Mr. White nodded and didn’t answer. He stood. “I assume you’ll need a retainer.”
Jake nodded, stood, and followed the man to a small office.
Annie rose from the couch and went to the fireplace. She glanced at a recent picture of the smiling couple and another one taken many years before on their wedding day. They looked as happy together in the recent one as they had back then, and her heart broke for the despairing new widower.
The two men returned and Jake handed her a check. She tucked it into her handbag along with her notepad and turned to the grieving man. “We’ll look into this immediately. Please call if you have anything else that might help us.”
Mr. White promised he would, then thanked them and saw them out.
They went to the car and got in. Jake turned to Annie as she started the car. “Where do we begin with this one?”
“I think we’ll have to give Virginia Thorburn a visit,” Annie said. “It seems like the only logical place to start.”
Chapter 12
Tuesday, 2:44 p.m.
ADAM THORBURN walked with slumped shoulders, plodding down the sidewalk toward the place he had always called his home. His long afternoon walk had helped clear his head as he fought to make sense of his illness and why he was cursed with an unstable mind. Though he didn’t make any headway in understanding himself, he was more optimistic, ready to face another weary day.
Most of the time, he was perfectly fine and able to function like anyone else. But at other times he heard voices and saw things that didn’t exist. That’s what held him back and convinced him he would never be like the rest. Life had thrown him a curve ball and it sucked to be him.
He kicked at a soda can, sending it whirling into the street. A squirrel raised its head and was gone, frightened into a tree, darting away from an imagined threat. That’s what he was—an imagined threat, outcast and shunned. But after last night’s events, he feared he was no longer harmless—he was dangerous.
He stopped short and ducked behind a tree. It was unusual for outsiders to visit this neighborhood, and even more peculiar for anyone to park along the street when most driveways had parking space to spare for any visitors who might happen by. And the vehicle parked in front of his house was unusual indeed.
An unmoving figure sat in the driver seat and Adam waited. The person remained still, like they were watching, waiting. Were they waiting for him?
He glanced toward the house. His mother’s car was gone. She must’ve left already, but that didn’t make a lot of sense. She wanted him to fix up the fender of the car first. And it wouldn’t be in the garage; there was too much junk in there. Perhaps she had driven the vehicle the way it was; he had been away awhile.
Or maybe he was being paranoid again. He often found it difficult to separate his unwarranted paranoia from reality.
He stepped from his hiding place, then ducked back quickly. He saw his mother through the kitchen window above the sink, doing dishes, or cleaning up.
So where was the car? Something didn’t make sense. Perhaps he’d caused some damage to another vehicle during the accident and they had tracked him down. They must be waiting for him to return. That was the only answer.
He turned and dashed back down the street a short distance, cut across an empty lot, then crossed the neighbor’s back lawn. He would approach his house from the rear, then go in the back door and talk to his mother. He needed to find out what was going on before he came clean and gave himself up.
He dropped over a scraggy shrub, ducked behind the garage, and peered toward the road. He couldn’t see the visitor’s car from here, and that meant the watcher couldn’t see him.
Streaking across the lawn, he climbed onto the small porch by the back door. The spring sang as he pulled open the screen door. He twisted the knob; the door was locked. He tapped gently and peeked through the window leading into the mudroom.
In a moment, his mother appeared, her eyes widening when she saw his face. She raised a finger to her lips in silence, then glanced behind her and crept to the door.
She eased it open carefully, quietly, and he moved back as she stepped out onto the back porch, closing the door gently behind her.
“They’re waiting for you,” she whispered.
He stared at his mother a moment, unsure what to say, then, “I saw a car at the road.”
She touched his shoulder and leaned in. “There’s a cop in the house too. It’s not safe.”
“Where’s your car?” he asked.
“They took it away. They said it’s evidence.”
“Evidence? What’s this all about?” he asked, confused, afraid, his paranoia growing.
His mother glanced toward the door, then turned back and put a hand on each of his shoulders. She leaned in close, her eyes anxious as she gazed into his. “They said …” She paused and stood straight. “They said you killed a woman.”
His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and he took a sharp breath, unable to move or think.
“You can’t stay here,” she said.
Adam found his voice. “But how? Why? Why would I kill anyone?”
“It must’ve been an accident,” she said, glancing toward the door. “They said you ran over her.”
“If it was an accident … then it’s not my fault.”
She whispered, “They said murder. They said you did it on purpose and they came for you.” Her face flushed with anger. “They had a warrant and they searched the house and took the car.”
“But I wouldn’t—”
His mother put her arms around him, rocking him gently back and forth. He felt her breath in his ear, and she spoke in a soothing voice. “I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you weren’t in your right mind.”
More paranoia, along with panic and desperation, gripped his mind. He hated violence and would never hurt anyone. But this wasn’t the first time he’d done something so out of character, nor the first time someone had witnessed his ferocious antics and turned him in. And each time, the solution had been to change his medication and the madness had subsided. For a while.
“You have to leave here,” his mother said.
“Where … where’ll I go? I have no place to go.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll think of something later, but right now, it’s not safe here. If they put you in prison, you’ll die there. They won’t help you.” She moved back, her hands on his shoulders, and shook him gently. “You have to go.”
He nodded. “I … I’ll find somewhere to hide.”
“Maybe you can come back later. They can’t stay here forever and wait for you.” She held up a finger. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” She stepped inside quietly, easing the door closed behind her.
He waited on the porch, glancing fearfully around. His mind was spinning out of control, and he found it hard to think, feeling agitated, filled with terror of the unknown—terror of the future.
This was the first time he had actually hurt anyone and he was afraid, unsure what to do. No one seemed to understand him. No one even cared enough to try to understand.
At the last visit to the shrink, the doctor had informed him there were no new medications to try. At first they seemed to work, but he slowly deteriorated into madness—a madness that had now resulted in the death of an innocent woman.
The door opened again and his mother stepped out, a plastic grocery bag in one hand. She handed it to him. “There’s some food in here. Enough for a couple of days. And your meds are in here too. Make sure you take them every day.”
He looked into her eyes, frantically seeking answers, where to go, what to do. There was no response from her troubled eyes, no solution on her worried face.