the time.
“I’d better move my truck,” Max said.
“Ah, shoot,” Colby said. His truck’s front bumper was partly blocking the end of the driveway. “Me, too.”
They hurried to their vehicles to make room before the ambulance reached the house.
“Chief, got a second?” Chris asked.
Thornton looked pointedly at Randy, who took the unsubtle hint and awkwardly pounded Chris on the back before heading toward the house.
As soon as Randy was out of earshot, the chief held up his hand to stop Chris from saying anything.
“I know we still have to process the scene, and get the coroner out here, perform due diligence and all that. But honestly, son, it looks like a clean shoot to me. I can tell it’s eating you up inside, but you need to let that go. You saved a life tonight. That’s what you should focus on.”
They moved farther into the grass while the ambulance pulled into the driveway. The EMTs hopped out of the vehicle and grabbed their gear.
“I appreciate that, Chief,” Chris said. “I feel like hell for taking a life. But I know I did what I had to do. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Colby and Max jogged up the driveway, having parked their trucks farther down the road. They started toward Chris and the chief, but a stern look from Thornton had them heading toward the house, instead, and following the EMTs inside.
Still, Chris hesitated. Putting his concerns into words was proving harder than he’d expected.
“Well, go on, son. Spit out whatever’s bothering you. The skeeters are eatin’ me alive out here.”
As if to demonstrate what he’d said, the chief smacked his arm, leaving a red smear where a mosquito had been making a buffet out of him. He wiped his arm on his shorts, grimacing at the stain he’d left behind, before giving Chris an impatient look. “Well?”
“It’s Mrs. Webb,” Chris said. “The thing is, after the shooting, she asked me whether the guy I’d shot was dead. No, what she asked was whether I was sure, as if she thought I was playing a cruel joke on her, as if she wanted him to be dead. The guy is, was, her husband. And it seemed like she was...relieved...that I’d killed him.”
“Well, he did hold a knife on her. Makes sense she’d be happy to be alive and that she didn’t have to worry about him attacking her again.”
Chris scrubbed his face and then looked down the dark road, lit only by the occasional firefly. Crickets and bullfrogs competed with one another in their nightly symphony. All in all, everything seemed so normal. And, yet, nothing was the same.
“You think there’s more to it than that, don’t you?” The chief was studying him intently. “Why?”
“Because she didn’t ask me just once whether he was dead. She asked several times. And it was more the way she asked it that spooked me. You know how it is. If there’s a domestic dispute, a husband beating his wife or trying to kill her, we cops intervene and suddenly we’re the bad guys. Happens almost every time. But I shoot Mrs. Webb’s husband and she starts praying out loud, thanking God. I don’t know about you, but that’s a first for me.”
Thornton was quiet for a long moment, leaving Chris to wallow in his own thoughts, to wonder if saying anything was the right thing to do. He hated the unflattering picture that he’d just painted of Julie Webb. It didn’t seem right, as if he was spreading rumors, gossiping—something his father would have rewarded with an extra long switch applied liberally to his hide. But this wasn’t high school. This was the real world, a death investigation, where actions and words had consequences. They mattered. And he couldn’t ignore something just because it was uncomfortable.
“How did she seem before all of this?” Thornton finally asked. “If her husband had a history of violence against her, she might have joined a support group and got the help she needed to cut all ties. Maybe she moved here to escape him, thought she was safe. But he figured out where she was, came after her. Seems to me that’d make her mighty grateful that he’s never going to hurt her again.”
“Maybe.” He wanted to believe that was it. But even he could hear the doubt in his voice. He shrugged. “Hard to say what her state of mind was prior to this incident. She kept to herself, didn’t even wave. I did get the feeling earlier today, when I saw her on her porch, that she was afraid of...something. And that was before her husband showed up.”
“There, see? It’s like I said. Her behavior could very well make sense, given those circumstances. And she’s lucky you were close by to save her.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Lucky for both of us.”
The chief gave him a knowing look. And it dawned on Chris that Thornton might know firsthand how he felt. Chris had joined the force right out of college, thirteen years ago. But Thornton was already chief by then. There was no telling what horrors he might have faced as a young beat cop, or even in his detective days, what burdens he might have accumulated like an invisible weight that no one else could see. All Chris knew for sure was what he felt, which was all kinds of uneasy about this whole thing.
It was bad enough that he’d taken a life. Even worse if there was something else going on here. The “something else” that kept running through his mind was so prejudicial against Julie Webb that he couldn’t voice it to the chief, not without proof, something concrete. All he had was a disturbing series of impressions that had begun to take root in his mind from the moment he’d seen her reaction to the shooting.
Suspicions that maybe this wasn’t “just” a case of a domestic dispute with tragic consequences.
That maybe Julie Webb knew she was moving in next door to a cop all along.
That she had planned this whole thing from beginning to end.
That she’d just used Chris as a weapon to commit murder.
Standing in the Destiny Police Department at midnight on a Saturday wasn’t exactly where Chris imagined his fellow SWAT team members wanted to be. But not one of them had even considered going home. Max, Colby, Donna and Randy stood shoulder to shoulder with him in a show of solidarity while they watched their boss interview Julie Webb through the large two-way glass window.
Behind Chris and his SWAT team, two more officers sat at desks on the other side of the large open room that was essentially the entire police station. One of them, Blake Sullivan, was a recent transfer and would eventually be a detective and member of their SWAT team. But not yet. For now, he was learning the ropes of Destiny PD as a nightshift cop, which included filling out a lot of mundane reports.
There were fifteen desks in all, three rows of five. And other than a couple of holding cells off the back wall and a bathroom, there was just the chief’s office, his executive washroom that the team loved to tease him about and the interview room.
The entire night shift consisted of the two officers currently writing reports and two more out on patrol. Destiny wasn’t exactly a mecca for crime. The town didn’t boast a strip of bars or clubs to spill their drugs or drunks into the streets. A typical night might mean lecturing some teenagers caught drag racing, or rescuing a rival football team’s stolen mascot from a hayloft.
Tonight was anything but typical.
Tonight a man had died.
And Chris wanted, needed, to find out what had precipitated the violence by Alan Webb, leaving Chris no choice but to use lethal force. The chief had officially placed him on administrative leave, pending the results of the investigation. He’d expressly forbidden Chris from going into the interview room. But since the chief would’ve had to fight his own SWAT team to force Chris to leave the station, he’d wisely pretended not to notice him in the squad room, watching the