The Blood Red Indian Summer

CHAPTER 15

“Good to see you again, Yolie,” Mitch exclaimed as he and Winston Lash stood there dripping all over Tyrone’s polished hardwood floor.

“Back at you, Mitch,” Yolie responded grimly.

Toni the Tiger marched right up to him and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Berger. I’m Toni Tedone.”

Mitch smiled and said, “Of course you are.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

“My, you certainly have a pair of big ones,” Winston observed, his eyes zeroing right on her ta-tas.

“ What did you just-?”

“Don’t mind Winston,” Mitch said as Des studied him, wondering what in the hell he and the old man were doing here. He glanced around at the very tense group of people who were gathered there, his gaze settling on little Rondell. “Hey, man, how are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” Rondell answered quietly.

“I love that shirt you have on.”

Rondell looked down at his Hawaiian shirt doubtfully. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do. It’s totally you.”

“Good evening, Chantal,” Winston said. “The girls and I were just enjoying some of your delicious fried chicken.”

“Glad you liked it,” Chantal murmured, seated there next to Monique.

Des said, “We’re, um, into something kind of heavy right now, Mitch. What’s up?”

“Maybe something, maybe nothing. And if it’s nothing I apologize in advance for barging in like this. You know how I hate to interrupt an official inquiry.”

Yolie nodded her head. “Oh, I do. You’ve only done it, what, six times?”

“Actually, I think this might make eight,” Des said.

“Say what you came to say,” the Deacon interjected with quiet authority.

“Thanks, I will,” Mitch said, scratching his curly head of hair furiously. It was a thing he did sometimes when he was trying to collect his thoughts. Reminded Des of an inquisitive organ grinder’s monkey. “Last night, when I was leading Winston home through the woods after that unfortunate incident at the party-”

“I’m all done apologizing for that,” Clarence blustered at him.

Mitch held up his hands as a gesture of surrender. “We’re good. This isn’t about that. As we approached the hole in the fence Winston started telling me about a buddy of his who happens to share his predilection for lovely young ladies. At the time, I thought Winston was talking about, well, an imaginary friend. Given what we know about his current state of mind.” Mitch glanced over at him. “No offense, Winston.”

“None taken, Brubaker,” Winston assured him.

Clarence frowned. “Brubaker? I thought his name was Berger.”

“Shut up, Cee,” Tyrone growled.

“But here’s the thing,” Mitch continued. “Winston just informed me that he ran into his buddy this very evening-shortly before it started to rain.”

Des narrowed her eyes at Mitch. “Where was this?”

“In his backyard. His buddy was cutting through the Joshua property.”

“From where?”

“That’s exactly what I wondered. Winston said he didn’t know. But when I asked him where his buddy lives, he led me right to this place.” Mitch paused, scratching his head again. “I could be way off base here but Winston does like to wander in the night and he did know about that hole in the fence. So here’s what I’m thinking: What if his buddy isn’t imaginary? What if Winston has actually seen the man who made the hole? That would mean he may be able to identify Kinitra’s attacker. Possibly even your White Sand Beach killer. The shooting did take place just before the rain started, correct?”

Yolie nodded. “Correct.”

“Did any witnesses see the shooter drive away?”

“No, they did not,” she answered.

“Possibly because he was on foot,” Mitch suggested. “It’s just a quick scoot from White Sand Beach into the Nature Preserve. And two miles from there to here if you take the footpath at the end of Sour Cherry Lane. Even less than that if you cut through the Joshua sisters’ property and go through that hole in the fence. I’ll bet you could make it in fifteen minutes if you had to.”

“This is all very interesting, Mitch,” Des said tactfully. “But Mr. Lash doesn’t exactly qualify as a credible witness.”

“Still, it’s worth finding out if he can identify someone here, isn’t it?”

Clarence let out a guffaw. “Show that old man a picture of Mr. Barack Obama and he’ll tell you he’s his buddy. Besides, I fixed that hole.”

“Are you talking about that sheet of plywood you wired in place?” Mitch asked him. “Because it took me less than ten seconds to undo the wire with my fingers in the pouring rain. It hardly even slowed us down, did it, Winston?”

Winston didn’t answer him. He was too busy staring across the living room at someone. “Why, there he is!” he exclaimed, his eyes fixed on one man and one man only. “ There’s my buddy!”

He was gazing at Calvin Jameson.

“Don’t be looking at me,” Calvin grumbled at him. “Only time I ever seen you was last night when you bit a young lady.”

“You don’t remember me?” Winston seemed hurt by Calvin’s chilly rebuff. “We’ve talked in my yard many times about the blessed beauty of tender young fruit. I like to think we understand each other.”

“Popsy, what is he talking about?” Jamella asked Calvin.

