“Still, we need to talk to him.”
She licked her lips. “I don’t know . . .”
Rivers waited.
“Well, I suppose that would be all right.” She closed the door for a second, the chain rattling as it was being released; then the door swung open.
Jennifer Korpi stood in a small vestibule, and she looked worried. “Come in . . . but please, don’t stay long. He just got out of the hospital yesterday evening.”
“And you’re staying with him?” Rivers stepped inside and followed Korpi into a compact living room filled with worn furniture and smelling of smoke from a wood stove where a fire was burning, fir snapping as it was consumed by flames.
“Yes. For a few days. The school’s closed for the holidays, and Harold is out of town on business until Christmas Day, so it only made sense that I help Gus out for a while . . .”
Nervously, she cast a glance at a plaid sofa that had seen better days, then at a worn leather La-Z-Boy, empty but still in the recline position. A cigarette was burning but forgotten in an ashtray on the coffee table. She frowned. “He was just here . . . Gus!” she called. And over her shoulder, to Rivers and Mendoza, “I think he might have—Oh! There you are.”
Gus stuck his head from around a partial wall separating the kitchen from the living room. “Just grabbing a beer,” he said, but didn’t step into the open space.
Jennifer scowled at her brother. “You know the doctor said no alcohol until you’re off the pain meds.”
Jardine let out a disgusted huff. “What does he know?” His eyes were focused on the two cops, and Rivers was getting a bad feeling about this. He saw Jardine’s right hand, wrapped in bandages, but the left, along with half of Jardine’s body, was hidden by the wall.
Not good.
Korpi stood, unmoving, in the middle of the living area, right next to the coffee table and directly between Rivers and Jardine.
“Back away,” Rivers said.
“What?” Korpi turned toward him.
Rivers didn’t let his gaze move from Jardine. “I’d like to talk to Gus alone.”
“Oh, well.” She inched backward, unsure.
“This way!” Mendoza ordered.
“We need a word with you,” Rivers said to Jardine. “Come on out.” His cop sense went into overdrive. “Come on out.” Rivers was already reaching for his pistol, but this closed space was no place to fire a gun, and Jennifer Korpi was still directly in the line of fire.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” Jardine’s gaze shifted to his stepsister for an instant. “Didn’t I tell you not to let them in?”
“It’s okay, Gus,” she said, but she was nervous now as well. Frozen to the spot. She swallowed hard and quickly sketched the sign of the cross over her chest.
“Get back!” Rivers ordered.
“It’s not okay!” Gus stepped out from behind the wall, and damn it, he had a gun in his left hand.
“Don’t shoot!” Rivers ordered.
Jennifer let out a mewling cry and scrambled past Rivers and Mendoza, whose weapon was already trained on Jardine.
“Drop the gun!” Mendoza ordered. “Now!”
“No way!” Jardine was backing toward the rear door.
“Drop it!” Rivers too had his pistol pointed at Jardine, who awkwardly swung it, aiming first at Rivers, then Mendoza, and back again.
“Put the gun down, Gus,” Rivers said. “It’s over. We know you were in San Francisco the night Charity Spritz was killed.”
“No!” Korpi cried from the vestibule. “Oh, Gus! You couldn’t. You didn’t.”
Jardine snapped, “Shut up, Jen. Just shut the fuck up.”
“Oh. Dear. God. You told me you didn’t do it!”
“I said, ‘Shut the fuck up’!”
Sobbing, Jennifer opened the front door, letting in a rush of cold air carrying with it the sound of ever-approaching sirens.
Jardine was rattled. “You’re bluffing,” he said to Rivers. “I was here that night.”
“No, you weren’t. Your alibi doesn’t hold up, and Charity Spritz scratched you, Jardine. Got some skin under her nails. DNA came back, and once we get a sample of yours . . .”
“Not happening!” Gus shook his head. “Nuh-uh!”
“We’ll get a court order. Until then, we’ve got pictures of your hand before surgery, and guess what? Teeth marks match her bite.”
“What? No!” He was wild-eyed now, moving slowly and steadily to the door, but with one hand in a bandage and the other holding the gun, he couldn’t open it.
“Careful,” Mendoza said, still aiming.
“This is all a lie!” Gus charged, but he was sweating. “I’m not goin’ down for this. You set me up! You fuckin’ cops set me up!”
“Drop the weapon,” Mendoza ordered again.
“It’s over, Gus,” Rivers said and saw the reaction in Jardine’s face.
“Shit!” Mendoza said, and three guns fired as Rivers threw himself behind the recliner, a bullet whizzing within inches of his head.
Jardine spun, dropped the gun, and went down hard, his head cracking against the back door as he fell, his gun flying out of his hand.
“Gus! No! Gus!” Jennifer Korpi screamed and attempted to run to her brother, but Mendoza restrained her.
“Stay back! Ambulance is on its way,” Mendoza said. “I called. It’ll be here in two minutes.”
Jardine’s eyes started to glaze over. “I’m gonna sue you,” he swore as he stared up at Rivers as he approached.
Rivers kicked the gun into the living room, far from Jardine’s reach.
But the injured man wasn’t done with his invective. “I’m gonna sue the hell outta you, you miserable cocksucker, and I’m going to sue that shitty Sheriff ’s Department for all it’s worth.”
“No, Gus, that’s not going to happen. You got it wrong.” Rivers squatted just out of Jardine’s reach, his gun still drawn. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going down. For the murder of Charity Spritz and maybe a few more. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life behind bars, you’ll tell us everything you know and cut a deal. Not just about the murder in San Francisco, but who killed Willow Valente and what the hell happened to Megan Travers.”
“Not me,” he said.
