BooksBarbecue
Back We Were Killers Once Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

Before the cops showed up I opened the door to the bedroom and let Carlo scoop up Achilles so he wouldn’t get into the acid. Carlo held him while the cops were there. I was glad that Max Coyote was on duty. He knew enough about all of us that he didn’t have to ask so many questions.

“It’s your burglar,” I said. It was getting on to early evening, and the room had slowly darkened. I turned on a table lamp to help Max see the scene.

“This seems excessive for a burglar,” Max said while watching the paramedics load Beaufort onto the gurney after determining that Gloria could wait. He had recommenced his screaming. No conning there. I liked the honest sound of it.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the screaming,” I said.

“Excessive force,” he yelled.

The morphine they plugged into Beaufort started to take effect rapidly and he quieted. As they wheeled him out I stepped up to the gurney and said, “You were right, Jerry. Hickock never knew your last name. There was nothing in that confession, if it had ever been read, that could have been used to track down Jeremiah Randolph Beaufort. I found out who you were from your booking fingerprints. Now that they have you, they can match your DNA to that from the crime scene. If you had just left things alone, you could have gotten away with killing the Walkers for the rest of your life. You could have just disappeared, you brainless twit.”

He moaned, and I took that as an admission of his twittedness. So I turned once more to Max Coyote. “You’ll have him on at least five counts of murder going back to 1959. Also murder of a priest in Florida. And a contract hit on a detective in Sarasota County. And the woman in the bedroom.” I gave Coyote all the information he needed about Beaufort, including checking his DNA against that found in Christine Walker, via the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Office cold case unit. I told Max to use hazmat protocol at the crime scene in Gloria’s house. I told him why the bag containing a confession should be handled with plastic gloves. I told him it was the final confession of Richard Hickock. I should have kept it. Max is in his early forties, and from his blank look I could tell he didn’t know who I was talking about. He turned to go without asking for an explanation, though I figured once he’d seen to Beaufort and assessed the crime scene, we’d talk at greater length. Just as well; it was time to get out of there, because Carlo was still looking at me in that way you’d look at a spouse who has just, with great zest, nearly killed a guy with acid.