Page 58 of The 9th Man

“It’s never too late, you know.”

She chuckled. “No, it never is.”

They spent the entirety of the drive north, toward Genappe, rehearsing their stories, making sure they matched in the right places and were appropriately fuzzy in others. Surely the two men from last night were long gone. The second-floor railing was definitely destroyed, but there was nothing connecting them to that. To explain away any physical evidence, like hair and fingerprints, was easy for Jillian. His would come from the fact he’d stayed in the house before on a visit, all before any trouble started. As alibis went they weren’t perfect but solid enough if they could hold their ground.

Which should get the cops off their asses.

Outside Charleroi they found a rural back road and abandoned the Range Rover. They then walked a couple of miles to a small commercial center and a clothing store where they paid cash for new outfits before trashing their old ones. The bus ride to Genappe took another thirty minutes, the walk to Benji’s house ten more.

It was a little after 6:00P.M.when the show began.

Panicked, Jillian ran to a neighbor’s house and in broken Dutch begged to know what had happened at her grandfather’s house. The police were called and in short order six cars arrived, lights blazing, sirens blaring. Luke and Jillian were promptly whisked away to headquarters, immediately separated, and, for the next three hours interrogated by a string of federal police investigators who expertly played good cop / bad cop, sympathetic cop / enraged cop. The same questions were asked in a variety of ways, details probed, re-probed, and challenged. Finally, a little past nine, after signing statements, they were released and given condolences and offers of help if required. Stein’s house had indeed been searched, they were told, and the crime scene technicians were done. Remnants of the murders remained, they were told, so Jillian needed to be prepared for what awaited her should she choose to go home. A police car drove them there.

Once it disappeared around the corner, he said, “Was it bad for you?”

“I held. You?”

“I think we’re okay. Any mention of what happened here last night?”

She shook her head.

“Then they have no idea about last night.”

Interesting.

“For safety’s sake, we keep playing our roles,” he said. “Tomorrow morning you’ll call the lead investigator and ask permission to leave town. You just can’t stay here. It’s too emotional.”

“That’s not a stretch for me.”

“I know. Make sure he knows you’re asking permission. Tell him you want to be kept informed about the investigation. You want Benji’s killers caught.”

“Again, all true.”

“Come on, let’s go see what we can find.”

25

LUKE HAD ONCE WANTED TO BE A POLICEMAN. HE’D THOUGHT IT THEperfect way to serve. But that was a teenager’s dream. The older he got the less appealing the job seemed. So he’d opted for the army and the Rangers, then the Magellan Billet. Which seemed a cross between the police and Rangers.

In a loose sort of way.

Being at a crime scene, one he helped create, he felt like a cop searching for evidence. For the next three hours, save half an hour to eat two delivered pizzas, they turned Benji’s home upside down, starting in the basement and finishing in the upstairs bathroom, where Jillian had made her escape two nights ago.

And found nothing.

All over the house bright-yellow adhesive arrows showed every bullet strike in the walls. As advertised, no effort had been made to clean up bloodstains. Standing in the middle of the bedroom, Jillian slowly turned a circle as though the room had somehow become foreign to her.

“It’s strange being here now,” she said.

“How much time did he have left?”

“The doctor told me last week, maybe three months. No more.”

“Whatever he knew, somebody wanted to make sure he told no one during that time. Otherwise, you just wait out the cancer.”

“I agree.”

She kept studying the room.