The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise (24 page)

“He saved your life, you worthless little shit!” Doug heard his own voice and tried to clamp down on the anger building inside him. Nate Marshall had just shot the closest thing he had to a partner. He’d tried to kill Mike Harris. “Marshall’s picking you off one by one. The only reason he didn’t kill you is because Officer Jackson risked his life to make sure Nate couldn’t open the fucking door.” And he was out there with Christopher chasing him down right now. “Christopher went after him,” Doug’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Is Christopher armed?” Daniels asked.

“He doesn’t carry anymore.”

Daniels put out another call over the radio, then headed for the door. “Come on, Heavy Runner.”

“Wait!” Mike shouted. “What about these?” He held up the keys.

Daniels smirked at him. “There isn’t any keyhole on the inside of that door, and it’s two inches of solid steel. If you want breakfast tomorrow, you’re going to have to slide them back out.”

“Christopher doesn’t know!” Doug shouted. “He thought Nate was running away from his dad.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious. We’re not going to catch them on foot. Let’s go!”

C
HRISTOPHER
SPOTTED
Nate almost two blocks ahead. “Nate!” he shouted.

Nate glanced back over his shoulder but kept running, ducking around a dark corner. Christopher shifted his weight forward, leaning over so far he nearly fell on his face, and let his legs move. His heart beat fast in his chest, accelerating as fast as his steps until he was flying over the dark pavement. By the time Christopher turned the corner, Nate was only a block away.

Three years of high school football may have prepared Nate to sprint a hundred yards, but Christopher saw him struggling to keep ahead. “Nate, stop!” he shouted, speeding up.

Nate stumbled, caught himself, and bolted toward a dark single-story house. He ran through the empty carport, tripping over the edge of a flower bed.

Christopher slowed as he got to the carport. It was tempting to run after Nate, but he wasn’t a local police officer. He heard a grunt and the sound of something hitting wood beyond the carport. In the feeble glow of the setting sun he saw Nate vault over a high wooden fence in the backyard.

He glanced at the dark house again, trying to decide if chasing Nate Marshall was worth the risk of being mistaken for an intruder and shot.

“Eh, fuck it,” Christopher muttered, taking off across the dark grass. He passed through the carport, heading for the fence that separated the yard from the alley behind. He hit the fence running, hooked his elbow over the top, and used his momentum to swing his legs up and over. He heard Nate grunt from beyond the fence on the opposite side of the alley. Christopher didn’t hesitate to launch himself over the fence, following him. When he landed on the ground, he froze and scanned the dark backyard. There was no sign of Nate in the gloom, but quiet music came from an old garden shed in the corner. The sound of a television and several voices came from the house before him.

“Who’s there?” a gruff male voice called from the shed. Terry Marshall, a large revolver held securely in both hands, stepped out of the doorway and stared directly at him. “Hayes? Whatever the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Marshall, put the gun down.”

“I don’t think so. You need to leave. Now.”

“Marshall,” Christopher said, keeping his hands out in the open. “We need to talk. I think it’d be best if you come back down to the station with me.”

“With you?” Marshall laughed. “Has Daniels deputized you now?”

“No, but I know he’d like to talk to you.”

“We’ve already talked. He’s suspended me. What else is he going to do, arrest me?”

In the dim light from the shed, Christopher saw Marshall’s face. He didn’t look worried or even anxious. If Christopher had to name his expression, Christopher would have called him resigned.

And that made him incredibly dangerous. Christopher was more than willing to face a criminal who was screaming and frantic. If someone was freaking out about the possibility of spending the rest of their life in prison, they still felt like they had everything to lose. They still hoped they could get away or convince the police it was all a mistake or even convince the prosecutor to offer a decent plea bargain. But those who had lost all hope of making things better had nothing left to lose by adding to the list of charges against them. Marshall had the look of a man for whom the stakes could be no higher.

“I know he’d like to chat,” Marshall said simply. “And I know there’s no getting out of it now. But I can’t let things end like this.”

“No one else has to get hurt,” Christopher said simply. “We can go down and talk to Daniels. We can figure this out.”

Marshall shook his head sadly. “I wish we could. Were you really a cop? Back in California?”

“Eight years,” Christopher said. “With any luck, I’ll be back on duty in a few weeks.” If he survived to see San Diego again.

“You should understand, then. This is my mess. My responsibility.” He cocked his head to the side, glaring at Christopher. “Although it’s kind of your fault too.”

“My fault?” Christopher asked.

“Yes, your fault. If you and Heavy Runner hadn’t told my boy about Caleb….” Marshall shrugged. “I understand why you did, don’t get me wrong. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“You could have told him,” Christopher insisted, not sure where Marshall’s train of thought was heading. “He shouldn’t have heard about his lover trying to kill himself from a stranger.”

Marshall winced when he heard the word “lover,” but his frown just deepened. “It’s easy to play armchair quarterback, Hayes. But I don’t think now’s the time to argue about my parenting decisions.”

“Parenting decisions?” Christopher gasped, frustrated. “Killing people is not—” Killing people wasn’t what Terry Marshall was talking about, Christopher realized. The man before him looked worn down by time and by worry but not crazy. The murder of Jeff Lowe had been an act of madness, a demonstration of rage and fury. It wasn’t the act of a corrupt police officer trying to save his job or even a homophobic father trying to deny his son’s sexuality.

“You haven’t been in the detention center, have you?”

“Why?”

“Nate killed those boys,” Christopher said, as much to himself as to Marshall. “He opened fire in the detention center because the third boy was in a holding cell. And you knew.”

