Chasing Darkness (41 page)

Nick
smiled and winked, even though he hadn’t seen the ugly cop’s expression.

Rob
almost smiled, but he was still too scared.

Once
the machine was set up, Polaski hooked some weird wires to Rob’s left arm, like
the doctor did when he took Rob’s blood pressure. “Test it,” he said to Nick.

“What’s
your full name?” Nick said to Rob.

“Robert
James Austin.”

Nick
looked back at Polaski, who nodded and then left, muttering something. Nick
pulled his chair closer to Rob.

“So,
like I said, just answer the questions honestly, okay?”

Rob
nodded.

“You
ready?”

Rob
nodded again, unable to bring himself to speak while the machine was recording
unless absolutely necessary.

“First,
can you tell us where you were on the night of Tuesday, July twelfth?”

Rob
licked his lips. “I went to the lookout with a bunch of kids.”

“Where’s
the lookout?”

“Off
Grizzly Peak in Berkeley.”

“What
did you do up there?”

“We
usually just hang out.”

“Just
hang out?” Nick asked.

Rob
looked at the floor and then up at him. “And drink.”

Nick
just nodded.

He
exhaled.

“What
time did you get home?” Nick continued.

“About
twelve-thirty or one.”

“When
is your curfew?”

Rob
felt the sweat start up again. “Uh—”

“Just
answer honestly,” Nick said again.

“Twelve.”

Nick
wrote something down. “Have you ever met Sandi Walters?”

He
shook his head. “No.”

“Did
you kill Sandi Walters?”

“No.”

“Did
you ride your bike to Mt. Diablo?”

“No.”

“How
about Eva Larson? Have you ever met her?”

“No.”

The
questions continued about the women who had been killed. Nick asked about
certain streets, about Mt. Diablo, and about his bike.

“I
think that’s about it,” Nick finally said.

Rob
could feel the sweat on his back begin to cool.

“Have
you ever killed anyone, Rob?” Nick asked.

Rob
felt his heart lurch, knocking like a pinball against his insides. He thought
he might be sick. He gripped the arms of the chair and tried to focus. Images
of Becky and his mother came rushing at him.

“Rob?”

He
heard Nick’s voice, but he was unable to focus on his face or to make his mouth
open even just to say he was okay.

“Rob?
You need to answer the question.”

His
head spun and his stomach clenched tight and hard against his ribs. He sucked
in a deep breath with a heavy wheezing sound. “Oh, God,” he finally said. His
eyes found Nick’s and he shook his head.

Nick
stared, his expression shocked.

“Oh,
God,” Rob repeated, searching for the words to say something else, to try to
explain.

Nick
glanced at the machine beside them and frowned.

Rob
imagined what the machine was registering as he fought to compose himself.

“Who
did you kill?” Nick finally asked, his voice low.

Rob
met his stare, tears streaming down his face. “No one,” he lied. The machine’s
alarm was silent, but Rob felt it, heard the lines registering off the page at
his lies. Liar, liar, it screamed. Tight bands gripped his chest, the machine
compressing his ribs with every lie. He waited for Nick to say
something—anything.

Nick
stared at him, but didn’t speak again. Instead, he just shook his head. “Slow
down, Rob, and tell me everything right from the beginning.”

Rob
looked at Nick and took a breath. Then, nodding, he started his story.

Sam
ran into the empty house. “Derek,” she cried.

She
needed to find Derek and get back to the station house. Derek knew some of what
was going on, but they needed to be together now. A family. And she needed to
get back to Rob. He needed her now more than anyone. Nick would take care of
him, but she needed to be there.

“Derek,”
she cried again, running to the back of the house.

By
the time she’d spoken to the judge and Corona and gotten back to the station,
Nick had already started the test, and encouraged her to go find Derek so that
he wouldn’t be alone or hear the news from someone else. She hadn’t wanted to
leave Rob, but she agreed that Derek needed someone with him. And she trusted
Nick.

That
Rob could be guilty seemed impossible. Why would he do it? The same Rob who had
come into the den and encouraged her to find the real killer? She couldn’t get
the pieces to fit.

