Chapter Thirty

Ed froze. Helene Bright stood up suddenly, in front of him, and the expression on her face told a tale of terror. Her eyes were wide and her lower lip was trembling. Ed felt she wanted to latch onto his arm for protection, but some weird sense of decorum prevented that.

“What’s going on here?”

When Timothy spoke, Ed immediately remembered the voice. Everything came rushing back to the day last August when he had interviewed the little man, the one who had presented himself to the police as the person who had discovered Tony Evans’s body.

Ed turned slowly. Seeing him standing there came as a shock, like some fantasy figure had suddenly come to life, too real to be real. Timothy was grinning at him, but there was no mirth in the grin, only madness. There was something almost horrifying about the man, the way he looked so young, though the lines on his face and the thinning hair belied this false impression. His pale blue eyes sparkled with a fire that had an almost evil cast. Ed thought it was no wonder this woman was afraid.

“I asked you a question. Mr. Comparetto, is it?”

“I came to talk to your aunt. I’ve been trying to find you.”

“I’ve given you ample opportunity to find me. So far you seem unable to.” Timothy giggled. “This time should be no different than the rest.” He cocked his head. “Well, maybe a little different.” He giggled again, a sound so twisted it made Ed shiver. “Actually, I’ve been waiting to run into you again. I just didn’t know it would be so soon.” Timothy stared at the floor. “I guess I led you here, didn’t I?”

“Look, cut the bullshit. I want to know what’s going on here.”

“This is a private family matter.”

“Timothy, I don’t think…”

“Shut up, Aunt.”

If Ed hadn’t been standing in front of Helene, blocking Timothy, Ed was sure the little madman would have reached out and slapped her. He could see the desire to harm her deep in Timothy’s eyes and the way he stood, fists curled into balls at his sides.

Timothy stared at Ed, his eyes taking in Ed’s entire compact frame. Ed wondered, was he appraising? Was he wondering right now just how to dispatch him?

Ed wasn’t sure how to proceed. The idea that this guy was dead, with all the attending proof, put a bizarre and surreal curve on things he had never dealt with in the past. He wished he had his gun with him. That would equalize things, put him in charge. But he had thought this was going to be yet another interview with someone who had known the “deceased” and hadn’t come prepared for a face-to-face meeting with Bright. Besides, he had turned in his piece when he turned in his badge. It was a moot point.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You’re no ghost.”

“It was Theodore, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up, Aunt Helene. I won’t tell you again.”

Ed had turned to look at her for some explanation of her odd remark when he felt something heavy crash down on the back of his head. As the world slanted, he heard fragments of pottery scatter around him and the tinkle of Timothy Bright’s childish laughter. Ed dropped to the floor, dizzy, the back of his skull sending out crimson waves of pain.

He shook his head as his eyes began to focus again. Had he been out for a second or two? On the floor were the shattered remnants of an Oriental-style vase he had noticed earlier. The vase had stood on a cherrywood stand. He hadn’t thought of it as a weapon.

Ed managed to get to his knees, the pain in the back of his head screaming. His vision cleared. “Oh no, please…,” he whimpered. “Please let her go.”

Timothy was holding his aunt close in front of him. One arm was around her neck, and Ed saw the flash of silver in the darkness: a knife.

“Believe me, Mr. Comparetto, I wouldn’t hesitate to slit her throat.”

“No,” Ed said through a choked breath. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Killing has become easier and easier for you, hasn’t it?”

“Why should I admit anything to you?”

“I know what’s been going on. I know you killed Tony Evans, David Westhoff, Milt Weinsap, John Austin, and, in your own way, Mark Dietrich.”

As he recited the names of the dead, Ed could see that Timothy Bright was affected. His jaw went slack, and his eyes almost glazed over as he stared vacantly ahead. Was he remembering?

Helene Bright was whimpering, the blade pressed close to her throat. One move and a line of red would appear against the pale flesh. Ed didn’t want to see that happen.

