It was a dark night, and as I walked toward the parking lot the corner of my eye caught an orange dot glowing out of the blackness. A cigarette.
“Riley?” It was Jack, or John, or whatever the hell his name was. He was standing half in shadows but I recognized his voice and his large, hulking silhouette.
A ripple of nerves went through me. There was no point in pretending he was just a kindly custodian anymore. “Hey,” I said, purposely not using his name (after all, which one would I use?).
“Listen,” he said and let the cigarette fall to the ground. He stomped it out while releasing a cloud of gray smoke into the night air. “I think you and I need to talk.”
“I agree,” I said, now hyperaware that I was alone in a dark parking lot with a man I didn’t know. “But it’s late. Maybe we could talk tomorrow?”
Jack took a half step forward, and something in his hand glinted in the dim light of the moon. It was a gun. “I think we better talk now.”
Instinct took over and I turned to run back toward the hospital. Jack didn’t move to follow me, but I heard the click of the safety being released. And then in a voice as sweet as cherry pie, he said, “I don’t want to shoot you in the back, honey, but I will.”
CHAPTER 47
Jack forced me at gunpoint to drive to my house, unlock the door, and put Coltrane outside in the fenced yard. He took one of my kitchen table chairs and set it in the middle of my living room and told me to sit. He then tied my hands and ankles to the chair with zip ties he had in his jacket pocket. He had come prepared.
He sat down on the couch opposite and let out an exasperated sigh. “Riley, Riley, Riley . . . what am I going to do with you?”
“If you’re taking suggestions, ‘let me go’ gets my vote.”
Jack laughed. “You’re gutsy, I’ll give you that.”
He was a big man, maybe six-foot-three or -four, and had a beer gut that hung over the top of the waistband of his jeans. Our conversations had always been short in the hospital, and I don’t think I’d ever really looked at him until that moment. He had a long face that looked weathered from years spent in the sun. His eyes were small and light blue, so light that they seemed almost colorless, like a goat’s. I knew now that he was the same age as Bennett Nichols, but Jack definitely looked older.
And then it hit me like a flash of lightning: Jack was the third man I’d seen in the picture with Bennett and Brandon, the one where they were fishing. They were all friends—good enough friends that they’d been on a fishing trip together at some point. This raised so many questions, chief among them, Had the others been involved in killing Arthur, or had that been Jack alone?
“You’re friends with Brandon Laytner and Bennett Nichols,” I stated more than asked.
“Yeah. Been friends almost all our lives.” His eyes snapped up to mine, a challenge set there that I couldn’t identify.
“Did they help you kill Arthur, or did you do that all on your own?” It was a risk to be so combative, but I wanted to get him talking. The more time he spent talking, the less time he spent shooting me.
Jack laughed again; this time the laugh turned into a wheezy cough after a few seconds. “What—you think we’re going to have one of those chats like in Scooby-Doo where I tell you the whole story of what I did and why?” He leaned forward and narrowed those goat eyes at me. There was not one ounce of pity in them, and that was the first moment I felt actual fear. “Nun-uh. What’s gonna happen is I’m going to sit here and think about what to do with you, then I’m going to do it. I’ve come too far to get busted now.”
Terror stole my voice. I stared back at him silently.
He shook his head. “I tried to warn you. You shoulda left it alone. Bennett was the same way. He kept asking questions—I don’t know why he cared so much, he hated Arthur almost as much as I did. If he had kept his mouth shut, he might still be here, the dumb bastard.”
“You killed Bennett?” I gasped, honestly surprised.
“It wasn’t like I wanted to or anything.” He rolled his eyes. “Benny acted so high and mighty when I told him what I’d done—even though I think he knew all along. Laytner, too. They knew I had no choice—hell, I did it as much for them as for me. But that’s how they are, they act like they’re above all the dirty work yet they’re always glad I’m there to do it.”
I sensed discord. “But not this time?”
He let out a snort. “Bennett acted all shocked and like I’d done something wrong even after all that man had done to him. Pathetic. Laytner wasn’t as bad, but he got nervous when you found out about the farm.”
“So you’re an investor in Invigor8?”
“Investor, yeah, I like that.” He puffed up like a rooster. “I let Brandon use my land in exchange for a share in the company. See, I’ve encountered some challenges in the professional realm of employment, which is why I’m working as a lackey down at Tuttle Gen. All that’s gonna change when Invigor8 hits it big with this new drug. Then we’re all going to be rich.”
“So when Arthur withdrew his support from the drug trials, he threatened that,” I said as another piece of the puzzle locked into place. “It was you arguing with Arthur Davenport on the street that day, wasn’t it?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me before, but Jack Krisanski fit the description of the
