hallway again, flashlight in his left hand and gun in his right. He's alert, heart beating hard. Quiet on the carpet in his bare feet.
She could picture Archie now, even though she could not remember ever seeing him. The portraits, she thought. The big boyish face and the dimples and the strong neck. But more than that, too. He was easy to picture because he'd done this. He had been here. He was true.
Or so her imagination said. Which won't cut ice in court, she thought.
In the living room she stared again at the carpet where the rock had been. Archie would have stared too, would have seen the rock and the shattered wooden blind.
Outside now, Merci walks along behind him. She remembers the moon phase map from today's paper and knows it was gone by two that morning. So it's easy to picture the flashlight and its beam moving from the crooked little walkway to the bushes to the trees, then back again.
She heads down the walkway to the place where Archie has fallen. She wonders if Wildcraft heard something here, something that made him turn around. Or if he just kept walking out and around to where the rock had come through the window. He'd want to see the point of entry. Human curiosity. A cop's training. Absolutely, that would have been his destination. She tries to picture him but can't get details now. Can't tell how far he would have walked. Can't tell if he'd stopped and turned just before he was given the surprise of his life, or if he was walking back from the broken window. Might never know, she thinks, unless Arch wakes up and has enough of a brain left to remember.
But this was where he bought it. Almost bought it. Facing up the walk, in the direction of the front porch, the front door, the entrant to his home. In the direction of his wife, who has just turned twenty-six, whom he has recently made love with and left alone and frightened in the bathroom at five in the morning with a cell phone that probably doesn't work well in these hills, and a gun that she's not likely to use.
All this is charging through Rayborn's mind as she looks down again at the ant-covered blood, then to where the size-sixteen shoe prints lie, still visible, back under the down-hanging branches of the flame tree.
I will identify you, she thinks.
I will know who you are and will deliver you to experience the full course of criminal justice: special circumstances, lying in wait, capital crime, guilty as charged, your honor, a lethal hot shot and you're gone.
You got one of us, but the Orange County Sheriff's Department isn't done with you, you bucket of piss.
She stands under the tree where Size Sixteen has stood. Places her feet where his have been.
What a view. Not just hidden behind branches heavy with leave but hidden between them. Easy to slide through, when you were ready. Archie came past here, she thinks. Size Sixteen would have trouble seeing him on his way by. But coming back Archie was an easy mark. Maybe Archie was less alert by then. Maybe his eyes were used to the dark and he'd turned off his flashlight. Maybe he was shining it somewhere else. All it took from Size Sixteen was, what, two long stride
Quickly, she slid from the green to the edge of the walkway. Easier and faster than she thought it would be. Little resistance, little noise.
Yes, two giant-sized strides brought her to the edge of the cement walk. For what—a three-foot shot at a human head? Give him another year and Tim Jr. would be able to do that. He could probably do now. God, I love him.
She took the two steps again with her nine millimeter out in from of her, just one hand to aim it because the other held the photographs. And because Size Sixteen had probably done it that way. Leave one hand free to part foliage, she thought. Did he have a flashlight too? In the dark, on another man's property, on another armed man's property? Oh, yes. He did.
But the trouble with all of this was the casing. If it had gone down this way, and if the shooter had used an
She could picture Archie now, even though she could not remember ever seeing him. The portraits, she thought. The big boyish face and the dimples and the strong neck. But more than that, too. He was easy to picture because he'd done this. He had been here. He was true.
Or so her imagination said. Which won't cut ice in court, she thought.
In the living room she stared again at the carpet where the rock had been. Archie would have stared too, would have seen the rock and the shattered wooden blind.
Outside now, Merci walks along behind him. She remembers the moon phase map from today's paper and knows it was gone by two that morning. So it's easy to picture the flashlight and its beam moving from the crooked little walkway to the bushes to the trees, then back again.
She heads down the walkway to the place where Archie has fallen. She wonders if Wildcraft heard something here, something that made him turn around. Or if he just kept walking out and around to where the rock had come through the window. He'd want to see the point of entry. Human curiosity. A cop's training. Absolutely, that would have been his destination. She tries to picture him but can't get details now. Can't tell how far he would have walked. Can't tell if he'd stopped and turned just before he was given the surprise of his life, or if he was walking back from the broken window. Might never know, she thinks, unless Arch wakes up and has enough of a brain left to remember.
But this was where he bought it. Almost bought it. Facing up the walk, in the direction of the front porch, the front door, the entrant to his home. In the direction of his wife, who has just turned twenty-six, whom he has recently made love with and left alone and frightened in the bathroom at five in the morning with a cell phone that probably doesn't work well in these hills, and a gun that she's not likely to use.
All this is charging through Rayborn's mind as she looks down again at the ant-covered blood, then to where the size-sixteen shoe prints lie, still visible, back under the down-hanging branches of the flame tree.
I will identify you, she thinks.
I will know who you are and will deliver you to experience the full course of criminal justice: special circumstances, lying in wait, capital crime, guilty as charged, your honor, a lethal hot shot and you're gone.
You got one of us, but the Orange County Sheriff's Department isn't done with you, you bucket of piss.
She stands under the tree where Size Sixteen has stood. Places her feet where his have been.
What a view. Not just hidden behind branches heavy with leave but hidden between them. Easy to slide through, when you were ready. Archie came past here, she thinks. Size Sixteen would have trouble seeing him on his way by. But coming back Archie was an easy mark. Maybe Archie was less alert by then. Maybe his eyes were used to the dark and he'd turned off his flashlight. Maybe he was shining it somewhere else. All it took from Size Sixteen was, what, two long stride
Quickly, she slid from the green to the edge of the walkway. Easier and faster than she thought it would be. Little resistance, little noise.
Yes, two giant-sized strides brought her to the edge of the cement walk. For what—a three-foot shot at a human head? Give him another year and Tim Jr. would be able to do that. He could probably do now. God, I love him.
She took the two steps again with her nine millimeter out in from of her, just one hand to aim it because the other held the photographs. And because Size Sixteen had probably done it that way. Leave one hand free to part foliage, she thought. Did he have a flashlight too? In the dark, on another man's property, on another armed man's property? Oh, yes. He did.
But the trouble with all of this was the casing. If it had gone down this way, and if the shooter had used an
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