“Don’t ask me. Old man’s sick in the head.”

“Did you happen to go out for a while this evening, Calvin?” Mitch inquired. “Possibly slip through that hole in the fence so Trooper Olsen wouldn’t see you leave by the front gate?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Calvin responded gruffly. “And you’re not the law. I don’t have to answer none of your questions.”

“That’s very true, Mr. Jameson,” Yolie acknowledged. “But you do have to answer mine.”

Calvin looked at her in disbelief. “That old man has Alzheimer’s.”

“Frontotemporal dementia, actually,” Mitch said.

“Are you taking his word over mine?” Calvin demanded.

“I can’t speak for the others,” Mitch said. “But I’m going with the old guy with dementia.”

“You shut up!” Calvin blustered at him. “Who are you to come in here making all of these wild accusations?”

“He’s with me,” Des said. “And I’d advise you to answer his question.”

“ Which question?”

“Did you go out earlier this evening?”

Calvin took a long, slow drink from his can of Bud. “The answer is no. I’ve been entertaining myself in the pool house all evening. Downloaded a movie onto my laptop from one of them amateur sites. Bunch of college girls at a frat party having themselves a wild time. Run a check on my computer if you don’t believe me. I’ve been logged on all evening.”

Yolie shook her head at him. “You’ll have to bring something better than that, Mr. Jameson.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you could have downloaded a ninety-minute movie and left it playing on your computer while you took off and came back.”

“Ask the trooper at the gate,” Calvin said easily. “I never left the property. He’ll tell you.”

“See above,” Mitch said. “Re: Hole in the fence.”

“I never left through any hole in any fence,” Calvin insisted. “That’s bull.”

Yolie puffed out her cheeks. “Okay, let’s back this up. Before you walked in that door, Mitch, we were discussing that Mr. Tyrone Grantham had no one to account for his whereabouts at the time of the White Sand Beach shootings. His Glock nine-mil is missing from his nightstand-or so he’s alleging-and the murder weapon happens to be a nine-mil. One of the victims, Stewart Plotka, had a physical altercation with Mr. Grantham that led to Mr. Grantham’s suspension from the NFL. The other victim, Andrea Halperin, who was Mr. Plotka’s lawyer, was on TV this very afternoon demanding a DNA sample from Mr. Grantham as part of the civil case they were pursuing against him. The victims claimed that Mr. Grantham raped Mr. Plotka’s fiancee, Katie O’Brien, three years ago. Meanwhile, Mr. Grantham’s sister-in-law, Kinitra Jameson, is at Middlesex Hospital after her near-fatal drowning early this morning. She is eight weeks pregnant and a physical examination revealed extensive scarring from repeated, forcible sexual contact.” Yolie raised her chin at Mitch. “Real world? Mr. Tyrone Grantham appears to be our chief person of interest. So if you’re offering an alternative scenario I sure would like to hear what it is.”

“I’d like to ask Chantal a question first, if you don’t mind,” Des said, looking over at her. “Are you just going to let them take your son away in handcuffs or are you going to speak up?”

“Speak up?” Chantal blinked at Des in alarm. “Speak up about what?”

“What’s she talking about, Moms?” Tyrone demanded.

Chantal lowered her eyes. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do,” Des said to her sharply. “You asked Mitch to let me know that today was laundry day. What were you trying to tell me?”

Chantal took a deep breath and let it out, her mountainous chest rising and falling. She glanced over at Monique next to her on the sofa, then at Tyrone and Rondell. Then she lowered her eyes again. “I didn’t mean nothing.”

“It sure sounded like something to me,” Mitch said.

“You was mistaken. Wasn’t nothing.”

“Yeah, it was, Chantal.” Monique tugged at the woman’s sleeve. “They talking about them clothes I found in the hamper this morning, remember?”

“Hush, girl.”

“Don’t you remember them clothes, Chantal?”

“Girl, this is serious business. You hush, hear?”

“Whose clothes did you find, Monique?” Des asked gently. “Were they Kinitra’s clothes?”

Chantal’s eyes widened. “Keep your mouth shut, Monique!”

“Let her speak, Mrs. Grantham,” Yolie said. “Or we’ll all be taking a ride to the barracks.”

“Were they Kinitra’s clothes?” Des asked Monique once again.

“N-No, ma’am.” Monique’s voice was trembling. “They was a-a man’s clothes. They was all damp. And there was grass stains all over the knees a-and looked like blood on the shirt.”

“Moms, what is this?” Tyrone demanded to know.

“I still got ’em in the laundry room,” Monique added, trying to be helpful.

“Go with her,” Yolie told Toni.

Toni escorted Monique off to the laundry room. Chantal bowed her head and closed her eyes. Her lips were moving-in silent prayer.

