The Serial Killer's Wife (24 page)

L
ATER
,
SHE
WOULD
review the events in her mind, thinking of all the different possible ways she could have reacted so that what happened did not have to happen. In the end she knew it was trivial, though, because in that moment with the rain falling around them in the courtyard, she acted on pure instinct.
 

Seeing Clarence Applegate appear out of nowhere wasn’t what put her into action. She was already feeling defeated, Mark Webster having stepped around her, heading toward his wife and children inside, and in that instant she understood this was over. Then she looked at her brother, and beyond her brother she saw Clarence, and as Clarence headed toward them, coming quickly, he reached into his pocket and began to pull out a gun—not the same gun he had used last night to threaten her and to shoot Todd in the leg with, but no doubt just as dangerous.
 

And Elizabeth had no choice but to do the only thing she could do.
 

Shouting her brother’s name, she stepped forward, pushed him aside, and in the same moment reached with her other hand inside her jacket, pulling out the gun she had tucked in the waistband of her pants. She raised this gun at the same moment Clarence Applegate raised his gun out of his trench coat pocket.
 

They stared at each other, less than thirty yards apart, the rain tapping at her baseball cap and dripping off the brim.
 

Clarence had his teeth clenched. His face was red. He wore no hat and his hair was soaked and he looked so harmless, so pathetic, nothing like the monster he had proven himself to be. But she could see the hate in his eyes, the pure and intense hate, and she said the only word she could think to say.
 

“Don’t.”
 

Clarence fired first.
 

Elizabeth closed her eyes and pulled the trigger, once, twice, three times, and then there was silence except for the rain and she opened her eyes again and saw Clarence was moving away from her, holding his left arm, the gun he’d just fired several times abandoned on the ground.
 

She stood frozen for a moment, completely stunned, certain that she had been shot but just not certain what part of her body had taken a bullet. Hadn’t she read somewhere that the first thing you felt was numbness? Or did you feel instant pain? She didn’t feel anything—no pain, no numbness, nothing—and before she could even begin to check herself Jim called her name.
 

Spinning around, the last thing she expected to see was the blood on her brother’s hands. It wasn’t his blood, though. He was on his knees, holding Mark Webster, who had been shot in the chest.
 

Instinct took over again and she flicked the safety back on the gun, returned it to the snug comfort of her waistband as she hurried forward and crouched down beside Jim and Mark Webster.
 

“What happened?”
 

“What do you think happened?” Jim said. “He was fucking shot!”
 

The chest wound was worse than it had first appeared. Mark Webster had been shot two times, once in what looked like the heart, once in his stomach. It was his stomach that was pumping out most of the blood.
 

She glanced up past Mark Webster—who was already gone, his face completely pale in the rain—and saw the trio of faces staring at them through one of the doors. Other faces were staring at them, too, even people who had been caught in the rain when the gunfire started had begun to stand back up, confident now that the shooting was over. But the faces she saw now were those of Mark Webster’s wife and children. Julia Webster screaming, tears in her eyes, hysterical, while the twins—the boy and the girl—simply stared back at Elizabeth.
 

“We have to get out of here.”
 

Jim was still cradling Mark Webster, visibly shaken. “What?”
 

“The police will be here in seconds. We need to move.”
 

“We can’t leave now. This man just died.”
 

“My son—”
 

“
Elizabeth
,” Jim said, staring at her hard, but then, suddenly, the hardness faded and he nodded. “You’re right.” He gently placed Mark Webster’s body on the ground, stood up, pointed toward where Clarence had gone. “I’ll go that way. You go that way. Hopefully at least one of us makes it.”
 

He started around her and she reached out and grabbed his arm and said his name.
 

“I’ll get in contact with you if I can,” he said. “And if I don’t, good luck.”
 

Then he was running, faster than she thought possible, around the corner and gone.
 

She realized that from the moment Clarence first appeared not even two minutes had passed. She glanced once again at the window. Julia Webster was gone but the children were still there. Staring out through the glass, both of their eyes vacant and listless. Elizabeth wanted to go to them, take them into her arms, tell them how very sorry she was. But she couldn’t do any of that, because she had her own child to worry about right now.
 

Elizabeth ran.

CHAPTER 46

A
GAIN
,
INSTINCT
TOOK
over. Elizabeth didn’t think about running; she just ran, as fast as she could, and when she came around the corner of the building and almost collided with the two cops coming her way—a black and white combo, both bundled up in rain slickers—her mind didn’t even light on the fact she had a weapon concealed on her body.
 

“
Oh my God, help!
” she screamed, one hand to her mouth, the other jabbing a finger at the courtyard. “
They shot him!
”
 

The two cops already had their hands on the butts of their guns, and now they drew them, stepping around her. She turned, walking backward, watching them disappear around the corner of the building, and then she spun around, walking forward again, picking up her pace.
 

The rain was still coming down hard, the drops drumming her hat, which reminded her that she would have to lose this hat, as it was one of the easiest ways to identify her. She doubted Julia Webster would know her, not until she calmed down and reviewed the brief conversation Elizabeth had had with Mark Webster in her presence, and for the time being the only form of ID Julia might be able to provide the police was the simple fact Elizabeth had been wearing a baseball cap.
 

