A Stranger at the Door (A Rachel Marin Thriller) Page 30

  Spivak let loose a moan that resembled air being slowly released from a balloon and sank to the ground. Blood dripped onto the dirt. Rachel turned back to the fire. She couldn’t see anything through the thick smoke.

  “Evie!” she shouted, moving forward. She held her shirt up to her mouth. “Evie, where are you?”

  She heard nothing except the crackle of fire splitting wood. Rachel was dizzy, her vision blurred, her senses off. She did not hear Spivak swing the branch again, only felt something heavy crack against the back of her head. And then she hit the ground.

  Rachel rolled onto her back. Smoke billowed out above her, and Randall Spivak stood over her, his face covered in blood, flames licking the air behind him like they were announcing the arrival of the devil himself.

  Spivak lifted the branch over Rachel’s face.

  She closed her eyes and mouthed two words.

  “Eric. Megan.”

  But Spivak did not bring the branch down. Rachel lay there, breath coming in ragged gasps. Spivak hovered over her, unmoving, as if someone had pressed “Pause.”

  Why am I not dead?

  Then she opened her eyes and saw the blood.

  It did not come from Randall Spivak’s face, where she had struck him, but from a hole right above his Adam’s apple. Then Rachel saw what had caused the wound. A pitchfork had been thrust into Randall Spivak, its three rusted, barely sharp prongs sticking out of his neck, chest, and abdomen.

  Spivak brought his hand up and touched the tip of the uppermost prong as though testing its sharpness. Blood poured from him in rivulets, soaking his shirt red in seconds. And then Randall Spivak fell forward, the pitchfork protruding from his back like a gruesome handle.

  Behind him stood Evie Boggs, her body a mess of red, her face ghastly pale.

  “That was . . . gross,” Evie said, and then she collapsed onto the ground next to Randall Spivak.

  CHAPTER 49

  Rachel walked into the lobby at Mackenzie North Hospital, thinking she’d had more than her fill of hospitals and blood. Two people she cared about had just gotten out of surgery. The first, Peter Lincecum, had had his ruptured patella tendon repaired. The injury caused by Rachel had been exacerbated by the lack of medical attention. Thankfully, the doctor said, he’d seen worse knee injuries sustained by football players, and if they could return to the field, Peter would be up and at ’em in six to eight months.

  Tony Vargas had gone with Peter to the hospital, their hands intertwined, the day’s trauma and violence forming a bond that could never be broken. Rachel was heartened to hear about Peter’s prognosis but knew she would carry around the guilt of his injury far longer than his recovery time.

  As for Evie, the situation had been decidedly more grim. The bullet from Randall Spivak’s gun had shattered her collarbone like a drinking glass dropped on the floor. A shard from the bone had cleaved her subclavian artery nearly in two. By the time the EMTs got to her, she had lost nearly a third of the blood in her body.

  Rachel prayed that Evie would survive, if only to answer her many questions. She knew now that when Evie had referred to needing to protect her son, she’d been referring to Peter Lincecum.

  Rachel could barely stand herself. Her head rang like an abused xylophone, and her body ached like it had been beaten with sticks. Still, after a sleepless night, Rachel found herself dragging her bedraggled self up to the hospital receptionist, who looked at her disheveled appearance with disapproval.

  “Laundry day,” Rachel said with a shrug.

  “Miss . . . do you need help?”

  “Yes. A lot of it. But not medical. I’m good there,” Rachel said. “Evelyn Boggs’s room, please.”

  The woman smiled nervously and punched the name into her computer. The smile quickly turned into an apologetic frown.

  “I’m sorry, Miss . . .”

  “Marin.”

  “Ms. Marin, Ms. Boggs is under police guard. I’m afraid I can’t . . .”

  Rachel took her ID from her purse and showed it to the woman. It was temporary and did not grant her the full amenities of a sworn-in officer, but she hoped it would be enough to sate a hospital receptionist. She looked at the ID and said, “Room 237. Take the elevators past the cafeteria, then make a left when you get off.”

