any other basis of information, I instinctively relied upon that most
reliable of sources, television.
From the landing, I could see that the front entrance and living room
were clear. I swung off the stairs in a half circle to face the back
of the house, my gun outstretched in front of me. Still clear.
The living room and Tim's dead body were to my left now as I faced my
dining room and kitchen. I reached down slowly, keeping my gun pointed
in front of me, and grabbed my purse. If I could just make it out the
front door and to the safety of my car, I'd be home free.
As I reached to unbolt the front door, I saw Derrick spring around the
corner of the dining room with his gun in front of him. He must've
watched TV as a kid, too. What he should've been doing was practicing
at the firing range, because he was a piss-poor shot. I heard the
mirror behind me crash as a bullet ripped into it.
I fired off two shots as I jumped across the hallway, over the top of
my sofa, and into the coffee table. I muffled a cry as pain shot
through my left side where I landed against the oak edge. I scurried
backward to get myself out of the pool of blood that was quickly
forming beneath O'Donnell and my Mission chair. The noise was blocked
out by the sound of the back door sliding open, followed by tires
squealing down the street.
I don't know how long I lay there, listening to myself breathe, trying
to convince myself that I couldn't hear anything else. Even Vinnie was
quiet now.
I finally mustered up the courage to crawl around the back of the sofa
and sneak a quick peek into the dining room. I'd done right by the
firing range. Derrick Derringer was on his back, two bullet holes
squarely in the middle of his chest. Apparently, it was OK for me to
move while I was firing, as long as my target stood still.
Based on the trail of blood through the dining room, into the kitchen,
and out the back door, I guessed that Frank had fled when he saw his
brother go down. More blood outside suggested that Frank was long
gone.
I freed Vinnie from the pantry as I dialed 911. Then I sat in a ball
on the kitchen floor holding him and my gun close to my chest until I
heard sirens pulling up to the house and fists pounding on the front
door.
Sixteen.
When I finally woke up the next morning, my whole body was on fire. I
was also sleepy and had a sore throat. By the time the police finally
left around two in the morning I'd related my entire story three
different times. First, I had to tell the patrol officers who
responded to the 911 call, so they wouldn't shoot me when I answered
the front door with a gun in my hand, two dead bodies behind me, and
bullet holes all over the place.
Then I had to give it to Walker and Johnson, who drew the MCT call-out.
They offered to page Chuck for me. I guess once your sex life's on the
front page of the newspaper, it's considered public knowledge. They
apparently didn't know the whole story, because they seemed caught off
guard when I asked them to call my dad instead.
Then I had to explain it all a third time to Griffith, who showed up
just as the medical examiner was zipping the body bag closed around Tim
O'Donnell's corpse.
'The Chief called me,' he said. 'He thought I should know that two of
my deputies were involved in a shoot-out.'
By then, my narrative skills had gotten pretty proficient. The
Derringers' involvement in street-level prostitution. O'Donnell's
extracurricular interests, which led him from what he thought was a
staged fantasy with an underage prostitute to the murder of Jamie
Zimmerman. How Kendra's assault arose from the same scenario, but this
time with Travis Culver as the not-so-innocent dupe. Culver's lies
about Frank's car. O'Donnell's fabrication of the Long Hauler letters.
My night of shoot-'em-up action. I dumped it all on him. Except the
part where I'd given O'Donnell my resignation.
'You should've come to me with this, Samantha,' he said. He looked
tired, and, in the light of my kitchen, the wrinkles that usually
seemed distinguished just looked old.
'I thought I did the right thing at the time. I knew O'Donnell was set
on killing the case, and I assumed you'd listen to him unless I had
some leverage.'
He stood to leave. 'You should give me more credit, Sam. I'm an
independent thinker, and now I'm going to go home to think.' As he
headed out the door, he gave me a wave over his shoulder. 'Nice house
you got here. See you in the morning.'
I had assumed from his comment that I was supposed to go to the office
this morning, regardless of my sleep deprivation, sore throat, and
aches. It definitely beat being dead, though.
And at least I was safe from the Derringers. At my insistence, Walker
had dispatched patrol officers to watch Haley and Kendra while police
began their search for Frank Der ringer. I thought about doing the
