, and I’d seen him months before on another case I worked on—he was the man in black.

“Why are you here?” I said.

“Giovanni sent us.”

“Are you two the ones he’s had watching out for me this whole time?”

He nodded.

“If you’re here to help, can you put the gun down?” I said.

He shook his head and said, “It’s for your protection.”

I nodded at my 9mm and said, “I can take care of myself.”

He shrugged but didn’t lower his gun. It wasn’t aimed at me either; it just rested by his side.

“Have you been here the whole time?” I said.

He nodded.

“How’s that possible? I never knew you were there.”

“Boss said not to get too close. You weren’t ever supposed to see us.”

“I’ve seen you before, six months ago,” I said.

He nodded.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And I remember trying to get you to tell me your name, but you wouldn’t,” I said.

“It was better not to at the time,” he said. “Lucio.”

“What?” I said.

“That’s my name. Sorry.”

“For what?” I said.

“How long it took us to get to you.”

“Where were you anyway?”

He walked closer to me, and I noticed his cheeks were flushed with color. I couldn’t tell whether it was from the heat or if he was embarrassed about something.

“I drank ah, a lot of water when we got here. We was trying to keep up with you, and I wasn’t doing so good so I drank a few waters and then went over to the bushes to—”