  Rachel thanked her. When she got to the second floor, Rachel saw Officers Lowe and Chen seated in the hallway. Lowe was reading a paperback book. Chen appeared to be texting. As Rachel got closer, they both looked up and then stood to greet her.

  “Ms. Marin,” Chen said. “We heard about everything. Glad you’re on your feet.”

  “We can’t let you in to see her,” Lowe added. “She’s in critical condition. No visitors.”

  “I know. I just wanted to . . . I’m not sure.” Rachel leaned to her side, just far enough that she could see a white curtain covering the length of the bed, shielding Evelyn Boggs from onlookers. Then Rachel was overcome by dizziness. Lowe held her arm, allowing her to steady herself. “Thanks, Officer Lowe. How is she?”

  Lowe looked at Chen, as if debating whether to answer. Lowe said, “Hanging in there. Docs say it’s touch and go.”

  “If she wakes up, tell her I came by.”

  Chen smiled and his eyes softened. “We will, Ms. Marin.”

  “Thank you, Officers.”

  Rachel took the elevator to the fourth floor and went to room 410. There were no cops outside the door. Everybody who had wanted harm to come to the patient inside was either in prison or dead.

  “Hey, Peter,” Rachel said, stepping inside. “How’s the wheel?”

  Peter Lincecum was propped up in bed, his surgically repaired leg hanging from a sling in an air cast.

  “Can’t really feel it right now, which I guess is a good thing.” The boy’s voice was slow, slurred due to the medication. “How’s Evie?”

  “So you call her Evie?”

  “Never really known her as ‘Mom.’ All these years she kept saying she’d come back to Ashby. That we could try to be a family. But she never came. Said her brother could take better care of me than she could. I guess she had more important things to do than watch her son grow up.”

  Rachel took a seat next to the bed.

  “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I’m sorry for what I did.”

  Peter made an exaggerated, drugged wave. “I deserved it,” he said. “I was the one with the gun. I swear I wasn’t going to use it. We were just trying to scare you. I don’t think Bennett wanted you hurt. I mean really hurt. I’m so, so sorry, Ms. Marin.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I’m just glad you’ll be OK. And that you weren’t quicker on the draw.”

  “Is Evie going to live?” he asked.

  “I hope so. Your mom is tough as hell.”

  “Did she really kill Randall Spivak with a pitchfork?”

  Rachel laughed. “She did.”

  Peter smiled proudly.

  “Listen, Peter. Evie made mistakes. The kind you can’t just apologize for. I think even she’d admit that. But she’s going to live. And I have a feeling she’ll do whatever she can to make it up to you.”

  Peter nodded, his eyes drowsy.

  As Peter began to drift away, Rachel heard footsteps. Two pairs. She immediately straightened up, knowing there was no security outside the room. She was gripping the steel leg of her chair—in case she needed a weapon—but relaxed when Gabrielle and Tony Vargas appeared at the doorway. Tony wore an Avengers T-shirt. Between the bright splashes of color on his shirt and the boyish smile when he saw his friend, he looked like a new person.

  Peter’s eyes slid open, and he managed a lazy smile.

  “Hey, man,” he said to Tony. “How do I look?”

  “Like you picked a fight with the Hulk. Maybe we can just sit you on a skateboard and push you around the school caf,” Tony said. “Hey, look on the bright side. Sympathy works. I bet Esther Lowenstein will finally realize you’re alive.”

  “Esther doe
s too know I’m alive,” Peter said, defiantly. “Besides, this is partly your fault anyway.”

  Tony chuckled uncomfortably and said, “Don’t make Ms. Marin break your other leg.”

  Rachel could see a smile spread across Gabrielle’s face as the boys bickered. Tony went to Peter’s bedside. Peter was fighting to stay awake but looked happy to have the company.

  With the boys preoccupied, Rachel spoke to Gabrielle.

  “How are you?” Rachel said, softly.

  “I’m not sure, honestly. I’m just glad the boys are OK.” Gabrielle turned to Rachel. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it . . . all right to be glad that someone’s dead? Bennett Brice and now Randall Spivak. I always taught Antonio not to hate. Hate only drags you down. But I can’t help but think how much I hated those men and how glad I am that they’re dead.”