Marshall pressed his lips tightly together, squeezing his eyes shut too. He took a shuddering, sobbing breath. “He’s my son,” he whispered. “What could I do? From the moment I held him when he was a few minutes old, I’ve always been proud of him. I’ve always loved him. I’ve always tried to protect him, to get him to do the right thing.”

“You could have
not
tried to pin it on me,” Christopher pointed out.

Marshall laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “It’s not like any of it was going to stick. Aside from being queer, you’re as straight as they come.”

Christopher stared at him, not sure if he was being complimented or insulted. “Why don’t you put the gun down?” he asked, stepping closer.

Marshall looked down at the revolver in his hands. He held the gun in a white-knuckled grip, steady but desperate. “He’s my responsibility.” The words came out as the slightest whisper. “He’s mine.”

Christopher took a few more careful, slow steps. “You don’t have to be the one to deal with him. You will regret it forever if you do.”

“What would you know about it?” Marshall snapped.

“A bit. You know my brother was a murderer, a pedophile. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I fantasized about what I’d do if I ever ran into Peter on the job. I wanted to run into him when I was on duty so I could be the one to do it. But I’m damn glad I never did. No matter what else Nate is, he’s still your son.”

Christopher heard the sound of a little girl’s laughter from inside the house. A woman’s voice filtered through the windows, and two tiny voices cried out in happy, high-pitched answers.

“They’ll lose you both if you go through with this,”
Christopher tried. “It doesn’t have to end this way. Put the gun down, ask Daniels for help. Let someone else arrest him! Let me do it?” Christopher begged. He took a few more steps, bolder now. “He’ll go to court, he’ll go to prison, and he’ll answer for what he’s done. But he’ll live. If you do this, your wife will lose a husband and a son, and she’ll be left to deal with it alone. Let me arrest him.”

“You’d arrest him? Just arrest him? Knowing what he’s done?”

Christopher held his hand out for the gun. “I’m a police officer just like you. We don’t kill people.”

Trembling, Marshall turned the pistol in his hands, staring at it. With a heavy sigh, he wrapped his fingers around the barrel of the gun and shoved the grip toward Christopher. Christopher took the gun quickly and released the carousel, dumping the bullets into his hand.

“Is there a round in the chamber?” he asked.

Marshall shook his head slowly.

“Good. Now we have to find Nate. Which way did he go?”

Marshall’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Which way did Nate go? He came over the fence a few seconds before me. I can still catch him.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say something? I didn’t see him!”

Marshall turned his terrified gaze toward the house, where the voices of his wife and younger children could still be heard. “Oh God….”

Christopher’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the clang and slide of a pump-action shotgun being primed behind him. The gun exploded before he could turn around. A wave of fire crashed into him, burning his back and neck. He tumbled forward, flailing to catch himself. As he hit the ground hard, he cracked his head against the jagged edge of a rock. The pain exploded through his skull and neck, and then he felt nothing at all.

T
HEY
’
D
NEVER
had any hope of catching up to Christopher, even in a car. A car was fast, but it couldn’t go over sidewalks, through parks, or cut across backyards. Doug was too worried to think, much less organize a pursuit. Daniels surprised him, coordinating a complicated search over the radio while they circled, looking for any sign of Christopher.

“He should be coming out on Euclid Street” came a short burst over the radio. “Hayes chased him over a fence halfway down Pine.”

Doug got them to Euclid quickly, relieved to see several other cars heading the same direction. A highway patrol car was stopped in the middle of each intersection, covering the whole block, and several officers moved down the sidewalk on foot.

“Have they come back out onto the street yet?” Daniels asked, jumping from the car before Doug even shifted it into park. Doug turned on the emergency flashers and followed him fast.

“I was over here when the last location came over the radio, but I haven’t seen them,” the nearest officer said.

“Shit,” Daniels hissed. “The kid’s going home.”

“Should we call out the special response team?” another officer asked.

“You think there’s anyone on the special response team who isn’t already here?” Daniels held up his hand when the officer started to say something. “Other than the one who’s a suspect, I mean.”

All of them stared at each other for a moment as the weight of Daniels’s statement sunk in.

“Since we still have a lot of unanswered questions, we’re going to apprehend both Nate and Terry Marshall when we find them. Nate dropped Jackson’s sidearm, but he may still be armed, and we know Terry’s always armed. Everyone’s got a vest?”

The officers around them looked down sheepishly.

Daniels set his hands on his hips like an annoyed parent. “Go get suited up! Christ, you’d think me announcing shots were fired inside the detention center would make you guys stop and think!”

“I’ve got mine,” Doug said once the other officers were out of earshot.

“Come on. They can catch up.”

Doug followed Daniels down the sidewalk toward a familiar ranch-style home. “Caleb Owens’s house?”

“Nate’s going home,” Daniels said, pointing to the next house down. “You didn’t know they lived right next door?”

“I didn’t think about it,” Doug conceded.

Daniels huffed up the steps of a comfortable beige house. Lights were on inside, and Doug could see the glow of a television through the front curtains.

“We need to clear the house,” Doug said, as much to himself as to Daniels.

“That we do.”

A short, pretty woman with long brown hair answered the door before Daniels rang the bell. “Sheriff? Is everything okay? Four men came by an hour ago, looking for Terry. Is he all right?”

“We’re waiting for him to turn up. Right now, I need to talk to your oldest, Nate. Is he home? He might have come in a few minutes ago.”

“Nate? Oh my God, not Nate! Tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s not hurt. Is he here?” Daniels asked again.

She took a few gasping breaths, her hand splayed across her heart. “No. Terry said he gave him permission to spend the night at a friend’s house, and he hasn’t been home since. Not that I ever know when to expect him home, but with everything that’s happened….”