Of course, the gun in his face likely wasn’t helping very much.

  But on the other hand, Cora knew that she was treading a dangerous line. Her parents sat in pews and hummed hymns but hoped others would come along and do the bad things in the dark. They had asked her to find out what had happened to Mindy. They had asked her to get to the bottom of it. And as much as she wanted to blame them for it, she couldn’t.

  The small part of her that was aware, despite the pain in her shoulder, the pain from her scars, and the pain in her chest, knew with a niggling certainty that this was what she was built to do.

  She was a bloodhound, and when she caught a scent, she refused to relinquish it. This man, the man quivering on the bridge, was not an innocent man.

  Then again, who was?

  She leaned forward, yelling now, her voice shaking beneath the trees, exploding in the man’s face as she leaned so close that the warmth from her breath pressed against his skin. She could see the sweat beading on his forehead and could count the pores on his nose.

  “Tell me what happened? How do you know your son isn’t involved? What did he do? Did he kill her? Did you help him?”

  A vague, momentary hesitation. The judge tried to cover just as quickly. But it wasn’t quick enough. She stared at him, frowning. Her voice dropped in volume. “Wait, you were involved?”

  He stammered, shaking his head. “No,” he protested.

  “Don’t lie to me. You were. Weren’t you? Is that how you know your son didn’t do it? Your son couldn’t have killed her because you did?”

  It was a wild accusation, and she knew it. Nothing more than a fishing expedition. But on the other hand, if she didn’t try fishing, she wasn’t going to catch anything. And the idea of having any more loud outbursts wasn’t advisable. The louder she was, the easier it would be for the police to find her and narrow in.

  For a moment, she went quiet, listening and breathing heavily, her hand tight on her weapon, her stance one of defiance.

  But there were no distant sounds. She vaguely thought perhaps she heard a siren, but it was so far away that it might have been an ambulance. Something else. Besides, she realized she was in too deep to back out now.

  The judge was shaking horribly. Cora said, “Why don’t we call your son?” She nodded. “Yes, let’s do that. What’s his number?”

  “Wait, no, don’t get him involved. He had nothing to do with it. He didn’t know.”

  Cora had her phone out now, raising it to her cheek. “His number,” she snapped.

  But the judge was pale, and any sign of defiance was gone. He just looked scared: trembling, shaking, leaning back against the wall, and staring at her with reproach in his gaze. “Please,” he said, and the words seemed incredibly foreign to his lips.

  “Tell me what happened? Or we’ll call your son, and he can tell us.”

  She knew it was a low blow to include the man’s child. But clearly the only thing that seemed to matter to him was his progeny.

  And now the man was shaking horribly. He said, with a faint gasp, “He didn’t know. He wasn’t there. It was at his house, but that was it.”

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  “What was at his house?”

  The judge was shaking, and the recalcitrance had returned to his eyes. This was not going to be an easy man to break. Then again, she wasn’t intent on breaking him. She said, “Tell me what happened. We don’t have to involve your son. He can stay out of this, completely untouched.”

  She slipped her phone back into her pocket.

  “Who are you?” The judge said, his voice rattling. “They sent you, didn’t they?”

  She had no idea who this they were, but he was talking, so she didn’t deny it.

  He stared at her phone, as if it was some lifeline, or perhaps a weapon even more dangerous than the gun she held.

  He closed his eyes and reached up, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I knew he was at work during those hours. I thought it would be a safe place.”

  “A safe place for what?”

  The judge sobbed. A sudden break in the façade. His anger depleted rapidly. But as if furious that he had sobbed, the rage returned just as quickly. The man was at war with himself, more than her. He was now rocking back, leaning against the wall, in a precarious position. He stared at her, “His house. It was at his house, but he didn’t know. I swear it. I would swear on a stack of bibles.”

  “All right, so let’s say that your son didn’t know. What didn’t he know?” She hesitated, and then she snorted. “You were involved with the prostitute? Were you dipping your wick?”

  “Nothing like that,” he said quickly. “I was involved. But it wasn’t like that. You have to make sure he knows that it wasn’t like that.”

  Cora frowned. She didn’t like the sound of this. As if he had suddenly resigned himself to his fate. And what fate was that?

  She stared at him, shaking her head slowly. “Here, step towards me.”

  He did not.

  He stared at her, furious, sad, and ashamed. “Tell him I didn’t know. When I got involved, I didn’t know.”

  “Get away from the wall,” she said quickly.

  “Please,” he said, his voice trembling. He stared at her phone, shaking. “Maybe if you would only let me call…” He trailed off, closed his eyes, the vision of a miserable man. He sniffed and then said, softly, “Maybe not. Maybe this is for the best.”

  Cora’s heart pounded. She felt a flicker of fear. She could see the resignation in his eyes. Could see the intention, but she was too far back. She lunged forward and then the judge threw himself backwards.

  She yelled, but he tumbled, headfirst, twenty feet.

  She didn’t need to hear the crunch, the thud, to know the result.

