The Witness (36 page)

“Yes.” She signaled to the dog and went back the way she’d come.

In the kitchen, she rewarded Bert with one of his favorite cookies, then put on coffee. She considered a moment, then opened a container to put human cookies on a plate.

Somehow it seemed like the right thing to do. She sat at the table and watched Brooks and the others on the monitor. The boy he’d called Doyle cried a little, but she found she couldn’t feel any sympathy. Justin remained sullen, snarling like a bad dog, in her opinion, sneering out of eyes she expected would be swollen and bruised from the broken nose shortly.

Once the prisoners were secured in the back of the first deputy’s cruiser, Brooks spoke to his men for another moment, then said something that made them laugh.

Breaking the tension, she deduced. Yes, that would be a sign of a good leader. She started to rise and go unlock the front door, but saw Brooks head toward the back as she had. Instead she walked over and poured his coffee, adding the sugar as he liked it.

He stepped in, saw the plate. “Cookies?”

“I thought you might want something.”

“I might. I’ve got to go in and deal with this.”

“Yes, of course.”

He picked up his coffee, took a cookie. “I don’t have to ask if you’re all right. Steady as a rock, right on through it.”

“He’s a stupid, violent boy, but we were never in any real danger. You might have been cut, which would’ve been upsetting. Was he right?”

“Who, and about what?”

“Justin Blake, when he said you wouldn’t shoot him.”

Biting into the cookie, Brooks leaned back in that easy way he had. “Mostly. If I’d had to, yeah, but I didn’t have to. Better all around. Would you have shot him?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “I’d wondered if I could or would, as he’s young and stupid, but yes. If he’d cut you, I would have. But you have excellent reflexes, and he telegraphed his move, and was slow due, I suspect, to drugs or alcohol. You weren’t afraid.”

“You gave me a moment, initially. I told you to stay inside.”

“And I told you I didn’t need or want to be protected. It’s my property, and I was armed.”

“As always.” He took another bite of the cookie.

“Added to that, though nothing registered on the monitor, I wanted to be sure there wasn’t a third who might have flanked you.”

“I appreciate it.”

“You should soak that shirt before the stain sets.”

“I’ve got a spare at the station. Abigail, I’m going to need for you to give a statement. You can come in, or I can send one of my men to take it here.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. I couldn’t give you the statement under the circumstances.”

“No.”

“I think I’d prefer to go in. I could do it now.”

“Morning’s fine.”

“If I came in now, it would be done. I’d rather it be done. I’ll change and drive in now.”

“I can wait for you.”

“That’s all right. You should go now, do what you need to do.”

“Yeah. The way you handled this makes me think you’ve handled trouble before. I’m hoping you’ll trust me enough to tell me about that someday soon.”

Wanting the link, she curled her fingers around his wrists for a moment. “If I could tell anyone, it would be you.”

“Okay, then.” He set the coffee down, took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Thanks for the backup. And the cookie.”

“You’re welcome.”

T
HIRTY MINUTES BEHIND
B
ROOKS
, Abigail walked into the station. The older deputy—Boyd Fitzwater, she remembered—immediately got up from his desk and came around to meet her.

“Ms. Lowery, we sure appreciate you coming in like this. The chief’s in his office, talking to the prosecutor and all. I’m going to take your statement.”

“Yes.”

“You want some coffee, something cold?”

“No, thank you.”

“We can sit down right here. Should be quiet. Ash is back with the paramedic we called in to treat the Blake boy’s nose.” He smiled when he said it. “It’s busted good.”

“I’m sure a broken nose is preferable to a bullet. I believe Chief Gleason would have been justified in firing his weapon when Justin lunged toward him with the knife.”

“I’m not going to argue. But if we could start this from the beginning. I’m going to record it so we get it all straight. I’ll be taking notes, too. All right with you?”

“Of course.”

“All righty, then.” Boyd switched on a tape recorder, read off the date, the time, the names of all involved. “Ms. Lowery, why don’t you just tell me what happened tonight?”

“At two-oh-seven a.m., my perimeter alarm signaled a breach.”

She spoke clearly, precisely.

