Jericho Point (33 page)

The colors jumped at Ricky. The racing in his chest stopped, bang, cold. His legs slid out from under him. He looked at Sin, undone. He was going down.

Until Shaun caught him. ‘‘Not yet. Look at me, old man. I’m the light you hoped you’d never see.’’

Ricky felt himself lifted off the floor. He felt the burning when Shaun swung him toward the heater. Toward the red-hot rocks.

When my cell phone rang, the sky had deepened to cobalt and the room lay in shadow. Jesse was stretched out facedown, with his head at the foot of the bed and one arm hanging off the side of the mattress. He was sound asleep. For the first time in months, perhaps. I was faceup, staring at the ceiling, sprawled across him with my legs splayed over his back. I had no idea where the bedclothes or pillows had gone. Or the headboard. The phone rang again. Rolling over, I found it on the floor.

‘‘You left me an urgent message?’’ Lily Rodriguez said. ‘‘What’s going on?’’

I shook myself awake. ‘‘Sinsa Jimson.’’

I summarized P.J.’s confession, told her that Sinsa was behind the identity theft, and that Brittany Gaines had gotten hold of P.J.’s fake credit cards the night she died.

‘‘And get this, Shaun Kutner wasn’t in Barbados that night. He was in Santa Barbara. I found his plane ticket and boarding pass.’’

‘‘You think he was building himself an alibi?’’ she said.

‘‘Yes.’’

She went quiet. I found my jeans on the floor. Squeezing the phone against my shoulder, I worked my way into them.

‘‘I think he killed Brittany, then drove to L.A. and flew back here in the morning, pretending he was returning from Barbados.’’

Jesse raised his head, saw the sun heading down, and said, ‘‘Oh, shit. Work.’’ He pushed himself up, searching for his clothes.

Lily’s voice was cautious. ‘‘I’d like to see the ticket.’’

‘‘That’s why I got it out of the trash.’’ I wriggled into my shirt.

Jesse found his own shirt crumpled between the wall and the top of the bed. He also found the headboard, collapsed onto the floor. He pulled on the shirt to discover the buttons torn off. I opened his dresser and tossed him a sweater.

‘‘I’ll bring everything by the station,’’ I said.

Jesse found his trousers, took one look at the destroyed zipper, and dropped them back on the floor. I threw him a pair of jeans.

‘‘If I’m not here,’’ Lily said, ‘‘leave the tickets with the desk. Think I’ll get Zelinski and go have a talk with Miss Jimson.’’

‘‘Thanks, Lily.’’ I hung up. ‘‘She’s on it.’’

He was wrestling the jeans up. He nodded at the headboard. ‘‘You have a hell of a kick.’’

I put on my socks and boots and went in the bathroom to wash my face. My cheeks were flushed. I looked like a deflowered hillbilly. When I came out Jesse was tying his high-tops.

He finger-combed his hair. ‘‘Do I look like—’’

‘‘You spent the afternoon having wild sex,’’ I said.

‘‘There goes my annual bonus.’’

A few minutes later we were outside getting ready to leave. The clouds were glowing red with sunset and he was locking up. My phone rang again. It was Marc.

‘‘I’m going home. They’ve cut me loose,’’ he said.

‘‘You’re clear?’’

‘‘No. But they trust me to come back for questioning and court dates. Thank Lavonne for that. She even got forensics to finish with my truck and release it from impound. She’s a bull terrier.’’

Silence stretched on the line. ‘‘I’d like to stop by. Brian forgot to give you back your house key. Can I drop it over?’’

Jesse watched me with not-so-idle curiosity. I had no doubt he knew who it was.

‘‘I’ll be there in forty-five minutes,’’ I said.

Marc hesitated, probably guessing where I was. ‘‘See you shortly.’’

I put the phone in my pocket. Jesse’s gaze was soft.

‘‘Do what you need to do,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll come over later.’’

I dropped Shaun’s airline tickets at the sheriff’s station and headed home. The sky was purple with twilight when I walked toward the garden gate. Lights sprinkled the foothills. The wind was coming up, and the air had a bite. Down the street, Nikki and Thea were walking Ollie. With the little girl holding the leash it looked more of a meander than a journey. I waved.

Inside the house, I flipped on the lights and the stereo. The thought of telling Marc good-bye in silence felt unkind. Fine, I was a coward. I wanted backup, even if it was only the Dixie Chicks.

