People who fish keep secrets.
People who gamble tell lies.
People with something to hide from their peers
Are dressed up in Satan’s disguise.
— Jeff Talbot
He instructed the sheriff to park the cruiser on the shoulder of the highway. The fog was heavier now, had fallen over the area like a net. Concerned that they might not maintain a sense of direction, he grabbed the sheriff’s hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and held on to it as they made their way blindly down the lane.
They were almost upon the cabin when they caught first glimpse of a dim shaft of light cutting its way through the fog, reaching for the pine needles that carpeted the ground in front of the porch. It was coming from the window off the dining room, and Jeff recalled seeing that same light four nights earlier as he returned from his first visit to Bill Rhodes’s home. It emanated from the lamp that typically served as the night-light.
The sheriff tapped his arm, then pointed at the corner of the house. He could barely make out the fender of a vehicle. It looked maroon.
Stealthily, the pair climbed the steps and crept across the porch to the front door. A board creaked quietly under Jeff’s foot, and he cursed silently. He motioned the sheriff to one side of the doorway, while he took position on the other side. They waited. No noise came from within, yet an unmistakable sound on the porch convinced Jeff that his puzzle pieces fit. As he slid his key into the hole on the knob’s back plate, a cricket chirped in the silence, his song reverberating in the still night.
It might have been the same one Jeff had heard over a cell phone, a hundred years ago a phone that he had thought was in downtown Seattle. It was funny what you heard and didn’t pay attention to.
He prayed that the tumblers clicking into place wouldn’t echo as the cricket’s song had. He moved in slow motion, unlocked the door, steadily, carefully, turned the knob.
Simultaneously, he pushed the door open and reached for his weapon. Stepping through the narrow opening, he scanned the dining area, the kitchen, and the half of the living room visible to him. He pivoted to secure the rest of the room and found himself staring into the feral eyes of Judge Richard Larrabee.
“Put the gun on the table,” the Judge ordered.
Jeff ignored him. “Where is she?” He started toward the hallway.
The Judge waved the gun.
Jeff stopped. “She’d better be okay, or I swear, Judge, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
“She’s fine. I had no intention of hurting her. But if you kill me, the person guarding your wife will kill her. Don’t doubt me on that.” He steadied his aim. “The table. Now. And empty your pockets while you’re at it.”
Jeff’s training told him not to relinquish his weapon, and in a rush he understood why you didn’t get involved when a loved one’s life was at stake. It helped him to know that the sheriff was outside, and that she undoubtedly had put a plan into the works. Finally, he followed the Judge’s instruction, regret consuming him as he laid the gun among his personal effects.
“I underestimated you, Jeff. How did you find me?”
“Let me see her.”
“You will, in due time. But first, I need to make sure you understand why she’s here. I had to prove that your picture-perfect life isn’t as neat and tidy as you thought it was. Your wife isn’t as safe and sound behind those walls as you’ve fooled yourself into believing. Do you see that you’re not immune to the outside world? Do you realize that I — or anyone else, for that matter — can come into your so-called haven and take from you what matters most?
“You have a choice,” he continued. “You can either do as I say, and forget everything you know about Bill’s lures, or you can become as paranoid as your wife. Just back off, stop pursuing those Internet sales, and you and I can go back to business as usual.” He shrugged, smiled. “You see? It’s as simple as that. If you don’t, then I’ll have to come back for your wife. You’ll never have any peace, always worrying about what’s going to happen to her. Now, really, Jeff, is her life worth a few stolen lures?”
“Was Bill’s?”
The Judge’s face registered regret. “He called me Wednesday, said he’d tracked down a company that was selling his stolen lures. He’d even come up with several screen names in order to bid on his lures and find out who was shipping them. I told him to sit tight, that I’d take a look at what he had when I arrived for the weekend.
“When I got to the bait shop, Bill had been doing his homework. He named the company — the company I had invested in — and I knew it was only a matter of time before he pieced things together.” The Judge wiped sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “I thought I could fix it. I swear to you, I never intended to kill him.”
Jeff needed to steer the conversation away from the murder, try to keep the Judge from hitting the panic button again. “Why did you do this to Sheila?”
The Judge appeared to regain his composure. “I doubt she’ll remember what’s happened. I told the nurse to use a strong sedative. Bringing Sheila over here was nothing more than an insurance policy, a means of getting you to back off. It’s worth it, isn’t it? You leave me alone, and I’ll leave her alone.” He laughed nervously. “Don’t make me have to go through this again, Jeff. But know that I will if I have to. And, I assure you, it’s not that difficult to find a woman who never leaves her house.”
The Judge leaned against the rocks of the fireplace. “Don’t forget who you called when you needed help tonight. Your old buddy, Judge Larrabee.
“Sure,” he went on, “the cops told you they would look for her. Do you want to know why? I told them, ‘Humor him, guys. He’s an old friend who’s not home all that much, if you get my drift.’ Not a lie, is it Jeff?”
Jeff’s heart pounded against his chest wall as he fought to maintain control.
“Bill’s widow was a hell of a lot easier to deal with than your wife. She didn’t ask for proof, or question my involvement in the case. She didn’t even stay in the basement with me after she pointed out the computer. But Sheila? Too smart. Watched me like a hawk. Asked too many questions.
