Page 38

THIRTY-SEVEN

BOB MILLER

I stand beside Brad, watching his reaction as he rolls the object over in his gloved hands. He’s seated at his desk, and his eyes are wide as he slowly shakes his head.

“What exactly am I looking at?” Brad asks.

“It’s the knife that was used to murder Kelly Summers.”

He stares up at me in disbelief. “How do you know that, and why would you have this?”

“Because Sarah gave it to me eleven years ago. She told me to get rid of it, make sure no one ever found it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” I smirk. “I needed an insurance policy with her, in case she ever tried doing the same thing to me.”

“The same what?” Brad asks, but I don’t respond. I let the gravity of what I’ve just implied sink into him, and his look goes from one of curiosity to horror. “Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that Sarah killed Kelly Summers... and you knew about it?”

“Yes.”

“But... why? Why did you...” He stops himself when he realizes he already has the answer. “Because Kelly or Jenna, or whatever her name was, killed your brother.”

I nod and say, “An eye for an eye.”

Brad sets the knife down and stands from his chair, pacing his office. “Jesus, Bob, do you realize what you’ve just told me? Do you understand the implications?”

“Of course, I do. I’ve been living with them for over a decade.”

I can see the cogs turning in his mind. Maybe this is all too much for him. “What are you thinking, man? You wanna jump ship?” I ask.

“No... no, no. I get it. She killed your brother... and I didn’t even know the girl. So what do I care? But fuck. Now it all makes sense. The shit you were saying about Sarah and how paranoid you’ve been.” He sits at his desk again, rubbing his temples as he leans back in his chair. “How?”

“How what?” I take a seat across from him.

“How can you prove that Sarah used that knife in the murder?”

“Well, there’s dried blood on it. A DNA analysis will match it to Kelly Summers, and I have an airtight alibi the night she was murdered.”

“Okay, that helps prove you weren’t the one that killed Kelly. The blood on the knife solidifies it as the murder weapon, but how do either of those things put this knife in Sarah’s hands on that night?”

“They don’t. And unless that thing”—I gesture to the knife resting on top of the bag on Brad’s desk—“is covered in her fingerprints, which I doubt it is, then all we can do is use it to put some heat on Sarah. Maybe that knife magically finds its way to the Prince William County Sheriff’s Office with an anonymous note attached.” I raise my eyebrows in quick succession while fluttering my fingers.

Brad begins stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger. “The case is reopened, and they’ll be reexamining every piece of evidence, so the timing would be rather... advantageous.”

“Quite.”

He leans forward and gestures to the knife. “This isn’t enough to convict her, even if the blood on here is Kelly’s.”

“I know that, but I don’t need a conviction. I just need the spotlight on Sarah. Her every move would be examined under a microscope, so whatever she’s currently scheming will be ten times as hard for her to pull off. She might even slip up and ruin her whole plan with that kind of pressure.”

“What plan?” he asks.

“I’m not sure yet, but I know it involves taking me down, so I’ve gotta take her down first.”

“She’s gonna know it was you who turned this in,” Brad says, eyeing the weapon.

“Good. I want her to.” And I mean that. I want Sarah to learn to fear what she rightfully should... me.

He raps his knuckles on the desk, sucks his lips in, and breathes a short burst of air out of his nose, like a bull ready to charge. “Well, I hate to tell you this right now, but...”

“What?” I say, panic in my voice. “What is it?”

“I got wind from one of the clerks down at the county judge’s office. Sarah...” Brad pauses. “She filed a protective order against you.”

“On what grounds?”

“She’s made a claim that you threatened and physically assaulted her.”

“That’s bullshit!” I seethe.

This is a low blow, even for Sarah. Not only is she trying to set me up for whatever’s going on with Stacy, but now she’s painting me as an abusive husband, someone she doesn’t feel safe around. For God’s sake, I’m the one that shouldn’t feel safe around her.

“Sarah submitted text messages that you sent her and also provided photographs of injuries she’s claiming you gave her when you grabbed her arm at your daughter’s swim meet.”

“I barely touched her. Look what she did to me!” I hold up my hand, showing the two-inch scab across the palm of it.

“I thought you said you did that on accident.”

“I lied. I was just trying to downplay what happened, but she slashed me with a fucking knife.”

“On purpose?”

“Sarah never does anything by accident.”

Brad lets out a heavy sigh. “Look, I don’t know all the details, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up. It hasn’t been granted yet, and a hearing still has to be scheduled, but don’t be surprised when it comes.”

“Does this mean I can’t go near Summer?”

“Technically, no. The protective order would only apply to Sarah but...”

“But what?”

“If Summer is with Sarah, then you... have to avoid them both.”

“My own daughter, Brad. My own goddamn daughter. Do you not see what she’s doing?” I stand from the chair and pace, my hands becoming fists at my sides. She must be getting real desperate to pull a move like this. But why? Maybe I scared her with the threat of my insurance policy . I probably should have kept that to myself, Sun Tzu and all, but I did enjoy watching her squirm. It was the first time I’ve ever actually seen her nervous, on edge, worried—it was almost like she was human, just for a moment. I stop pacing and look to Brad.

“What should I do now?” I ask, already knowing what I’m going to do, what I have to do. I didn’t want it to come to this, but Sarah’s left me with no other choice.

“As your lawyer, I would advise you to avoid her, even though the protective order hasn’t been granted. Act like it has. Don’t give her any more ammo than she’s already got.” He looks at the knife. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Me? Nothing. But you’re going to get that knife into Sheriff Hudson’s hands. I trust you can do that discreetly.”

“You know I can,” Brad says. “And you want it to point to Sarah?”

I’d love to stab it right through her heart ... but I don’t say that part out loud, even with attorney-client privilege. “Yes, tie it to her, however you can.”

Brad nods, and I leave his office, heading for my car. Once inside, I scan the parking garage to ensure no one is watching. There are several vehicles spread out, sitting empty. I reach down, pulling a flip phone from beneath my seat. There’s a small recess under there where two metal support bars cross, just big enough to fit the unassuming object.

I flip the phone open and turn it on, the screen illuminating back to life. My fingers tap against the keypad as I type out a message. When I’m finished, I send the text to the only contact I have saved in the phone.

Plans have changed. Meet tomorrow at that boutique hotel off 28, near Sudley. 11 a.m. Room 518.

Immediately, I receive a message back. It’s short and straight to the point.

Noted.

I power the phone down and let out a deep exhale.

’Til death do us part, Sarah. Yours... not mine.