I took five minutes to straighten up the place, wipe down the kitchen counter, and brush my hair. The Chicks warmed up the atmosphere with fiddle and slide guitar. I began closing the shutters on the French doors. Nikki was in the yard with her charges. She waved to me and strolled toward her kitchen door, letting Thea play in the yard with the puppy. I finished closing the shutters, and listened for Marc’s knock.

But a few minutes later I heard a different set of sounds outside. I heard a heavy engine accelerating. I heard the screech of brakes, and I stopped still, waiting for the crunch of metal. Possibly as it plowed into my car. But the brakes let off and the vehicle roared away.

A few seconds later, I heard Nikki screaming.

Later, a neighbor identified the vehicle: a black BMW four-by-four with JMSNWD vanity tags. It had driven down the road at least twice, cruising around the block before returning and parking a hundred yards from my place.

Sinsa sat at the wheel. Shaun jogged up and jumped in. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

‘‘All her doors and windows are locked. And she has an alarm. I can see the alarm company sign.’’ He glanced at Sinsa. ‘‘And I’m not smashing my way in. The bells go off, she’ll rabbit.’’

‘‘We can’t come back later. We’re running out of time.’’ She stroked her hair. ‘‘We have to do this tonight. We shut this down, now, or it’s all over everyplace.’’

‘‘How am I supposed to make this one look like an accident?’’

‘‘Murphy Ming is after her. Everybody will blame him.’’

‘‘What should we do?’’ he said.

She glanced around at the parked cars, the lights coming on in houses along the street, at the sparse traffic. Well, look at that. A woman with a kid and a mutt were stopping at the garden gate. The kid was yanking the mutt’s leash. It was a little kid, screaming age, still uncertain on its feet. Jerking and stumbling around, with a Frankenstein walk. The mutt looked cowed. The woman opened the gate and they went through.

‘‘Go check it out,’’ Sinsa said.

Shaun trotted across the street and peeked over the fence. Jogging back, he hopped in the BMW and said, ‘‘The mom went in the house, but the kid and the dog are playing in the yard.’’

‘‘I’ll fix this,’’ Sinsa said. ‘‘Go and open the gate, quietly. See if you can get in the shadows inside, like behind a tree.’’

‘‘What are you going to do?’’

‘‘Create a distraction that’ll get Delaney out of her house.’’

‘‘What should I do?’’

‘‘Count to ten and whistle.’’

He took a pair of leather gloves from his backpack. She put a hand on his arm.

‘‘Shaun,
quietly
. No gunfire or screaming. You want to be long gone before anybody finds her.’’

‘‘She can’t scream if her windpipe’s cut.’’

But she could watch.

He looked toward the gate. ‘‘What if the kid comes out with the dog?’’

‘‘That’s not our problem.’’

I ran outside and saw that the yard was empty. Thea and Ollie were gone. Then I heard tires squealing around a corner, and saw the gate open. I stood as dumb as a sheet of cardboard. Outside the gate, Nikki knelt in the street.

I stumbled toward her. My tongue tasted like copper. Nikki’s back was to me, but her hands hovered above the asphalt, as though afraid to touch what lay before her. From other houses, people were coming out. Helen Potts came running down her walk, one hand clutching her cardigan, the other to her lips. Nikki had gone utterly silent.

In place of her screams came a heartbreaking sound. The puppy crying in agony. My legs turned to paper. I tottered to the sidewalk.

Thea stood by the curb, thumb in her mouth. I scooped her into my arms. Baby smell. God-loving little-girl sweetness. She wriggled against me. Her face was fretful.

‘‘Doggy,’’ she said.

‘‘I know, punkin.’’

Ollie continued whimpering, more softly. Helen Potts knelt down next to Nikki.

‘‘What should we do?’’ Nikki said.

Another neighbor brought a beach towel. ‘‘Here, wrap him up. Poor thing. The bastard who did this.’’

Collectively we looked down the street. The car was gone. Nikki saw me holding Thea and mouthed,
Thank you.
She eased the beach towel around the puppy. From the house on the corner, Dennis Hutchinson jogged over. He was a vet. I rocked Thea, and the others huddled around the little form in the street. But Ollie wasn’t crying anymore.

Hutchinson took a look and shook his head. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

After talking to Nikki for a minute, he wrapped the puppy in the beach towel and carried it back to his house. Nikki stood, but made it only as far as the curb. I handed her Thea and she sank down, clutching her daughter in her arms.

I sat next to her, arm around her shoulder.

‘‘I thought . . .’’ she said.

