“What’ll happen?”

  “That’s up to you, the police, and the justice system. But I promise you this: if you come clean and cooperate fully, our jobs will be a hell of a lot easier. It might even make things easier for you down the line. Right now though, we need to focus on keeping you safe.”

  The police took their orders from Gary, setting up a perimeter around the house and finding their perfect spot to watch both doors. Morgan stood by as he explained to Cooper that he was under protection until further notice. The change of expression on his face was priceless, starting off as irate and then turning to one of paralyzed disbelief.

  “Don’t worry,” Morgan said, the two of them turning to face him. He felt like the center of attention, which was everything he’d ever hated. “I’m going to stay here with you. Inside the house. As long as you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.” Cooper smiled, and it was like a bond had formed. “As long as the cops are watching in the day, having a private investigator in the house would make me feel safer. Anyway, it’s kind of cool. I bet you’re a good shot with your gun too.”

  Morgan didn’t have the heart to tell him he never carried a weapon. He hated those things and would even go so far as to say he was frightened of them, but right now his job was to make the man feel safe, and that wouldn’t help.

  It was Gary who spoke next, stepping up and whispering in his ear: “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.”

  They excused themselves and paced toward the sidewalk, keeping close and mumbling so as not to be overheard. “Are you sure about this?” Gary asked. “Captain Bray pulled me to one side earlier and grilled me about letting you near the case. He’s onto you.”

  “Does that mean you won’t allow it?”

  “It just means I’ll look the other way.”

  Morgan grunted a sharp laugh. “Then yes, I’m sure.”

  “He won’t be happy when he finds out.”

  “Then don’t tell him.” Morgan glanced over his shoulder at Cooper. “I mean, look at this guy. He’s terrified. Earlier today he was just living his life, selling media online and snacking on cold food. Now his home is full of cops, a serial killer is coming after him, and from the look on his face when I gave the news, he’s only just found out about Dusty and Teresa. The least I can do is spend the night here to make him feel more comfortable.”

  Gary nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. And what if the killer shows up?”

  “Then I’ll call you. Besides, I like to imagine he’d get one look at the police cars and then run the other way. He’s pissed off, but he’s not stupid.”

  “Fine, it’s your funeral.”

  “Poor choice of words.”

  “But true anyway. Just promise me you know what you’re doing.”

  Morgan held his hands up. “Swear to God.”

  That was one of the very rare occasions he’d ever lied to his best friend, and he didn’t feel so great doing it. But it was necessary—at least the way he saw it—or else he’d only stand in the way. And for as long as a survivor of the car wreck stood terrified in his own doorway, what was a little lie between friends?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gary was the first to leave. As soon as he did, Morgan immediately felt less safe. While two police officers watched the house from their cars outside, two more finished securing the site, and Morgan still felt as though the safety and reliability had gone. There was no reason not to trust these guys, but gut instinct told him Gary was more capable.

  He hoped Cooper didn’t feel that way. The entire reason he’d offered to stay was to make him feel more secure. The poor guy hadn’t seen any of this coming, and Morgan felt it was only right he stay and keep him company. All he had to do now was explain to his pregnant wife why he wasn’t coming home tonight, and that only left him feeling more anxious.

  The house was quieter now, with one police officer feeding emergency protocol into Cooper. Morgan passed by and gave him a quick tap on the shoulder, raising his cell phone to gesture he was about to make a call. He then continued through the house until he was in the backyard, one hand holding the phone while he tucked the other deep into his armpit.

  Rachel answered right away.

  “I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”

  “Well, here I am,” Morgan said, smiling as a steady wind picked up and coursed through his hair, which he’d been meaning to get cut. The sound of her voice was like music right now. He could listen to it for hours. “How’s your day been?”

  Rachel went on to explain that she’d been in to work that day, setting up some new charity fundraisers for HUCINS while putting out an ad to train her maternity replacement. It was typical of her to be thinking that far ahead, and Morgan knew at that point that their child would be in safe hands even if he weren’t involved. It filled him with hope, expanded his love, and relaxed every muscle in his body. That was, the ones he wasn’t currently squeezing against the hard bite of this evening’s bitter wind.

  “But enough about me,” she said. “Where’s my baby daddy tonight?”

  “Uh… that’s kind of a long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Morgan reached the fence, peered over and noted it as a security weak spot, then continued to pace around the yard. “Okay, here it is: it turns out there was a fourth person in the car on the night Dusty had that accident. He’s under police protection right now, but I thought I’d stay and double-check he’s safe. I know what you’re thinking—that it’s not my job, and you’d prefer I kept out of it—but I feel sorry for the guy.”

  “So, you’re not coming home at all.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  The silence was as cold as the breeze that whistled through the gaps in the fence. Morgan held still, shivering in dreaded anticipation of a response. When nothing came, he even took a quick glance at the screen to make sure they were still connected. “Babe?”

  “I’m here. Sorry. I was just processing.”

  “Are you okay with this?”

