“You carry any tools for work in your truck?” Joe asks as though he’s ready to make a list.

“Of course.” There’s a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“What kinds of items did you have in the truck the week of the Fourth?”

“I don’t know exactly. A lot of junk.”

“A shovel? ” Joe deadpans.

“I’m a landscaper,” he says by way of explanation, anger in the set of his teeth. “If you think I had anything to do with that woman’s death, you’re sadly mistaken.” He gets to his feet, leans toward us. “I’ve got to get to work, Detectives. If you have any more questions, call my lawyer.” He strides out of the room, leaving the door open.

“Well, that went well,” Joe says under his breath. He gets up and closes the door. “Strange guy.”

I smirk. “There’s something strange about the whole pack of them.” I straighten my notes. “Well, almost done. We’ve got the Branches later.”

CHAPTER 51 - Molly

CHAPTER 51

Molly

THE LETTER HELPED PUSH ME OVER THE EDGE, INTO ACTION THAT HAD been only a fantasy years in the making. I feel if I don’t do this now, I’ll fall completely, irreparably apart. I have no expectations, only an overwhelming desire to end the power this monster has had over my life. That has supplied the adrenaline that has carried me to Sing Sing Correctional Facility. My childhood was stolen; a sense of peace and security is an unknown thing. Even the husband who lifted me out of the mud is gone. And he wasn’t the man I thought he was. I can fall no lower. I’m prepared to face the beast in the lowest ring of hell, and the spoils go to the victor.

I walk with a strong stride behind the guard, a short man with a thick, blotchy neck. He escorts me through the doors, deeper into the prison. I will meet my attacker face-to-face across a small metal table, no plexiglass, no phones. Metal jangles as the guard opens the final door, and I’m shown into a gray cinder-block room. I stop in my tracks, waver for a moment, fearing I might turn and run, but I don’t. My escort leaves, and I glance at the guard standing in the corner, the man who has charge of Keith Russell. He nods slightly. This guard is a big man, six two or three, I’d guess. Muscled arms and an erect stature. I find reassurance in his gaze and take a seat across from the man who ruined my life.

My heart is pounding, and the pulsing of it is all I hear. Sweat breaks out on my upper lip and under my arms as I sit in a cold metal chair. Then he smiles at me. Keith Russell, or what’s become of him, smiles and says my name.

“Melinda.”