Killer Move

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barclay said. “But like Mr. Moore says—let’s talk this thing out. That’s the sensible route forward.”

“Screw you. Did you really leave your back door open, Bill? Or do you think maybe this guy has keys?”

She put a little bit of extra weight on the words back door. I thought about it, hard.

Could I have left the back door unlocked? If the answer was yes, we could maybe get through it fast enough to escape across the backyard and over into the neighbor’s. If the door wasn’t open, we’d be screwed, cornered in the kitchen with nowhere to go.

I took another step backward, glanced through the kitchen. The back door was shut, of course, or we would have noticed it before. The key was in place, in the lock under the handle. But was it locked? I tried to imagine how long it would take to run to the end of the kitchen. The lock was stiff. Steph had asked me to oil the thing more times than I could remember, but updating Facebook and plotting my rise in realty had taken precedence. Even if it wasn’t locked, would we really be able to get to it in time? How likely would Hallam be to shoot?

Emily kept needling. “I’ve got keys, after all—and this guy is being paid from the same source.”

Barclay said, “Deputy, are you going to disarm this woman or what?”

I moved to put myself in Hallam’s line of fire, between him and Emily. I saw her take the chance to steal a look sideways, try to gauge the probability of getting to the back door. I decided I’d take my cue from her. She’d be more likely to get the decision right.

Hallam finally pulled his gun out, but irresolutely. “Sheriff, I can’t get to her without—”

“Do they have an actual leash for you, Sheriff?” Emily asked. “A real one? Or is it just money? You got a bigger house than you should? Take longer vacations? Keep a hot young woman in an apartment up in Saint Pete?”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to judge me. Or anything else, from what I hear.”

Emily laughed jaggedly. “That didn’t sound like denial. I helped them play the game, sure. I didn’t agree to cover up a murder. But you did that once before, and now you’re about to do it again, right? You get an actual bonus for that? How much?”

“I won’t be covering up your crimes, no.”

“My crimes? Screw you.”

“I spoke this afternoon to a local actor by the name of Daniel Bauman.”

“Interesting. Is that why he’s not picking up the phone? ‘Spoke’ how hard to him, exactly? He another loose end that you’ve been hired to tidy up?”

“You’re a very paranoid young woman. Mr. Bauman is alive and well. He claims that you hired him to impersonate David Warner, and I believe him. I further believe this is evidence that you were involved in the latter’s death. And by extension, that of Hazel Wilkins.”

“What? You’re dreaming, asshole. You know I had nothing to do with those.”

Emily’s voice was too tight, too low. She needed to be focused on getting out, not getting pulled into a toe-to-toe with Barclay.

Two more baby steps had got me to the point where I could dodge right and take my chances with the back door. She’d be in the way of any fire, would operate as a shield for me. But I couldn’t do that.

“I don’t know that at all,” Barclay said. His voice rolled on and on like an unstoppable tide of unreason. “I do know you were involved in violations of prisoners’ rights while you were stationed in—”

“No!” Emily shouted. “Whoever told you that, they lied. I stole, yes. I whacked a guy who deserved it—he was a rapist and an asshole. But I did none of that other shit. They put that on me to get me out.”

“Emily,” I said desperately. “Ignore him.”

The sheriff had shoved his hand right into her emotional guts and grabbed her, however, and Emily abruptly started to walk back into the living room. The gun was pointing straight at Barclay’s head, but it was wavering. “Fucks like you,” she snarled. “It’s fucks like you that have ruined my entire fucking life.”

“Emily,” I shouted. She wasn’t listening.

Hallam finally assumed the shooter’s position. “Ma’am, step back. Right now.”

She kept walking.

“Ma’am, do not advance any farther.”

I moved quickly, threw my arm in front of her, trying to stop her. She was stronger than me, though, and hard to hold back. Her entire body was shaking. Her eyes were drawing down on Barclay like he was everyone who’d ever done her wrong. She kept her left arm rigid over my shoulder, the gun still pointing at the sheriff’s head.

“Emily,” I said, low, a whisper. “Listen to me. Please. Don’t do this.”

Barclay smiled. “She’ll do something, Mr. Moore. Count on it. She’s volatile. Unstable. That’s why she’s here. Though just so you know, she was right about one thing. I do have your house keys. Your back door is locked. I checked. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Emily stopped trying to push forward against me and went very still. “Guess it’s Plan B, then,” she said. “Cool by me. I like the sound of it better anyway.”