Outside, the hard, windblown rain continued to whip against the glass walls.

Winston moved over toward the huge aquarium, transfixed by Tyrone’s sharks. “Amazing,” he said in childlike awe. “What kind are they?”

Tyrone shot an angry, distracted look at him. “What’d you say?”

“What kind of sharks are they?”

“Black tip reef sharks.”

“They’re positively hypnotic. I must get some of my own.”

“Yeah, you do that, old-timer.”

Toni and Monique returned now, Toni clutching a plastic trash bag in one latex-gloved hand. She set it down on the coffee table.

“Let’s have a look, Sergeant,” Yolie said.

Toni reached into the bag and carefully removed a lime green polo shirt that was speckled with dried blood, then a pair of tan slacks covered with grass stains and more dried blood.

“Are these the items of clothing you brought to Chantal?” Yolie asked Monique.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And why did you do that?”

Monique frowned at her, puzzled. “Sorry?…”

“Because that’s what I taught her to do,” Chantal explained. “Any time she finds something out of the ordinary she brings it to me. She’s fine with the regular wash but with something like grass stains she don’t know whether to pretreat or soak ’em or whatever. Right, hon?”

Monique nodded eagerly. “That’s right, Chantal.”

“Whose clothes are these, Monique?” Des asked.

“I found them in Mr. Calvin’s laundry hamper,” she replied.

Every set of eyes in the room swiveled toward Calvin. In Tyrone’s eyes Des saw pure animal fury. In Rondell’s acute pain.

Jamella gaped at her father in shock. “Popsy, what’s she talking about?”

Outwardly, Calvin couldn’t have been calmer. He took another drink of his beer and set the can down on the coffee table, his hand steady as a rock. “That girl’s simple in the head. All mixed up. Those clothes aren’t mine.”

“A simple DNA test can determine that easily enough,” Yolie said. “It was a warm night. That shirt’s bound to have perspiration on it. Refresh my memory, Sergeant Tedone. Kinitra scraped up her knees pretty good, didn’t she?”

“She sure did, Loo.”

“Mr. Jameson, if that’s her blood on your shirt and pants then you’ll have some explaining to do.”

Calvin sat up a bit straighter, his jaw muscles clenching. “I don’t have to explain a thing. I been in trouble with you people my whole life. You’re always blaming me for every little thing. Never giving me a chance.”

“I’m giving you a chance,” Yolie responded evenly. “Are these your clothes or aren’t they?”

“So what if they are?” he demanded. “And so what if they’re dirty? That’s why I put ’em in the danged hamper.”

“How did those grass and bloodstains get on them?”

Calvin stared at Yolie coldly. “You want to know how they got there?”

“What I’m asking.”

“We had us a party here last night. I had me some fun out on the lawn with a certain young lady, okay?”

“A certain young lady named?…”

“We didn’t exchange no business cards. Her and me got to talking by the pool. Hit it off real fine. The wine was flowing. And one thing led to another, okay?” He tugged at his ear thoughtfully. “Shaniqua, maybe. I do believe her name was Shaniqua. She was a pretty young thing. Blond streaks in her hair.”

Chantal curled her lip at him. “What would a pretty young thing be doing with old trash like you?”

“Having herself a fine time. We made sweet love out on the lawn under the stars. That’s how those grass stains come to be there.”

“And the blood?” Yolie asked him.

“Couldn’t say, miss. I was surprised to see it there myself when I got undressed. She must have scraped her elbows or knees on something. We got going pretty wild there.”

“You are a no good lying punk,” Chantal said in a voice that had turned ice cold. “You are lying right now just like you been lying all along.”

Calvin stared at her long and hard. “You shut your mouth, woman.”

“I won’t shut my mouth! I’ve been keeping quiet for too long. I’m all done keeping quiet. You are evil, Calvin Jameson. You have been raping that sweet young daughter of yours for months under my son’s roof and you belong in eternal hell!”

Jamella gasped. “Popsy, what is she?…”

“Don’t pay her no mind,” Calvin said dismissively. “The woman’s an old crack whore. You going to listen to her or to me?”

“I can’t speak for the others,” Mitch said. “But I’m going with the crack whore.”

“She’s crazy,” Calvin insisted. “If you believe her, you’re just as crazy as she is.”

“Look me in the eye,” Jamella said to him pleadingly, her eyes huge and shiny. “Look me in the eye and say it isn’t so.”

Calvin looked his older daughter right in the eye and said, “It isn’t so, girl, I swear. Chantal’s just trying to get rid of me. She’s never liked me being around here with y’all. You know that.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Chantal begged Jamella. “He’s lying to you. I’m the one speaking the truth. I saw what I saw.”

