“Don’t let him kill me. I got a family.”

Cursing silently, Tom stepped over Thornfield and moved carefully to the end of the aisle, as though walking in a speedboat. Through one of the van’s rear windows, he saw the dead trooper growing smaller in the fading red glow of their taillights. But that vanishing figure was an illusion.

They would never leave that corpse behind them.

CHAPTER 52

IN MY HOUSE on Washington Street, Mom is helping Annie pack a bag upstairs while I sit in our front room, jotting down the most likely explanations for my father jumping bail. It’s remarkable how easy this is, now that my faith in his honesty has been stripped away.

If Dad is innocent of Viola’s murder, then four explanations seem possible: one, he’s trying to solve the murder himself, which would involve proving someone else killed her; two, he’s avoiding a DNA paternity test; three, he’s trying to avenge Viola’s death; or four, he’s trying to stop all further investigation by making himself look guilty by flight. This last possibility seems doubtful, since Shad and Sheriff Byrd have already settled on Dad as the killer and are unlikely to pursue any other suspects.

If my father did kill Viola, then the possible explanations become simpler—yet far more difficult to believe. One, he might be fleeing the country, which would mean setting up a new life somewhere for himself, and presumably for my mother as well. This seems patently absurd, since Dad would consider being separated from Annie for the rest of his life a fate worse than death. On the other hand, he might prefer that to having Annie watch him be sent to prison. I suppose he might rather vanish than have certain secrets revealed, but if so, those secrets must be truly horrific. I can’t imagine that being the father of Lincoln Turner would be sufficient to drive him away from his family.

The sound of an engine on Washington Street draws my attention long enough for me to wait for it to pass. But it doesn’t. Someone has parked outside my house, their engine idling.

Taking my .357 Magnum from the table beside me, I go to the window and look out. A white pickup truck is parked across the road. The same white pickup that Lincoln Turner was driving last night. Rather than frightening me, the sight of him stalking our house suddenly pushes me past my limit.

Running to the door, I jerk it open and race down the steps, but before I can reach the truck, Turner guns his motor and screeches away from the curb, headed toward the river. Like last night, I want to follow him, but tonight I can’t risk leaving Annie and Mom alone.