Dark Pursuit Part 7

Her grandfather scoffed. "She's in your apartment. She's dead. What more do they need?"

Kaitlan gripped the edge of the couch. "I'll prove I didn't do it. They have have to believe me, I'm innocent!" to believe me, I'm innocent!"

"Yes, you might prove it eventually. But in the meantime you'll be arrested and denied bail. You'll sit in jail for months while the newspapers parade all the 'evidence' before the public. They'll convict you before the case ever goes to trial. Is that what you want?"

Kaitlan squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

Her grandfather rapped his cane against the floor. He focused across the room, brow furrowed. Interminable seconds pa.s.sed by ... a full minute. Still he said nothing.

"Grandfather-"

"Quiet!"

Kaitlan edged back against the couch.

Her grandfather focused on the wall.

Terror wormed its way through Kaitlan's gut. Was he stumped already? Maybe he really couldn't do this. Hadn't Margaret indicated his mind wasn't so sharp? And the way he talked about all this like it was some novel ...

Her grandfather's head snapped toward her. "I need fifteen minutes to sort this out. Get out, both of you." He shooed a hand at them.

"But-"

"Go!"

Kaitlan looked at Margaret. Together they pushed off the couch. Kaitlan's knees wobbled as she left the room.

Margaret closed the library door. "This way." She pointed with her chin.

Kaitlan followed.

The kitchen smelled like a hot oven. "Oh." Margaret made a face. "I was just putting together a ca.s.serole when you rang the bell." She crossed to a counter with purpose, as if glad for something to do. She picked up a filled square gla.s.s pan, stuck it in the oven, and set the timer. Then she turned to face Kaitlan.

Like boxers at the ropes they leaned against opposite counters, eyeingeach other. The large center cooking island stood between them. Kaitlan stole a glance at the stove clock. Five-fifteen. So little time ...

Margaret's forehead zigzagged with worry. Not good. Kaitlan ran a hand over her face. "You're wis.h.i.+ng I'd never come."

"That's not it." Margaret stared at the floor, both hands gripping the tile counter. She sighed deeply. "Your grandfather's condition is called MTBI. Mild traumatic brain injury. It happened when his head was. .h.i.t hard. The skull didn't crack, but his brain was shoved around inside. Contre coup Contre coup trauma, they call it." Margaret s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other. "He's a lot better than he used to be. For the first year he struggled with balance. His concentration was nil. No sleep-unless he took pills. Terrible depression. Then he slowly started getting better. It was a major milestone when he tried to write again. Now antidepressants are keeping his mood more level." She lifted a shoulder. "But he still can't always think clearly. It's strange how he comes in and out of it. At any time he might just ... go blank. And he gets confused. Mixes things up." trauma, they call it." Margaret s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other. "He's a lot better than he used to be. For the first year he struggled with balance. His concentration was nil. No sleep-unless he took pills. Terrible depression. Then he slowly started getting better. It was a major milestone when he tried to write again. Now antidepressants are keeping his mood more level." She lifted a shoulder. "But he still can't always think clearly. It's strange how he comes in and out of it. At any time he might just ... go blank. And he gets confused. Mixes things up."

Kaitlan's chest tightened. No way could she lose this last hope. "But he's writing. He must be able to concentrate if he's writing."

Margaret shook her head. "Kaitlan, the last time I sneaked onto his computer to check, he'd done thirty pages at most. Thirty pages in an entire year. He used to complete two full books in that time. And by the way, despite his accusations, I've barely read any of that ma.n.u.script. I just wanted to see how much he'd written."

Fear rattled through Kaitlan. "Are you telling me he can't help me?"

"I don't know." Margaret gazed around the room, looking ready to cry. "He wants to."

"Wanting isn't enough." Kaitlan's voice turned off key. Nausea rolled through her stomach. This couldn't be. What had she done? If she left here with no help, with that body still lying in her apartment, she was done for.

"Well." Margaret fiddled with the neck of her blouse. "Let's see what he comes up with."

Kaitlan flung herself to the center island. "But you're telling me he may not come through! What am I supposed to do then, just go home and wait for Craig to show up? I don't have time time, Margaret."

