Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

51

That was the odd thing, that it should have been the three of them to have killed the girls. It wasn’t like they were that close, not then and certainly not now. Of all the many things haunting him about that long-ago Fourth of July, it was that it should have been the three of them. There were a thousand what-ifs that might have changed all their destinies, but it was his curse that he should be bound to these two morons for eternity. They had been teammates. Friendly enough, but not really friends. John and Alexio were buds. He and Zevon were close, but it wasn’t like they all hung out together. Before that night, he couldn’t recall a single time when he’d hung out with Millner and Dragoa without the other guys around.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. For the weeks leading up to that Fourth, the plan was for him and Zevon to meet Ginny Connolly and Mary Kate O’Hara at the park and for the four of them to head out to Humpback Point. Just the four of them and no one pretended they were headed out there to watch the fireworks from Stiles. They’d kept it pretty quiet. The girls were sixteen, and though no one in Paradise made a big deal about statutory rape back then, they all agreed it was best not to advertise. He’d scored half an ounce of good weed and taken bottles of Southern Comfort and Jack Daniel’s from his dad’s liquor cabinet. He’d even paid Dragoa twenty bucks to use his rowboat. It was all perfect until Zevon backed out that morning. Fucking Zevon had ruined everything and paid for it with his life. But not even that sacrifice could undo the old blood. Now, as he walked to the maintenance shed, he knew there would be more blood. There would have to be.

And here they were again, the three of them. They had tried very hard not to ever be seen in public together for fear of anyone in town piecing together the events of that night. In spite of the fact that it was pretty clear early on, after the police interviews, that both girls had kept the secret, they could never be one hundred percent certain. They had worried most about Molly Burke. Although they were seniors and didn’t know any of the girls very well, they’d heard that Molly Burke and Mary Kate were best friends. Dragoa, the stupid hothead, had suggested killing Molly, but had been voted down. They had another way of keeping tabs on Molly. He convinced John and Alexio that if Molly knew anything, she would tell Zevon and that Zevon would tell him. Of course, in the end, the joke was on him. He was the one to confess their sins to Zevon.

“Did you hear what Stone said on the TV today?” Dragoa said almost before he’d stepped fully into the maintenance shed. “They got our DNA, maybe.”

“I heard.”

“They found hair and fiber samples from that goddamned picnic blanket you made us wrap them in,” Millner said. “I told you to just chuck ’em in the freakin’ hole. I mean, jeez, they was already dead. What the hell did it matter?”

“It’s twenty-five years too late for second-guessing, guys. Besides, we would have had to get rid of the blanket anyway. If we burned it, we would have attracted attention. If we tossed it in Sawtooth Creek, we risked having it traced back to the building we buried them in. And don’t forget, that blanket is the thing that helped us carry their bodies without getting covered in their blood. Sometimes there aren’t good choices, just less bad ones.”

“They know there was more than one of us,” Millner said.

“They don’t know. They think it’s a possibility. Very different things.”

“Cut it out, man,” Dragoa said. “You heard that reporter from Boston. She said that because one of the girls was stabbed and that the other had a fractured skull that it meant there had to be more than one killer.”

“She said it suggested there might be, not that there was. Jesse didn’t confirm it. He said he will follow the evidence.”

Millner laughed. “Stone always says that crap. Do you think they really found all that evidence like Stone is saying?”

“Well, maybe if Alexio had been able to control his appetites better. Maybe if he didn’t stab Mary Kate so many times, there wouldn’t have been so much blood and a need for—”

“I was drunk.”

“You’re always drunk.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Dragoa said, charging at him. “I’ll kill you, you mother—”

Millner grabbed him, clamping his arms around the fisherman. “Relax, buddy. Relax. It don’t matter now.”

“Johnny’s right. I’m sorry. None of that matters now. The only thing we can do is wait it out.”

“We been waiting it out for twenty-five years,” Millner said.

“Then a few more days won’t matter.”

Dragoa didn’t like it. “Easy enough for you to say.”

“You’re wrong, Alexio. It’s not any easier for me. I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll keep in touch same way as always.”

There was no handshaking when he left. There never was. As he walked quickly back to his vehicle under cover of darkness, his mind was churning as it had on that beautiful summer night all those years ago.