  “Absolutely. I told you I support this thing, didn’t I?”

  “You don’t sound like you mean that.”

  Rachel sighed. Whether it was deliberately audible was anyone’s guess. “The whole private investigator thing is a good idea, and I’ll always encourage it. This thing with Dusty… well, I told you I understand, but I don’t agree with it. Though that doesn’t mean I’ll fight you on it. You just make sure you’re both okay, and hopefully I can have you back in the morning.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  It sounded so final that Morgan caught himself gulping. It was like someone had forced a tennis ball into his throat, choking him on the spot. All he could do was cut it off early, hoping to get out of the frying pan. “Do you need anything? I could take a quick trip home before the cops leave. Just say the word.”

  “That’s not necessary. But you can do one thing for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Be safe.”

  Morgan turned on the spot, staring through the kitchen window at Cooper, who was just now waving goodbye to the cops before he closed the front door. Spending the night on this guy’s couch wasn’t exactly what he wanted—he’d be in immediate danger if the killer really had the balls to make his move tonight—but something deep inside told him it was the right thing to do.

  Even if that did put him at risk.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Is this enough for you?” Cooper Kelley said, throwing down a single pillow with a stained case and a sleeping bag the same color as the ocean. He spread half of it across the couch and dropped the other half beside Morgan, who sat bolt upright on the far end.

  “That’s great, thanks.”

  “It’s me who should be thanking you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Cooper crossed the room toward the window, flicking open the blind panels and peering out into the street. “It’s good having cops watching my back, but now I get my very own private investigator. Do you really think that killer—what’s his name—will come here?”

  “His name is Arthur St. John,” Morgan said, horrified that he didn’t remember the name of the man whose life he’d ruined. “And I don’t know, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If sleeping on a slightly uncomfortable couch for one night is what it takes to make sure, I’m all for that. I just don’t want to lose anyone else.”

  “You mean like you lost Dusty?”

  A sharp jab of pain hit his heart.

  Morgan looked away. “Exactly.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Every day.”

  Cooper sighed. “Me too. We were good friends for a long time.”

  Until now Morgan had no idea they’d been close. Today was the first time he’d ever even heard of Cooper Kelley. Now here he was, sitting on his couch and preparing to stay the night. This case was just full of surprises.

  “Why didn’t your name ever come up, then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dusty and I were real tight when we were younger. We told each other everything.” Except for the truth about the accident and how they’d killed an innocent family on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. But Morgan elected not to comment on that.

  Cooper came and sat in the armchair facing the couch. His face was a picture of pain and a failure to understand. “Actually, I don’t know. Hate to say it, but I guess he didn’t feel the same way about me.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Oh, that’s all right.”

  Morgan sat in silence, biting his lip and wishing he’d bitten his tongue. There wasn’t another word between them for a while, but maybe there didn’t have to be. Perhaps Morgan’s presence in this house was enough to make up for that comment.

  Just then, Cooper stormed out of the room. He returned seconds later with a bottle of wine in one hand. He set two glasses down, unscrewed the bottle’s cap, and filled both glasses to the brim. He handed one to Morgan. “You know, I’ve had this on my desk for over a week. I was going to kick back and celebrate a new business deal, but a toast is just as good.”

  “To Dusty, then?”

  Cooper nodded. “And to Teresa.”

  They clinked glasses. Morgan raised his and took a shy sip. It was sweet and juicy. He took another, this one more akin to a gulp than a sip. It fell down his throat, hitting the spot and emptying the glass in one go.

  “Steady,” Cooper said, only half emptying his own glass.

  “I needed that,” Morgan said, laughing.

  Cooper topped up their glasses, laughing with him. “You and me both.”

  “So, tell me about this business deal.”

  “Not much to tell, really.”

  “But you sell media.”

  “That’s right. Online.”

  Morgan took the refilled glass and sat back on the couch, reaching an arm out across the back of it. It was more comfortable this way, holding himself up so his butt didn’t dig into the spring underneath. “This is your living?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Cooper slumped back into the couch and crossed his legs like an excited kid telling a story. “There’s nothing to it. I do my research to find what would make people’s lives easier, then I make it, then I advertise it. People lap it up real quick. The life span on each piece isn’t that long, so I quickly make the next one and sell that instead.”

  “Sounds like you got a sweet gig.”

  “I love it.”

  Morgan smiled and took another sip, a piercing sensation spiking through his brain. He reached to cradle his forehead in his thumb and forefinger, but then the feeling passed. “You should create an app for private investigators. Kind of like a wall map for information.”

  “That’s not the worst idea I’ve heard. Problem, is, most private eyes are a bit older than us, and it’s mostly the younger folk who are keen to buy technology. There’s a demographic for all online media, and it’s usually capped at forty. Obviously you’re an exception.”

  “Wow.” Morgan laughed. “You’re smart.”

