BRUNO MILLS AROUND THE station, double-checking paperwork and treading water. The Jamie Leaver crime scene plays on his mind but none of it coheres. Directionless, he pushes back out into the city, driving the late-night streets. He swings by Pohlman Drive and lets himself into the O’Gradys’ house. In the dark, he sits on their leather couch and waits for something to happen.
Car headlights sweep across the ceiling.
Why did they cut that kid’s head off?
Who are they warning?
Bruno sees the blood-stained eyes of the corpse.
The red opening.
The word STOP.
Bruno shudders. He gets up and wanders around the house, revisiting the now familiar rooms.
The study. The giant downstairs bathroom. The rumpus with the pool table and TV.
He takes the stairs down into the basement storeroom. Looks at the plain white walls and concrete floor down there. Absolutely empty. He stands in the centre of the room and feels like a sculpture in a gallery. To break the quiet, Bruno claps his hands and hears the sharp ping of reverberation.
Back upstairs, he checks the garage and finds it completely empty, then moves up to the second-storey bedrooms. Samson’s room. Then another study. Another split bathroom, the size of a regular room.
He tentatively steps into the dim master bedroom, the crime scene. Someone has dumped the mattress back on the carpet, ignoring the taped-off sections of the flooring.
Sloppy. But …
A voice behind him says, ‘Put your hands out where I can see them.’
‘Easy now. Easy.’
Bruno comes around slowly. He finds a pump-action shotgun pointed at him, the barrel at eye level. The man holding the gun is in the darkness of the walk-in robe. Only the gun barrel protrudes from the void, barely visible in the gloom.
‘What are you doing in here?’ says the voice.
‘The O’Gradys are missing. Can you point that thing away from me?’
The gun stays steady. ‘Why are you here?’ says the voice.
‘I’m working. I’m a cop. Who are you?’
No answer.
‘I’ll go,’ says Bruno. ‘I’ll walk and that will be that.’ He edges towards the door.
‘I don’t think so.’
Bruno stops moving.
‘I’m in trouble,’ says the voice. ‘I know that. But I’m not a monster. They didn’t make me into one. I’m just … I’m caught up in something.’
Bruno’s heart pounds inside him. He knows this voice. Can’t place it, but he has heard this man speak before.
The gun remains in place.
‘I’m caught up in it too,’ says Bruno. ‘Maybe we can help each other?’
The man laughs. ‘Jesus. You idiots are no help to anyone.’
‘You don’t have to do this. I can leave. I can go.’
Bruno’s body is screaming. Move now or die standing here.
Bruno backs up. ‘I’m going to walk out, get in my car and go home.’
The gun barrel follows him across the room. ‘Stop.’
Bruno waits. He has one foot on the bedroom threshold. ‘What?’
There’s a long pause, until: ‘The O’Gradys are dead.’
‘Did you kill them?’
‘No. I wish.’
‘Can I go, please?’
‘It’s not your case anymore.’
‘Okay.’
Bruno steps into the hall, waiting for the explosion of lead pellets to tear the flesh from his bones.
Don’t think or speak.
Give up.
Run.
Bruno leaves and no one follows.