The Widow (26 page)

“Dear God.”

“It all makes sense now. Look at this room, Jason. Your brother was twenty-five, and he was abusing the trust of a fourteen-year-old girl.”

Jason looked as if he’d vomit. “I had no idea it’d gone this far. Owen, my God, what’s Ellis done?” He gripped Owen’s arm. “What—has—Ellis—done?”

“We need to find him. There are cops crawling all over this island looking for Mattie Young. I’ll call—”

“No.” Jason straightened, steadier on his feet. “I’ll call.”

Owen thought of Abigail out there with the man who’d killed her husband. “Do it,” he said.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find Abigail.”

Doyle cleaned up Mattie’s makeshift campsite in his garage. The lab guys had carted off what they needed and dusted for prints and scraped up anything that looked as if it might have an eyelash or some other kind of DNA in it. He figured Mattie hadn’t cared about covering his tracks. He’d cared about getting through the night without freezing to death, starving, dying of thirst or getting shot.

Sean and Ian had promised to stay within earshot. Doyle could hear them bickering in the backyard. He’d kept them home and pulled himself off the investigation. He was a police chief in a small town and accustomed to knowing the people he dealt with, but this was different. This was Mattie Young sleeping in his damn garage. This was a guy he’d known since kindergarten messing up under his nose.

And it was Chris.

Doyle stuffed a half-filled trash bag into a plastic garbage can, replaced the lid and bit back something between a sob and a growl. He’d been mixed-up and out of sorts ever since Mattie—and it was Mattie—had come after Abigail with a drywall saw.

“Mattie—hell. What were you thinking?”

He wasn’t thinking, just as he wasn’t thinking when he’d broken into Chris’s house seven years ago and hit his friend’s wife on the head then, stolen her necklace, ran.

But he hadn’t killed Chris.

Doyle just couldn’t see that one. Mattie was a chronic screw-up and a whiner, but even when he was drunk, he wasn’t a murderer. He wasn’t someone who’d lay in wait for his target and take him out with a single shot the way Chris’s killer had done.

Not his problem now. He’d promised to take the boys into Ellsworth for pizza and a movie.

Lou Beeler’s car careened into his driveway.

Doyle called for his sons. They came running and stood at his side as the state detective got out of his car.

“It’s Ellis Cooper,” Lou said.

“Ellis?”

“We’re going after him. You have a place to leave your sons?”

Sean slipped his hand into his father’s and tugged on it. “We can stay next door with Mrs. Casey. Me and Ian will be fine.”

Doyle looked down at his son. “Ian and I.”

The boy grinned at their old refrain. “That’s what I said.”

They’d be okay, his boys. Doyle nodded to the state detective. “Give me a minute to get these guys settled and I’ll ride out there with you.”

E
llis Cooper held a gun to his nephew’s head. Linc was pale but very still, his blue eyes wide with fear but focused on Abigail as she stood three yards from the two men on the edge of the cliffs, her Glock drawn.

If she’d realized what was happening sooner, she’d have shot Ellis before he ever saw her. But she hadn’t.

“Drop your weapon, Abigail.” Ellis’s voice was calm, just as it had been earlier that morning on the phone to her. “If you don’t, Linc is dead. I’m an expert marksman.”

She had no doubt he was telling the truth. “One of your many secrets.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. He liked being in charge. “Do it
now.
”

“Okay, I’m putting the gun down—”

“Toss it in the water.”

Hell.
She nodded, opening her fingers from her grip on the weapon. “I’m tossing it now.” She reached her arm out and pitched her Glock over the cliff. “Done. Now let your nephew go. You have me. That’s enough for you to get away.”

“So noble.”

Linc sputtered in a mix of anger and terror. “Ellis…Jesus…”

“Focus on saving your own skin.” Abigail kept her voice calm. Reasonable. Any vulnerability on her part would only increase Ellis’s sense of control over her. He needed to see he had one option and one option only, and that was not to fire his weapon. “Go, Ellis. Disappear. Don’t waste your time on these games.”

“You won’t stop. You won’t ever stop.”