“What did you see, Mrs. Grantham?” Yolie asked.

“The two of them together in Glen Cove-maybe five, six weeks ago. Everyone else had gone out on Da Beast for the afternoon. Me, I don’t like that boat. Get seasick soon as I’m out on the water. So I didn’t go. And Kinitra stayed behind to work on her music. So did Calvin, who said he wanted to take himself a nap. I-I was walking down the hallway, minding my own business, when I heard a little cry coming from the den. Looked in and he had her cornered in there. His pants was down around his ankles and h-he was making her do him from down on her knees. I let out a scream. Poor Kinitra went running to her room, crying her eyes out. And this thug zipped up his pants, yanked a huge knife from his back pocket and held it right to my throat. He said he’d kill me if I ever breathed one word about it to you, Jamella. Sneak into my room while I slept and slit my throat ear to ear. I-I didn’t doubt for one second he’d do it either. That man is pure thug. I know he’s your daddy and you love him, but he would have killed me. So I-I couldn’t tell you.”

“Moms, why didn’t you tell me?” Tyrone demanded to know.

Chantal heaved her chest. “I was afraid for you. You already got so much trouble in your life. You don’t need no more. I was doing what I should have done for you when you were young-except I was too messed up back then. I was protecting you, understand? Your little brother, too.”

Rondell peered at her, mystified. “How were you protecting me?”

“I know how you feel about that girl. I-I didn’t want you finding out such a horrible thing about her. Maybe I was wrong to keep quiet. Maybe I should have let Calvin slit my throat in the night. Maybe that was the Lord’s plan for me and I was just too blind to see. I’ve prayed on it long and hard, night after night. You can’t imagine how hard I’ve prayed. But I still don’t know the answer. I don’t. I-I just…” She broke down and sobbed.

“It’s okay, Moms.” Tyrone said down beside her and hugged her gently. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Little Rondell was so upset he couldn’t sit still. Jumped to his feet and paced his way around the entire room, shaking his head, before he returned to the seating area and came to a halt in front of Calvin. “ You got her pregnant,” he said hoarsely. “You forced yourself on your own daughter.”

Calvin crossed his arms in front of his chest defiantly. “Your mama’s lying to you, boy. Wasn’t me.”

“It was him, little man,” Chantal cried. “I swear it. And I’m so sorry I didn’t speak up, Jamella.”

“And yet you gave Mitch that message for me today,” Des pointed out. “Why, Chantal?”

“Because that poor girl tried to take her own life, that’s why. Hers and her baby’s. There is no greater sin than that.”

Tears were spilling out of Jamella’s eyes and streaming down her chiseled cheekbones. “If what you say is true…”

“Oh, it’s true,” Chantal swore.

“Why didn’t she come to me? I’m her big sister. I’d do anything for her. I-I don’t understand.”

“I think I do,” said Des, who’d seen this sort of thing happen before. Too damned many times. “She didn’t come to you because she’s been blaming herself for what’s been going on. Plus she’s humiliated, ashamed and really, really frightened.” Des looked over at Calvin. “But not nearly as frightened as you. You panicked when Kinitra was admitted to the hospital, didn’t you? Especially after you found out she didn’t want you to visit her.”

Calvin reached for his beer can and took a swig. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, sounding a bit less sure of himself now.

“Sure you do, Calvin,” Des went on. “You had to know that the doctors would discover she was pregnant. You also had to know that once she was tucked away safe and snug, talking to the law about her situation, she’d eventually summon up enough courage to bring the hammer down on you. So when Tyrone went out for that ice cream, you cooked up a scheme on the fly. He said he’d be gone for a while, felt like clearing his head. The timing couldn’t have been more ideal. The second he walked out the door you called Andrea Halperin on her cell and told her to meet you at White Sand Beach. Then you snatched Tyrone’s Glock from his nightstand, hightailed it there on foot and shot her and Stewart Plotka, figuring if you framed Tyrone for their murders that Kinitra’s rape would land on him, too.”

“That makes perfect sense, Master Sergeant,” Mitch said slowly. “Except I have a mighty huge icebox question for you.”

“What’s an icebox question, Loo?” Toni asked.

“It’s some weird Hitchcock old movie thing,” Yolie replied. “Trust me, don’t go there.”

Des stared at him. When Mitch had an icebox question, he was not kidding around. “Okay, lay it on me…”

“How did Calvin know Andrea Halperin’s cell number?”

“I ain’t saying nothing,” Calvin grumbled in response.

“Yes, you are,” said Rondell, who in the blink of an eye no longer stood facing Calvin. He stood behind him holding a Glock 19 to Calvin’s head-a Glock 19 that he’d whipped out of the rear waistband of his slacks. He’d had it hidden under that damned Hawaiian shirt. And made his play so fast that not one of them had a chance to react. Not Des. Not Yolie. Not the Deacon. Not Toni.