“As Chief Gleason had indicated, Justin Blake most usually traveled with two individuals. I wanted to be certain there wasn’t indeed a third man who might have circled around. My alarms didn’t register, but I felt
it best to be certain. After I spoke with Deputy Hyderman on the phone, I took my dog and went out the back of the house. My dog showed no sign of detecting anyone in that area, so I continued around to the front, where I saw Chief Gleason and the two trespassers. One, identified as Doyle Parsins, was already on the ground, and Justin Blake continued to crouch by the left-rear tire of Chief Gleason’s police cruiser.”

“Did you hear anybody say anything?”

“Oh, yes, quite clearly. It was a quiet night. Chief Gleason said to Justin, ‘You’re going to want to show me your hands.’ I should add that at this time, Chief Gleason’s weapon was secured in his holster. Justin responded, ‘You want to see my hands?’ and drove the knife he held in his right hand into the left-rear tire.”

She continued, giving Boyd a word-for-word, move-by-move statement. Boyd interrupted once or twice to clarify.

“That’s really detailed.”

“I have an eidetic memory—you might call it photographic,” she added, though it always irked her to explain with that inaccuracy.

“That’s really helpful, Ms. Lowery.”

“I hope so. He would have killed Brooks if he could have.”

Though he reached over to turn off the tape recorder, Boyd lifted his hand from it, sat back. “Ma’am?”

“Justin Blake. He would have stabbed Chief Gleason, and he would have killed him if he could have. His intent was very clear, as was his anger and, I think, his fear. It’s what he knows, you see? To hurt or eliminate what gets in his way, what interferes. There are people who simply believe their own wants and wishes are above everything and everyone else.”

She’d seen murder, she thought. The boy didn’t remind her of the cold, mechanical Korotkii. He lacked that efficiency and dispassion. But he’d made her think of Ilya, of the hot rage on Ilya’s face when he’d cursed and kicked his dead cousin.

“He might not have killed or caused serious physical harm before
tonight. I think if he had, he wouldn’t have been so inept at this attempt. But if it hadn’t been this, tonight, it would have been someone else, another night, someone without Chief Gleason’s resources, reflexes and equanimity. There would have been more to clean up than a broken nose.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry. It was upsetting. More than I realized. My opinion isn’t relevant. If that’s all you need, I’d like to go home.”

“I can get somebody to drive you.”

“No, I’m fine to drive. Thank you, Deputy, you’ve been very kind.”

She started for the door, paused when Brooks called her name. He crossed over, laid a hand on her arm. “Be a minute,” he told Boyd, then led her outside.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I told you.”

“And you just told Boyd it was more upsetting than you realized.”

“It was, but that doesn’t mean I’m not all right. I am tired, though. I think I’ll go home and get some more sleep.”

“Good. I’ll call or swing by later, just to see how you are.”

“You can’t worry about me. I don’t need it.” Didn’t want it, any more than she wanted Justin Blake to remind her of Ilya Volkov. “Did you soak your shirt, cold water and salt?”

“I trashed it. I’d see his blood on there whether it was there or not. I don’t much care for that shirt anymore.”

She thought of a pretty sweater, stained with blood. “I understand. You’re tired, too.” She let herself touch his face. “I hope you can get a little sleep.”

“I wouldn’t mind it. You drive safe, Abigail.” He kissed her forehead, then her lips, before stepping over to open her car door. “You were right, what you said in there. It was only a matter of time before he pulled a knife or a gun, picked up a bat, before he did somebody serious harm.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Then I won’t.” Leading with emotion, she threw her arms around him, held tight. “I’m very glad you have good reflexes.”

She slid into the car and drove away.

J
UST PAST THREE THAT AFTERNOON
, A
BIGAIL WATCHED ON
her monitor as a dark Mercedes sedan cruised toward her house. The look of it sent a quick tingle up her spine. She didn’t recognize the car, the driver—late thirties, early forties, broad shoulders, short, dark hair—or the passenger—fiftyish, dark gray hair, wide face.

She keyed the license plate into her system, reminding herself she was prepared—for anything. Her quick search through DMV records popped Lincoln Blake as the owner, and her shoulders relaxed.

An annoying interruption but not a threat.

