at all.’
Durless took the itinerary. ‘Let us find your dad, Evan. Let’s get a statement and a description while your mind’s fresh.’
Fresh. It’s not likely I could ever forget, he thought. Evan leaned back, staring up at the smoke-colored clouds through the back windshield of the police cruiser as it drove away from his house. His mind whirled in a strange, panicked dance of logic and emotion. He wondered where he would spend the night. A hotel. He would have to call his family’s friends; but both his parents, though successful, tended to keep their circle of acquaintances small. He would have to make funeral arrangements. He wondered how long it would take for the police to do an autopsy. He wondered at which church he should have his mother’s funeral. He wondered how it had been for his mother. If she had known. If she had suffered. If she had been afraid. That was the worst. Maybe the killers had come up behind her, the way that they had on Evan. He hoped she never knew, never suffered a pitch-black terror overpowering her heart.
He closed his eyes. Tried to reason past the shock and grief. Otherwise he thought he might just break down. He needed a plan of attack. First, find his dad. Contact his dad’s local clients, see if they knew whom he worked for in Australia. Second, find Carrie. Third
… he closed his eyes. Make sense of the horror as to who wanted his mother dead.
But they looked on your computer. What if this isn’t about her? What if it’s about you? The thought chilled him, infuriated him, broke his heart in one swoop.
The police car, driven by a patrol officer who had been a responder to the initial 911 call, with Durless sitting in the front seat, turned out of the Cashers’ quiet, bungalow-remodeled neighborhood onto Shoal Creek Boulevard, a long thoroughfare that snaked through central and north Austin.
‘They staged the scene,’ Evan said, half to himself.
‘What’s that?’ Durless asked.
‘Staged. I mean, the killers murdered my mother, then were hanging me to fake a suicide. So you, initially, would think that I killed her and then killed myself.’
Durless said, ‘We would always look deeper than the surface.’
‘But it would be the first and most obvious theory.’
Evan’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He answered it.
‘Evan?’ It was Carrie.
‘Carrie, oh, God, I’ve been trying to find you-’
‘Listen. You’re in danger. Serious danger. You need to get your mother and come back to Houston. Immediately.’
‘My mother’s dead, Carrie. She’s dead.’
‘Evan. Oh, no. Where are you?’
‘With the police.’
‘Good. That’s good. Stay with them. Babe, I am so sorry. So sorry.’
‘What danger?’ Her first words rang in his head. ‘What the hell do you know about this?’
Suddenly a car passed them, cut them off hard, forcing the patrol car into a manicured front lawn, a blue Ford sedan skidding to a stop, Durless yelling, ‘Holy shit!’ as the brakes threw him forward into the windshield. Evan wasn’t buckled in and the brake-jam slammed him into the back of the front seat. He dropped the cell phone.
He looked through the front windshield, aware of Durless cussing, aware of the patrol cop opening the driver’s-side door.
On the other side of the windshield, the bald-headed man got out of the blue Ford. Raised a shotgun. Aimed it right at Evan.
5
E van fumbled at the door handles. But he couldn’t get out of the car; the locks were controlled from the front seat. The mesh and glass trapped him.
The young officer hit the pavement, crouching down as he swung open the door. Bald jumped onto the police car’s hood, then roof, pivoted the shotgun in a blur, felled the policeman with two precise blows on the side of the head with the shotgun’s butt stock. The officer crumpled. Bald jumped down from the hood and leveled the shotgun through the driver’s door at Durless, who bled from a gash on his nose.
‘That’s him!’ Evan yelled. ‘The guy from my house!’ He heard Carrie’s voice calling his name, sounding tinny on the dropped phone.
‘Hands where I can see them,’ Bald ordered in a voice of total calm. ‘Don’t be an asshole.’
Durless raised his hands.
‘Unlock Evan from the back.’
‘Durless, he’s the guy!’
Durless threw himself out his door, and Bald vaulted over the cruiser, skidding across the hood. Durless landed on his back on the grass, freeing his service revolver in a smooth yank, firing. He missed. Bald slammed both feet onto Durless’s chest, a brutally efficient blow that purpled Durless’s face. Bald kicked away the service revolver onto the well-trimmed green of the yard.
Bald leaned down, nailed Durless with two sharp blows in the jaw.
It had taken all of ten seconds.
Evan pivoted onto his back, kicked at the window. It was reinforced; the glass held. ‘No need for that,’ Bald said. Evan scrambled off the seat onto the floor.
Bald leaned in the driver’s side, studied the controls, and popped the back door locks.
Evan leaned forward and pushed the passenger-side door open. But Bald already had the driver’s-side door open, the shotgun nestled against Evan’s back. Evan froze.
‘You’re coming with me,’ Bald said.
‘Please, what do you want?’ Evan yelled.
‘It’s for your own safety. Come on.’
Evan was suddenly full of a determination not to go with this man. Bald had dispatched a much younger cop and Durless with shocking ease. The police might have heard the attack over the radio. Or Carrie, she might be calling 911 in Houston and reporting the attack. Or a busybody on this street might be peeking out his window, dialing for help. The cops might arrive at any second. ‘No. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Goddamn it,’ Bald said. ‘I didn’t kill these cops when I could’ve, you think I’m gonna kill you?’
‘Who are you?’ Evan spoke louder. Carrie might hear this conversation. He had to give her information to help him. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘I want goddamned cooperation. You’re dead in a day unless you come with me. I’ll tell you everything. I promise. But you’ve got to come with me.’
‘No! Tell me what this is about. How do you know my mother?’
‘Later.’ Bald seized Evan by the hair and hauled him from the back of the car. Then Bald closed fingers around Evan’s throat with a practiced hand, squeezing on the rope burn. Black circles widened in the air before Evan’s eyes.
Bald jammed the shotgun’s barrel up under Evan’s jaw. ‘I don’t have time to coddle you.’
The barrel was cold against his throat and Evan nodded.
Bald lowered the shotgun, shoved Evan toward his Ford. ‘You drive. You disobey me, I shoot you in the leg. Cripple you for life.’
A passing car slowed – a Lexus SUV, a mom driving, a teenage boy in the passenger seat, staring at the police car in the yard. Bald raised his hand – the one not holding the shotgun – in a friendly wave. The Lexus zoomed away.
‘She’ll call the cops. We got seconds,’ Bald said.
Evan got in the driver’s seat, his hands shaking. Bald slid in next to him. He rested the shotgun so that it aimed at Evan’s thigh.
