Riptide

“I tried, Casey,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

The door crashed open.

An inrush of air from outside, a shout of flame from the hall, and a hand grasping hers, pulling her to her feet.

Draper.

“Go!” he shouted.

The door leaned on broken hinges. He’d smashed it open with a chair from her patio, a piece of heavy cast iron lawn furniture.

When she glanced back, she saw him lifting Casey, hooking an arm around his waist and carrying him. It looked so easy.

He hauled Casey outside, joining her in the yard, while the house crackled and sputtered impotently behind them.

“Through the gate,” he yelled. “Out front!”

She wanted only to stop and rest in the coolness of the yard, but she knew the fire could reach them even here. If the fence started to burn, they would be trapped like penned animals.

She almost tripped over something at her feet. Her lawn mower, disassembled. Parkinson had taken the gas tank, used the fuel to feed the fire.

The gate came up before her, standing open-Draper had kicked it in, shattering the lock-and then she was in the front yard, on the sidewalk, collapsing by the curb, where Draper’s Crown Victoria was slant-parked, engine idling.

Some of her neighbors, newcomers she had never met, people who kept themselves hidden behind walls, were venturing into the street to watch the house burn. Sirens sounded, an ambulance or a fire engine. Across the street the evil Rottweiler howled in jubilation.

Draper arrived beside her, laying Casey on the lawn.

“He was hit on the head,” she managed to say.

The effort of speech cost her too much. She leaned forward, resting on one arm, and wheezed helplessly. She wondered how much smoke she’d inhaled, what her lungs looked like.

Her throat was horribly parched. She would have given anything for a drink of water, though she wasn’t sure she could keep it down.

“Hang on, Jen,” Draper said. “The paramedics are coming. They’ll get you and Casey to a hospital.”

But she didn’t want to go to a hospital. There was something she had to do, something important, if only she could remember what it was. She shut her eyes, and it came to her.

“Sandra Price.” Her voice was a croak.

Draper looked toward the house. “Is she in there too?”

She shook her head. “She’s the next victim.”

“He told you that?”

She nodded.

“Damn it.” Draper looked around uncertainly. “I have to intercept him. You wait here with Casey. The paramedics-”

“I’m not waiting.” She pushed herself upright. “I’m going with you.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Tough.”

She swayed a little as she made her way to Draper’s car. She climbed in on the passenger side, shutting the door with as much authority as she could muster.

“Hell.” Draper saw the futility of arguing. To the crowd he called out, “Anyone have medical training?”

“I know CPR,” one man ventured.

“Watch this officer till the EMTs arrive. Tell them he received a blow to the head and inhaled smoke.”

He slipped behind the wheel, slammed the sedan into gear, and accelerated.

Beside him, Jennifer struggled to gather her thoughts. “The killer-it’s not Richard.”

“It’s Parkinson. I know.”

“How?”

“I found some papers in Maura’s purse. She did some research downtown and took notes. Your house was originally owned-”

“By someone named Parkinson. That doesn’t explain how you knew I’d be at the house.”

“You weren’t at the station. No one knew where you’d gone, or Casey, either. The house was the first place I thought of.”

She released another flurry of coughs and spat up something into her palm. She checked it in the glow of a passing street light. The mucus was clear now, a good sign.

“He could be killing Sandra right now,” she said. “And we don’t even know where she is.”

“She’ll be at C.A.S.T. headquarters.”

“At this hour?”

“Their office is on the boardwalk. The March Festival is still going on. She always keeps her doors open late when there’s a crowd.”

That was true. Jennifer had seen it herself. “Will Parkinson know that?”

“Probably. He lives around here.”

“Does he?”

“A Venice native.”

Of course he was. He could never stray too far from his ancestral hunting ground.

“He’s armed,” she said. “He took Casey’s service pistol. Fired it three or four times. Right after I gouged his face.”

“Good for you.”

“Shouldn’t you call for backup?”

“Parkinson has a police radio. He’ll be monitoring the traffic. That must be how he knew we were at the Fortezza. If he hears the call go out, it’ll spook him. We don’t want him running. We need to end this now.”

Another coughing spell took hold of her, then subsided.

“Smoke inhalation is nothing to fool around with.” Draper sounded worried. “It can get a whole lot worse in a hurry.”

“I’m all right.”

She sank back in her seat. Her eyes burned. She wished she could douse her whole head in a basin of cool water.

“What was Casey doing there?” he asked.

“I thought I’d arranged a rendezvous with Richard. We were going to bring him in.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

She hesitated. “I didn’t want Richard hurt.”

“You mean, you were worried about that little squeeze play on the beach?”

“Not just that. Casey told me-well, he told me there have been civilian complaints.”

“No more than any cop gets.”

“And he said there was an incident of domestic abuse. You beat up your girlfriend.”

“Casey’s been talking out of school.”

“Look, you just saved my life. I’m not trying to cause trouble-”

“It’s okay. He’s right. I did hit her. I’d been with her for three years, and the whole time she swore up and down she was clean. Then one night I walk in on her and she’s got a fistful of coke up her nose. She’d been using, for months, behind my back. I lost it. Started yelling. She was high and crazy, and she came at me. So yeah, I hit her. Hard. Then she locked herself in a bedroom and called nine-one-one. By the time the unit arrived, she’d figured out she couldn’t press charges without copping to possession and assault. So she made up a story and the patrol guys went away. And I broke up with her.”

“I see.”

“There were better ways to handle it. I admit that. But she was violent and out of control. And she’d been lying to me. Playing me. I was pissed off. I don’t like being played.”