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Back The Hallows Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After convincing Steven’s attorney to agree to let us meet with him tomorrow morning, I headed home. The forensic team hadn’t found any uncontaminated blood, but they would still try to test for a DNA match. I could still introduce the blood at trial, but Pritcher would say it came from a deep cut, or the previous owner of the town house, or it was too contaminated to be trustworthy, or a million other things. If we weren’t able to identify it as Patty’s, we didn’t have a way to place Patty at that townhome.

I stopped at Adam’s house. When I went inside, music was playing, and he was sitting in his recliner. He didn’t turn around. I came up and sat on the couch again, and we listened quietly to some jazz before he turned the volume down and said, “I don’t want to go back to that hospital.”

“It’s not really up to you at this point.”

“The hell it ain’t,” he said, turning around, fury in his eyes. “I don’t see you for twenty years, and you come in here and think you can dictate what I do or don’t do?”

I leaned forward. “You’re dying, Adam.”

“I know I am. And I won’t spend the small sliver of time I got left in a hospital bed puking and shitting my guts out.”

“It’s your only shot to live longer.”

“Maybe I don’t want to live longer.”

“Hey, any life is better than no life.”

He was quiet awhile. “You’d be surprised how different you feel at the end of your life than at the beginning.” He zoned out for a second and then said, “I’m hungry. Make me a sandwich, would ya?”

I wanted to say something, anything, that would convince him to start his treatment, but I could tell there was no talking him into it. I rose to make his sandwich.

“Hey, you’ve known Nathan Ficco for a long time, haven’t you?” I said from the kitchen.

“Thirty years. I worked for him for a while, too.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“He started a landscaping company. When me and your mom were first married, I picked up a job there for some extra cash.”

“What was he like?”

“He’s a son of a bitch, that’s what he’s like. Violent as a pit bull in heat.”

“Violent?” I said, slathering some mayonnaise on bread. “Violent how?”