And for damned sure not Calvin, who sat there frozen and wide-eyed.

“Don’t anybody move!” Rondell warned them. “Keep your weapons holstered or I swear I will blow his brains all over this beautiful white sofa!”

“Whatever you say, Rondell.” Yolie’s voice was calm and quiet. “Just take it easy.”

“I’m taking it easy!”

“Then why don’t you put that gun down?” Des suggested. “Let’s not make this situation any worse.”

“She’s right, little brother,” Tyrone said. “Put that thing away. This ain’t your style.”

“My style?” Rondell shoved the Glock’s nose harder against Calvin’s head, the gun trembling in his hand. “My style is to treat a fine young lady like Miss Kinitra Jameson with respect. And just look where that got me, will you?”

“Is that your brother’s Glock?” Des asked him. She wanted to keep him talking. Maybe cool his jets a little.

“No, it’s my Glock,” he answered angrily. “I keep it in my desk at all times in case some nut like Stewart Plotka tries to go after him. You people made sure you asked Clarence if he kept a weapon in the house. But not one of you thought to ask me -because you think I’m a-a helpless little wonk. A weakling. You all think that.”

“That’s not true,” Jamella said, as he continued to hold that Glock to her father’s head. “I think you’ve got a whole lot to offer. You’re smart. You’re compassionate. I’ve always said that.”

Tyrone nodded his head. “That’s right, she has. Let the police handle this, little brother. Stop and think, will you? What in the hell are you doing?”

“I’m taking care of myself.” Beads of sweat had formed on Rondell’s forehead. He was so overheated his glasses were practically fogging up. “That’s what you always told me a man does, right? Well, I’ve got some news for you. All of you. I’m a man. And I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Sure you can, son,” the Deacon said. “No one in this room doubts that for one second. But what’s important right now is for you to put that gun down and let the law take over.”

Rondell shook his head. “No, sir. I’m sorry, but this is a family matter. And I’m in charge now. So y-you answer the question, Calvin. Answer it right goddamned now.”

Calvin gulped. “ Which question?”

“Mitch’s ice chest question.”

“Actually, it’s an ice box question. The term dates back to when folks still owned…” Mitch broke off when he noticed Des’s warning glare. “But you can say it either way.”

“How did you get Andrea Halperin’s cell number?” she asked Calvin.

“She… gave me her business card at the store.” Calvin’s eyes shifted uneasily as Rondell pressed the Glock to his head. “In case I ever wanted to sell her some inside info to help her case.”

“And did you?”

“Naw, never.”

“Keep talking,” Rondell commanded him.

“About what?”

“What you did tonight, you sick bastard!”

“Okay, okay. I phoned that Miss Halperin, like the trooper said. Told her I might have some news to sell her. We agreed to meet in that parking lot at seven. I-I took Tyrone’s gun from his nightstand and hoofed it there, like the fellow said. Took that shortcut through the woods at the end of Sour Cherry.”

“How did you know about that path?” Mitch asked him.

“Cee mentioned it to me.”

“It’s true, I did,” Clarence said.

Rondell jabbed the Glock at him even harder. “Who made that hole in our fence?”

“It was me,” Calvin admitted. “I can appreciate Tyrone wanting his privacy and all. But I lived inside the wire for too many years. Don’t like to be fenced in. I need to roam-without some state trooper at the front gate knowing my business. So I took some wire cutters to the thing first night they put it in. Moseyed around the neighborhood and found me this fine white girl next door who likes to paint buck naked on the sun porch after dark.”

“Her name is Callie. Have you ever laid a hand on her?” Mitch demanded.

“No, sir. I looked, that’s all.”

“You met them at the White Sand Beach parking lot,” Yolie said. “Then what happened?”

Calvin let out a sigh. “I-I capped them, okay? Then I came straight home.”

“Where’s the weapon?” Yolie asked.

“Tossed it in the woods.”

“With your prints on it?”

“Naw, I wiped it clean. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Don’t know yet,” she replied. “Still getting there.”

Rondell took a ragged breath, the Glock shaking in his hand. “Was Trooper Mitry right? Did you kill those people to make it look like Tyrone was a cold-blooded murderer? A-And everyone would figure he raped Kinitra?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Calvin retorted. “Not a one of you believed him just now when he swore he was innocent. Not you, Jamella. Not you, Rondell. You all thought he did it. Hell, these police people were ready to take him away in cuffs until that crazy old man showed up with his mouthy friend.”