“Of course,” he continued, “you know by now that I don’t have to worry about the files on your computer.” He stabbed his finger as if he were striking a keyboard. “Gone. All of them.
“You’re my only remaining worry. Or, rather, you were. Now that you know I can get to Sheila anytime I want, you’ll go along with my plan.”
“Do you have any idea what your plan has done to my wife?”
The Judge looked surprised. “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through to get my campaign off the ground? You don’t know what something like this costs. When I first invested in Internet sales, I didn’t know we’d be selling stolen property.” He waved his hands. Jeff kept his eyes on the gun. “I know, I know,” the Judge said. “I should’ve asked questions. But, c’mon. Nobody asks questions that they don’t want the answers to. In less than eight weeks, I had more than enough to run my campaign! I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask questions at that point.
“No one would’ve gotten hurt if Bill hadn’t been so damned stubborn. I tried to reason with him, offered to replace the lures if he’d just look the other way. He wouldn’t listen. I offered money — lots of money. He didn’t want it. Next thing I knew, he was lunging at me. I . . . I’m not sure what happened after that. I remember thinking that one minute he was about to accept my offer, and the next minute, he was on the floor.”
The Judge seemed to be in a fog. After a moment, he emerged clear-eyed. “Hell, he thought his lures were worth so damn much. Their value wasn’t a patch on what I had invested in that company. How could he put their value above something as noble as leadership and the promise of a better life?
“Oh, well. That’s behind us now. I feel bad about it, but I’m not going to let it get in the way of my goals. I didn’t go there to kill him, but I couldn’t let his attitude change the course of everything.”
“It did, though, didn’t it, Judge?” The sheriff’s voice echoed from down the hall.
The Judge wheeled.
Colleen McIvers stood in the hallway, a thirty-eight aimed at Larrabee’s chest.
Jeff smiled in spite of himself. The Judge had been so intent upon protecting himself, so keen on justifying his actions, that he hadn’t thought to do one simple thing: remove Jeff’s key from the front door. Apparently, the sheriff had slipped the key from the hole and used it to come in through the back.
“Talbot.” The Judge backed up enough to put both Jeff and the sheriff in his line of vision. “Tell her how this is going down, or you and your wife will never sleep with your eyes closed again.”
“Did you see her, Sheriff? Is she okay?”
“She’s been sedated, but she’s going to be fine. That nurse, though . . .”
“What did you do?” the Judge asked.
“I gave her a dose of her own medicine.”
The sheriff didn’t crack a smile.
It was all Jeff could do to keep from running to the back of the house. For the moment, though, he needed to see things through here, try to help keep the Judge calm. If the man panicked and started shooting, everybody would lose.
“You’re all out of options, Judge,” the sheriff said. “Nothing left to gamble with.”
“You’re not going to shoot me, Sheriff.”
His voice had taken on a condescending tone. “Why don’t you just go on back to the station? Tell her, Jeff. This is between you and me.” The Judge’s arm faltered, the gun wavered slightly.
Jeff glanced at the sheriff. He’d never seen a steadier aim. If the Judge had any brains at all, he wouldn’t underestimate this woman. She was in her element, unlike Sheila. The Judge had used Sheila’s weakness to control her, but if he thought that the sheriff had a weakness, he was going to be surprised.
“Put the gun down, Judge.”
“I can’t do that, Sheriff.”
“Don’t force my hand.”
“Do you honestly think you can shoot me? You don’t have it in you.”
Jeff intervened, tried another tact. “Let me call Kyle for you, Judge. Just talk to him, okay?”
“I told you. This has to stay between you and me.”
The sheriff said, “It’s already way beyond that, Judge. Now put down the gun.”
“That’s something that I’m not willing to do.”
“I’m telling you for the last time. You either get on with it, or you get it over with. It’s your call.”
Jeff had been in that place where the sheriff now stood, had realized that the situation was going south, had wondered whether he would be the one to pull the trigger or the one to fall. Cornered animals felt trapped, and that feeling blinded them beyond all reason.
A cornered person usually panicked, lost his focus, let his eyes dart, watching, guessing, second-guessing. Jeff saw only the profiles of both the Judge and the sheriff as they faced each other, but it was enough to tell him who was the professional.
Keep your eye on the ball and not on the game. Gordy had said it to him a thousand times, drilled it into his memory for life. Earlier he had consciously reminded himself of it. Now, he could see that someone along the way had made sure the sheriff knew it, too.
The silence in the room pounded against his eardrums, built to a deafening ring. His gaze darted between the two people before him and in the second of time that followed, he saw a slight flicker of the Judge’s eye, a twitch of a muscle in his arm, the expression on his face change from surprise to panic to wild defiance.
He saw the sheriff, face unchanged, eyes locked on Larrabee, and he watched her squeeze the trigger an instant before the Judge did the same. The Judge fell, and his shot went wild. The bullet struck a window. Glass shattered and rained onto the porch.
The ringing magnified. Smoke stung Jeff’s eyes as he fought to take in the scene.
Sheriff McIvers kept the gun sighted in on the Judge, now lying still on the floor. She blinked rapidly against the smoke. To Jeff, she said, “Go get your wife.”