The
phone rang as she reached Rob’s room and glanced in at the hurricane the police
had created in their search. She ran back into the kitchen and picked up the
extension, praying it was Derek. “Hello.”

“Sam,
it’s Aaron. You sound winded. Are you okay?” His voice was hoarse and he
sounded tired, but she knew from the doctors that he was going to be all right.

“I’m
just looking for Derek. He’s gone off without telling anyone,” she said. “How
are you feeling?”

“Better.
Still sore in the leg and arm.”

“The
doctors sound positive, though,” she said, looking around for a sign as to where
Derek might be.

“Yeah,
I’ll be fine. With a little physical therapy, doctors can fix almost anything.”

Neither
of them mentioned the fact that he was still in his wheelchair.

“I
wanted to thank you for the pack.”

Sam
was thinking about the lie detector test. Was it over? Why hadn’t Nick called?
And how would Derek be after this? She didn’t blame him for running off. How
had she expected him to react? His identical twin had been accused of murder.

Where
was Derek?

“Sam?”

“I’m
here. Sorry.” Bringing her concentration back to Aaron, she thought about the
pack she’d sent. “I guess you’re going to miss the marathon.”

“Yeah.”
His voice rang with disappointment. “But there will be others.”

“I’m
really sorry, Aaron. I had no idea that Williams was a threat.” She stopped. “I
should’ve known.”

“Hey,
don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t know. I’m just glad you showed up when you
did.”

But
he was wrong. There was no excuse for not knowing. The same was true about Rob,
she realized.

Who
else besides Aaron was in jeopardy because of her?

“Sam!”

She
stared at the phone and blinked hard.

“What’s
going on?”

“Aaron,
I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Are you home from the hospital?”

“Yeah,
I’m home. But what’s going on over there?”

“I
can’t explain right now. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“Sure.
I’ve got physical therapy in the morning, but I’ll be back home around eleven.”

Sam
picked up a pen and wrote “call Aaron at 11
A
.
M
.” “I’ll call you then.”

“You
sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“I
wish there was. Just work hard at your physical therapy.”

“Talk
to you in the morning.”

Sam
held the phone to her ear until she heard the click of Aaron hanging up. Now he
was going to worry about her for no reason. She should have explained herself.
But what could she tell him? My nephew’s been arrested for the very murders
I’ve been working to solve? The ones I was suspected of until they found
someone else close to me to blame?

She
straightened the phone and put the notepad back next to it, tearing off the
sheet and placing it on her pile of things to do. She saw the calendar and
noticed that Derek had physical therapy in the morning.

Unable
to move herself to do anything constructive, Sam scanned the kitchen, thinking
maybe Derek had left a note. She could use the company, and she hated the
thought that he was out, dealing with this alone. She thought about the night
less than a week before when she’d actually drawn her gun on him.

In
the kitchen with the lights out, Derek had moved across the room so quickly.
She could have sworn it was an intruder. The image of that figure flashed
across her vision. Then she saw the man take the stand and swear that he had
seen Rob run down the street in Walters’ neighborhood. Rob had looked so
genuinely shocked, it was impossible to believe he was guilty. “Not guilty,”
she whispered. A wave of nausea rushed over her, and she clapped her hand onto
the countertop. It wasn’t Rob. But the alternative was no better. She had to be
wrong. He couldn’t have faked a limp all this time.

She
turned and looked at the calendar with Derek’s physical therapist appointment
and felt a steely numbness wash over her skin like ice water. God, not Derek.
But the image of his smooth motion snapped in front of her again and she knew
something was desperately wrong. Scrambling for the phone, she dialed the
physical therapist’s number.

“Walnut
Creek Sports Therapy,” a receptionist answered.

“Patricia
Lark, please. This is Sam Chase.”

“I’m
afraid Patricia is gone for the day.”

“This
is an emergency,” Sam said, her own heart racing at the impending doom of her
discovery. “I need to reach her.”

“I
can try her on her car phone.”

“Give
me that number.”

“I’m
afraid I can’t—”

“This
is a matter of police business. Give me the number.” She knew that it wasn’t
anger but fear that created the harshness in her voice.