“All of them deserved it.” Timothy Bright whispered these words, slowly and with certainty.

Ed decided a confrontational mode would not work in this situation. “I’m sure you had your reasons, Timothy. Why don’t you come with me, and we can talk about it…maybe get this whole thing sorted out.”

Timothy laughed. “Oh, aren’t you the clever one? Please, cleverness is my stock in trade. You should know that by now.” He held the knife tighter, and Ed heard Helene gasp as its sharpness cut into her throat, just a little, but enough that she whimpered again, the terror causing her to abandon the chill façade he assumed she presented to the world on most days.

But this was not most days. Today she saw very clearly an end to her life. Ed was sure her fear was intensified by the situation, by being held by a nephew she’d been certain was dead. But Ed knew Helene Bright’s main fear now was not that she was being visited by the vengeful spirit of her murdered nephew, but that she was being held by someone who was insane and thus would not be open to any kind of reasonable dialogue.

“I’ve cut her a little,” Timothy said in a singsong voice. “I wouldn’t mind cutting her a lot. Which is just what I’m going to do if you don’t get the hell out of here right now.”

“What would that solve, Timothy? I’ll just go call the authorities from the nearest phone.” What was wrong with him? Threats like that could only land him in the morgue.

“Go ahead. By the time you do that, she’ll be bleeding all over her floor, and I’ll be long gone. And when you tell the authorities that the deed was done by a dead man, they’ll lock you up. I’m sure everyone you know already assumes you’re a few bricks short.”

Ed closed his eyes. How would he get out of this horrible situation? He tried another tack. “Look, let her go. I’ll be your hostage.”

“I don’t need to make deals. Now get out of here.”

Ed felt, almost as if it was someone else doing it, his fingernails clawing into his palms. His hands were sweaty, clenched with fright and frustration. He had no bargaining power in this situation. Reasoning wouldn’t do him much good because the person before him was beyond that.

“I want to fuck this bitch up real bad.” Timothy’s breathing was coming faster now; he was almost panting. Ed knew Bright was excited by the prospect of more bloodletting.

“Why would you want to do that?” Ed took a step forward.

With his step, Timothy sank the knife deeper into his aunt’s throat. She gave a small cry, and suddenly Ed could smell blood, coppery in the dark air.

Ed put up his hands and moved back. “Look, Timothy, I’m sorry. I’ll stay right here. Just don’t hurt her anymore.”

“Why should I listen to you, asshole? You’re just a pawn in my game and someone who obviously doesn’t have the intelligence or the balls to get along in this world. A policeman? A detective? Hah!” And with that, Timothy ran the knife in a quick motion across his aunt’s face.

She screamed.

“Quiet! Or I’ll do it again.”

Helene sucked in air, and Ed could tell she was trying hard not to make any noise. Even in the darkness, he could see she was trembling, and her eyes were wide.

“Why do you want to do this?”

“It’s a long story. Get out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll kill her. I swear to God, I’ll cut her to ribbons.”

Ed ran his hands over his face. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. He couldn’t leave, because that would ensure this woman’s life would not last much longer. But if he stayed, the end result could still be the same.

As it turned out, the choice was taken from Ed’s hands just moments later. Bright took a few steps back, holding his aunt in front of him like a shield. “We’re leaving now,” he said in that same singsong voice. “You try to follow us, you take even one step toward us, and this knife goes right in her throat, deep. I’ll tickle her tonsils with it, you prick.”

Ed watched helplessly as Timothy backed toward the door. He stood frozen as he heard them stumbling down the hall and into the foyer. Nausea rose up in him as he heard the creak of the front door opening and the slam that followed it.

Ed rushed to the window and watched as Timothy pushed his aunt into the car, then went around to the driver’s side. Ed pressed his face against the glass, an involuntary moan escaping him as the engine roared to life and the car gunned around the circular driveway and down the drive, its headlights illuminating the trees on either side.

Ed slumped to the floor. He had never felt more worthless in his entire life.