“He’s not crazy,” Mitch said indignantly. “And I’m not mouthy. I choose my words very carefully. Force of habit. The first magazine I ever worked for only gave me fifty words to dissect an entire movie. Why, I could barely even-”

Des said, “Mitch…”

He moved it along. “I simply like to get to the bottom of things. Like, for instance, how long have you been raping your own daughter, Calvin?”

“I never touched a hair on my beautiful Kinitra’s head.”

“Try again,” Mitch urged him. “And I’d be a bit more careful about how you answer. Rondell’s hand is getting kind of twitchy. Rondell, we’re making excellent progress here. Sure you don’t want to put that thing down and have a seat?”

“Positive,” he replied between gritted teeth.

Jamella’s shiny eyes searched her father’s face. “Is it true, Popsy? Did you… do those things to her?”

“Naw, girl,” Calvin said reassuringly. “You know me.”

She flared at him suddenly. “Yeah, I know you. I know that after I got to be twelve years old you started looking at me up, down and sideways, licking your chops. That’s why Mama threw you out, wasn’t it? Because she knew you.”

Tyrone began breathing in and out very hard. And that vein was throbbing in his forehead now. “Did he ever come near you?”

“No, never,” she replied. “Mama made sure he never got the chance. He was out of our lives for years. And he’s been nothing but decent since you invited him to move in with us. Sure, I’ve seen him flirting with the pretty young girls by the pool. But he never got out of line. He was strictly being playful. Chantal gets upset about him watching his porn. But there isn’t a man in America who doesn’t watch porn. He’s been a good father to Kinitra and me since he moved in. Or so I thought.” She glared at Calvin. “I should have known the real deal.”

“Which is what?” Rondell demanded, blinking at her.

“That I’m not Daddy’s little girl anymore,” Jamella said bitterly. “I’m Tyrone’s. Huge with his child. But Kinitra’s still young and sweet and innocent. So he went after her.” She glowered at her father accusingly. “You forced yourself on my baby sister. You’ve been forcing yourself on her ever since Tyrone was kind enough to give you a nice home with us. And this is how you repay him-by trying to make him out to be a murderer a-and rapist. I’m the fool here. I kept telling myself you’d turned over a new leaf. That you weren’t the same awful scum Mama said you were. I should have known better.”

“I should have known better, too,” Des said, glancing over at the Deacon. “You said something to me earlier today that should have set off alarm bells in my head. Only it didn’t-not until we were sitting down to dinner.”

The Deacon frowned at her. “What did I say?”

“That men don’t change. That they are who they are.” She looked back at Calvin. “You are a low-life street hustler who only looks out for himself-even when you’re living large in a waterfront mansion. You have no moral code and zero conscience. You helped yourself to your own daughter because you felt like it. And when things started to go south, you tried to push the blame off on the son-in-law who took you in. You’re sly and you’re devious, Calvin. But you’re not smart. The state can’t bring Tyrone to trial on the rape charge unless Kinitra swears out a criminal complaint against him. And she’d be compelled to give up a sample of her baby’s DNA-which would prove that you are the father, not Tyrone. There was no way in hell you were ever going to get away with this. Don’t you see?”

“Wasn’t thinking that far into the future,” Calvin grumbled. “I was strictly thinking survival. Get the other cat before he gets you. I’ve spent half my life in a cage. I live by the code that I learned there, thanks to y’all. You’re the ones put me in there. You made me the man I am today.”

“So these murders are our fault,” the Deacon said to him.

“Absolutely.”

Rondell’s finger tightened on the trigger. “And what about Kinitra?” he cried out, trembling with rage. “Whose fault is that?”

“I got me a likeness for the young girls. I ain’t proud about it. But it is what it is. And I take what I want. That’s what a man does. He don’t ask for permission. He takes.”

“She’s your own daughter, you filthy bastard!”

“Kinitra is one fine-looking young girl. And once my blood gets to boiling, there ain’t much I can do to stop myself. The good Lord knows that. He’s always testing me. Sometimes I fail.”

“You will die for this!” Rondell snarled.

“We all die,” Calvin said with a shrug.

“And we all know the truth now,” Des said. “You’ve forced it out of him, Rondell. Good job. Why don’t you let us take it from here? Just put that gun down. It’s over now.”

“It’s not over,” Rondell said with chilling certainty.

“You folks don’t have to worry yourselves none,” Calvin said, sneering at Rondell. “He don’t have the balls to pull that trigger. I can tell from a man’s eyes if he’s got ’em. This one’s just a little bitch.”

“You shut up!” Rondell screamed at him.

“Don’t do it, little brother,” Tyrone said pleadingly. “You’ll mess up your whole life.”

“I-I have no life,” Rondell sputtered at him. “Don’t you get it? I loved her. And he destroyed her. She’s gone!”

