Jack spread white paper on her table. „Let’s see now.“ He shook the envelope and two pieces of paper slid out. He handed the letter to Kristen and unfolded the other sheet.
„Oh, God,“ Kristen gasped. She held her hand over her mouth and looked sick.
Abe looked down at the unfolded paper and it was as if he’d taken a sledgehammer to the head. It was a political poster. Geoffrey Kaplan for Kansas it blazed, and below was a picture of a bland, balding man.
He was looking at Kristen’s rapist. Dear God.
„This is him?“ he asked and she nodded, her hand still clamped over her mouth. „How did he know?“ Abe demanded. „Dammit, Kristen, how did he know this?“
She sank into her chair, horrified. „I don’t know.“ She looked over her shoulder at the window. „Was he listening?“
Jack squatted down to look up into Kristen’s face. „Who is he?“
Her eyes flew to Abe’s, silently beseeching.
„Think, Jack,“ Abe said quietly. „Think about what Kristen said to the Erickson girl on the phone yesterday morning.“
Jack paled. „No.“
Kristen’s hands were shaking. „I only told you, Abe. The only time I’ve ever talked about him was sitting here in this kitchen with you on Thursday night. Either he was listening at the window or he’s bugged this room.“
Jack looked around the room, every wall picked clean. „The only place to hide it is under the table. Help me, Abe.“ Together they flipped the table and Jack searched. „Nothing here that I can see. Wait.“ He was gone for just a moment „Somebody was out there at some point. The thaw started Thursday morning, so I could believe he was out there Thursday night. You’ve also had something going on by that shed out there.“
„I can answer that.“ Mclntyre came in from outside. „There was a small disturbance in the backyard and I saw smoke. When I went to investigate, I found a smoke bomb. I ran back around to the front porch and found the envelope.“
„Diversion,“ Abe muttered. „When was this?“
„Two minutes before I called you,“ Mclntyre said. „I called a unit to sweep the neighborhood, looking for a white van, but they haven’t found anything yet.“
„Read the letter, Kristen,“ Abe said.
„I can’t.“ She was shaking like a leaf.
Abe took the letter. It was handwritten on a plain sheet of white paper in a flowing hand. „ ‘My dearest Kristen. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have caused you and your friends and family so much pain. My intention was only to make you feel safe and vindicated. I will not send you any more letters, but I wanted you to have this last ultimate retribution. I have avenged you, my dear. The man who stole your innocence and youth will never harm anyone again. I remain as always, Your Humble Servant’“
Kristen’s face was stunned. „And the P.S.?“
„‘Good-bye.’“
Saturday, February 28,
1:00 p.m.
He sat on the basement step, staring at the three men he’d bound to tables. All three stared back, eyes glassy with shock and pain.
Judge Edmund Hillman, attorney Gerald Simpson, and rapist Clarence Terrill.
He looked down at the gun in his right hand, then at his left. Leah’s medallion. He’d worn it around his neck, on his own chain, since they’d removed it from her body at the morgue. He turned it, let it hit the light. Looked at the engraved initials as he’d done so many times before. WWJD. What would Jesus do?
He closed his eyes. Not what he’d done. Never what he’d done.
In the background droned the sound of his own voice, reading the transcript from Leah’s trial. He’d made the CD weeks ago, when he’d planned this final scene. He’d left it to play on an endless loop while he’d driven to Kansas.
These men must have heard it play ten, twenty times by now. Maybe more.
Then he’d driven to Kansas. That he’d killed Kaplan was a foregone conclusion. The man deserved to die. That he’d done it in such a blind, animal rage…
Then he’d looked into the eyes of that child. She’d seen him.
And he actually lifted his gun to kill her, too.
She’d said nothing, Kaplan’s child. She’d just stood there as he rose from the garage floor like a monster in a horror film, bloody and insane with the rage that had taken over his mind. She’d just stood there looking at him over her father’s car, her eyes wide and frozen.
He’d almost killed a defenseless child. A child who’d harmed no one. An innocent. And in that moment he knew what he’d become.
He’d become just like those he’d come to hate.
He’d lowered the gun to his side. Dropped the tire iron, then run to his van, and driven for miles before stopping to wash himself in the snow. There was red all around as he scrubbed and scrubbed. Finally, he got back in his van and drove the long hours back to Chicago, back to Kristen’s house, where he’d parked a block away, created a diversion, dropped off his final envelope and come home.
He was cold. He ached. But he still had a job to do. He always finished what he started. Heavily, he pulled himself to his feet and moved to switch off the CD player, feeling three sets of eyes watching his every move. Silence filled the room.
„I hope you remember Leah Broderick,“ he said. „She was my daughter. She’s dead.“
„I didn’t kill her.“ This defiant little moan from Clarence Terrill. He turned to look at the man who’d defiled his child. Unremorseful until the bitter end.
He lifted the gun and pulled the trigger and Clarence Terrill was defiant no more. He turned to Simpson who was sobbing, begging for mercy. „And you portrayed her as a whore, stripping away what little self-esteem she had left.“ Another shot, and Simpson went limp. „There’s your mercy.“ He turned to Hillman who could only stare back in terror.
„And you, Judge Hillman. I perhaps hold you at greatest fault of all. You swore to uphold the law, but you abused it. In the weeks that I’ve thought about this day, I planned to hold a mock trial where I would be the judge. But there’s no point to such theatrics. I’m finished.“ With no further ado, he ended the judge’s life with far more mercy than the man deserved.
He was so tired. But he had one more letter to write. He looked at the gun he held in his hand, smelled the acrid odor of discharged powder. Then he’d join Leah.
Saturday, February 28,
2:00 P.M.
Through all the horror of the past week and a half, Abe had never seen Kristen looking so fragile. She sat on her sofa, so pale. A phone call to Kaplan’s town sheriff confirmed that Kaplan was indeed dead. His wife had found him savagely beaten to death in his own garage. The local authorities had thought it a robbery gone wrong. But what had seemed the final blow to Kristen’s composure was finding out Kaplan’s wife had found her child standing at the garage entrance, in shock. What the child had seen, nobody knew because she’d withdrawn, saying nothing. But there were prints this time. Bloody prints everywhere. He’d cracked. Their killer had finally cracked.
Kristen was hanging on to her own control by a slim, fragile thread.
Gingerly he sat next to her, put his arm around her shoulders. But she didn’t melt into him. She sat rigid, staring straight ahead. „Kristen, what can I do for you?“
„I don’t know.“ Her eyes closed. „I am so tired, Abe.“
„I know you are, honey. But he’s made a bad mistake this time. We’ll catch him soon and this whole thing will be over.“ He rubbed her back with the flat of his palm. „We’ll go someplace warm and forget any of this happened.“
She said nothing and he groped for a new topic, for anything that would reanimate her face. She was scaring him. „The service was beautiful, wasn’t it?“ he murmured. „Sean and Ruth were so happy.“ If anything she stiffened. „I thought about my son today.“ She turned at that, looking up at him, her eyes so full of pain, it nearly broke his heart. „I guess you were thinking about your daughter. Savannah.“