Violent Crimes by Phillip Margolin

during the drive.
    â€œWhy don’t you stop here,” he said when they reached the entrance to his cul-de-sac.
    â€œI can drive you to your door,” Kate said.
    Tom smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve been locked up for days and I’d like to get a little fresh air.”
    Kate pulled over to the curb and Tom got out. “Thanks for the ride,” he said. “You and Amanda have been fantastic. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.”
    Kate nodded, embarrassed by Tom’s gratitude. “Do you need anything? What about food? Anything in your fridge is going to be pretty ripe.”
    â€œThanks, but I’ll be okay. Right now all I want is a hot shower and a good night’s sleep in my own bed.”
    â€œOkay, then. Amanda will be in touch if there are any developments in your case, and call if you have any questions.”
    â€œI will.”
    The sky was overcast, and the only streetlight on his block didn’t provide a lot of illumination. Tom’s house was dark and his yard was in shadow. He waited until Kate’s car was out of sight. Then he moved into the shadows and ran into the woods that bordered his house. Years of combat in very dangerous environments had made Tom hyperalert. That’s how he’d spotted the car that had followed Kate from the Justice Center and pulled up a block from the entrance to the cul-de-sac. The odds of a neighbor just happening to be waiting outside the Justice Center at ten at night, then driving to within a block of his home behind Kate’s vehicle, were minuscule. Given what had happened to Christine and Carol White, he wasn’t taking any chances.
    When he was certain he wouldn’t be seen, Tom ran to the side window in his bedroom and peered through it. The bedroom door was open and a shadow moved in the hall. Tom shifted to a window that gave him a look into the front room and saw a muscular man in a windbreaker talking on a cell phone. Now Tom knew there was at least one person inside and one person in the car that had followed him from the jail. The odds were high that they were both armed. Tom had two choices: run or stay and fight. If he ran, he might never find out who killed Christine.
    Tom went to the shed behind his house where he kept his mower and his tools, and found a wrench. Then he opened the rear door with his key, moved inside, and relocked the door. He hadn’t been in combat for several years, but his training waskicking in. He slowed his breathing and crept down the hall until he heard a low voice coming from the front room.
    â€œI just told you. I’ve been watching the front door since you told me he got out of the car.” Pause. “No, he never came up the path and I checked the back door.” Pause. “Yeah, it was locked.” Pause. “No, I don’t know where he went.” Pause. “Okay.”
    As soon as the man stopped talking, Tom hit him in the head with the wrench. He stumbled forward just as the front door opened. A thickset man holding a gun stepped inside. Tom used the man he’d just stunned as a shield. The gun went off and a red stain spread around an exit wound in the stunned man’s chest. Tom leaped from behind the wounded man and smashed the wrench down on the gunman’s wrist. The gun fell, and Tom followed with a glancing blow on the side of the head. The gunman staggered backward off the porch and rolled away from Tom. When he stood up he was holding a knife, but he looked dazed.
    Tom moved forward in a crouch. The man lunged with the knife, but his movements were sluggish. Tom sidestepped and swung the wrench. Metal connected with bone. As the man lurched sideways, Tom swung with all his might. The knife dropped to the lawn, the killer’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he pitched forward. When Tom hit him again, he crumpled to the ground. Tom knelt beside the body and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.