“Good luck,” she said. She glanced back and forth between August Hughes and Gloria Larson and grinned from ear to ear. “It’s like fate,” she said.

Chapter 67

CHAPTER

67

Archie sat on the hard bench in the courthouse hall, his feet on the marble floor, his back against the plaster wall. He emptied his pocket of pills. There were four left. They had worked. His lungs were clear.

Henry had been released from the hospital in time to attend Heil’s funeral. Heil had been cremated, so there hadn’t been a casket. Archie felt relieved. He hadn’t wanted to see him again.

The bench was making Archie’s back hurt and he checked his watch. But it had stopped. He held it against one ear and shook it. It wasn’t ticking. The water damage had finally taken its toll.

The crowd outside filled the park across the street. News vans lined the street. Archie could hear the distant chanting of the crowd, but he couldn’t make out the words. The media had been banned from the courthouse, but there’d be no escaping them outside.

The courtroom doors opened and Archie looked up to see the assistant district attorney. She was wearing a skirt and suit jacket and heels. It was a big day. Archie’s phone rang. He glanced at the ID and held up a finger for her to wait.

It was Robbins.

“Hey,” Archie said, slipping the pills back in his right pocket. “Make it quick.”

“We found the gun,” Robbins said. “It was in an unused portion of the pipe, so it’s been dry for most of the time it’s been down there. There was a partial print. It’s kind of amazing. It wouldn’t have lasted all these years if it hadn’t have been so oily.”

“Was it Hughes?” Archie asked.

“McBee. He shot himself. I matched the print to the fire department records. Through the mouth, I’d guess. Bullet lodged in his brain. That’s why we didn’t see evidence of bullet damage to the skeleton. He died instantly. Hand spasmed. Gun landed a few feet away.”

Carey had killed five people in some sort of bent revenge because of a mistaken belief that McBee had drowned. And Gloria Larson had lived with the heavy guilt that she’d cost lives by delaying the alarm.

“Can’t prove it,” Archie said.

“Can’t prove anything,” Robbins said.

Archie paused. “You think Carey’s body will surface?”

“Sure,” Robbins said. “Give it a few months. Someone will fish him out.”

“Maybe in sixty years,” Archie said. He glanced up at the ADA.

You’re almost up, she mouthed.

“I’ve got to go,” Archie said, hanging up.

The ADA smiled. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t wear a tie,” Archie said.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Follow me.”