Dark Pursuit

She’d had two long interview sessions with the San Mateo Sheriff’s Department. Not to mention dodging the media everywhere she went. And the public in general.

No charges would be filed in her shooting of Craig Barlow. Self-defense, they said.

But it wasn’t just a lack of rest. Kaitlan felt a deep tiredness in the marrow of her bones. She carried it around with her, a stone in her chest. Yesterday Margaret said it would pass eventually—that Kaitlan had lost much and been through multiple levels of shock, and that didn’t heal overnight. Margaret was still reeling herself.

They both agreed they and her grandfather were alive only by the grace of God.

More than once they prayed together for their own strength and healing. “Get us through this, God,” Kaitlan had promised Him, “and I’ll give my life to You. All of it.”

She wasn’t quite sure what that would mean. But it was a bargain she intended to keep.

Sighing, she changed positions.

Craig lay in this same hospital, under guard. The bullet had torn through his upper intestine, missing his heart and lungs. With all the evidence against him, he had confessed. When he was discharged, it would be to jail. He faced two counts of first-degree murder, other counts of aggravated assault, plus tampering with evidence and other charges regarding his disposing of his sister’s final victim.

Under interrogation, her brother wounded, a barely controllable Hallie Barlow had melted. She related in detail each murder, including her sinister planning of the third one. Kaitlan still could hardly believe the story. How could Hallie have done this? And if someone seemingly as nice as Hallie could be so black inside, what did that say about the human race?

Kaitlan had turned these questions over and over in her mind.

Unlike the first two random murders, Hallie Barlow had targeted Martina Pelsky. Studying her habits, Hallie learned Martina was bicycling the town every afternoon, leaving campaign flyers at houses. Martina was meticulous about this project, sectioning the town into grids. But Hallie didn’t want to risk an outside killing in daylight. She watched until Martina’s task took her near Kaitlan’s neighborhood. What better place to lure Martina than Kaitlan’s out-of-the-way garage apartment?

In preparation Hallie managed to “secretly borrow” Craig’s key to Kaitlan’s apartment—just long enough to make a copy.

The day of the murder Hallie drove past Martina as she biked not far from Kaitlan’s home. Hallie stopped and invited Martina to “her place,” expressing an interest in helping with the campaign. “No worries, I’ll bring you back here,” she smiled. Hallie was such a likable person. Without a second thought Martina left her bike in the woods and climbed into Hallie’s SUV.

Hallie tried something else new—bringing a camera for pictures. She would have plenty of time afterward to haul the body away and straighten Kaitlan’s place.

But fate intervened. While Hallie was taking the photos, Craig showed up, bearing a half dozen red roses to leave as a surprise for Kaitlan. Shocked out of his mind at what he stumbled onto, he swung into frantic protection mode for his sister. He had Hallie call the salon to make sure Kaitlan was there—only to learn she’d left early and was on her way home.

In sheer panic Craig and Hallie fled before she could spot their cars.

The roses.

Kaitlan had cried many tears over them. To think Craig had bought those flowers for her hours before he picked her up. Before, driven and desperate, traveling a dark streak of his own, he turned into a monster for the sake of his sister.

Didn’t he feel bad about what he was doing to his girlfriend? a detective asked him.

“Anything for family,” Craig had replied.

Now behind bars, Hallie was reportedly grief stricken and suicidal. She’d been placed on special watch.

A search of her apartment turned up the fabric, hidden at the bottom of a box of books in her closet. Plus scrapbooks full of old photos of Hallie’s and Craig’s mother. Authorities searched for one picture in particular that Hallie had mentioned—a full-length shot of her mother, dressed in black pants and a green blouse. The day her mother walked out of her life, Hallie told detectives, the woman had been wearing that outfit.

Most important, detectives found Hallie’s journal that had recorded her downward spiral. Quite appropriately, she’d titled it Obsession. So far only a few of its pages had been released to the media, but what Kaitlan heard had been heart-stopping.

On TV talking-head psychologists were going wild with the story. Childhood abandonment issues, they said. Bitter anger welling up when Hallie happened to read Darell Brooke’s novel Life After Death—about a murderous doctor using fabric of black silk with green stripes to kill. The women Hallie strangled were representations of her mother, the psychologists surmised. Each victim Hallie perceived as a poor mom, abusive to children. Not worthy of life.

Hallie reportedly sees none of this. Her answer to why she killed?

“I don’t know.”

Such sensationalized publicity for the King of Suspense. All copies of Life After Death—an apropos title for a book now thirty-five years old—sold out almost overnight. The publisher had rushed a large reprinting.

But this kind of publicity Kaitlan’s grandfather did not enjoy. Beyond his closed hospital room door a private security employee posted himself in a straight-backed chair. No reporters allowed. Except for Ed.

Kaitlan stretched and blinked at the wall-mounted TV. It was on but muted. Commercials.

In his bed her grandfather was sleeping.

He was scheduled to go home tomorrow. It could have been sooner after the surgery to remove the bullet in his shoulder, but he’d lost a fair amount of blood and struggled with weakness. Except for his tongue. Kaitlan had seen her grandfather send more than one nurse scurrying.

The door cracked open. Ed stuck his head inside. Kaitlan smiled and motioned for him to come in.

Ed entered, closing the door quietly behind him. “He asleep?” he whispered. He soft-footed it over to sit in a wooden chair beside Kaitlan.

“I was until you bothered me,” Kaitlan’s grandfather crabbed. Beneath the covers his legs shifted. He opened one eye. “That you again, Wasinsky?”

“Yes, sir.”

The eye closed. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, coming here every day. It’s not me you’re wanting to see.”

Kaitlan’s face flushed. Which no doubt looked terrific on her mud-yellow cheek.

“Ah, don’t give me that.” Ed rose to stand by the bed. “I want to see you too.” His fingers grazed her grandfather’s hand. “How are you?”

“Spiffy.”

“Well, good.”

Her grandfather heaved a sigh. “Where’s Margaret?”

“Home,” Kaitlan said. “Cleaning the place up. Getting it ready for you. She’ll be in to see you soon.”

He grunted.

They fell silent. Her grandfather’s eyes slipped shut once more, and Ed wandered back to his chair. He regarded Kaitlan with raised eyebrows—how are you?

She tilted her head.

Kaitlan’s gaze pulled to her grandfather. His wizened jaw relaxed but his lips were closed, further hollowing his cheeks. His wild eyebrows needed trimming.

Guilt and gratitude panged her heart. Crazy old man. Willing to give his life for hers. She’d tried to express her overwhelming appreciation—more than once. “Thanks for what?” her grandfather retorted. “Coming up with a cockamamie plan that near got us killed?”

“No, for—”

“Couldn’t even remember one of my own stories. Not to mention misreading the entire crime. What a mind I got.”

“But you did it for me. You purposely pushed Craig—for me.”

He’d batted a hand at Kaitlan. “Girl, you’re talking nonsense.”

Ed rubbed his forehead. “I went to Sam’s funeral this afternoon.” He spoke in low tones.