‘‘Me too.’’

‘‘That gate needs a better latch.’’

Thea strained in her arms, pointing after Dr. Hutchinson. ‘‘Doggy’s sad?’’

‘‘Yeah, baby.’’

We sat there for a minute.

Nikki said, ‘‘This may be the luckiest day of my life.’’ ‘‘Mine too.’’

Life abounds with irony. Irony sucks.

Back inside, I locked the door and dropped down on the sofa. The music was too bluesy, all wrong. The air felt close. I needed a drink.

I heard the floor creak behind me. I half turned and a gloved hand covered my mouth. Silver flicked past my vision. A strong arm held me still. The blade of a serrated knife pressed against my throat.

‘‘Keep absolutely quiet.’’

Shaun climbed over the back of the sofa and crouched on the cushion beside me. The blade bit at my neck. His sea green eyes were vivid. He put his face close to mine.

‘‘You’re going to stay silent and do exactly what I say.’’

He dropped a backpack onto my lap. ‘‘Open it.’’

He hadn’t slit my throat, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t planning to. I stared at him and refused to look away.

A few hours earlier I had made a promise that if Jesse lived, God could have me. And guess what.

No. Not like this. Not now. Not if I could help it.

And, staring at Shaun, I felt with unearthly certainty that this was not my time. That God did not possess such a perverse sense of humor.

I opened the backpack.

‘‘Get out the camcorder,’’ he said.

I took a video camera from the pack. And I looked around for a way out. All the shutters were closed. Shaun had unplugged the phone cord, and my new cell phone was across the room on the dining table. My sense of calm persisted. It may have been shock. But I knew that Nikki was home. Marc was on his way over. If I could get somebody’s attention, I could get help. Better still, if I could get hold of a weapon, I could help myself. And Brian’s gun was in the bedroom.

‘‘Stand up.’’

We rose together. He kept the knife at my throat.

‘‘We’re going to the kitchen together. Slowly.’’

Nudging me ahead, he walked me to the counter.

‘‘Put the camera on the counter and aim it back this way.’’

I set it down, pointing at us. Was he planning to take a self-portrait?

‘‘Right.’’ Mouth next to my ear. ‘‘Today we’re taping
America’s Rudest Home Videos
.’’

It took a second, but the reference clicked. I stiffened. He was wearing the same combat pants as that night at the party in Isla Vista, when he unzipped them to piss on a parked car.

‘‘She remembers.’’ He sounded delighted.

I opened my mouth to speak and the knife pushed against my larynx.

‘‘Unh-unh. You don’t have any lines in this film. You only get a listing in the credits, with all the other losers who’ve been fucking up my life.’’ His voice lowered. ‘‘Crying Moron—Brittany Gaines. Rock Hasbeen—Slink Jimson. And Ballbusting Bitch—Evan Delaney.’’

All my doubts evaporated. I knew he had killed Britt. And that he was here to kill me.

‘‘Where’s your duct tape?’’ he said.

It was in a kitchen drawer. We walked together as if doing a macabre tango, blade to my throat. He made me get the tape out and rip off a strip.

‘‘Over your mouth,’’ he said. I did it. ‘‘Now your hands.’’

I wrapped the duct tape around one wrist and then the other. Shaun tugged on the tape to see that it was secure. He didn’t bother to cut it away from the rest of the roll. The spool hung below my hands, swinging like a pendulum.

There was a knock on the door.

Shaun went still. The knife pressed against my wind-pipe. The knock came again, and Marc’s deep voice.

‘‘Evan?’’

Shaun pressed the blade harder against my throat. It wasn’t cutting me yet, but I felt a strangling sensation and the desire to squirm. He held me still. His jade eyes were alight.

The knocking stopped.

Shaun spoke sotto voce. ‘‘Turn on the camera. You’re going to do what I say. We get one take, so it’s gotta be perfect.’’

Because there couldn’t be any retakes. And I realized that he wanted to film himself killing me. I had to get away, right now, but the front door was dead-bolted, and even if I made it there, by the time I got it open he’d have me again. Unless I slowed him down I’d never make it. I needed a weapon.

Outside, across the yard, I heard Marc’s voice. He was talking to Nikki. Come on, Nik. Tell him I’m home. Send him back here.

Keeping the knife on my neck, Shaun waltzed me back a few feet. He maneuvered to center me in the lens of the camera. He slid the knife under my chin, forcing me to look up. He stepped forward and back, and flipped on a light over the stove.