Downfall (An Intervention Novel) by Terri Blackstock
He could do anything, and he could do it now. No one could stop him.
Chapter 43
By the time she was ready for bed, Barbara’s head ached with fatigue and the tears she’d shed. She’d expected Kent to come by tonight and get some clothes before going over to baby-sit her house, but he hadn’t come. He’d had to work on a case. She hadn’t been able to share her anxiety over the incident at Walgreens. It had left her off-balance and confused. Yes, Emily had canceled the order for the drugs. But the fact that she’d considered buying them, and had almost gone through with it, scared Barbara to death.
Now having Kent off the case left her a raw bundle of nerves. He’d slept the last four nights at her house, and of course nothing had happened while he was there. But it was just a matter of time. Would the murderer kill Emily next time? Would he plant more evidence to make her look guilty? Or were these all just signs of Emily falling apart?
Maybe Barbara was in denial about her daughter’s state of mind. Did she want to believe in Emily’s sobriety so badly that she ignored the obvious? Staying out late, secrecy, crazy outlandish stories that might or might not be true …
What would she do if Emily really was using again? Maybe she only canceled the prescription after she realized she’d be found out.
If Emily was using, Barbara would have to put her out of the house. She couldn’t have her influencing Lance or bringing drugs into their home.
But how could she do that—throw her out onto the street and leave her to her own devices? She only had a part-time job. And there was school …
She closed her eyes, asking God what he would demand of her next. Friends from her Jeff City support group had been forced to cut their children off after they’d refused to give up drugs. They struggled with Jesus’ teachings about giving to those who ask, turning the other cheek, forgiving seventy times seven, giving their children fish instead of a stone. But sometimes withholding help was a fish, when refusing to support them could be the pivotal point that brought change.
How would Barbara make such a decision if it came to that?
Barbara pictured Satan slithering nearby like Gollum, whispering thoughts into her ear to throw her daughter under the bus. He would delight in their suffering. It was just the kind of thing he did. He would love to use some addict who’d snapped to terrorize their family. Already they couldn’t live safely in their home. What else would he take from them?
She heard a car in the driveway. Lance had come home twenty minutes ago and gone back to Emily’s bedroom to watch TV. Barbara went to the window and saw Kent getting out of his car. Her anger at him for taking himself off the case reared its head in her again. He could have helped Emily. He could have made sure she didn’t get blamed for Devon Lawrence’s murder.
Now they were at the mercy of his partner and some new guy who was anxious to make his mark.
Kent came in the side door from the garage and smiled at her. Though she didn’t want to smile back, she couldn’t avoid the warmth that filled her when he was around.
“Hey,” he said, coming closer and touching her face.
She took his hand, closed her eyes, and accepted his touch.
“I like coming home to you,” he said.
She pulled away and turned to the dishes in the sink. “I thought you were coming earlier.”
“Yeah, well. There was a shooting tonight. I had to take the case. But we have the guy in custody, and three witnesses to tell the story, so I didn’t have to stay all night.” He leaned against the counter, watching her. “Barbara? Look at me.”
She turned to him.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Uh … well, my daughter’s life is hanging by a thread, her foot is broken, and there’s a murderer stalking us …”
“I know all that.”
“Well, what you don’t know is that Emily came within an inch of buying drugs today.”
She hadn’t wanted to tell him. It made Emily look guilty. He wouldn’t understand. She didn’t understand.
His expression fell and he came toward her, reaching for her. “Don’t,” she said, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m mad at the world right now. Emily … you …”
“I know,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “But let me hold you for a minute. Then you can yell at me.”
She fell against him and wept into his shirt, letting out her grief and stress, her anxiety and fear. He made things so right. Even when she didn’t want him to, even when she was angry, his very presence comforted her.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” he said.
She whispered a laugh. “Yeah, and I’m sorry some guy got killed.”
She looked up and saw the love in his eyes. She could talk to him, even about her fears with Emily. He wasn’t on the case. Maybe that was how God was working here. “So tell me about Emily,” he said.
She drew in a long, weary breath. “Today Emily went to the doctor and he gave her a prescription for Oxycontin. She almost got it filled.”
“Almost?”
“She took it to Walgreens.”
He led her to the couch, pulled her down next to him, and listened as she unloaded. Finally, when she’d finished, he said, “Emily’s all right, Barbara. She’s going to have those times, and I think God let you see this one so you could be assured that she can make the right decisions.”
“But I’m so mad at her for thinking that way right in the middle of all this mess.”
“This mess is why she was thinking that way. The whole thing encourages me, if you want to know the truth.”
She wiped her wet face. “Really? It doesn’t make you think those pills you found on the counter were hers?”
“Nope. Her fingerprints weren’t even on the bottle or the envelope. Her name was, but not her prints. The guy who left that bottle wiped it clean. They weren’t Emily’s. But the fact that he left them there is a big clue. Andy and Strand are on it.”
“But I wish you were on it.”
