All was dark and silent. On one side of the pockmarked road, boarded-up buildings were scarcely visible in the pale moonlight. On the other side, moonlight disappeared into the blackness of an open pit bordered by a ramshackle wire fence. Some posts sagged, pulling the wire over the lip of the excavation. An occasional red warning light gleamed on rickety wooden poles near the pit. I supposed some local ordinance required illumination of a hazard.
The Cruiser’s headlights flashed over warning signs:
DANGER
OPEN PIT
NO TRESPASSING
The Cruiser neared one of the brief swaths of reddish light from a warning lamp. I felt more and more uneasy. I hoped that if the need arose, that I could move to protect her if danger threatened. Reddish light fell across the car.
A gunshot and jolt came at almost the same instant.
Despite the closed windows, the crack of a high-powered rifle was sharp and unmistakable. The Cruiser slewed to the left. Kim fought the wheel, jamming on the brakes. In the horrifying slow motion of impending disaster, it seemed forever as the car careened toward the pit, unstoppable, out of control, doomed.
The car crashed through the fence and Kim screamed. She slammed hard against the windshield. Her terrified cry ended abruptly. I reached out, tried to catch Kim’s arm. The car went end over end. I whipped through the windshield and out into space.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Flashlights beamed from every direction. Headlights cut twin swaths through darkness, illuminating running figures. Men called out as they ran, reaching the edge of the pit as a thunderous crack sounded, the impact of the car on the water.
Dazed, I hung above the pit.
Maglites swept the roiled surface, catching in their crossing beams a wavering silver plume that rose and fell. Shouts rose: “Divers, get some divers.” “We need more light.” “Where did that shot come from?” “Block the road.” “Form search units.”
Chief Cobb stood at the edge of the pit with a megaphone, directing the efforts to reach Kim’s car. “How deep is the water?”
Detective Sergeant Price shrugged. “Maybe ninety feet, maybe more.” He pointed a Maglite down. Ripples eddied on the dark surface. “By the time we get divers here, it will be too late to save anyone.”
I’d hoped to protect Kim, envisioning a moment when I might push a hand holding a gun to one side, knowing the police would be in place and ready to pounce and make her safe. Instead, a hidden marksman shot her tire, spinning the Cruiser out of control and down to death.
I hung above the black water and called out forever too late. “I’m sorry. Kim, I’m sorry.”
“Bailey Ruth.” Wiggins’s voice was kind and gentle. “You cannot blame yourself.”
I didn’t pause to wonder why he was back from Tumbulgum. I was only grateful for support when I felt such a crushing sense of failure. “I was afraid she might be meeting Susan’s killer. I should have appeared and warned her.”
“My dear”—his tone was emphatic—“you did everything you could to assure her safety, and I applaud your ingenuity. Forces to protect her were at hand. You could not foresee what occurred. However”—there was noticeably less warmth—“I expect you to make a strong”—he repeated the adjective with even more emphasis —“
As spotlights pointed down, the last ripples subsided on the surface of the black water.
“I had to intervene the best and fastest way I could.” My tone was hot. “If it seemed otherworldly, well, after all, it was, and so be it.” Wiggins had a talent for yanking my string. “If the police hadn’t been here, thanks to me, no one would ever know what happened to Kim. She would have disappeared. Now the police know she was murdered. That proves Susan was murdered.” I smacked one fist into a palm. “None of this would be known if I hadn’t grabbed Chief Cobb’s attention. I didn’t have time to approach him any other way.”
Wiggins’s “Hmm” was judicious, but there might have been a hint of amusement. “Much as I admire your spirit, dear Bailey Ruth, you do not excel at logic. In fact, your conclusions rather remind me of your grasp of Zen. Imprecise. You cannot reasonably conclude that Kim was murdered by the person who murdered Susan. Kim may have been killed because an heir had no intention of being blackmailed and every intention of preventing the emergence of the new will. Her death may be quite separate from Susan’s.”
“The idea of two murderers is silly.” How could Wiggins be so muddled? “I may not be good at logic, but I have common sense. Of course Susan’s murderer killed Kim.”
“I’m sure”—his voice was a bit fainter—“you will solve everything, whether there is one murderer or two. I will admit that you did a clever piece of work in arranging for the police to be here, even though your method left much to be desired. Not only did their presence make it clear that Kim was murdered”—I could scarcely hear him—“you should consider another result of their positioning tonight: the shocking effect of police intervention immediately after the shot on a murderer who assumed there was no one else within miles. Tallyho, Bailey Ruth.”
More sirens sounded. The road near the broken fence where Kim’s car crashed over was clogged with police cars. The sounds of a search reverberated. Flashlights swept across the plant buildings.
I lifted a hand, unseen, in farewell to Wiggins. He had come to comfort me, rebuke me, pull me from sadness to combativeness, and to point the way ahead. I mulled the meaning of his farewell.
I imagined myself cloaked in darkness, holding a rifle, watching the Cruiser swing around the curve in the road beside the pit. I would have felt, as Kim’s murderer must have felt, utterly secure, the abandoned brick plant deserted, no one to see, no one to hear. The car for an instant was revealed in the red flare of a warning light. I squeezed the trigger. The tire exploded. The car jerked out of control, swung toward the pit, plummeted down, all according to plan.
Then the plan went awry. Lights flashed and shouts erupted as police raced toward the pit. There was no moment to savor success. Instead, the unimaginable, the unexpected, the unforeseen had occurred, police officers
