confessed to killing Tito Molina and Donna Durslag.
And then Mitch had said good-bye to him and headed home to prowl Big Sister’s tidal pools alone with his hands in his pockets. He pruned his tomato plants, mowed his lawn, picked wild blackberries and beach plums. He was fine as long as he kept moving. Until at long last Des returned to him from Boston, one-quart tub of shredded pork in hand.
And now they sat there together in his truck, Des sipping coffee and stabbing holes in his theory. “What about the fact that Dodge has an alibi for when Tito was murdered?”
“His alibi is Becca,” Mitch pointed out. “I don’t mean to sound cold, because I like Becca, but if Dodge can convince her to get down on all fours with a bag over her head, he can convince her to fib for him.”
“I’ll give you that one,” she responded. “But answer me this-why would Dodge want to kill Tito?”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was the other way around. Let’s say Tito found out about Dodge and Esme. Maybe Esme told Tito, okay? And let’s say Tito called Dodge out on it. Think about what Tito told me at my house that night. He said he’d gotten himself into something bad, something he couldn’t get out of. This certainly fits the bill, doesn’t it? ‘The hangman says it’s time to let her fly,’ Maybe Tito was telling me that Dodge was about to pay for his sins.”
“Except that Dodge got the best of him up there,” she mused aloud. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, why not? There’s no actual proof that it was a woman who pushed Tito off of that cliff, is there?”
“Not one bit,” Des said. “Only answer me this, boyfriend. Why did Dodge turn right around and kill Donna? What’s the connection?”
“Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it was just some rough sex that got out of hand. It happens.”
“No sale. You can’t tell me that he accidentally happened to kill his second person in three days.”
“Look, I saw with my own two eyes what this guy is capable of doing to women. Frankly, it’s a miracle that more of them haven’t died while they were getting freaky with him.”
“This wasn’t getting freaky, Mitch. Donna was brutally, violently murdered. I am talking about walls spattered with blood.”
“Was there a lot of blood?”
“There was enough. Why, what’s the significance of-?” Des broke off suddenly, drawing in her breath.
Mitch sat right up, hearing the same sound she had-a car starting. It came from across the Crocketts’ meadow. Headlights flicked on now in front of their house and, slowly, the lights turned and made their way down the long gravel drive toward them. Mitch recognized the flatulent burble of the car’s diesel engine. It was Dodge’s old Mercedes wagon.
It was midnight and Dodge was heading out.
“I don’t believe this,” Des muttered at him.
“And I don’t believe you doubted me,” Mitch exclaimed triumphantly. “If I were a less secure person I would actually be hurt.”
“Hush!”
The Mercedes was nearing the carriage lamps at the entrance to the drive. From where they sat, it was impossible to tell if Dodge was alone in the car. For that matter, it was impossible to be sure that it was Dodge who was behind the wheel. As the Mercedes paused at the road, Mitch reached for his key in the ignition.
Des stopped him with a warning hand. “Not yet. Let him get rolling first.”
Dodge pulled out and headed toward Old Shore Road, leaving plumes of diesel exhaust in his wake. Mitch waited until he’d gone around a bend before he started up the pickup and put it in gear.
“No headlights,” Des cautioned him. “Just zone in on his taillights.”
Mitch took off after the Mercedes in the blackness. Fortunately, there were occasional streetlamps to mark his way. Otherwise he would have driven into a ditch for sure.
Old Shore Road was deserted at that time of night. The Mercedes was about a half mile ahead of them, chugging in the direction of town, its headlights casting a soft, film noir glow in the foggy mist that reminded Mitch of the opening sequence of The Killers, when William Conrad and Charles McGraw are pulling into that sleepy small town in search of the Swede. All that was missing was the ominous Miklos Rozsa score.
Mitch chugged along after it at a steady forty-five.
“Don’t get too close,” Des said anxiously from next to him, her knees jiggling with excitement. “Give him room.”
He grinned at her. “Want to take the wheel, Master Sergeant?”
“Heck no. You’re doing great.”
“You miss this, don’t you?”
“Miss what?”
“The hunt. You are loving this. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Doughboy, it is pitch-black in this cab.”
“So maybe I’m imagining it.”
“So maybe you ought to keep your imagination on the road. Careful, he’s slowing down… Watch it!”
Mitch hit the brakes, coming to a dead stop. Up ahead, Dodge was pulling into the Citgo minimart, even though it was closed up for the night. The illuminated sign was dark, the big floodlights out. There was only the night-light that the Acars left on inside when they went home. Nonetheless, Dodge drove around in back, where the rest rooms and trash bins were, and shut off his lights.
“Man, what the hell is he doing?” Des wondered as they idled there.
“Meeting somebody?”
Des jumped out, shutting her door silently behind her. “Catch up with me real slow,” she said to him through the open window. “Hit your lights when I signal you, got it?”
“Got it.”
She was off and running now, streaking her way toward the minimart, her knees high, her arms pumping. Mitch eased along behind her, seeing her backlit by the night-light inside. Now he could see her cutting across the parking lot toward Dodge’s car, raising an arm high over her head. Now he could see her lowering it…
And now Mitch flicked on his headlights.
And there stood Dodge Crockett intently spray-painting 9/11 WTC on the side of the minimart in two-foot- high red letters.
“Hold it right there, Mr. Crockett!” Des bellowed at him angrily.
First, Dodge froze. Then he hurled the aerosol paint can at her. Then he tried to run, which was futile-Des was faster than he was. He scarcely got twenty feet before she overtook him and threw him roughly to the pavement, jamming her knee into the small of his back. She slapped a handcuff on him and dragged him over to the rear service door, which had a heavy steel handle on it, and cuffed him to that. Then she called for a cruiser on her cell phone. She also got the Acars’ home number and put in a call to them.
Mitch climbed out of the truck and walked slowly over toward Dodge, his eyes hungrily searching Dodge’s face in the headlights for some insight into what was going on in this man’s mind-this man who he had looked up to and confided in and thought of as a friend.
Dodge did not hang his head in shame or defeat. He remained unbowed and unapologetic, the same way he had when Mitch and Will had walked in on he and Becca.
“A cruiser will be here in five,” Des announced, pocketing her phone.
“How about the Acars?” Mitch asked.
“No answer. I left a message on their machine.”
Mitch frowned. It was after midnight-kind of late for them to be out. Then again, maybe they didn’t pick up after they went to bed. A lot of people didn’t.
“This finally makes some sense,” Des said, staring coldly at Dodge “I get it now.”
“You get what?” wondered Mitch.
Dodge wasn’t saying a word.
“Why Miss Barker got weird on me,” she explained. “The old girl clammed right up when I asked her if she’d seen anybody drive by her house after that rock got thrown. Same with Mr. Acar, who was way too anxious to button it all up. Because it wasn’t any stupid kids who were messing with him. It was you, Mr. Crockett, and you’re someone who still matters in this town. Miss Barker knew it was you-she recognized your car. And Mr. Acar knew because you’d warned him, hadn’t you? You’d told him what might happen if he didn’t back off.”
