Michael Koryta - The Prophet

Adam ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. “Why Kent?” he said.

“Because he said he could not be broken,” Sipes told him. Voice calm, patient. “Because he believes it.”

“That’s enough reason for you to murder a girl who had nothing to do with him?”

“ Nothing would be a stretch, I think. He promised me that his faith could weather any challenges, Adam. I’ve come to see that for myself. Tell me, do you agree with your brother? I’ve heard otherwise. I’ve heard that you were anything but pleased with his decisions.”

Adam was listening to the waves break on the rocks. It was so quiet out here today. Usually it was, this time of year. The day they’d found Marie, the quiet broke, though. There’d been helicopters, Adam remembered that, television cameras watching from above. It had been maybe two miles from this spot. Not far. Not all that far.

“There’s something I would like to know,” Sipes said. “Is your brother aware of this?”

Adam shook his head.

“That’s a shame,” Sipes said. He seemed to mean it.

Shoot him, Adam thought, and he wanted to, but he couldn’t. So close, so close, all he needed was to add that last bit of pressure. Find a way to call it up. Somehow.

“Go ahead and take your gun out, Sipes.”

Sipes smiled and shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Adam’s hand was starting to tremble. He tightened his grip, felt old aches. He’d broken that hand once, a long time ago. The bones knit back together fine, but sometimes, in cold weather like this, you still had the aches.

“You’re here to protect your brother,” Sipes said. “That’s the idea?”

“I’m here to make you accountable,” Adam said.

“For what?”

“All that you’ve done.”

“You know nothing about what I’ve done, Adam. You know nothing. I understand all that you are, and you understand not the first thing about me. You’re not here for your brother, or even for Rachel Bond. You’re here for your sister, you said that much yourself, and you know what? I didn’t kill her. I never laid eyes on the girl. Now, I do feel some level of… closeness, I think that’s the word. You’ve preserved her so well in that bedroom that when I entered it I honestly felt her presence. It was remarkable. I’m sure you understand that, though. You and I are certain to agree on that point. She has a remarkable presence after all these years, doesn’t she? And yet I never saw her. Pictures, that’s all. You look a bit alike. The eyes, certainly. The cheekbones. There are traces of her. And in your niece, well, that’s quite different. More than traces there. They look so similar, it’s almost as if—”

Adam brought the trigger home, and the Ruger blew a .45-caliber bullet through the center of Clayton Sipes’s chest.

Sipes did not show any panic, not even surprise. The smile was gone, at least, the smile was gone as if it had never existed, but he wasn’t panicking. He took a stumbling step away, and reached behind his back for the gun he’d believed he did not yet need, and Adam shot him a second time. This time the bullet caught him higher, just below his throat, and he went down, and life went with him.

The thing that had once been Clayton Sipes existed no more in this world.

Adam used his shoe to roll the body over, and then he wiped the gun on his sweatshirt, pulled his arm back, and whipped it toward the water, flinging the Ruger into the lake like a discus. The wind was with him and it carried well out, splashed, sank. He considered dragging Sipes out into the water but saw no point. The waves would carry him back fast enough. Adam’s gunshots had echoed loud over the water, and it was time to move, and move fast.

He turned on his heel and left the way he had come, walking fast but not running, crossing the rocks and sliding through the fence and returning to Erie Avenue. There were no sirens yet. He thought someone might have been able to hear the shots up here, but maybe not. Or maybe it didn’t even matter if they had. It was a bad neighborhood, and most of the people who would be occupying it in the middle of the day were not the type who would rush to call the police.

He walked to the old Robard Company plant where his father had once worked, and then, finally out of sight from the street, he began to run.

40

FOCUS HAD NOT COME EASILY all week, and Kent was struggling to attain it Thursday afternoon as he considered the use of a six-man defensive front, wondering if it might allow Chambers to put enough pressure on Rob Sonnefeld, the Saint Anthony’s quarterback, to force him into mistakes, when Stan Salter arrived.

His first thought at the sight of the cop was fear, but he hadn’t even finished the question before Salter answered it.

“Your family is fine, Coach. Nothing’s wrong.”

Fear quelled, what replaced it was a vague irritation. If nothing is wrong then leave me alone in here, I’d finally gotten away from it all, can’t you let me stay in here with the door shut?

“How can I help you, then?” Kent said.

“You probably can’t.” Salter was leaning against the doorframe. “I just wanted to let you know that Clayton Sipes will trouble you no more.”

The statement washed over Kent like a breaking fever.

“You got him?”

Salter shook his head. “We have him. We didn’t get him. Someone else beat us to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Clayton Sipes was found shot to death by the lake this morning.”

Kent stared at him. Adam, he thought. How did he get him? How did he find him? Video of Saint Anthony’s was still running on the screen, and he clicked the projector off.

“You don’t know who killed him?”

“Not yet.”

“There were no witnesses, nobody who saw–”

“Too early to say. We’re working on all of that, obviously. We just got the positive ID back. I figured you ought to know.”

Kent opened his mouth, then closed it. Salter raised his eyebrows and said, “Yes?”

“I was about to say that I was sorry to hear it happened like that,” Kent told him. “But you know what? That’s hard for me. Right now I’m just… I’m just glad to hear he’s gone.”

“Understandable. But there are some difficulties presented because of it.”

“Such as?”

“Resolution for Penny Gootee for one,” Salter said. “I’ve got a homicide investigation to close. That doesn’t go away with Clayton Sipes.”

“Not the way you want it to, at least.”

“Not in any way,” Salter said. “That case is not closed. Now there’s another one. I need to find out who killed Sipes, too, regardless of what he was. I still need to know.”

Kent nodded.

“Your brother staying with you as some sort of protective measure?” Salter asked.

It was said casually, but Kent felt invaded. “How do you know my brother’s been staying with us?”

“You wanted us to pay extra attention to your home, Coach. I told you we would. When somebody pulls into your driveway these days, we’re running plates. That’s to help you. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“Sure,” Kent said. “I just… I hadn’t heard from you.”

“Well, we’ve been watching.”

“Great.” He didn’t know why the word sounded so hollow. “Yeah, Adam has been a sort of security blanket for us. I know you’re not a fan of his right now, but he’s more experienced with this sort of thing than I am. I just felt better having him around in case Sipes came back.”

Salter nodded. “Fair enough. Well, Sipes won’t be back.”

“I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not going to ask you to,” Salter said. “I didn’t come here with the idea that I was going to be breaking bad news to you, Coach. I know tomorrow’s a big day for you, but I hope you can make yourself available to Agent Dean.”