  “I’m not in any place to judge. I’ve wanted people hurt before. As long as you raise your boy right, nobody can judge you. Sometimes I think that’s all parenting really is—not letting your kids pay for your mistakes.”

  “What mistakes have you made?” Gabrielle asked.

  Rachel smiled and said, “That’s for another time. Over a few bottles of wine.”

  “It’s a date.”

  Rachel watched the boys and smiled. They seemed so joyful and lighthearted in the face of such evil.

  Then Rachel thought about what Peter had said just moments ago, and she had to stifle a gasp.

  This is partly your fault, anyway.

  Peter had said that to Tony in his painkiller-fueled stupor. Your fault.

  The other assailant the day she’d followed Eric and Benjamin Ruddock. The one who nearly knocked her brain out of her skull while she was tending to the wounded Peter Lincecum.

  It was Tony Vargas.

  For all he knew, the woman who’d just snapped his friend’s patella tendon was about to finish the job. So Tony brained Rachel, helped Peter get the hell out of there. He then hid him in Dubois Park, knowing that with the job having been botched, the Spivaks would come for Peter.

  Rachel stared at the scar on Tony’s neck, wondering if it ever still itched.

  She decided to allow Tony to move on with his life unhindered. That was the least she could do for the boy. The Spivaks had already nearly cut his throat. He’d only attacked Rachel because he was terrified for his friend’s life and his own.

  As Peter’s eyes began to close, Tony turned back to look at his mother. Gabrielle blew him a kiss. He returned the kind of ew, gross look perfected by teenage boys around the world. Then Tony’s eyes caught Rachel’s. They held for just a moment. I know, and I know you know.

  “I’m sorry,” Tony mouthed.

  Rachel simply smiled, put her finger to her lips, and said, “Shh.”

  Tony nodded and turned back to his friend.

  Rachel recognized the sound of boots and knew Serrano and Tally had arrived. John wore heavy-duty tactical sport boots when he was on duty. They were heat resistant, waterproof, and oil resistant, with a side zipper (for those dexterously challenged who didn’t have time to tie laces before heading out to duty). They were black and bulky and ugly as hell, and if he were not a cop, they would have already had a conversation about Serrano’s style—or lack thereof. But at the same time, hearing the sound of the rubber soles clomping against the linoleum of the hospital floor made Rachel’s heart sing.

  She missed him. Needed him. She longed to spend a night—maybe several—curled up with Serrano on the sofa underneath a soft blanket, a bottle of shiraz warming them from the inside. Then, once the bottle was empty, she wanted their clothes in a pile on the floor, nothing between them for the rest of the night but a thin layer of sweat.

  She smiled at Serrano and Tally.

  “Detectives,” she said.

  Neither of them returned the pleasantry. Serrano did not even look at her.

  “Ms. Vargas,” Serrano said. His voice was stern and unsympathetic. “Could we have a word with you?”

  No. Rachel knew what was about to happen. Please. Leave her be.

  “Everything all right, Detectives?” Gabrielle said. Her voice was questioning, confused, but her eyes were scared.

  Then it all came together, puzzle pieces snapping into place.

  “Step outside, please,” Tally said. Rachel knew exactly what was going to happen in the next five minutes.

  Gabrielle tentatively stepped forward.

  “John,” Rachel said, putting her hand on Serrano’s arm. “Please. Don’t.”

  “Stay out of this, Rachel,” Tally said. The boys had stopped talking. They turned to see what was going on.

  “John,” she said, “she has a son. This family has been through hell. Don’t drag them back down. You of all people should understand the importance of being able to move on.”

  “This isn’t about me or you or Eric or Evan,” Serrano said, his voice low but tinged with anger and emotion. “This is my job, Rachel.”

  “Screw your job,” Rachel said. “What would you give to have one more day?”

  “Enough,” Tally said. “Rachel, you’re out of line.”

  “Gabrielle,” Rachel said, “call a lawyer. Do it now.”