“I’m not officially on it, babe. But I haven’t left you high and dry. I’m still piecing it together. Still adding things up. And I’m telling them everything that comes to me. The main thing is that you’re safe here.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I should be counting my blessings instead of getting consumed by fear. Emily’s okay, and we have you. Things will work out. They have to.”
She wanted him to agree with her, to say that everything would be okay. But he didn’t.
“Where are the kids?” he asked finally.
“Emily’s in bed. She’s kept a low profile tonight. I know she’s mad at herself.”
“And Lance?”
“He got home early from the party he went to with April. He’s watching TV.”
Kent glanced toward the bedrooms. The light was still on in Emily’s room. “Can I go talk to them?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
He kissed her forehead, then got up and knocked lightly on Emily’s door. “Emily, it’s Kent. Can I come in?”
“Okay,” she said.
He opened the door and stepped inside. She lay on the bed with her Bible in her lap, her booted foot propped on a pillow. Lance was sprawled on the floor, leaning back against the wall. “Sorry about your foot, Emily.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll live.”
He came in and lowered to a bench by the wall. “How was your day, Lance?”
He shrugged like he didn’t want to talk. “Had better.”
“Haven’t we all?” Kent looked back at Emily. “Hey, Emily, I want you to know I’m proud of you.”
She shot him a look like he’d said something absurd. “Proud?”
“Yeah. You chose the right thing today. I know it must have been hard. But I’m proud of what you did.”
She blew out a disbelieving laugh. “Did you tell Mom that?”
“Just did.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Thanks.”<
“Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”
“Yeah, if I don’t go to prison.”
Lance spoke then. “This guy … whoever he is. He’s not smart. He’s been taking a lot of chances. He’s gonna mess up and expose himself.”
“I think so too,” Kent said.
He spoke with the kids for a few more minutes, but it was clear they weren’t in chatty moods, so he went back to Barbara. She was standing in the hall, listening. As he came toward her, she smiled and stroked his stubbled face. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He kissed her then and she didn’t recoil. He thought of the ring in his pocket. Maybe he shouldn’t wait. Maybe the time was never going to be perfect. Maybe tonight was the right time …
But outside, he heard the deep rumble of a car engine, slowing … stopping in front of the house. A car door closed.
Barbara pulled back and looked toward the front door. “Is someone here?”
He went to the window and peered out. A dark four-door sedan he didn’t recognize sat idling along the curb in front of his house, silhouetted by the street lamp.
He searched the yard. No one was coming to the door. Where was the driver?
Alarm bells rang in his mind. Quickly, he drew his weapon from his shoulder holster. “Barbara, something’s not right. Go to the kids. Lock the bedroom door.”
Her eyes rounded with terror. “But who is it? Do you think—?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see him. Go, Barb. Call 911 and tell them to send some backup.”
She grabbed the cordless phone and ran with it.
Dragging in a deep breath, Kent opened the front door quietly, keeping the porch light off. Clutching his gun, he stepped out into the yard.
Barbara raced to the guest room as she dialed 911. “Kids, get down on the floor!” She didn’t know what good that would do, but they had to do something.
They both just sat there as she locked the door and dragged a chair in front of it, wedged it under the doorknob.
“What is it?” Emily asked.
“Now!” Barbara cried. “Down! Someone’s out there!”
Lance got up and lunged for the window. Barbara grabbed her son’s shirt and jerked him down as Emily awkwardly moved off the bed.
The dispatcher answered. “911 operator.”
“Yes, Detective Kent Harlan’s house. 552 Dunbar Street. Please hurry!”
“Ma’am, what is your emergency?”
“Someone’s here … we saw a car and he’s in the yard …”
“Is he trying to break in?”
It was too complicated to tell her that she didn’t know what he was doing, but that it could be the stalker trying to murder them. “Yes,” she said simply. “Please … hurry. Kent’s out there. He needs help!”
Emily started to cry, and Barbara got on the floor and held her as she listened for the next disaster.
In the dark yard, Kent heard liquid splashing on the side of the house, then a whooshing sound.
The car was still there, idling empty on the street. He cornered the house, his weapon raised. The smell of fire and gas almost choked him. As he hit the backyard, he saw flames climbing the back wall.
A car door slammed.
He raced back around to the front. The car was pulling away. In the darkness, he saw a blotch on the back right fender—a dent, maybe, or a patch of Bondo—but he couldn’t see who was behind the wheel or the tag on the car.
Barbara!
He bolted back in. “Barbara, get out! The house is on fire! Hurry!”
The door flew open, and Barbara and both kids came out in a huddle.
“Outside! He’s gone, but he set the house on fire.”
“How’d he know where we were?” Emily cried. “Nobody knew!”
They all followed Kent outside, Emily hopping on one foot as they stepped into the smoke-filled yard. “The cars!” Emily shouted.
She was right—if the flames reached them, they would explode. But there was no time to move them, and Kent didn’t have Barbara’s keys. He’d left his own on the counter. He grabbed the water hose, cut it on full-blast, and sprayed the flames. By now the fire had spread across the whole back wall of the house.
