Bill Caldwell was a psychopath.
“You make me sick,” Kay muttered, shifting her position in the chair to face forward and ease the strain on her wounded shoulder. She couldn’t stand looking at him anymore. Elliot squeezed her hand without a word, and she breathed, the warmth of his touch loosening the iron fist that grasped her heart.
In the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of a smile tugging at Bill’s lip. “Turn here, and drive straight for about two miles. Then you’ll see a long driveway on your left.”
“Got it,” Elliot confirmed.
Struggling with one arm still in a sling, Kay checked her weapon, then holstered it. She thought of removing the sling, but whenever she tried to move her arm, it hurt. She needed to be patient.
“What is this place?” she asked, when Elliot took the left turn and she saw the house in the distance, one window lit with a pale, yellowish light.
“Our old house, Mira’s and mine,” he replied, a hint of grief in his voice for a moment, then gone in an instant. “He told me you were on to him, and I let him stay until he could finish the job I gave him to do.”
“And that was?” she asked, assuming she knew but wanting to be sure.
“Killing you,” he replied calmly.
“Wow,” she whispered, the universal expression of dismayed shock not nearly enough to convey her feelings. He sat there, handcuffed, in the back of a police car, admitting more crimes than she’d known to charge him with. And he kept on going, seemingly disinterested by the consequences of his confessions. But why? He was smarter than that.
Elliot drove slowly and stopped about 30 feet from the door, then cut the engine. He called for backup, then turned to Kay and said, “Twelve minutes till they get here.” But he was determined to go after Scott right then, without delay.
Weapon drawn, she climbed out of the SUV. “Stay here,” she ordered.
Bill nodded. “Sure.” He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, apparently ready to doze off.
He was too damn calm. Something tugged at her gut again, but she disregarded it, focused on the task at hand. They took their positions on either side of the door. She felt uneasy, clumsily holding the gun in her left hand, her balance thrown off by the immobilized arm.
“Ready,” she whispered, and Elliot kicked the door open.
“Freeze,” he shouted, holding Scott in his sights.
But the man didn’t obey. With a roar filled with rage, he forged ahead, lifting Elliot’s arm just as he’d squeezed the trigger. The bullet went into the ceiling, then Scott twisted Elliot’s arm until he dropped the gun. It fell clattering to the floor, and Scott kicked it to the side with a wide grin.
“Now we’re equal, motherfucker,” he said, taking two steps back. He reached across a table and drew a large military knife from its holster. “Now we’re not.” He charged, and Elliot barely had time to avoid the deathly blow.
“Freeze,” she shouted, aiming her gun at Scott, trying to slow her breathing to take aim, knowing the risk of missing the target with her nondominant hand. She could hit Elliot instead. The thought of that made her stance weaken and her hand tremble.
As if reading her mind, Scott laughed, right before punching Elliot in the stomach. He buckled, and a second blow followed, straight in his eye.
“Shoot him already,” Elliot said, and she took aim again. She drew breath, then exhaled half of it and pulled the trigger. Scott fell on his side, holding his right thigh with both his hands. She took aim again, ready to fire if he so much as breathed the wrong way. The piece of scum didn’t deserve to live.
“You okay, partner?” she asked, her voice conveying more concern than she’d wanted Elliot to hear.
Elliot groaned, “I’ll live.”
“Wait,” Scott shouted, “what if I give all of them?” he panted, his wound dripping blood between his fingers. “Carole and Bill? I can give you both.”
She laughed. “What could you possibly give me when Bill’s the one who brought us here?”
Scott frowned. “Motherfucking bastard,” he muttered. “Carole, then,” he said, still negotiating.
“Not interested,” she replied. “You’re going to jail for the rest of your life. No deal.”
“She put a contract on you, and I can testify to that.” Scott smiled crookedly.
“She did?” Kay asked, almost amused. “I thought Bill did.”
“They both did,” Scott replied. “It’s not like I didn’t need twice the money, and they didn’t need me to tell them what the other was planning, right?” He grinned, showing crooked, yellowish teeth. “Now, do we talk deal? I’m dying here, you stupid bitch.”
“Not nearly enough.” She’d get Carole to confess a different way. She didn’t want the man who’d shot her brother within an inch of his life to see daylight again. But he could still answer some questions.
“Why did you kill Alyssa?”
He groaned, then clenched his jaws. “You can’t possibly pin that on me,” he shouted. “It was Bill’s job to keep the old kidnapping business under wraps. Great job he did at that,” he added, spitting some bloody saliva on the floor. “The girl showed up at the precinct, no less, telling everyone she had questions about a kidnapped girl from way back when. She had my name, you know. There was nothing I could do, and it’s all on Bill.” He stopped briefly, enough to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and wince in pain when he shifted his position on the floor, then he continued, “I just grabbed her and left, took her to Blackwater River Falls. No one’s ever there at eight in the morning. No one was supposed to find her; I’m good at what I do.”
Appalled, Kay stared at the man, her eyebrows raised. It was as if he were advertising his murder-for-hire skills. Only a twisted, sick mind could think of doing that with other cops present and in the absence of a deal bearing
