headquarters? Were the hunters now the hunted? The sudden likelihood opened the door to questions Gavin had no time to consider.
If he moved now he could catch the man, arrest him—or better, shoot him—and end it here. End this useless carnage of human
life. He wanted that murdering scum so badly he was trembling.
He looked back at Garrity. Through the oily cloud of water and antifreeze vapor he saw blood spreading on the seat like spilled
ink on a blotter pad. A coiled black cord led to a car phone lying on the floor. He grabbed it, pressed the power button,
and punched in 911, praying for a connection. Instead he heard two low-toned beeps indicating the need to enter Chris’s security
code.
“I don’t know the password,” he screamed at the phone.
“Is anyone hurt?” called a voice from behind him.
Gavin turned to see an elderly woman standing in a nearby driveway.
“Call 911 and tell them to send an ambulance. Hurry!”
The woman stared.
“Go!”
The woman turned and hurried back up the driveway as Gavin turned back to Garrity and gently maneuvered him so his face wasn’t
buried into the seat cushion. The heavy limpness of his head brought tears to Gavin’s eyes.
“Please, John. Hold on,” he said, searching Garrity’s neck for a pulse. Nothing. He grabbed the rearview mirror and ripped
it off the windshield, quickly dried it off with his shirt, then placed it by Garrity’s lips and nose. Nothing. No fogging.
No breath. No life…
Gavin backed away from the car and looked at the sky. The dark clouds had broken up; moonlight illuminated their edges as
they slowly scudded by.
“No! Not him, too. Not John,” he sobbed, unable to control his emotions. “Why?”Why was this happening?
A groan. Gavin snapped his gaze toward Garrity. Another groan. It wasn’t coming from Garrity. It was coming from the Cherokee.
He ran over to the passenger side of the other car. The door was hard to open, making the same metal-popping sound he’d heard
when the driver’s door was opened. Inside, in the dim light, he saw a girl moving slowly in her seat, groaning, her head hanging
forward so that her very blonde hair touched her thighs. Her seat belt was unbuckled, but the airbag, which was now half deflated,
had done its job.
As Gavin peered into the interior, his breath suddenly caught. A copy of
The Daily Post
was folded and wedged between the seat and the center console. Chris’s face was clearly circled in red. Gavin reached past
the girl and grabbed the paper. He opened to the print on page three and saw another red circle around Chris’s quote: “Turn
yourself in.” Scribbled boldly across the page in the same red ink were the words “Here I am.”
Gavin heard sirens approaching behind him and saw the reflection of flashing lights dancing on the macabre message in his
hands. He folded up the paper and turned his attention back to the girl, grabbing her hair and pulling it back so he could
see her face.
“Stay alive,” he commanded through gritted teeth. “You’re not dying on me, baby. I’m gonna latch onto you like a pit bull
and you’re gonna tell me who the driver is. And when I get hold of him, I’m gonna beat him to death with my bare hands.”
Staring at the girl, he fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. It was then that he looked past her to
the open ashtray and saw the lobster claw.
A N HOUR LATER Gavin found himself once again in the emergency room at Glen Cove. Again he raised his head at the mechanical sound of the
sliding glass doors opening. This time, to his dread, he was right. Susan Garrity. She wore gray sweats and slippers. She
had probably been cozying up on the couch watching TV when she got the call. She took tiny, uncertain steps across the floor,
clutching her chest with her right hand as if she were having a heart attack. Her black mascara ran down her face like burnt
wax. She was sobbing, her eyes
If he moved now he could catch the man, arrest him—or better, shoot him—and end it here. End this useless carnage of human
life. He wanted that murdering scum so badly he was trembling.
He looked back at Garrity. Through the oily cloud of water and antifreeze vapor he saw blood spreading on the seat like spilled
ink on a blotter pad. A coiled black cord led to a car phone lying on the floor. He grabbed it, pressed the power button,
and punched in 911, praying for a connection. Instead he heard two low-toned beeps indicating the need to enter Chris’s security
code.
“I don’t know the password,” he screamed at the phone.
“Is anyone hurt?” called a voice from behind him.
Gavin turned to see an elderly woman standing in a nearby driveway.
“Call 911 and tell them to send an ambulance. Hurry!”
The woman stared.
“Go!”
The woman turned and hurried back up the driveway as Gavin turned back to Garrity and gently maneuvered him so his face wasn’t
buried into the seat cushion. The heavy limpness of his head brought tears to Gavin’s eyes.
“Please, John. Hold on,” he said, searching Garrity’s neck for a pulse. Nothing. He grabbed the rearview mirror and ripped
it off the windshield, quickly dried it off with his shirt, then placed it by Garrity’s lips and nose. Nothing. No fogging.
No breath. No life…
Gavin backed away from the car and looked at the sky. The dark clouds had broken up; moonlight illuminated their edges as
they slowly scudded by.
“No! Not him, too. Not John,” he sobbed, unable to control his emotions. “Why?”Why was this happening?
A groan. Gavin snapped his gaze toward Garrity. Another groan. It wasn’t coming from Garrity. It was coming from the Cherokee.
He ran over to the passenger side of the other car. The door was hard to open, making the same metal-popping sound he’d heard
when the driver’s door was opened. Inside, in the dim light, he saw a girl moving slowly in her seat, groaning, her head hanging
forward so that her very blonde hair touched her thighs. Her seat belt was unbuckled, but the airbag, which was now half deflated,
had done its job.
As Gavin peered into the interior, his breath suddenly caught. A copy of
The Daily Post
was folded and wedged between the seat and the center console. Chris’s face was clearly circled in red. Gavin reached past
the girl and grabbed the paper. He opened to the print on page three and saw another red circle around Chris’s quote: “Turn
yourself in.” Scribbled boldly across the page in the same red ink were the words “Here I am.”
Gavin heard sirens approaching behind him and saw the reflection of flashing lights dancing on the macabre message in his
hands. He folded up the paper and turned his attention back to the girl, grabbing her hair and pulling it back so he could
see her face.
“Stay alive,” he commanded through gritted teeth. “You’re not dying on me, baby. I’m gonna latch onto you like a pit bull
and you’re gonna tell me who the driver is. And when I get hold of him, I’m gonna beat him to death with my bare hands.”
Staring at the girl, he fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. It was then that he looked past her to
the open ashtray and saw the lobster claw.
A N HOUR LATER Gavin found himself once again in the emergency room at Glen Cove. Again he raised his head at the mechanical sound of the
sliding glass doors opening. This time, to his dread, he was right. Susan Garrity. She wore gray sweats and slippers. She
had probably been cozying up on the couch watching TV when she got the call. She took tiny, uncertain steps across the floor,
clutching her chest with her right hand as if she were having a heart attack. Her black mascara ran down her face like burnt
wax. She was sobbing, her eyes
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