Marino says yes. There will be tool marks. We should have Ernie make comparisons of them with ones we found on other gifts from Carrie. Copper bullets. Cartridge cases. Pennies she polished in a tumbler and left in my yard on my birthday, June 12. The spears she shot the police divers and me with three days later. I climb back up on the tailgate, back into the truck. I put on clean gloves and Marino hands the taillight components to me. I tear off more sections of white butcher paper from the roll on a counter as I drip water on the floor.

“You probably wouldn’t notice there’s only one screw left unless you thought to look.” He talks loudly as I begin wrapping. “But the mount would have come off soon enough if you hit a bad enough bump or pothole. Jesus!” He looks up at the swirling dark sky, at the blowing sheets of water spattering his face. “This is the kind of weather chickens drown in.”

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

I SLAM SHUT THE DOUBLE DOORS AND RELOCK THEM. I look around the rain-swept property as I walk through the downpour to the cab of the truck.

In the distance cars move slowly along Brattle Street. Their headlights burn through the fog. I watch for the tactical team. It will be here any minute. But everything seems like an endless wait as hard rain boils on brick. The wind shrieks and groans around the house and through the trees as if we’ve violated a spirit world, and Marino and I climb back into the truck’s cab. Both of us are so drenched it no longer matters and I’m not reassured because a backup is on the way. I don’t feel safe.

I don’t care who or what is on the way—patrol units or SWAT. Nothing would give me peace of mind right now because we don’t seem to be in charge. We’re not the ones making choices. Even when we think something is our idea we discover maybe it’s not. We’re being outmaneuvered and outsmarted, and Marino is feeling the same way. Since I told him about the videos he’s accepted that when we got up this morning we didn’t know the day belonged to Carrie Grethen. But it does and she must be getting high on her diabolical drama.

“How’s this for screwed up,” Marino says as we shut our doors and the downpour beats the metal roof. “We can’t go anywhere including inside the house. We can’t wait out on the driveway unless we want to drown or be a sitting duck. So we’re stuck inside your damn truck. We’ve been stuck inside your truck the whole damn day. I feel we’re going to be stuck inside it the rest of our lives.”