Twisted: The Collected Short Stories of Jeffery Deaver

Crack…

He missed a can sitting about thirty feet away.

'Little rusty,' he said. 'But, hey, aren't we having fun?'

'Sure are,' Pete answered.

Doug fired again, three times, and hit the can on the last shot. It leapt into the air. 'There we go!'

Doug reloaded and they started through the tall grass and brush.

They walked for five minutes.

'There,' Doug said. 'Can you hit that rock over there?'

He was pointing at a white rock about twenty feet from them. Pete thought he could have hit it but he missed on purpose. He emptied the clip.

'Not bad,' Doug said. 'Came close the last few shots.' Pete knew he was being sarcastic.

Pete reloaded and they continued through the grass.

'So,' Doug said. 'How's she doing?'

'Fine. She's fine.'

Whenever Mo was upset and Pete'd ask her how she was she'd say, 'Fine. I'm fine.'

Which didn't mean fine at all. It meant, I don't feel like telling you anything. I'm keeping secrets from you.

I don't love you anymore.

They stepped over a few fallen logs and started down a hill. The grass was mixed with blue flowers and daisies. Mo liked to garden and was always driving up to the nursery to buy plants. Sometimes she'd come back without any and Pete began to wonder if, on those trips, she was really seeing Doug instead. He got angry again. Hands sweaty, teeth grinding together.

'She get her car fixed?' Doug asked. 'She was saying that there was something wrong with the transmission.'

How'd he know that? The car broke down only four days ago. Had Doug been there and Pete didn't know it?

Doug glanced at Pete and repeated the question.

Pete blinked. 'Oh, her car? Yeah, it's okay. She took it in and they fixed it.'

But then he felt better because that meant they hadn't talked yesterday or otherwise she would have told him about getting the car fixed.

On the other hand, maybe Doug was lying to him now. Making it look as if she hadn't told him about the car when they really had talked.

Pete looked at Doug's pudgy face and couldn't decide whether to believe him or not. He looked sort of innocent but Pete had learned that people who seemed innocent were sometimes the most guilty. Roy, the husband in Triangle, had been a church choir director. From the smiling picture in the book, you'd never guess he'd kill somebody.

Thinking about the book, thinking about murder.

Pete was scanning the field. Yes, there… about fifty feet away. A fence. Five feet high. It would work just fine.

Fine…

As fine as Mo.

Who wanted Doug more than she wanted Pete.

'What're you looking for?' Doug asked.

'Something to shoot.'

And thought: Witnesses. That's what I'm looking for.

'Let's go that way,' Pete said and walked toward the fence.

Doug shrugged. 'Sure. Why not?'

Pete studied it as they approached. Wood posts about eight feet apart, five strands of rusting wire.

Not too easy to climb over but it wasn't barbed wire like some of the fences they'd passed. Besides, Pete didn't want it too easy to climb. He'd been thinking. He had a plan.

Roy had thought about the murder for weeks. It had obsessed his every waking moment. He'd drawn charts and diagrams and planned every detail down to the nth degree. In his mind, at least, it was the perfect crime…

Pete now asked, 'So what's your girlfriend do?'

'Uhm, my girlfriend? She works in Baltimore.'

'Oh. Doing what?'

'In an office. Big company.'

'Oh.'

They got closer to the fence. Pete asked, 'You're divorced? Mo was saying you're divorced.'

'Right. Betty and I split up two years ago.'

'You still see her?'

'Who? Betty? Naw. We went our separate ways.'

'You have any kids?'

'Nope.'

Of course not. When you had kids you had to think about somebody else. You couldn't think about yourself all the time.

Like Doug did.

Like Mo.

Pete was looking around again. For squirrels, for rabbits, for witnesses.

Then Doug stopped and he looked around too. Pete wondered why but then Doug took a bottle of beer from his knapsack and drank the whole bottle down and tossed it on the ground. 'You want something to drink?' Doug asked.

'No,' Pete answered. It was good that Doug'd be slightly drunk when they found him. They'd check his blood. They did that. That's how they knew Hank'd been drinking when they got what was left of the body (80 mph, after all) to the Colorado Springs hospital — they checked the alcohol in the blood.

The fence was only twenty feet away.

'Oh, hey,' Pete said. 'Over there. Look.'

He pointed to the grass on the other side of the fence.

'What?' Doug asked.

'I saw a couple of rabbits.'

'You did? Where?'

'I'll show you. Come on.'

'Okay. Let's do it,' Doug said.

They walked to the fence. Suddenly Doug reached out and took Pete's rifle. 'I'll hold it while you climb over. Safer that way.'

Jesus… Pete froze with terror. He realized now that Doug was going to do exactly what Pete had in mind. He'd been planning on holding Doug's gun for him. And then when Doug was at the top of the fence he was going to shoot him. Making it look like Doug had tried to carry his gun as he climbed the fence but he'd dropped it and it went off.

Roy bet on the old law enforcement rule that what looks like an accident probably is an accident…

Pete didn't move. He thought he saw something odd in Doug's eyes, something mean and sarcastic. It reminded him of Mo's expression. Pete took one look at those eyes and he could see how much Doug hated him and how much he loved Mo.

'You want me to go first?' Pete asked. Not moving, wondering if he should just run.

'Sure,' Doug said. 'You go first. Then I'll hand the guns over to you.' His eyes said, You're not afraid of climbing over the fence, are you? You're not afraid to turn your back on me, are you?

Then Doug was looking around too.

Looking for witnesses, just like Pete had been.