  She leaned over the stone wall. Thick portions of brick dislodged, shaking, and then smaller stones tumbled past from where they had been loosed from their berth.

  Cora stared, motionless, her hands against the wall, peering down at the figure in the gully. His neck snapped; his full weight brought down on his head.

  He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

  “Shit,” she muttered to herself. “Dammit,” she said, feeling her blood pump faster.

  She glanced through the woods, staring. An abduction, where she got the judge to speak against his own interest, would have given her leverage. Enough leverage, perhaps, that he might not have come after her. But a dead judge?

  She cursed again, twisting her hand against her weapon and wishing she had reacted faster. But there was nothing for it, her breath came rapidly, and now, a sudden panic set in. It was one thing to be faced by a suspect, and another thing entirely to be standing alone in the woods next to a dead body. Every creak of a branch, every rustle of leaves made her think of police dogs and men in uniform moving through the dark.

  She shook off the sudden cloud and forced herself to focus. She turned back at the bridge and moved hastily. As she ran, she placed a call.

  She had to execute. The emotions could be saved for later. She had caused this. It was no good denying it. It was no good pretending that she felt some huge wave of guilt.

  A man was dead. But he was dead because she had confronted him.

  What did he mean, though? He was involved, but not in the way she thought. The most obvious connotation was that he wasn’t sleeping with the prostitute. But how else could he have been involved?

  She frowned, breaking into a jog, phone pressed to her cheek, willing the line to connect, her heart racing rapidly.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cora could feel Gabriel Finch watching her out of the corner of his eye where he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. They faced the small shed where they had met earlier, and Cora had the front door open, her leg braced against it. Fifteen miles from the judge’s house. Now, she could hear sirens every few minutes.

  Gabriel was ashen faced and he studied her, her silhouette illuminated by the headlights reflecting off the windows of the shed. “What did you do?” He asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing, at all.” She winced. And then said, “Nothing you can be implicated in.”

  “Implicated? What did you do?” He repeated, more fervently this time.

  But she was staring out the windshield, watching the shed. The large trees around her seemed like camouflage. Part of her wanted to hide in the woods and never emerge again.

  She hadn’t intended for the man to kill himself. But then again, she had killed before. There was something different about pointing a gun and pulling the trigger. She knew it was wrong, but it felt more natural, and it felt more appropriate. If that was such a word to be used when describing death. But to scare a man so badly that he took his own life? In such a blunt, savage fashion?

  It felt wrong, somehow.

  She sighed and glanced at Gabriel. “Thanks for not driving away.”

  He looked her dead in the eyes. “I appreciate that,” he said in the stiff voice of a man struggling to keep it together. “But you should know that I wanted to. I definitely would have, but I was scared that you would find me and kill me.” He nodded once and gave a big sigh as if he had managed to get something off his chest that had been weighing him down.

  Cora rolled her eyes. She grimaced at the pain in her shoulder. Not just from the recent case in Florida but older wounds. Battle scars. Pain that stuck with her and leached into the bones. Pain that she had so often convinced herself had to be medicated, because if not, she would go insane. But now, she was finding that there were other things that served as medication. Things beyond drugs and drink.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Dammit,” she muttered.

  At least Gabriel was no longer asking what she had dragged him into.

  “Why would a judge kill himself?” she said, quietly.

  For a moment, she wished she hadn’t said it out loud. But on the other hand, Gabriel Finch would find out what had happened soon enough. Besides, the more involved he felt, the less likely it was that he would report to the police. That was what had happened with Rose, wasn’t it? Gabe had been too scared to bring those letters to the cops.

  Some of the guilt she was feeling towards him faded at this memory. He was still on her shit list.

  “What do you mean?” Gabriel said slowly.

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “Did you kill someone?”

  “No. Weren’t you listening to the question?”

  “Did someone kill themselves?”

  Cora shrugged. The look on her face must’ve told him all he needed to know.

  Gabriel shoved open the truck door, and for a moment, she thought he was making a bid for freedom, but then he bent over, gasping and retching at the ground. After a few grunts, he straightened, breathing heavily, and stared out at the woods, clearly deciding that he didn’t want to see her.

  She didn’t blame him. But also, she was on a mission. Compassion would have to wait.

  “Are you okay?” she said, trying to keep her tone cold.

  Gabe looked back at her, pulling off his cap and fanning himself. “Dear God,” he muttered. “What did you drag me into? I knew I shouldn’t have picked up that call. I knew it.”

  Cora said, “Someone has been killing women. Mindy was about Rose’s age. Or, at least, the age Rose would have been.”

  She said it matter-of-factly, carefully. Gabriel glanced at her, wide-eyed.

  “For all we know, whoever’s been killing these women was the same person who killed my sister.”

  He gazed at her, a reproachful look in his eyes. “We don’t know that she’s dead.” He was still fanning himself with his newsboy cap.