"But none of this makes sense. Craig couldn't really be planning to pick you up tonight. If he saw a body at your place he'd have to arrest you."

"Exactly! Maybe that's what he planned all along. What a way to throw everybody off his trail."

Where had that thought come from? Kaitlan sagged against the island, trying to breathe. Could it possibly be true? He was was a murderer-and planned to pin this crime on her? She pictured the scene. Her coming home from work, finding the body just before he showed up. What would an honest cop do but arrest his own girlfriend? a murderer-and planned to pin this crime on her? She pictured the scene. Her coming home from work, finding the body just before he showed up. What would an honest cop do but arrest his own girlfriend?

No. Craig wouldn't, couldn't couldn't do that to her. do that to her.

But even now she felt the Craig she knew slipping away. Too much evidence stared her in the face.

Margaret pressed her fingers to the base of her throat. "You'll just have to stay here. Hide out."

"Fine, but there's a body in my apartment!"

Margaret gave a distracted nod. "Well, I ... we'll just ..." She looked around helplessly, hands rising to her cheeks. "D. will figure it out. He will. He'll come through for you."

Let's hope so.

They waited.

Kaitlan sank into a chair at the table, head down, her mind like sludge. Margaret busied herself at the sink. After five long minutes Kaitlan pushed to her feet. "I'm going to the restroom."

In the bathroom mirror she stared at herself with horror. Hollowed cheeks, makeup smeared, fear written all over her face. Panic rose up, closing her throat. Pregnant and now this. Trapped.

This couldn't be happening. She loved Craig. She longed for him to step up and be a good father to their baby. Finally she was close to having the family she'd always wanted.

Some good it had done, pulling herself out of the gutter. Might as well go back to snorting crack.

What a stupid thought.

Still, it echoed in her head. Remember the elation? One hit and she'd forget all of this. She wouldn't even care.

Know what? She should do it. Just go back to the streets. Lose herself in the cement jungle where no one would find her. Maybe some big city across the country, where they wouldn't think to look. Atlanta. D.C. New York.

If her grandfather couldn't help, that's what she would do.

Kaitlan leaned her head against the cool gla.s.s, feeling her dreams blow away like rose petals in a fierce wind.

She'd believed she could stay clean forever. Going through the Twelve Step program, she'd found G.o.d, that "Higher Power," and clung to Him for help. She'd prayed and prayed, turned herself around. She'd thought G.o.d was giving her a second chance, bringing someone like Craig into her life.

"I messed up, G.o.d, didn't I? Are you punis.h.i.+ng me for not going to church? For not being as close to you as I should? And now I'm pregnant-"

A knock on the door. "Kaitlan?"

She jerked up. Sweat popped out on her brow. "Yeah?"

"Your grandfather's calling for you."

"Coming."

She gazed at her reflection once more. Funny how life turned out. You work hard to make something of yourself, then wham wham, you get hit upside the head.

What's this life for, anyway? What's the point?

Kaitlan took a drink and patted cool water against her face. She opened the door, ready to descend to her fate.

CHAPTER fourteen

The angled footprint-that was the key. Darell felt it in his gut.

Plus, the body had still been warm. And the objects out of place in the living room-evidence that a struggle had occurred.

The noise Kaitlan heard while in her carport. The cat? Not likely. Cats didn't tend to knock into things while carrying their prey.

Darell's mind had sharpened as he wandered the library, his cane thumping. Cunning plot points now bounced around in his brain, details of the murder creating a visual in his head. He'd calculated what had happened at Kaitlan's apartment. Her boyfriend, Craig, was the perp, all right. His clean-cut police officer persona meant nothing. The most cunning killers fooled everyone around them. Darell had looked at the evidence forward and backward, and everything fit. Any homicide detective with their knowledge of the evidence would zero in on Craig Barlow.

But first they had to convince the police Kaitlan was telling the truth.

He didn't believe Craig had merely used the black and green fabric from his ma.n.u.script. To some extent Craig actually saw saw himself as Leland Hugh. himself as Leland Hugh.

Darell had been stuck for months on Hugh's motives. Why did Hugh choose a certain victim?

Craig was going to show him why.

