He pounds me with his other fist. My brain quivers like Jell-o. I lose my grip on him, and he throws me off.

He scrambles towards the fallen gun. I’m still on the ground. It takes me a split second to realise that he’ll almost certainly get to the gun first, and that even if by some miracle I end up with it, I don’t know how to use it. So I grab the umbrella instead.

He snatches up the gun and whirls around. Takes aim at my head.

I take aim at his, and push the button on the umbrella.

The spring-loaded mechanism clicks, and the spiked tip goes straight into Tyrrell’s eyeball. He shrieks, flailing as blood and vitreous humour pours down his cheek, and then he disappears from view as the canvas of the umbrella unfurls. I give the handle a shove, and the screaming stops.

‘Reese!’ I call out, as Tyrrell hits the ground with a thud.

Silence descends upon the house.

‘Are you here? It’s okay. It’s Blake.’

Nothing.

She’s not dead, I tell myself. She’s hiding. She thinks I’m the Crawdad Man.

‘Don’t shoot me, okay?’ I say. I check the kitchen, because it’s closest. Then the laundry. The bathroom. No sign of her.

Finally I check the last bedroom.

It’s empty, and not just of people. Thistle’s clothes are gone. Her books. Her viola.

There’s a handwritten note on her bedside table. I guess Tyrrell didn’t notice it. He probably thought the other bedroom was hers. Without Thistle’s stuff, it just looks like storage.

Phoebe,

I’m sorry to leave like this. You’ve been a good friend to me. I hope I’ll see you again—but not anytime soon.

It’s nothing you did. I made a mistake. Actually, mistake doesn’t cover it—I screwed up so badly that I can’t be a cop anymore. That guy I told you about, he turned out to be a criminal. You have no idea how bad. And if I’m not a cop, I don’t know what I am. I need to go somewhere while I figure that out.

I wanted to stay until you got back from Memphis, to say goodbye. But the thought of another night in this city makes me feel sick. I can’t be here right now. Please understand.

There’s a month’s rent in the Apache Tears. You know what that means, right? I hope that gives you enough time to replace me. Helen is looking after Junie until you get back.

I’m really sorry. I’ll miss you.

Reese

P.S. I’ll ask my old colleagues to watch the house. If that guy comes to the door, don’t answer.