Stern’s breathing returns to normal, and if Posner takes the time to look, he will see the man’s features fill out as before. Stern’s left hand moves a few inches to his side jacket pocket. Posner doesn’t notice the movement or the one that follows where Stern pats his pocket and feels the shape of another syringe beneath the flap. His face contorts into something between a smile and a scowl. Posner doesn’t notice. He wants to speak. To be in control. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way. Since before he lost his job.
“You’re right. She is dead, but I never had sex with her. If I had maybe everything would be back to normal for all of us, but it’s too late. And I didn’t kill her. We met on the bus and she talked her way into coming here to see the house. She was pretty pushy about that. As far as sex is concerned, I think she wanted it, but I wasn’t interested.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
“No. It’s true. It’s not that I wasn’t tempted, but this is a house I share with my wife. I couldn’t do anything. It would have been stupid. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”
“So she just left and what? Got run over by a car?”
“That’s close, but not quite right. You’re pretty smart. But then you’re a doctor. She told me a lot about you, you know. But if you were so close, then why did she like to see other men?” Posner’s sense of invincibility grows with each minute he holds the gun. It’s like being God. Able to control life and death. Anything and everything.
Stern looks down. He listens to Posner’s words, but doesn’t fully process the vocabulary. He hears only what he wants to believe.
“I had to run out to get something and left her here. It took longer than I thought, and when I got back she was lying at the bottom of the stairs. She was dead.
“I first thought she slipped and fell down the stairs. The ones you just walked up. She hit her head and died right there. I know how to check a pulse. There wasn’t any. But now I’m not so sure that’s what happened. Maybe you followed her on the bus and watched her get in my car and wind up here. Maybe you waited till I left and then came in and killed her. More and more, I think that’s what really happened.”
Stern doesn’t speak. He just lifts his head and begins to shake it sideways in obvious disbelief. Now he begins to pay more attention to the words. His raw anger returns and his face flushes a bright red. Posner still doesn’t notice.
“I was scared to explain what happened. I wasn’t here when she died. I know it was stupid, but look at the circumstances. A dead woman I never met before in my house. What would the police or my wife think? No. I had to get rid of her body. It’s buried out there where you followed me, only a few yards farther away from the gnarled sand pine. You almost found it. Now I can tell the cops where you buried her. I’ll tell them you told me, or that I followed you to the spot. They’ll believe it. It all makes sense. You’re their prime suspect, you know. Then they’ll be able to close the case.”
“Close the case? Why would they do that? It’ll only be your word against mine.”
“Yeah, but you’ll be dead.”
Posner doesn’t wait for an answer or plea. This is the man who stands in the way of another chance for him and Sara. Sara! He remembers. She could be here any minute. He raises the revolver as Stern puts his hands in front of his body in some surreal misguided attempt at evasion. Posner starts to pull the trigger, but he can’t finish. And again, but it’s not in him to kill. Then Stern is on him. They collapse into a rotating heap on the floor. The initial impact hammers Posner’s skull enough to make him dizzy. They roll into the living room.
The fall jars the revolver loose from Posner’s hand and it skips across the floor to the edge of the stairs. Stern scrambles for the gun while Posner half raises himself on two knees and shakes his head to regain clarity. Stern picks up the gun, looks at it, and stuffs it in his inside jacket pocket. He’s never held a pistol before and doesn’t want to start now. He pulls a needle from another pocket and turns toward Posner but a voice distracts him.
The black Volvo pulls to a stop halfway up the driveway.
“Looks like Amos has a visitor,” Ed Whelan says with a nod to the white Chevy as he puts his car into Park.
“Actually, it looks like the Talbots’ car, but it can’t be. I know they’ve already left for a few months with their kids in Seattle, but I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Have a good weekend,” adds Frances. “And let us know if you’d like a lift back on Sunday. Just call. Oh, and say a big hi to Amos.”
“Will do. And thanks again,” answers Sara as she clutches a small duffel and closes the car door. She watches the Volvo slide back into the street, turn, and disappear down the block. She takes a long look at the white Chevrolet parked in the street then mounts the steps. She pulls out her key then hesitates and twists her head a bit toward the ocean only a half block away. She inhales a cool salty breeze and then another before she turns back to the door. The key turns in the lock and the door swings open.
“It’s me, Amos. I’m home.”
Brigid’s Audi brakes just fast enough to make the left turn onto Napeague Lane. Logistics necessitate that she move slower to check for streets and numbers. It doesn’t take long. In a few minutes she sees the sign for Posner’s street. She starts to make a right, and then stops abruptly as a black Volvo begins a turn out of the same street. A man and woman sit in the front. The man smiles and waves her on. She smiles back. The seconds-long interlude breaks her concentration. The car passes, yet she sits there for several moments. Then she moves forward down the block. There is a blue Lexus parked at the top of Posner’s driveway and a white car in the street off to the side. The thought flashes through her mind that if he has visitors, everything maybe ruined. The thought passes in seconds.
She pulls into the driveway and looks up just in time to see the front door slam closed as it smothers the sound of a woman’s voice. She checks her face in the mirror.
“It’s time,” she says aloud, swings the door open, slides her legs out of the car, and starts to walk the short distance up the driveway to where the Lexus is parked.
Wisdom puts the overhead on his unmarked Ford sedan as he tries to maneuver his way through East Hampton Village traffic. A few years ago the department resided in a small building closer to the East Hampton-Amagansett border. The newer and larger headquarters sits west of the village. If they hadn’t moved, he’d be at Posner’s house by now. He checks in with the cruiser, which seems to be as far away as he is, only from the other direction. At last the village falls behind and the road ahead clears. He presses down harder on the gas pedal and the enhanced Ford engine jumps ahead with a surge that pushes him back into his seat.
“Just a few more minutes. Stay where you are, Brigid. I’m coming.”
Brigid is about to cross over behind the Lexus when she hears a loud wail from the house. The sound mimics the primal rage of a cornered beast. Whether a man or woman, she can’t tell, but she freezes and listens, mouth agape just as the front door flies open. A man races out of the house, trips briefly on the bottom step, recovers almost immediately, and begins a dash down the driveway. He’s tall, well over six feet with brown hair. He wears a sports jacket that flaps as he runs. She takes all this in while standing just a few feet from the direct line of his path.
He sees her and skids to sharp stop. His eyes widen and his body shakes.
“Noooooo!” The word escapes him as if he were a wounded animal trapped by hunters in the back of a cave.
“Noooooo!”
One last look. The tortured face of someone beyond hope momentarily faces her. He turns and looks back over his shoulder as if followed by a ghost as he runs to the bottom of the driveway. He enters the white car. In seconds the air fills with the roar of an engine and the shriek of rubber.