Darell pulled to a halt, overcome. Joy and power welled in his chest. His heart beat with new life, new confidence. He hadn't felt this like in years. Like he could sit down right now, write page after page, long into the night.

He threw his head back and laughed. Raised his fist in victory.

The King of Suspense was back.

All these years Darell Brooke had guided his protagonists to safety, even when they faced certain death. He was about to do the same for Kaitlan. He would save her from this disaster. And through saving her, he would pen the best novel he'd ever written.

Darell walked to the doorway. Even his gait felt stronger. "Margaret!Kaitlan!"

Pulse tripping, he resettled himself in the leather chair. A tremble in his fingers threatened to betray his excitement. He placed his cane on the floor, leaned back, and folded his arms.

Footsteps. They were coming.

Darell took a deep breath. He couldn't wait to call his agent, tell the man of his surge in energy. Good old Malcolm. He'd be thrilled to hear from his favorite client, Darell Brooke.

They hadn't spoken in at least a month.

CHAPTER fifteen

Kaitlan slumped onto the same end of the couch as before. Hopelessness and defeat sat in her chest. She felt old and heavy and dry. The only way to breathe was to put her mind on hold.

Margaret sat down, her nervous gaze on Kaitlan's grandfather.

Kaitlan looked him over. He sat back, arms folded. Very still. Except for his eyes. They bounced between her and Margaret, glimmering. Weird. His vibes reminded her of eating at his table as a little girl. He'd often be distracted, impatient, his gaze flitting about. Kaitlan knew those signs-he was in his fiction world, wanting to get back to his desk and write.

Hope flickered. Maybe his mind was functioning just fine. Maybe this would work out.

"All right," he announced. "I've looked at all the facts, examined the evidence. I know what happened."

Margaret threw Kaitlan an encouraging glance.

"Kaitlan." Her grandfather focused upon her. "Craig is the murderer."

The words sank through her like boulders.

"Today Craig was driven to kill-again. Why Why he murders, I don't know. We must discover the reason. But we'll get back to that." he murders, I don't know. We must discover the reason. But we'll get back to that."

That black hole within Kaitlan spread and gobbled up her insides until she would fall headlong into it.

"He used your apartment because he could. could. It's a quiet, out-of-the-way place to commit a murder during the day. Somehow he lured his victim there. It will be interesting to see how far away her car is discovered. He got her inside and a struggle ensued. Not a long one apparently, since only a few items were knocked around in your living room. At some point she fell on the couch, grabbing the blanket. He yanked her off, and it ended up on the floor." It's a quiet, out-of-the-way place to commit a murder during the day. Somehow he lured his victim there. It will be interesting to see how far away her car is discovered. He got her inside and a struggle ensued. Not a long one apparently, since only a few items were knocked around in your living room. At some point she fell on the couch, grabbing the blanket. He yanked her off, and it ended up on the floor."

No, someone else. Not Craig. Kaitlan drew gooseb.u.mped arms across her chest. Kaitlan drew gooseb.u.mped arms across her chest.

"He dragged his victim into your room, strangled her on the bed. I imagine it was over quickly. With no s.e.xual a.s.sault, no apparent beating, he simply wants to get the job done. Which," her grandfather raised his eyebrows, "I find quite telling. These are crimes of cold cold pa.s.sion rather than hot." pa.s.sion rather than hot."

"What do you mean?" Kaitlan whispered.

"He kills his victims quickly and efficiently. He seems to take no warped joy in the act. Rape, you see, is an act of power and hatred against women. It has little to do with s.e.x. Craig kills not in a rage, wielding such power, but with the quiet calculation that the woman-for some reason only his disturbed mind knows-deserves to die."

Margaret frowned. "Wouldn't he know not to rape because of the DNA evidence he'd leave behind? He is is the police chief's son." the police chief's son."

Kaitlan's grandfather shook his head. "Killers like this are driven by their twisted desires. Even with all they might know about crime-scene evidence, they don't think in those terms when they give way to pa.s.sion. Besides, they have the ego to believe they'll never be caught."

"But ..." Kaitlan swallowed. She still couldn't grasp this. "He's been so nice to me, and I just can't ..."