“She’s not gone, Rondell,” Jamella spoke up. “She’ll be home from the hospital tomorrow. And she’ll need you now more than ever.”

“Son, I want you to listen to me,” the Deacon said. “I’ve been around a lot longer than you and I know a few things. I know that right now you can’t see how you will ever deal with your pain. But you will deal with it, I promise you-provided that you act like the responsible man you are and put down your gun. You did what needed doing just now for the girl who you love. Now let us prosecute Calvin through the proper channels. Believe me, he will pay.”

Rondell kept the Glock pressed to Calvin’s head. “Yes, he will. He will pay right now. On your feet, Calvin.”

Calvin’s eyes widened. “Why, what are you-?”

“On your feet!” Rondell ordered him.

Calvin got slowly to his feet. Rondell used the Glock to prod him over to the edge of the sofa so that he could get right behind him, his left forearm wrapped around Calvin’s throat. He was using the bigger man as a shield.

“He will pay right now,” Rondell repeated, backing the two of them toward the rain-spattered French doors that Mitch and Winston had come through. “He will pay.” When they reached the doors, Rondell groped around with his left hand for the wall switch, flicking off the outdoor floodlights. He and Calvin were no longer backlit. There was only darkness behind them. “He will pay.”

Rondell paused there for a brief moment now with his Glock against Calvin’s head, the two men lit from above by the beams of the ceiling track lights. There was an incredible intensity to that light. An incredible intensity to that moment. Neither man moved. Not one person in the whole room moved. Time seemed to stop. Everyone was frozen there in place, their eyes gleaming, faces drawn tight, bodies poised for action. For an eerie instant, Des felt as if they were all living inside “The Night Watch” by Rembrandt.

But this was no painting.

And Rondell’s finger on the Glock’s trigger began to move now. Not at normal speed. In slow motion. It all seemed to go down in slow motion… The shift in Calvin’s posture as he waited for the fatal shot, expecting it, resigned to it. His eyes closing one last time as Rondell fired off the round that blew away the side of Calvin’s head. Calvin sagging to the gleaming hardwood floor, a lifeless sack of meat and bone… Until suddenly everything returned to normal speed and Rondell was dropping the gun and running out of the French doors and into the pouring rain, Monique shrieking in horror from the sofa.

Toni was the first one out the door after him, flicking on the floodlights as she ran by, her SIG drawn. Rondell was splashing his way across the lawn down toward the beach.

“No, don’t hurt him!” Tyrone barked as he went sprinting right past Toni, leaving her far behind. Tyrone Grantham possessed extraordinary speed for his size.

Clarence, the former Clemson small forward, raced right past her, too. Toni dropped to one knee on the wet grass, aiming to take Rondell down with a leg shot. But she had no shot. Not with those two very large men between her and Rondell.

“Come back, little man!” Tyrone hollered after him. “Come baaaack!”

Jamella stood in the doorway weeping over the body of her father as he bled out onto the floor. Chantal led Monique out of the room, her hand over the traumatized girl’s eyes so she wouldn’t look at him anymore.

The rest of them hurried across the lawn in the chilly, wind-driven rain-Yolie and Des in the lead, Mitch, the Deacon and Winston bringing up the rear.

Rondell had made it down to the dock. He cast off the lines and jumped aboard Da Beast, which no one had bothered to cover against the rain. But Rondell didn’t care if its seats were wet. And with a varrroooooom he had its mammoth 1200-horsepower Cobra supercharged engines roaring. He was just starting to pull away when Tyrone came hurtling down the dock toward him. Tyrone didn’t stop running. He dove right off the end of the dock-only he was a fraction of a second too late. Instead of touching down aboard Da Beast with his fleeing brother, he ended up in the river with a tremendous splash.

“Help me, Cee!” he cried out frantically. “Help me!”

“Man can’t swim!” Clarence roared as he dove in after him with all of his clothes on. “Here, cuz, I got ya! Don’t flail your big arms-you’ll drown us both! Relax, I got ya. You’re okay.”

He swam them away from the dredged dock area to shallower water where they could stand, water streaming from their clothes as they watched Rondell speed out into the middle of the choppy, mile-wide Connecticut River, the cigarette boat’s xenon running lights swiveling left-right, left-right as he steered frantically downriver toward Long Island Sound. There were no other boats out. Not in a storm like this.

“Call the Coast Guard,” Yolie ordered Toni. “We’ll need launches out in the Sound. And chopper support if they can fly in this. He can outrun whatever they’ve got but he can’t go forever.” To Tyrone she called out, “How much fuel have you got in that thing?”

“Maybe a quarter of a tank,” he called back, his eyes never leaving those swiveling lights. “Needed filling next time we took her out. He won’t get far.”