Blake looked prosperous, she noted, when he got out of the passenger side. It struck her that he looked
deliberately
prosperous in his perfectly cut suit and city shoes. The second man also wore a suit, and carried a briefcase.

She believed she saw a slight bulge on his right hip that disturbed the line of his jacket. He carried a weapon.

Well, she thought, so did she.

She considered ignoring the knock on her door. She wasn’t under any obligation to answer, to speak with the father of the boy who’d tried to
kill Brooks. But she also considered the fact that a man like Blake, from everything she’d heard and intuited about him, wouldn’t simply walk away. In any case, she was a little curious.

With Bert at her side, she opened the front door.

“Miss Lowery.” Blake offered a wide smile and his hand. “Forgive the intrusion. I’m Lincoln Blake, one of your neighbors.”

“Your home is several miles away, in fact, on the other side of Bickford. Therefore, you don’t live close enough to my property to be considered a neighbor.”

“We’re all neighbors here,” Blake said jovially. “This is my personal assistant, Mark. I’d like to apologize for my son’s inadvertent trespass on your property last night. May we come in, discuss this situation?”

“No.”

It always puzzled her why people looked so surprised, even annoyed, when they asked a question and the response was negative.

“Now, Miss Lowery, I came out here to offer my apologies, as I understand my son caused you some inconvenience, and to sort this all out. It’ll be helpful if we could be comfortable while we talk this out.”

“I’m comfortable. Thank you for your apology, Mr. Blake, though it hardly applies, as it was your son who came on my property without permission in the middle of the night, and who attempted to stab Chief Gleason. I believe the police are sorting all this out, and we really don’t have anything to discuss at this point.”

“Now, that’s just why I came by. I dislike trying to have a conversation through a doorway.”

“I dislike having strangers in my house. I’d like you to go now. You can discuss this with the police.”

“I’m not finished.” He jabbed out a finger. “I understand you’re
friendly
with Brooks Gleason, and that—”

“Yes, we are friendly. He wouldn’t have been here at two in the morning when your son and your son’s friend came illegally onto my property with the intent to deface Chief Gleason’s police cruiser if we weren’t
friendly. However, my relationship with Chief Gleason doesn’t alter the facts.”

“One fact is you haven’t lived here long. You’re not fully aware of my position in this community, or the history behind it.”

She wondered, sincerely, why he thought any of that was relevant, but didn’t bother to ask.

“I’m aware, and your position and history don’t alter the facts of what transpired here early this morning. It was very disturbing to be awakened in that manner, and to witness your son attack Chief Gleason with a knife.”

“Fact.” Blake slapped an index finger on his open palm. “It was the middle of the night, and therefore dark. I have no doubt Brooks Gleason goaded my boy, threatened him. Justin was simply defending himself.”

“That’s inaccurate,” Abigail said calmly. “My security lights were on. I have excellent vision and was less than ten feet away during the attempted assault. Chief Gleason clearly asked your son to show his hands, and when your son did so it was, first, to puncture the cruiser’s tire and, second, to threaten Brooks with the knife.”

“My son—”

“I haven’t finished correcting your inaccuracies,” she pointed out, and stunned Blake into momentary silence.

“Only then, when your son threatened him verbally and with gestures, did Brooks draw his weapon. And still your son would not drop the knife. Instead, even when I stepped out with my own weapon, your son lunged at Brooks with the knife. In my opinion, Brooks would have been fully justified in shooting your son at that time, but he chose to disarm him hand to hand at a greater risk to his own safety.”

“Nobody knows you around here. You’re an odd, solitary woman with no background or history in the community. If and when you tell that ridiculous story in court, my lawyers will rip your testimony to bits and humiliate you.”

“I don’t think so, but I’m sure your lawyers will do their jobs. If that’s all, I’d like you to leave.”

“You just wait a damn minute.” Blake stepped forward, and Bert quivered, growled.

“You’re upsetting my dog,” Abigail said coldly. “And if your assistant attempts to draw his sidearm, I’ll release my dog. I can assure you he’ll move faster than he can draw his weapon. I’m also armed, as you can plainly see. I’m a very good shot. I don’t like strangers coming to my home, trying to intimidate and threaten me. I don’t like men who raise violent, angry young men.”