The Serial Killer's Wife (13 page)

“Right there in the balls,” Van said, taking another swig of water, “and you want to know the best part? She didn’t drop her tray. She didn’t even tip over any of the glasses or bottles. E’s got perfect balance, I used to say, and it was true.” He squinted at her. “You think that’s true now?”
 

Elizabeth started to speak but yawned instead.
 

“Don’t do that,” Todd said, yawning himself.
 

Van said, “Maybe you two should lie down, rest for a couple of hours.”
 

“We’ll be fine,” Elizabeth said.
 

“E—”
 

“When are those guys getting here?”
 

“They’ll get here when they get here.” Van’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up, read what Elizabeth assumed was a text message, and sighed. “I have to head downstairs. I’ll come get you when they arrive.” He nodded at the books on the table. “And when you get the chance, you might want to freshen up on your history.”
 

And then he was headed toward the door, walking backward, saying, “Todd, have E tell you about the time she sliced a guy with a beer bottle. Smashed it right across the table and held it at his throat.”
 

Todd gave a half-laugh, glanced at Elizabeth with another look of awe. “Now that one can’t be true. Can it?”
 

Van laughed as he left, shutting the door behind him.
 

Elizabeth yawned again, louder this time. “I don’t know what’s come over me. My eyelids are starting to get heavy.”
 

“Do you want to lie down?”
 

“No. Once those guys get here, I want to be awake.”
 

“Why? They can work on the trace without you looking over their shoulders.”
 

“I just want to be there.”
 

Todd said, “So is it true?”
 

“Is what true?”
 

“What he said. About you breaking a bottle and stabbing some guy.”
 

“First of all, I didn’t stab him. It was just a little cut. Second of all, what does it matter?”
 

“It doesn’t. I’m just ...”
 

“Yeah?”
 

“Impressed. Well, I’m also sort of intimated. Actually, I’m very intimated. And”—here he lowered his voice—“kind of turned on.”
 

“Don’t.”
 

“What?”
 

“Just don’t.”
 

“Sorry.” Todd went to take another sip of his beer but set it back on the table. “I’m such a lightweight. Shouldn’t even have had that one.”
 

Elizabeth yawned again. She couldn’t help it.
 

Todd yawned too, said, “Come on, you have to stop that,” and yawned again.
 

“Maybe you should lie down.”
 

“Are you sure?”
 

“I’ll wake you when they get here.”
 

“Then what are you going to do?”
 

“I don’t know.” She motioned at the books Van had left. “Freshen up on some of my history, I guess.”
 

Todd looked hesitant, but then he went over to the couch and lay down.
 

Elizabeth stood up and went to the window. She stared down at the street, at the cars driving past, at the gangbangers on the corner, and she found herself yawning again, too.
 

She told herself no, she couldn’t sleep, not even for a few minutes. Because what if something were to happen in those few minutes she was asleep? What if Cain tried calling? What would he do if he couldn’t get hold of her? Would he take it out on Matthew?
 

Todd seemed to be right on the brink of sleep when she brushed a few loose strands of hair from his forehead. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes slowly, peered up at her.
 

“Yeah?” he murmured.
 

“Do you think I can get in here, too?”
 

This woke him up a bit more, and he lifted his feet, swung them off the couch, and sat up straight.
 

Elizabeth sat beside him, and he put his arm around her. She snuggled into him and rested her head on his shoulder, thinking she would only close her eyes, just for a few minutes, nothing more than that, and then when she opened her eyes again this nightmare would be over and she would find Matthew asleep in his bed, safe and sound.
 

A few minutes, just a few minutes, she thought, and she closed her eyes, saw a long black river in front of her. She tried fighting the current the best she could, until she had no strength left and let it take her whichever way it pleased.

CHAPTER 26

T
HE
DREAM
WAS
more a memory than anything else. She knew it at once, the exact time and date and location: Elizabeth in the kitchen making breakfast, little Thomas asleep in his crib, Eddie at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. A TV was on in the corner, a small nine-inch thing that sat on the counter and which was mostly used for background noise. This morning it was the local news, the feature story about a fatal accident that happened in the middle of the night, a drunk driver having entered the off-ramp to the highway, going the wrong way, and colliding head-on with another car.
 

Elizabeth had been standing at the sink, cracking eggs into a bowl—she had never perfected her egg-cracking skills, no matter how hard she tried—and when she heard this she gasped.
 

Eddie turned the page of the newspaper. “What is it?”
 

“Aren’t you watching this? It’s terrible.”
 

Three men, the newscaster said, on their way to work in the wrong place at the wrong time. Three men with families of their own. All three men now dead. The only survivor was the drunk driver herself, who walked away with only a few minor bruises.
 

Elizabeth’s attention was fixated on the screen and the newscaster’s words so much that when Eddie came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, she jumped.
 

“Oh my God, you scared me.”
 

He pulled her to him, kissed her head. “It’s okay.”
 

She could already feel the tears welling in her eyes. This was something that always happened, her crying after seeing or reading a tragic news story. And while the story itself was always tragic, in her mind she found herself thinking about the spouses and the children, about their loss and how their lives were forever changed because of one simple (and oftentimes stupid) mistake.
 

“Shh,” Eddie said, holding her closely now, rocking her back and forth.
 