  She watched him and nodded slowly. “You really did care for Rose, didn’t you?” And with the words, a slow breeze came through the front of the vehicle.

  Now it was his turn to shrug. He was still pale and was still shaking his head in horror. “I can’t believe you killed someone.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” she said firmly. “Judge Winchester, you know the name?”

  “No. Should I? Is he the next guy on your hit list?”

  “Funny. Listen, what you know about the cops in Briarwood?”

  “Nothing. What? Why should I?”

  “The cop at the motel knew you.”

  He waved a hand dismissively, snorting, as if nothing could be less inconsequential. “We once went to the same school. That was it. I don’t know him. Barely liked the guy.”

  “I’m not gonna come after you if you liked the dude. I’m not going around killing cops. Just so we’re clear.”

  His shoulders sagged in relief. He said, “Thank God. Wait, are you just saying that? Are you actually going around killing cops? Oh hell no.”

  With a wobbly step, he tried to push out of the car. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him.

  Again, she was reminded of just how strong he was. And for the moment, her gun was still in her waistband. If he had wanted, he could have started a fight. But Gabe didn’t exactly strike her as the fighting sort.

  He sighed, his large chest rising and falling, his sturdy shoulders slumping in his seat. He replaced his newsboy cap to his head, but tilted it, as if to hide his eyes. “The cops around here, they’re just cops. I don’t know much. I try to avoid them. I’m jittery when it comes to law enforcement.”

  “You’re kind of jittery in general.”

  He scowled at her, and she smirked back. Again, she felt a surge of compassion. She wanted to pity him. Wanted to apologize. Wanted even to pat him on the back and let him know that it was all going to be okay. Even though this last part could easily be a lie. She didn’t know. If she was being honest, she was flying by the seat of her pants.

  But that was what had gotten her in trouble at the FBI, wasn’t it? Not speaking with her partner. And though Gabriel Finch was a far cry from Saul Brady—and was most likely going to try and turn her in when she wasn’t looking—she still felt partially responsible for his despondency.

  “Look,” she said slowly, “it’s going to be…Just…Fine.”

  He looked at her, his eyes wide, and he swallowed. “Really? That was your rousing speech. That was awful.”

  She snorted, pushing out of the car and waving a hand. “Just buck up and shut up. I’m trying to think.”

  He called after her, “What’s the part about the dead judge? He killed himself—you’re sure of that?”

  Cora nodded, pacing back and forth, pine needles crunching under her footsteps.

  “He was involved,” she said slowly, “but I don’t even know what he was involved in. He seemed scared of someone. Or something. He seemed to think that someone had sent me.”

  “Did someone send you?”

  She shook her head. “Well, probably not who he was thinking of.” She pictured her parents and their quaint kitchen. She doubted anyone would react in fear to a man in flannel and a woman who made biscuits like it was her business.

  Cora paced back and forth with increasing tempo and shook her head. “If Winchester was scared enough to off himself, that means others have to be involved, right?”

  Gabe, who was watching her from the front of the car said, “How do you figure that?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. You don’t run from a problem if it isn’t there. But if you know a predator is on your heels, you might take the less painful way out.”

  “I mean, do you really think the police force is corrupt?”

  “Who said anything about the police force being corrupt?”

  “You did. You keep bringing up cops. You seem to think that they’re in on it, so are they?”

  Cora shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t say the cops were corrupt, I just said I’m pulling on threads.”

  “You did not say that.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  They both sighed simultaneously, glaring at one another.

  Cora tapped her fingers against her thighs, and then said, “Is there something about the police I should know about?”

  “I mean, it might not be anything, but things did start going downhill after the last elections.”

  “Did you get a new police chief or something?”

  “Yeah. The Doyles.”

  “Tell me if I’m wrong, but Doyles is plural, right?”

  “The first thing Chief Doyle did was hire his brothers. Or I guess I mean promote them. They were already on the force, but nobody knew them.”

  “How many brothers?”

  “Three, including the chief.”

  “And when was this?”

  “Maybe four years ago.”

  “I see, and you were telling me you didn’t know anything about the cops?”

  He flung his hands out and leaned back in exasperation. “What do you want from me; this isn’t exactly my wheelhouse, Cora.”

  She felt another jolt of sympathy for the man. She had to hand it to him. Under the circumstances, he was doing admirably.

  She said, “All right, well, I should head back home and let my parents know that I’m not dead. It will give me a chance to see if they know anything about the Doyles.”

  “You’re not just going to take my word for it?” He said, sarcastically, clearly reading between the lines.

  This was exactly what she meant. Gabe had all sorts of reasons to cause trouble for her. But if her parents could verify that trouble had started when the new chief was installed, it would give her a new direction. For now, though, she wanted to stay low. The judge was dead. The cops were out in droves. And another, smaller part of her wanted to make sure that her parents were okay. She had been traipsing along and was now realizing that this was far too close to home. If for some reason this got back to the farmhouse, and heavens forbid caused problems, she would never forgive herself.

 

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