Fifth Son (34 page)

“Stop!” he whispered. “Back up. More. There! It looks like a vehicle!”

Cautiously, they pulled the cruiser off the track under cover of some trees, eased open the doors and slipped out. The vehicle sat about twenty feet from the entrance to the drive, which was so overgrown it was barely discernible except for the flattened tire tracks. As they approached, Green saw it was an old silver Grand Am.

“False alarm,” Sullivan muttered and turned back to the cruiser.

Something stirred in the back of Green's memory—a vehicle parked in the laneway to the rear of the real estate office in Ashford Landing. He laid his palm on the car's hood. Warm.

“This is it!” he whispered hoarsely. “Sandy switched cars! That's why the
OPP
never spotted him.”

The two men peered down the grassy driveway and sifted the night air for sounds. “Looks like they came alone,” Sullivan whispered. “There's no sign of Scott's Blazer.”

“Sandy wouldn't want him along. Probably ditched his mother too.”

Sullivan turned to the road. “I'll notify Riordan.”

“They'll never find the fucking place, and if they do, they'll come screaming in here like a bunch of banshees.”

“Give them some credit, Green,” said Sullivan as he headed back towards the cruiser.

Green began to grope his way cautiously down the drive, fighting through grass and burrs that reached his thighs. The night was full of sounds he didn't recognize. Rustling leaves, distant hoots, rhythmic chirps and howls that seemed to echo forever. Suddenly, an all-too-human scream sounded in the distance, followed by an angry volley of shouts. Men's voices carried on the wind. Green froze and glanced back at Sullivan, who was visible in the cruiser's cabin light, settled in as if for a long chat. Another shout, closer. Its raw rage sent a chill down Green's back.

He raced through the grass, rounded a corner, and confronted a steep, curved rise in the track. The shouts were coming from straight ahead, but he could see nothing. Not the cruiser behind him, not the danger ahead. Did Brian even realize he'd gone? Green cursed his own stupidity for setting off alone without even a goddamn flashlight, which was probably safely stowed in the cruiser. He really had been behind a desk too long. Groping for his holster, he flipped the tab off and pulled out his pistol.

God, he hated the thing. He'd never fired it off the range and probably couldn't hit anything if he tried, but tonight, with his blood pounding in his ears and his breath so deafening it blocked out all else, he was glad he had it. Its cold, heavy weight felt reassuring in his hand as he crept up the rise.

The shouts had died down, but Green could hear a man talking, his words punctuated with angry curses. The targets seemed to be moving and were now up ahead on his right. As he reached the top of the rise, he caught a brief glimmer of light through the trees. The cottage? The light danced, moved and played on the trees around it.

No, a flashlight! The light was coming his way, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out movement. Legs, boots striding, the dull metal glint of a rifle barrel. Fuck, he thought, tightening his grip on the Glock. The men were coming straight up the lane toward him, closing the gap at a rapid pace. The one at the rear had the flashlight and the rifle, whereas the one in front was stumbling in the darkness, his every move betraying his fear.

“Sandy, what the hell are you talking about!” exclaimed a rough voice Green immediately recognized as Tom's. “I didn't kill Derek!”

“Just shut the fuck up and walk!” Green ducked off the track as they approached and crouched poised for attack. He could see the two men clearly in the dancing light, but there was no sign of Kyle. Green scanned the darkness behind them anxiously. Nothing.

“Lawrence killed Derek,” Tom said. “I swear on my life—”

“Like that means anything. You hated Derek. You couldn't stand that he was smart and was going to make something of himself. You couldn't face that your whole moronic, loser life was your own fault—”

“But I wouldn't kill him, for Chrissake.” Tom stopped in his tracks and turned to face Sandy. “Get hold of yourself and think about this!”

Sandy played the flashlight off Tom's face. At fifteen feet away, Green could see every quiver of fear in Tom's eyes. Slowly the rifle barrel rose, its muzzle point blank against his chest. “Who's going to know, huh Tom? You're a dangerous fugitive who kidnapped my brother. I'll be a hero.”

Tom shook his head. “You'll know. You'll have to live with it for the rest of your life, and believe me, that's a hell of a lot harder than you think.”

