“Yeah, all right, come in,” Martin said and stepped back, careful not to show himself fully in the doorway. Savich didn’t blame him for that. Savich looked back to nod toward Chief Gerber before he stepped through the front door and waved his hand.
He stepped inside the house. It was dim and shadowy. He could barely see the woman standing beside Martin. He said, “Can we turn on some lights?”
Martin shut and locked the front door, then flicked on the light switch.
Savich looked into a good-sized living room, a long, narrow space with two thick carpets on the hardwood floor, comfortable furniture, a lot of chintz. Feminine, but inviting. It looked like a home, a happy contented home. This had happened twice before? And Janet had hung in there? That said something about her, about them. She was nearly as tall as her husband, plump, big-breasted, with long, naturally curly dark brown hair.
Savich saw the gaping hole in the living room wall where Martin had fired a blast at close range. So that’s what the neighbors had heard, why they’d called the police.
Savich sincerely hoped Martin Thornton didn’t lose it like that again, and put the same size hole through him. But suddenly, he wasn’t sure. Martin’s eyes had gone hot and dark.
CHAPTER
29
SAVICH DIDN’T MOVE. He nearly stopped breathing. He wondered in that instant what that SKB shotgun fired at this close range would do to his chest. Probably shred both the vest and him, and he’d be dead so fast he wouldn’t even realize it. He smiled at Martin Thornton. “This hole in the wall. Do you know what it made me think about?”
Martin blinked, his eyes slowly focused. He looked over at the wall. “What?”
“I was thinking that this was the very first time I’ve seen what a shotgun blast could do to a wall, and I was wondering what it would do to a human body. I’m wearing a Kevlar vest, but even so, I think it would splatter me from here into the next block. It would make an awful mess.”
Martin stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, I don’t want to think what it would do to you.”
“I hope you never have to see it. Now, I want you to listen to me carefully, Martin. Are you hearing me?”
Savich waited. Slowly, Martin nodded. Savich saw his fingers ease off the trigger, saw he was holding the shotgun more loosely now. Good, he had his attention.
“You’ve already done a very violent thing in firing that shotgun, but no one was hurt. Now concentrate, focus your mind. I want you to look inside yourself, Martin. Look at the powerful feelings that made you do that. Examine them, ruminate on each one of them. Look at them like you would something you want to eat, something you’re not really sure of, but you’re hungry, you have this compulsion to eat everything in front of you. I want you to ask yourself where those feelings are coming from.”
Martin looked bewildered. “I don’t know. I don’t want to look at them. I want them to go away and stay away, but they won’t. They get all heaped up in my head, and I can’t see clearly, can’t separate them out. They’re there all of a sudden and make me crazy, they just—happen, like this morning, everything just popped. I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t stop it, just couldn’t.”
“You’re a strong person, Martin. You’ve survived what many men would never survive, so I know you can deal with this, too. I’m not a physician to give you drugs or tell you to meditate to stop the feelings from overwhelming you.
“What I know is this—you and I are standing right here, you’ve got a shotgun in your hand, the police are outside, and your family is frightened. This is real, Martin, and it could turn tragic. You have to deal with this right now. Without violence, without any more loss of control. I want you to focus your mind on the most real thing in the world to you—your wife, Janet, who’s scared even though she’s hiding it really well. You don’t want her to be frightened any more, do you?”
“I—I, no, I don’t. I hate it when this happens because I can see she’s afraid, afraid of me. And she’s afraid even more for the girls. Oh God, I love Janet.”
“I can see why.”
Martin shook his head, as if coming out of a fog. His voice was shaking as he said, “I’m sorry. I understand. I think I’m feeling better now. Those feelings seem to be backing off, I’m more in control again. Really, I’m not just saying that. Please, Agent Savich, sit down.”
Martin paused, his hand loosening even more on the beautiful black walnut stock of the shotgun. He said, his voice curiously childlike, wistful, “I’ve never met an FBI agent before.” He turned to his wife, and his voice was easier now, less frightened. “Janet, did you hear what he said?”
“Yes, and it makes a lot of sense to me, Martin. You didn’t want to see a doctor before, but now that’s what we must do.” She glanced at Savich, and quickly again at the shotgun.
“Janet, did you hear what he said to me about my mother?”
She nodded. “Yes. He said your dead mother came to him, then she came to him again in his dreams. She spoke of you, her precious boy. She wants him to help you.” She touched her husband’s shoulder. “Martin, please put down that shotgun. I never want to see it again, ever. I want to throw it in the river.”
He nodded and grinned at her, actually grinned. “It’s going to cost us a fortune to repair the wall.”
“Forget about the wall. Agent Savich is going to help us, Martin.” She held out her hand. “Give me that thing. I know it’s beautiful. I know you paid a bundle for it, but it frightens me. It destroys. I’m going to unload it and lay it beside the front door. Okay?”
“Here,” was all he said, and handed her the shotgun. She paused a second, because she really didn’t want to touch it, but she took it and did exactly what she’d said she would. She walked to the front door, unloaded the shotgun, and laid it on the floor.
Us, Savich thought, Janet had said us, not just her husband. And that may have been the right thing to say. When she returned, he said, “Please, both of you, call me Dillon.” Odd how so few people called him by his first name, but somehow, in this circumstance, he knew it was right. He smiled at both of them.
“Thank you, Dillon,” Janet said. “Sit down, Martin. I’m going to go talk to the girls. They’re scared and I want them to know everything is all right. I’ll be right back.”
Martin looked undecided, but for only a moment. “All right. I’m sorry, Janet, I didn’t mean to—the girls, God, I scared them to death. I’m so sorry.”
She hugged him, kissed his cheek. “It will be all right. I’ll speak to the girls, make them understand, then I’ll be back. I’m going to leave them in the bedroom, it’ll make them feel safer, I think. Now, would you like some coffee, Dillon?”
He smiled at her. “Tea would be wonderful.”
“A real live tea drinker. Goodness, we’re coffee addicts in this house. I’ll be right back. You talk to him, Martin. You talk to him, tell him everything, and then listen.” She nodded, patted her husband’s shoulder, and lightly shoved him down into a big easy chair with a remote control pocket holder on the side, obviously his chair.
Martin eased down into the chair like it was an old friend and stretched out his legs in front of him. As if by habit, he reached into the chair’s side pocket, felt the remote control, brought his hand back up. He didn’t face Savich yet, just looked down at the remote for several moments. Then he splayed his palms on his legs, as if trying to relax. He said, still without looking up, “I lost it. I just lost it. Like Janet said, it’s happened a couple of other times, but I never had a gun before.” He shuddered, drew a deep breath, and at last met Savich’s eyes. “I went out last week to a gun show in Baltimore, and I bought the SKB and a big box of shells.”