He heard Barbara calling 911 again as he tried to fight the flames.
Within a couple of minutes, sirens wailed over the neighborhood, growing louder. When the engines stopped in front of his house, he filled the firemen in as they dragged their hoses to the blaze.
“It was arson,” he shouted, out of breath. “He left a gas can over there. Don’t touch it. We need to process it for prints.”
Police cars began arriving, and he rushed out to them. Sucking in smoky air, he told the story again. Andy and Strand pulled up finally, along with a CSI. They put out an APB on the car. Hopefully some uniformed officer would find the arsonist and pull him over.
Kent sat out on the curb with Barbara and the kids as the fire department worked on his house.
As the long night wore on, crime scene techs logged the gas can as evidence, and Kent made sure they made molds of the footprints they’d found in the dirt. They blocked off the street and lit up the house and yard with floodlights as police searched the yard for more clues to the arsonist’s identity.
Structurally, the house was okay. The fire had been put out in time. Kent hoped the interior of the house would still be fit to live in, but the firemen told him there was too much smoke and fire damage in the back part of the house.
More than likely, this had been another attempt on Emily’s life. But how had the killer known where she was?
He paced, enraged, watching the efforts being made to put out any smoldering sparks in his house. The flames were out now, but what was untouched by the fire was damaged by smoke. This killer was tormenting Emily and her family, bent on her eventual death. He must be insane. He was fixated on a goal, and he wasn’t going to rest until he’d achieved it. He had to be stopped.
Kent thought of Bo and Carter. The police could easily find out if either drove a dark four-door sedan and if they had alibis at the time of the attack. Both men had priors, so their fingerprints could be compared to the ones on the gas can—assuming there were any.
But Kent couldn’t wait for that information. He had to act now … tonight … before this person struck again. He would get to the bottom of this himself.
Tonight he would find out once and for all who was to blame.
Chapter 44
When the fire was out and the fire department had left a small crew there to watch the smoldering debris, Kent took Barbara and the kids to a hotel and checked them in. With a maniac on the loose, they couldn’t go back home. He rented a room for himself next door to them and tried to sleep, but rage pounded through his veins, throbbing in his head. He had to know whether Bo drove a dark four-door sedan. He got on the phone and got the dispatcher to check on the make and model of both Bo’s and Carter’s cars.
Bo’s was a 2000 Maxima, dark gray. It could have been the same car. Carter drove a pickup truck, but his dead wife had a burgundy Altima.
He wondered if Bo had been at work tonight. If he smelled like booze, gasoline, and smoke.
Kent’s clothes still smelled of smoke, but he didn’t care. He loaded his weapon, holstered it, and pulled his jacket over it. Then he slipped out of his room, careful not to let Barbara hear in the room next door.
“Where you going?”
Lance’s voice startled him. Kent spun around and saw the boy sitting on the floor in the hall. “Lance—why are you out here?”
“I was talking to April on the phone. I didn’t want to wake up Mom and Emily.”
“Go back in. Your mother might wake up and get scared.”
“I know,” he said. “But that stupid doper Tyson showed up at her house again. She said she’d call me right back. I’m waiting.”
Kent could see the pain on Lance’s face. “Well, don’t wait much longer, okay?”
“I can’t sleep. I thought I’d go take care of a few things.”
“About Emily’s case?”
He didn’t want to lie to Lance. “Sort of.”
“Want me to go with you?”
The innocent question moved him. “Not tonight.”
Lance’s phone chimed as Kent got on the elevator.
The drive to Bo Lawrence’s house, where Kent had worked the scene of Devon’s murder, took twenty minutes across town. In this lower-income neighborhood, men loitered on corners. He slowed as he passed them, wondering if one of them could be his culprit.
There were flower bouquets around a cross on the front lawn of the Lawrence house. There was no light in the windows.
His headlights lit up a car in the driveway. It was an older model sedan, all right. Dark, four doors. It seemed bigger than the one Kent had seen at his house tonight, but then, he’d been stressed at the time, probably not as observant as he habitually was. And it didn’t have a dented fender. Maybe he’d imagined that or the streetlights had cast shadows.
He slowed in front of the house, wondering if Bo smelled like gasoline and whether his tennis shoes matched the pattern they’d found in the yard. He couldn’t barge into Bo’s house and insist on smelling the guy.
Still … he had to know. He pulled his car into the driveway and went to the door. No answer, and no sounds inside. Either he was hiding, sleeping, or he’d gotten a ride somewhere.
He went back to his car. If by some chance Bo was at work, he could easily walk into his store and confront him. He had to find out. He pulled out of the driveway, suddenly sure what he had to do. He drove around for a few minutes, making a plan.
His heart hammered. His head pounded.
He turned around and headed to Bo’s convenience store. It wasn’t far from where Bo lived. He thought of the morning that he’d gone in and told the guy his wife was dead. He’d truly seemed surprised and grief-stricken. But the man could be a good actor.
Kent pulled into a parking space in front of the store, peered in through the barred windows.