  “Why—”

  “Please step outside, Ms. Vargas,” Serrano said, though he was staring daggers at Rachel as he spoke.

  Tony said, “What’s going on?” He stepped between his mother and Detective Serrano.

  “Please,” Tally said to Gabrielle. “Let’s do this outside.”

  “Do what?” Tony said, defiantly. “Anything you say to her, you can say to me.”

  “Antonio,” Rachel said, taking his arm, using the boy’s formal name for the first time. “Let’s let them talk . . .”

  “No,” he said, pulling away. “I have a right to know what the cops want to say to my mom.”

  “Antonio, stay in here with Peter for a minute,” Gabrielle said. “Please.”

  Tony stepped back. Gabrielle went into the hall with the detectives. Tony eyed the corridor like a sheep wary of wolves outside the paddock. Rachel followed them into the hall. Gabrielle’s hands were shaking. They all knew what was coming.

  When they were out of earshot of the hospital room, John Serrano said, “This isn’t easy for me to say. But we need you to come with us.”

  “Why?” Gabrielle replied, her words more of a plea than a question.

  “I believe you know why,” Tally said. Gabrielle said nothing. “Ms. Vargas, I’m asking you to come with us of your own volition. Don’t make us force you. Not in front of your son.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gabrielle said.

  Tally said, “We need you to come down to the precinct. Once there, we are going to formally question you about your roles in the murders of Matthew Linklater and Bennett Brice.”

  Gabrielle shook her head. Her voice was manic, disbelieving. “No, no. I can’t. I need to stay here with Antonio. He’s been through so much.”

  “Ms. Vargas,” Serrano said. His voice was sympathetic, trembling. “Just come with us.”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t.”

  Serrano pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Rachel could tell he was struggling. She wondered if he was thinking about his son, Evan. Serrano’s family had been torn apart, and now he was pulling another parent away from her child. Serrano was doing his job. But Serrano also knew the cold, cruel ramifications of what doing his job meant.

  “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Serrano said.

  “John . . . ,” Rachel said, her voice trailing off. “John, please. They’re a family.”

  “They can come back from this,” Serrano said. “I never had that chance. They do.”

  “John . . .”

  “Rachel, stay out of this,” Tally said. “Ms. Vargas, you can go back in and tell your son that you’re coming with us. Do you have any family in Ashby? Someone Tony can stay with?�
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  Then Gabrielle Vargas began to cry.

  “Please,” she said. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “We know you didn’t,” Tally said. “But you still have to answer for their deaths.”

  “Go talk to your son,” Serrano said. “I promise you will see him again. We’ll wait for you right here.”

  “Don’t make us come get you,” Tally added.

  “Detective Serrano,” Rachel said, her voice taking on both an urgency and anger that made both Serrano and Tally turn to attention. “She is a mother. A mother who was protecting her son. What would you have done to protect your son? Please, don’t do this.”

  Serrano took Rachel by the arm, gently. She thought about pushing his hand away but didn’t want to cause more of a scene. Serrano led her aside.

  “This is not about me or my son, and don’t you dare use Evan’s memory like this. Gabrielle is coming with us whether you like it or not. Don’t get involved. And keep my boy’s name out of your mouth.”

  Rachel softened. “I’m sorry, John. But you’re a father. I’m a mother. I know what I’d do for my children, and it isn’t pretty. Just tell me. What did you find?”

  Serrano looked at Tally. Gabrielle had gone back into the hospital room to talk to her son. Tally nodded at Serrano in a way that seemed to say, Deal with her.

  “We subpoenaed Bennett Brice’s phone records. We found a number of exchanges between Brice and Tamara Alvi.”

  Rachel took a step back. Her head began to swim.

  “The principal at Ashby High,” she said.

  Serrano nodded. “We believe Brice and Alvi were in a sexual relationship. We talked with Alvi earlier. She confirmed that she had been in a consensual relationship with Brice on and off for some time and that he had access to her files and computer. When we searched her computer, we found a keylogger program that Brice had installed. When we compared that to the cached history in Brice’s computer, we found that Brice had used the program to gain access to Alvi’s files. Including all student applications.”