“And you should know. Right, you bastard?” The rifle clicked.

Green felt his fear in his bowels and in the slick gun barrel in his shaking hand. He gripped the Glock with both hands and raised it.

“Sandy,” he called gently. “Police officer. Don't move.”

The flashlight leaped wildly, swung in an arc and settled on Green. Blinded, Green kept his gun and his eyes trained on where he knew Sandy to be. He hoped his voice sounded calmer than he felt.

“Lower the weapon, Sandy.”

“Inspector Green! What the hell are you doing? He killed his own brother, and he was going to kill mine!”

“Lower the rifle. Then we'll talk.”

Sandy kept the flashlight trained on Green, and his voice took on a contemptuous tone. “You can't see a thing, I know you can't. I can shoot Tom, run away and you'll be so blind you won't be able to get a single decent shot off.”

He was dead right; Green was absolutely powerless as long as Sandy had that damn flashlight. Green cast about for a way to throw him off balance, all the while wondering where the hell Sullivan was. Nothing for it but to use my wits, he thought. I walked into this mess like an idiot without any back-up, so I'm going to have to get myself out.

“Sandy, where's Kyle?” he asked.

“Kyle's fine. He's down in the cottage with my mother.”

“Don't you think he's been through enough? Do you want to add to his trauma by shooting Tom?”

“That's why I brought Tom up here!” Sandy snapped. “Kyle won't even know.”

“He's a good kid,” Tom interjected. To Green's relief, he sounded calmer. “He knows more than you guys think. Take it from me, you can't run from these things.”

“I don't give a damn! You've already ruined too many lives.”

With the flashlight still blinding him, and the rifle barrel steadied once more on Tom's chest, Green scrambled for another tack. “What do you think, Sandy?” he said. “Will it be easier the second time around? Killing a man, I mean.” “What?”

“You're the one who killed Derek. You knew he was going off without you, and you couldn't stand that.”

“What?” It was Tom this time, astonished and disbelieving.

“Sandy was Derek's lover, Tom.”

“That's ridiculous!” Sandy cried. “I was just a kid.”

“You were seventeen,” Green said. “Plenty old enough to be in love. But Derek decided—”

Tom found his voice. “That's bullshit! My brother wasn't a fag!”

“Shut up, you Neanderthal!” Sandy cried. “Just shut the fuck up!” In his outrage, Sandy jerked the flashlight back toward Tom, and in that instant Green dropped to a crouch and aimed his gun. Sandy swung the rifle barrel in a wild panicked arc, searching for him. Green was fractions of a second from squeezing the trigger when a powerful light flooded the scene, and a voice boomed out of the darkness on the other side.

“Police! Freeze!”

Sandy swung his flashlight back and forth, catching first Green and then Sullivan in its beam. Sullivan stood rock solid, with his legs apart, his Glock in one hand and a flashlight held overhead in the other. Sandy's rifle barrel drooped, and in that instant Tom leaped forward to grab it.

“Tom!” Sullivan roared. “Don't fucking move!” Tom froze, but Sandy seemed oblivious to him. The rifle now dangled harmlessly at his side as he stared at Green in disbelief.

“Put the weapon on the ground and back away, both of you!” Sullivan said.

As they did so, Green moved in to retrieve the rifle and eject the cartridges from its barrel. All passion seemed to drain out of Sandy, who was barely able to stand.

“How can you think I'd kill Derek?” he said to Green. “I loved him.”

“That's why,” Green replied. “He was leaving without you, so you sent him a note to meet you in the shed—”

“No!”

“We have the note, remember! With your bloody fingerprint on it.” Well, not exactly, but in a pinch, whatever works.

But Sandy just looked bewildered. “But that was the note from him I was waiting for. With the bus times and all. I never got it!”

“Yeah?” Sullivan snarled, unhooking his cuffs. “Tell that to the judge.”

Green's mind was racing. Something was askew. If Sandy had killed Derek, why had he come up here in the middle of the night to kill Tom? Why was he accusing Tom of murdering Derek when he had absolutely nothing to gain from it? Unless he believed Tom was the murderer.

In which case, Sandy couldn't be. Something in his bewilderment about the note and in his desperate claims of love rang true. There had to be someone else. But even as Green thought it, Sandy voiced the exact same question.

