J.T. Ellison

So Close the Hand of Death


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      Praise for the novels of J.T. Ellison

      “Mystery fiction has a new name to watch.”

      —John Connolly

      “The Cold Room combines

       The Silence of the Lambs with The Wire.”

      —January Magazine

      “Outstanding…potent characterization and clever plotting, and Ellison systematically cranks up the intensity all the way to the riveting ending.”

      —Publishers Weekly on The Immortals [starred review]

      “Flawlessly plotted, with well-defined characters and conflict…quite simply a gem.”

      —RT Book Reviews [Top Pick] on The Cold Room

      “A tight and powerful story.

       Judas Kiss moves at a rapid-fire rate…rushing like adrenaline through the bloodstream.”

      —The Strand Magazine

      “Carefully orchestrated plot twists and engrossing characters… Flawed yet identifiable characters and genuinely terrifying villains populate this impressive and arresting thriller.”

      —Publishers Weekly on Judas Kiss [starred review]

      “A twisty, creepy and wonderful book… Ellison is relentless and grabs the reader from the first page and refuses to let go until the soul-tearing climax.”

      —Crimespree on 14

      “A terrific lead character, terrific suspense, terrific twists…a completely convincing debut.”

      —Lee Child on All the Pretty Girls

      “All the Pretty Girls is a spellbinding suspense novel and Tennessee has a new dark poet.

       A turbocharged thrill ride of a debut.”

      —Julia Spencer-Fleming

      So Close the Hand of Death

      J.T. Ellison

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      For David Achord, who gave me the tools.

      And for my Randy.

      By three methods may we learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third, by experience, which is the most bitter.

      —Confucius

      Imitation is suicide.

      —Ralph Waldo Emerson

      Contents

      November 5

      Chapter One

      November 6

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      November 7

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      November 8

      Chapter Thirty

      Chapter Thirty-One

      Chapter Thirty-Two

      Chapter Thirty-Three

      Chapter Thirty-Four

      Chapter Thirty-Five

      Chapter Thirty-Six

      Chapter Thirty-Seven

      Chapter Thirty-Eight

      Chapter Thirty-Nine

      Chapter Forty

      Chapter Forty-One

      Chapter Forty-Two

      Chapter Forty-Three

      Chapter Forty-Four

      Chapter Forty-Five

      Chapter Forty-Six

      Chapter Forty-Seven

      Chapter Forty-Eight

      Chapter Forty-Nine

      Chapter Fifty

      Chapter Fifty-One

      Chapter Fifty-Two

      Chapter Fifty-Three

      Chapter Fifty-Four

      Chapter Fifty-Five

      Chapter Fifty-Six

      Chapter Fifty-Seven

      Chapter Fifty-Eight

      Two Weeks Later

       November 22

      Chapter Fifty-Nine

      Acknowledgments

November 5

      One

      Boston, Massachusetts

       8:12 p.m.

       To: [email protected]

       From: [email protected]

       Subject: Boston

      Dear Troy,

       All is well.

       BB

      Quiet, except for the pounding of his heart.

      She was home now, the week of late nights at the office finally over. He’d been starting to wonder if she’d ever make it back and was amused at the relief he felt when he saw her trundling down the street, her heavy wool coat dragging her steps. He had been more concerned than he expected, considering the stakes. This was just a game for him, after all. A lovely game.

      She’d walked right past the truck without giving him a second glance. A few feet more and she was at her building. The wrought-iron kissing gate was broken, listing slightly, ajar. She pushed it open with her left hand and plodded up the steps. He watched with his head bent, eyes slid to the side as she unlocked the door and slipped inside. She never turned her head, never thought for a moment that she wasn’t safe. Her millionth mistake this week.

      He’d give it just one more minute, let her get upstairs. He busied himself with the package, the hard, plastic electronic-signature tablet, the straps on the box, all the while counting.

      One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

      Once he hit sixty, he followed her path to the door. He pushed his finger into the white button, heard the shrill bell ringing. A woman’s voice, tinny and thin, said, “Yes?”

      “Delivery