made with the help of a large rock in the middle of the stream, before disappearing in the underbrush. Adam had left the creek and, unless he’d backtracked, had to have gone up the slope I was facing, a gentler hill than the one behind me. I stood still, listening, letting the woods tell me which way to go, the sharp sound of steel slamming into rock answering my question.
The sound came from the other side of the rise in front of me, the elevation enough to blind me to what was there. Not wanting to reveal myself too soon, I skirted the rise, moving to my right slowly and carefully, stealth more important than speed, stumbling when I stepped into a shallow depression, going down on one knee, my hands planted at my sides. The dirt was fresh, the edges of the hole well defined, the length sufficient for a child’s body.
Brushing my pants off, I stood, certain I’d found Timmy’s empty grave until I scanned the surrounding area and saw three more just like it scattered amongst the trees, shrubs, and vines. The first grave plus two others would have been enough for Timmy, Evan, and Cara, but I’d found four, raising mind-numbing possibilities, the continuing metallic clang renewing my alarm.
Sidestepping the graves, I climbed through the brush, emerging into a small clearing, Adam’s back to me, a short-handled shovel raised over his head. It was the kind you could carry on a camping trip to dig a fire pit and cover ashes, not the kind you’d use to dig graves. The short handle made it easier to wield as a weapon, though he would have to get closer to me than he would like to do real damage.
Shirtless and mud-stained, he speared the ground with the shovel and sank to his knees, hanging his chin, gulping for air, his shoulders heaving. The ground around him was pockmarked with half a dozen shallow graves, all of them empty, jagged edges of rock aimed skyward.
“Adam.”
He jumped to his feet, snatched the shovel, and whirled around, cocking it like a baseball bat.
“Put the shovel down, Adam. It’s over.”
He took a step toward me, sweeping the air with the blade. “Go away! Leave me alone!”
I held my ground. “Can’t do that. I found your laptop, and I found Timmy Montgomery’s T-shirt. Your mother told us about you and Peggy Martin. The police are at your house by now. It’s over.”
His eyes billowed. “My mom told you about Peggy?”
“Yeah. She’s worried about you. She wants you to come home.” I glanced at the empty holes he’d dug. “Where’s Timmy’s body?”
He bounced on the balls of his feet, a slight bend to his knees, twirling the shovel’s blade, panting, nostrils flared.
“You see a body here? If there’s no body, there’s no crime. You can’t prove I done anything!”
“The police won’t need Timmy’s body. They’re going to find your DNA on Timmy’s clothes, and that’s all they will need.”
“Then what do you care about his body?”
“I don’t care, but Timmy’s mother does. Now put the shovel down and tell me where you buried him.”
He narrowed his eyes, his face turning red as he screamed at me. “They’ll put me away, maybe even give me the death penalty!”
“You’ll go to prison, that’s for sure. Whether you die there depends on what happens right now. This is your last chance to help yourself.”
He took a deep breath, lowering the shovel. I took two steps toward him when he raised it over his shoulder and swung it at me in a wide arc. I ducked beneath the blade, diving at his feet. His momentum spun him around out of my grasp. Before I could scramble to my feet, he slammed the shovel between my shoulder blades, flattening me on the ground.
My back felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was cover my head with my arms and curl my knees to my chest, waiting for the next blow, but none came. I raised my head, made it to my knees, and looked around. I was alone.
Chapter Forty-six
Adam could have run in any direction, but the only one that made sense was back toward his truck and he had enough of a head start to get there before I could catch up to him. He’d left the shovel, his shirt, and a denim jacket lying on the ground. I searched the jacket pockets, finding the keys to his truck. Time was on my side again.
I was wobbly and my back was throbbing, but my limbs were working. Using the shovel as a walking stick, I leaned forward, retracing my route, stumbling through the woods. When I got to the edge of the woods overlooking the open ground and the lake, I saw Adam, his head under the hood of his pickup. He darted back and forth from the cab to the hood, trying to hot-wire the truck, kicking the tires when he couldn’t make it happen.
If he saw me, he’d run. Staying inside the tree line, I skirted the lake, staying below his line of sight until I reached Cliff Drive. I’d parked my car behind his truck. That gave me additional cover. I ran, the shovel tucked under my arm, stopping behind my car as he slammed the hood of the truck and jumped into the cab.
The truck’s engine rolled over. Adam gave it gas, revving it, making certain it wouldn’t fail him. I sprinted toward the truck. He saw me in his side mirror, throwing the truck in gear as I pulled even with the driver’s door.
He yanked the wheel hard left as I swung the shovel at the driver’s window, glass exploding. The blade caught him on the chin, knocking him sideways on the seat, his foot still on the gas.
I swung the door open, climbing into the cab and shoving him aside. A minivan swerved around us, rocking and skidding past, the driver laying on the horn and giving me the finger. I hit the brakes, stopping the truck in the middle of Cliff Drive. Adam raised his head and grabbed my arm, letting go when I elbowed him in the throat.
I backed the pickup onto the shoulder, cut the engine, and took a closer look at Adam. He was conscious, glassy-eyed and bleeding. He’d need stitches, but he wasn’t going to bleed to death. There were rags on the floor of the truck. I put one in his hand and pressed it against his wound. When his eyes focused, I pulled him from the truck, setting him on the ground, crouching down at eye level.
“Last chance, Adam. What happened to Timmy Montgomery?”
His mouth quivered. He spit blood and began to sob.
“It was an accident. I never meant to kill him. Things just got out of hand. He started yelling. I told him to shut up, but he wouldn’t. He just kept yelling and I had to make him stop so I put my hands over his face, and the next thing I knew, he wasn’t breathing. If only he’d have shut up like I told him, none of this would have happened.”
“And that’s what you’ll tell the police, but I need to know. Where’s Timmy’s body?”
Bitter laughter replaced his tears. “I am such a fuckup. I can’t even remember where I buried him. I thought I knew, but I can’t find him. What am I going to do now?”
“The police will find Timmy’s body, but the more you help them, the easier it will be for you. You understand how that works?”
He nodded, the enormity of his situation sinking in. “What about my mom? What’s she gonna say?”
“I can guess. She’ll want you to be a man and do what’s right, tell us everything that happened.”
“I told you. It was an accident.”
“I know. But that’s about Timmy. He’s dead, and you can’t un-ring that bell. Evan and Cara Martin are a different story if they’re still alive. Tell me where they are, and you’ve got a good shot at avoiding the death penalty. Otherwise, you’re headed for death row.”
His squinted at me, trying to understand what I was saying, shaking his head, recoiling. “I didn’t touch those kids.”
“C’mon Adam. No one is going to believe that. Not after what you did to Timmy. Not after you were shacking up with their mother. I’m telling you that you’ve got one chance to grow old. Don’t blow it.”
He struggled to his feet, sputtering and angry, but I clamped my hands on his shoulders, pushing him back.
“I’m telling the truth. I didn’t do it!”