“If Tom didn't do it, and Lawrence didn't, then who did kill Derek?”

In the distance, up towards the road, a car ignition turned over and caught. Sandy spun around in the direction of the sound.

“Oh, my God!” he gasped.

B
y
the time the four of them reached the top of the drive, the silver Grand Am was nowhere in sight, but an engine howled in the distance and a whiff of exhaust hung in the air. Sandy ran toward the police cruiser, shouting. Sullivan caught him in mid air and without hesitation threw him against the side of the car.

“You stay put! The
OPP
are on their way, and they'll intercept her, if you give us time to call them.”

Green was already on his radio with mobile command, who said back-up was on the way. Green urged caution. No sirens, no weapons unless absolutely necessary, he said. There's a child involved.

Sandy thrashed against Sullivan's restraining bulk. “You don't understand! She won't stop! You don't know what she's like when she flips out.”

“I think we have an idea,” Green said grimly once he'd signed off.

“But she wouldn't hurt her own kid, would she?” Sullivan stared at Sandy. “Would she?”

“Kyle's not hers. He's Jeb's son, and Mom didn't know he was retarded when she married Jeb. She doesn't even pretend to love that poor kid when Jeb's not around. She just uses him. And when something stands in her way—” He broke off with an anguished roar. “Oh, Derek!”

The shriek of an engine interrupted them, and they turned to see headlights bouncing along the trees from the direction of the main road. An instant later the silver Grand Am burst into sight and the four of them barely had time to jump out of its path before it hurtled on past them down the lane. A quick glance behind them revealed no pursuing headlights or tell-tale red flashes on the trees.

Where the hell are those guys, Green raged to himself as he turned on Tom. “Where does this lane lead?”

Tom shrugged desperately. “I ain't been here in over twenty years. It used to end in a boat launch down at the lake.”

Green turned to Sandy. “Does she have a gun?”

Sandy sagged back against the car. “She asked me to leave her the shotgun. Because of bears.”

Green and Sullivan exchanged rapid glances and Green saw the same “we're fucked” expression on his friend's face. With still no sign of the
OPP
, there was no need for words. They couldn't take two civilians on a high-speed chase, but they couldn't let either of them loose to their own devices either. Faced with a pair of impossible alternatives, there was nothing for it but to choose the less impossible. Green jabbed his finger at Tom.

“You ride up front with me. Sandy, get in back with Brian and the least sign of trouble, he handcuffs you to the door. And both of you, do exactly what we tell you!”

They piled into the car, which Green gunned ahead before he'd even closed his door. Rocks and potholes thudded the bottom of the car and branches raked its sides as they rocketed down the lane. The smaller, nimbler Grand Am was a pinpoint of red that vanished around curves and over hills in the distance.

“What the fuck is she doing!” Tom cried, hanging on to the dash. “She can't possibly escape!”

“Doesn't matter,” Sandy snapped. “It's worth the risk. She knows Kyle can't swim, but she's a strong swimmer. I know her! She figures she has an outside chance, and if not...”

Fighting the wheel to keep the car in control, Green didn't dare take his eyes off the road. “If not, what?”

“She'll kill herself before she faces the humiliation!”

Green glanced at Tom. “And there's a boat launch up ahead?”

Tom nodded grimly. Green had a split second to make a decision. Either to stop the chase so they didn't drive her into the water, or to speed up so they could catch her before she did. Or at least before Kyle sank beneath the surface. Green held his breath, trying to think.

“Go faster, Mike,” said Sullivan in his soft, calm voice. Gratitude flooded through Green at his intuitive good sense. Green tromped on the gas pedal, ripping up grass and stones beneath the wheels as the cruiser surged ahead. The red lights flicked out of sight behind a curve just ahead. Seconds later, Green skidded around the curve, and suddenly a huge drop yawned before them as the road plunged down the hill to the glistening black expanse of the lake. In the nanosecond before he reacted, Green saw a massive splash as the Grand Am hit the water. Green slammed on the cruiser's brakes, hurtling it sideways down the hill. The big vehicle rocked and bucked as he fought to straighten it, but he was powerless. All around him, glass exploded and metal shrieked.