  “I’m just careful. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  Cooper slid a leg out from under him, stretching it as he closed his eyes and heaved in a big breath. He blew it out through pursed lips. “Sorry, my day just caught up with me. Anyway, about you. Is it a coincidence you’re working your cousin’s case?”

  “Not at all. I’m kind of pro bono.”

  “Aha. Self-hired.”

  “Self-hiring means you’d pay yourself.”

  “True.”

  Morgan raised an eyebrow and raised his glass for another sip, but the hammering pain in his skull returned. This time it was sharper, causing him to drop his glass. It shattered on the hardwood floor, wine and shards spraying in a wide radius. “Damnit. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry.” Cooper shot up and took two steps toward the kitchen.

  Then there was a thud.

  Morgan craned his neck, suddenly feeling as though he were engulfed in sludge. The room turned in circles as he tried to sit up. Fatigue hit him, every movement slower than the last. It felt like he was in space, gravity heaving him off his feet. He was ready to hurl.

  “What… did you do?” Cooper asked, barely conscious on the floor.

  But Morgan hadn’t done anything. Had he? His mind was a swirling vortex of questions as he tried to stand, but his legs gave way under him. Wine soaked through his pants, glass crunching under his palms. He felt nothing—only weakness. That sensation grew, his skull feeling like it was made of lead. Once more he tried to stand, but his body wouldn’t let him. His eyes were the next to go, slowly closing while his energy left him, like a soul leaving the body after death. He could no longer move at all.

  In his paralyzed haze, keeping one eye barely open as he reached out for Cooper, he only saw one thing. It was the sole of a shoe passing over him. He thought of that alien movie where the ship hovered over a city, only this danger was more real. That shoe hit the floor beside him, stepping farther away, farther, until the man wearing it towered over Cooper Kelley, dark and ominous in the dim living room light.

  “You shouldn’t drink,” the man said.

  It sounded like the voice of a demon, and suddenly Morgan knew what’d happened—it was the wine. Whatever had been added to it left him feeling close to death, like he was drowning in mud.

  The last thing he heard was that voice, deeper now than it had been before. Every syllable lasted a lifetime, the sound dragging on like it was sung from a whale deep in the terrifying, unknown depths of the ocean. “…where it all began…”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Arthur stepped over the black detective with a big grin stretching each side of his face. At least, it felt like it was there. The truth was that he hadn’t smiled in ten years. Not properly, anyway. That was what these vermin had taken from him: his capacity for happiness.

  But they hadn’t taken his wits.

  Far ahead of the game, Arthur knew the police would be watching this house. By then, he’d already mapped out the building, run his own surveillance from the roof of a house that was empty and still for sale. That house backed onto Cooper Kelley’s residence, and it was the perfect spot for watching all activity from a safe distance.

  Too bad they’d left the back door unguarded.

  Arthur had watched them set up their perimeter. He hadn’t been able to hear what they were saying, but their body language was telling enough; the winding maze of alleys behind the house was impossible to keep watch over, so they’d have to just lock the back door and keep all eyes on the front of the house.

  What they didn’t know was that Arthur could pick locks.

  It was one of the many useful skills he’d picked up in his years studying for this spree. He’d thought about all obstacles he might encounter while trying to claim his vengeance, and there wasn’t a chance in hell something as trivial as a door would stop him. It was laughable really, when you stopped to think about it.

  Arthur had snuck in through the back, stepping carefully so as not to give himself away. He had the knife in his hand and was ready to use it if necessary, but what he really wanted was to take his victim away: to let him feel the same pain the others had. The same pain his wife and daughter had in their final moments. He had to show him the right way.

  That was what gave birth to his genius idea.

  As soon as he peered around the corner and found that detective who’d chased him was staying the night, Arthur returned to the kitchen and got to work. There’d been three drinks left out. One was a bottle of white wine—a screw cap, perfect for opening it unnoticed. The other two were half-consumed bottles of Coke. Arthur improvised on the spot, quietly searching the cupboards for something he could use. Within moments he’d found a combination that would work. It consisted of catnip, allergy tablets, and a ton of chamomile to take off the edge. Arthur—who’d reached tenure as a chemistry teacher and was more than well practiced in what would work—created the formula inside each bottle. They’d fizzed and popped, and he’d screwed the caps back on, making his way up the stairs where he could watch the shadows on the living room floor until the moment came.

  If it came.

  There’d been no way of knowing for sure whether they’d drink, but if they did they’d be seriously ill for a while. That was fine though; Arthur didn’t give a damn about their well-being. He just wanted them out for the count so he could drag Cooper out the back door without being noticed by the cops. After that, he could continue his big plan.

  They’d taken the wine.

  Now, Arthur stood over his prey, the lights dimmed. Nobody knew he was here, and nobody was coming to save them. He towered above his victim, fighting the urge to draw his knife and stick him like a pig. “You shouldn’t drink,” he said, already realizing his hypocrisy. Although, if anyone was entitled to drink, wasn’t it Arthur St. John—the man who’d lost so much? The man whose sole purpose was to seek justice?

 

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