“He won’t get far is right,” Clarence said. “I swear, he’s going to flip that damned thing. Don’t know how to leave the wheel alone.”

Jamella joined them out there now. She wore some of her father’s blood on her yellow shift. And a strangely impassive expression on her face.

“You okay?” Des asked her, concerned that she might be in shock.

“I’m fine,” she answered quietly, shivering from the cold rain.

Des took off her hooded rain jacket and put it around her.

Tyrone rushed out of the water to her. “Girl, you got to go back inside in the house.”

“I don’t want to go inside,” she said in that same quiet voice. “I don’t want to be there with him.”

“But you’ll catch cold out here. That’s no good for you or the baby. Go back inside, okay? We’re okay.”

“We’re not okay. I’m so sorry, Tyrone.”

“What for? You got nothing to be sorry about.” He kissed her softly on the mouth, caressing her smooth cheek with the back of his battle-scarred hand. “We’ll get through this, I promise you. We just got to get that freaked-out little man back on dry land. He’ll be all right. He’s a respectable individual with a spotless record. Can plead temporary insanity or something. People will understand.”

“Where in the hell is that little dude going?” Clarence cried out.

Where indeed. Because Rondell was no longer streaking downriver toward the open water of the Sound. Instead, he was coming around in a wide arc that was sending him up the windswept river in the direction of the old stone railroad bridge and, beyond it, East Haddam and Hartford.

Toni, who’d just put out her distress call to the Coast Guard, said, “I’ll call them back and tell them him he’s changed course. And notify our own marine responders up the line. But I don’t get it, Loo. What’s he doing? Now he can’t get away.”

“Makes no sense,” Yolie agreed, watching him in bewilderment.

“Sure it does,” Mitch said. “Because he’s not trying to get away.”

The Deacon glanced sharply at Mitch before he turned to Yolie and said, “I agree. You can call off the pursuit, Lieutenant Snipes.”

“Call it off?” Tyrone protested angrily. “Why?”

“Because he’s not trying to get away,” Mitch said again.

“Man, what in the hell are you?…” Tyrone’s eyes widened. “Oh, Lord.” He no longer had to ask Mitch what he meant. It was obvious to him.

Obvious to all of them now that Rondell was headed straight upriver, letting Da Beast loose with a tremendous roar. The supercharged cigarette boat had to be going at least seventy-five miles per hour as he closed in on the railroad bridge, its running lights casting bright beams on the granite pilings that had been stoutly supporting the old bridge for more than a hundred years. The pilings were spaced wide enough apart to allow dredging barges and other big ships to pass on through. Each of the supports was marked with bright red warning lights that could be seen from miles away. There was no mistaking where the pilings were. Consequently, hardly anyone ever rammed a boat into one of them.

Not unless they really wanted to.

Rondell drove Da Beast directly into one of the bridge’s centermost granite support pilings. The boat exploded on impact. Its quarter-tank of fuel was plenty enough to set off a ball of fire that shot at least 500 feet into the rainy air. Witnesses later reported seeing it from as far as ten miles upriver. The explosion was felt by residents twice that far away.

“Call Amtrak,” Yolie ordered Toni. “Alert them that their bridge just took a major hit. They’ll have to shut down all of their trains between New York and Boston. I’ll call Homeland Security. They’ll probably be getting a hundred calls in the next sixty seconds from neighbors who think we just got attacked by Al Qaeda. Des, could you?…”

“On it.” Des got busy contacting the emergency marine responders who’d close off the river and deal with the burning wreckage.

The Deacon stood by quietly and observed. He did not interfere.

Tyrone, Jamella and Clarence could only huddle there together, hugging each other and sobbing.

“I’ll see you a little later,” Mitch said to Des somberly when she’d finished making her calls. He was profoundly shaken by what had happened. “I’m going to walk Winston home. The girls will be worried about him. And I want to check on my parents. The power was out when I left. I want to make sure they’re okay.”

“Tell them I’m sorry about dinner. We’ll try dinner some other night, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll tell them,” he said, his gaze fastened on the dock at their feet.

“You did good tonight.”

He looked up at her, his eyes searching hers. “Did I?”

“Hell, yes. You cracked the Plotka-Halperin killings wide open.”

“Des, I didn’t crack anything open. And now two more people are dead.”

“Calvin got what he deserved.”

“But Rondell didn’t. He was a nice guy. He didn’t deserve this.”

Des looked out at the flaming pieces of wreckage that were strewn across the oil-slicked water. Then she took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re absolutely right, he didn’t. Neither did Kinitra. Now you know why I sit up all night drawing portraits of victims until my fingers bleed.”

“No offense, but I wish I didn’t know these things.”

“So do I, boyfriend. Believe me, so do I.”