Thomas continued to sleep peacefully in his crib, something she was grateful for, because even though he was a baby and would never remember—or even notice—she hated the thought of her son seeing her cry.
 

The segment had ended, the camera now showing the two newscasters in the studio. Before one of them could speak, Eddie turned off the television. The kitchen suddenly went silent. He turned to her, opened his mouth, and that was when the doorbell rang.
 

He frowned. “I wonder who that could be.”
 

She wiped at her eyes, turned back to the sink, picked up another egg. She had tapped the egg against the rim of the bowl when she heard Eddie open the door. She had tapped it again, hard enough to break this time, when she heard the voices. With her fingernails she tried to pry the egg apart, something she knew she shouldn’t do, and the result was the yolk running into the bowl along with a few tiny pieces of shell.
 

“Shit,” she muttered, dropping the shells into the trash and turning to the sink to wash her hands. The voices continued, deep authoritative voices, and she shut off the water, wiping her hands on a towel, stepping into the hallway to see Eddie standing at the end of it, three men in suits outside.
 

Eddie was turning around, placing his hands behind his back, staring at her with a look that said this wasn’t a surprise at all—he wasn’t surprised, so neither should she be.
 

Only here was where the memory changed, because around his neck now was an explosive collar. An alarm clock just like the one in Reginald Moore’s basement sat on the table beside the door, the bright red numbers counting down.
 

0:10 ... 0:09 ... 0:08 ...
 

Elizabeth felt it around her own neck, another explosive collar, and she touched it like she would a priceless diamond necklace and glanced up just as the numbers on the alarm clock went five ... four ... three ... two ...

•
   
•
   
•

S
HE
OPENED
HER
eyes, immediately reaching for her neck, but of course there was nothing there. The room was dark, much darker than it should have been, and she sat up at once.
 

Todd shifted beside her, his breathing heavy with sleep. He’d had his arm around her but now it slipped down to his lap.
 

She stood up. Went directly to the kitchenette, the only place where there was a clock, telling herself it couldn’t be, that it was impossible. But right there on the microwave she got her confirmation: it was nearly four o’clock. She had been asleep for almost four hours.
 

“Damn you, Van,” she whispered. She remembered how Van had been so adamant about them resting. He didn’t want them on the road and be completely exhausted, which she guessed made sense. Only while one drove, the other could sleep. It was that simple, sure, but then you had to figure in the fact they still had to wait on those guys Van had contacted.
 

Van had promised to come back once they arrived. Had he come to the room, saw they were sleeping, thought it best not to wake them and shut off the lights?
 

Possibly. Still, she knew Van. She knew that despite his insistence that they rest, he wouldn’t purposely put her behind schedule.
 

She considered waking Todd but instead headed for the door. Down the hallway, down the stairs, she came to Van’s office expecting to find one of his boys standing guard outside.
 

There was no guard, which meant Van wasn’t inside.
 

She went down to the next floor, came out into the bar. It was dark here, too. The distant mixed scent of alcohol and perfume and cologne and cleaning materials hung in the air.
 

Elizabeth thought of the time again. Would this place be completely cleaned up and dark by four o’clock in the morning? Sure. Except it was a Friday, and Fridays were always the busiest here. Or at least they had been when she worked behind the bar.
 

She returned to the second floor, confused now. She stared at Van’s office door. If Van was in there, a guard would be outside. It didn’t matter that it was after hours; one of the rules was a guard was always stationed outside the door.
 

Elizabeth didn’t know why, but she expected the knob to be locked. It wasn’t. It turned easily in her hand, and then the door swung open revealing the dark room inside.
 

Only it wasn’t completely dark.
 

The computer monitor was still on, creating some light. The screensaver had been activated, a theme that required a good portion of the screen to be black, so there wasn’t much light but just enough to confirm that Van was there at his desk, leaning forward with his head down.
 

A man as busy as him, she wasn’t surprised. He worked hard every day in whatever it was he did (she never really did find out the entire truth), and he should have gone home by now. Except maybe he was still waiting on those guys. Maybe the guys hadn’t arrived and he had dozed off, not wanting to leave her and Todd alone even for a few minutes.
 

“Van?” she whispered, stepping into the room.
 

He didn’t move.
 

Five paces took her to the desk, another five paces took her around to the other side. She had never decided who had been calmer, Harlan or Van. Harlan was certainly more stoic, that was a no-brainer, but calm, well, calm was another thing completely. Van had always claimed he was never surprised, that he never could be surprised, and a few times Elizabeth had tried doing something that would surprise him, like hide behind a door and shout boo when he turned the corner. It had been juvenile, yes, but she had been okay with that. Van was, in his own way, like an older brother to her, one she would never be able to one-up.
 

Now she came around the desk, quietly, stealthily, walking on the balls of her feet, and she reached out toward Van, smiling now because she knew she would finally surprise him.
 

Her hand bumped the mouse on desk, taking the screensaver away, creating light, and for an instant before she grabbed Van’s shoulder, she looked up and saw Harlan on the floor against the wall. His legs were splayed out in front of him, his head tilted to the side, his glassy eyes staring at nothing. Her eyes shifted toward the couch by the door and she saw two men slouched there, just as dead as Harlan. By then she had touched Van’s shoulder, enough to cause him to move, his head rolling on the desk toward her, the light of the monitor illuminating the bullet hole in his head and the dark blood dried to his face.

CHAPTER 27