She had just crossed underneath the NBC Studios marquee when she heard the shouting behind her.
 

Elizabeth paused briefly and glanced back over her shoulder and there were the two cops again, their weapons in hand. They weren’t running exactly but they weren’t walking either. She could hear one of their voices through the rain, telling her to stop.
 

She turned back around and kept walking, a little faster now, playing it off like the cops weren’t talking to her. But they were—it was obvious—and after a few seconds she picked up the pace until she found herself sprinting, now both cops shouting at her as they gave chase.
 

As she reached the intersection the light had just turned, the traffic stopped, and she sprinted across Sixth Avenue. Weaving through the scattered crowd of people, almost tripping over the sidewalk curb on the other side of the street, her hand slipped into her bag and brought out the throwaway. She flipped it open and called the only stored number and waited three rings before Todd picked up.
 

“Is everything okay?”
 

“Where are you?”
 

“I’m circling around the church. I just turned onto Fifth Avenue. What’s wrong?”
 

She risked a glance behind her and saw the cops through the crowd, having just crossed the street. They were at least fifty yards away.
 

“Clarence showed up.”
 

“What?”
 

“He killed Mark Webster.”
 

“
What?
My God, where are you? It sounds like you’re running.”
 

“I just passed over Sixth Avenue. Todd, the cops are chasing me.”
 

There was a silence.
 

“
Todd!
”
 

“Where are you now?”
 

“I don’t know.”
 

“Are you at an intersection?”
 

“Not yet.”
 

“When you get there, tell me the street.”
 

She was there fifteen seconds later, breathing heavy now, the rain pounding away. “West Forty-Ninth and Seventh.”
 

Todd was quiet for a moment before saying, “Go left.”
 

She wasn’t as fortunate at this traffic light, the cars coming down 49th having the green, but she darted in front of a taxi anyway, its driver slamming on the brakes and leaning on the horn. Then she was up on the sidewalk again and sprinting, even harder now, dodging in and out of the people hurrying through the rain. She could hear sirens rising in the distance.
 

The phone still to her ear, she heard Todd ask, “Where are you now?”

“Almost to the end of the block.”
 

“Keep going.”
 

“Where are you?”
 

“I’m coming.”
 

Despite the rain she could tell where she was headed—she had been to the city enough times to recognize famous locations—and she asked, “Why are you leading me toward Times Square?”
 

“Just keep going.”
 

“There’s going to be a hundred cops there.”
 

“Just keep going.”
 

“Todd.”
 

“Where are you now?”
 

“I just crossed over Forty-Seventh.”
 

“Keep going.”
 

She refused to look behind her, for fear that the cops would be even closer. She also understood it was a possibility that they had given up pursuit. If that were the case, they would have called in her description to other cops in the area if they hadn’t done so already. And here she was now, almost to Times Square, which would be swarming with police.
 

She kept the phone to her ear as she ran and she could hear Todd talking to himself, saying, “Come on, come on, come on,” under his breath.
 

Elizabeth said, “Where are you?”
 

“Where are you?”
 

“Next block up.”
 

“Good. Keep going.”
 

There was a massive group of people waiting outside Planet Hollywood, forcing her to slow down and thread her way through the throng. “Excuse me,” she said loudly, but it did no good, hardly anyone moving out of her way, and before she knew it she was pushing and shoving until she had broken through to the other side.
 

“Are you at the next block yet?” Todd asked.
 

“Almost.”
 

“Turn left.”
 

She did so seconds later, this time risking another glance. The cops were still there, also slowed down by the massive group, only the people there were being much more courteous because of their uniforms and badges.
 

“I see you,” Todd said into her ear, and she glanced up the street, at the taxis and cars waiting for the traffic light to turn green. She spotted the Prius a second later and immediately ran to it, opening the door and throwing her hat in the back and sliding in and slamming the door and reaching out and grabbing Todd’s neck and pulling him forward.
 

“What—” he began but then their lips were together, nothing too passionate, just a quick deep kiss shared by a new couple waiting for traffic to move again—which apparently it had begun to do, the taxi behind them beeping twice.
 

They broke apart, Todd moving them forward, and Elizabeth looked out the window and saw the cops had already passed them. That was the reason for the kiss, after all, to make sure her face wasn’t the first thing the cops saw when they turned the corner. But now they were behind her, slowing their hurried pace because they had obviously lost her.
 

“Now what?” Todd asked, his fingers white around the steering wheel.
 

“Drive.” Elizabeth leaned her head back against the headrest, trying to slow her breathing, her heart. “Just drive.”

CHAPTER 47

I
T
RAINED
INTERMITTENTLY
on the drive back. Todd did not turn on the radio and neither of them spoke, so the only sound was the squeak of the windshield wipers and the constant rush of their wet tires on the highway.
 

After the first hour, Elizabeth said, “Thank you.”
 

“For what?”
 

“For saving my ass.”
 

“What happened back there?”
 

She filled him in on everything that had happened. From the moment she had stepped out of the Prius on Fifth Avenue to the moment she scrambled back into it.
 

Todd was silent for a long time before slowly shaking his head. “Jesus Christ.” Then, “So you don’t know what happened to your brother?”