The
woman recited the number and Sam scribbled it down. Before the receptionist
could speak again, Sam hung up and, hands shaking, dialed the number.

Ring.
Ring. “Come on, damn it!”

“Hello.”
The hum of traffic buzzed behind the far-off voice.

“This
is Sam Chase, Derek Austin’s aunt.”

“Hi.
How did you get this number?”

“It’s
not important. I need to know Derek’s status.”

“His
status?” The voice crackled over the line.

“How
he’s doing. How the therapy is coming along.”

“It’s
coming along great.”

“Great,
how?”

“Great.
I don’t know. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I could call—”

“No,”
Sam’s voice cracked. “I need to know now.”

“What
do you need to know?”

Somehow,
despite the urgency she felt, Sam couldn’t get herself to say the word.

“Mrs.
Austin?”

“Does
he—”

“Hello?”
she repeated.

“Does
he run?”

“Run?”

“Yes,”
she croaked.

“Oh,
yeah. He’s up to about three miles with me. He said he runs with you, too. Don’t
you run together?”

Sam’s
legs could no longer support her weight. Setting the phone down, she splayed
her palms on the counter and exhaled. “Oh, God.” She didn’t know how long she
sat there before she heard the faint moan of the floor beneath her, shifting
under someone’s weight.

She
spun around and saw Derek in the doorway to the living room. She held back a
gasp and stared at the front door. “You didn’t come in the front door.”

Derek
didn’t answer.

When
she forced her eyes back to him, his expression was dark. She took a step
toward him before she noticed the black steel piece in his hand.

Her
Glock was tight in his grip and aimed just above his right ear.

Lights
flashing, sirens blaring, Nick drove the car with the pedal flat to the floor.
He pointed at Rob. “Put your seatbelt on,” he directed as he steered the car
onto Highway 24 toward Walnut Creek and Sam’s house.

“I
don’t need it,” Rob answered.

“Put
it on—now,” Nick demanded.

Rob
pulled the strap across his chest and locked it into the metal fastener.

Nick
thought about Rob’s performance on the lie detector test. There was no way
anyone could interpret the results otherwise. Rob had simply not been involved
in the murders of Sandi Walters or Eva Larson. The test was clean, even with
Polaski’s badgering.

But
if two eyewitnesses had identified Rob and it wasn’t Rob, that left only Derek.

After
Nick had pressed Rob again on the subject of Derek, Rob confessed that he was
starting to have doubts of his own. It had seemed impossible that Rob could be
involved, but at least Nick had seen Rob’s anger. He’d seen Rob overheat—seen
the potential of deep anger in him.

Derek
was the opposite. Nick had never seen him angry. He seemed so mild-mannered,
timid almost. How could he be a killer? Still, when Nick hadn’t been able to
reach Sam by phone, he’d had to get to her to be sure she was all right. It had
taken a few minutes to get his captain to agree to let him take Rob along, but
he had lied and said that he was taking the boy to one of the crime scenes to
scare him into a confession.

Nick
took his foot off the gas, then pressed it down harder as though it might give
him a new boost of power. It just wasn’t fast enough.

If
only he had known, Nick would have been on his way to Sam’s an hour ago. If
Derek was behind these murders, would he take that same anger out on Sam?

Nick
swerved the car off the exit ramp and around a car that had failed to yield to
the sirens and lights. “Moron,” he snapped, thinking something even less kind.

As
they sped toward Sam’s house, neither spoke. Nick gripped the wheel and studied
the road as if he were taking an entrance exam for the Indy 500. Damn. If
anything happened to her . . .

Only
one night. There had to be more. He needed more. He deserved more. He pounded
his hand against the wheel and blasted the horn at a driver in his lane.

At
the corner of Sam’s street, he switched his siren and lights off. If Derek was
in there with Sam and something was going down, he at least wanted to retain
the element of surprise. He parked in front of the house across the street and
jumped out of the car. He pushed the door shut until metal touched metal, but
he didn’t latch it. He didn’t want Derek to hear it.