“Neither will the FBI, Doyle Alden, Owen Garrison or Lou Beeler, even after he retires. The Maine State Police will keep the Browning file open. I know a couple of Boston detectives who’ll hunt you.”

“This is you. All you.”

“It’s not just me. It’s never been just me. And that’s not why you’re out here now. If you wanted me dead, you could have shot me while I was sitting out on the rocks reading a book.”

Linc licked his lips. “Ellis, you’re sick. Let your family help you—”

“Shut up!” He pressed the barrel of his gun against his nephew’s temple. “I don’t want your help. I’ve lived in my brother’s shadow my whole life. I’ve kept to myself. I’ve done so much for you and Grace. For him. And what’s my thanks? He decides to sell my house. My sanctuary.”

“You made it your sanctuary because you loved Doe,” Abigail said.

“Because I
love
her. Present tense. I’m not a pervert who likes young girls—who goes from one girl to the next to the next. I keep Doe’s memory alive every single day. I honor her.”

“What if her ghost is here now, where she died, watching you?” Keep him talking, Abigail thought. If he’s talking, he’s not shooting. She went on, brisk but choosing her words carefully. “Everything I know about her tells me she was a kind, gentle soul. I saw the picture of her you left. The one you took. You knew that even in death, she was beautiful. Did you leave it for Owen to remind him?”

“He never appreciated her. It’s his fault she died. Not mine.”

An eleven-year-old boy, a little brother. Ellis’s twisted expectations had poisoned him. But Abigail wanted to keep him talking. Owen would be missing her soon. All she needed was a distraction, a break.

“No one appreciated Doe as much as you did,” Abigail said. “I see that now.”

“She didn’t understand. She was so young…so innocent…I was only eleven years older. What I felt for her wasn’t unnatural.”

“She was fourteen.”

“I promised her I’d wait for her.”

“That’s not why she ran crying. That’s not why she was so upset she slipped and fell to her death.” Abigail paused, making sure his attention was on her and what she was saying. She saw his spark of anger, the resentment in him. “And it’s not why you let her drown.”

“I didn’t let her drown!”

“Sure, you did. She was upset because of you. You didn’t just express your love and tell her you’d wait. Your interest in her wasn’t so innocent, was it?”

“The love we had was pure—”

“Did you rape her?”

His face reddened. “She died unspoiled.”

“But you came on to her,” Abigail persisted. “That porcelain skin, that silken hair—you wanted her, Ellis. You wanted her all to yourself. You had no intention of waiting until she was older. If you didn’t rape her, what did you do? Expose yourself to her? Make her expose herself—”

“You slut! You bitch.”

It was her opening. In his fury, he lowered his gun.

Abigail yelled to Linc. “Jump!”

But he needed no prodding. Knew it was his one chance. The tide was up, the water was deep—and he wasn’t a frightened distraught thirteen-year-old. Linc propelled himself over the cliffs, even as Abigail dove for his uncle, grabbing his gun hand and, using a hold she’d practiced countless times, snapped his ulna in his right forearm. She heard the break. He screamed in pain, dropping his gun. It slid off the edge of the rock wall into the water. She sliced a low kick to the inside of his leg, bringing him down onto exposed rock.

“You bitch!” he yelled.

“Where’s Mattie? He was here. I found a poncho—”

Ellis grinned, smug, as she held him on the ground. “Mattie’s in the water, too. He’s been there for a while. You needed a killer. I needed an end to your scrutiny. I needed to give my brother a reason to take my house off the market. The murderous yardman, the publicity—no way would Jason find a buyer. And Grace. It wasn’t easy, Abigail, to sacrifice my own niece, but I had to. For all our sakes, we needed a killer.”

And in Ellis’s twisted logic, Mattie was there. Again. “How long has Mattie been in the water?”

“Too long. If he’s still alive, he won’t last. Linc won’t be able to save him. He’s not a strong swimmer. The water’s cold. The waves are brutal.”

“You could have saved Doe.”

“I did save her. That’s what you’ll never understand.”

“Chris didn’t go down to the water to find Mattie or Linc. He went down there to find you. He knew about your obsession.”

“He’d seen Doe’s room.”

Her room.
Abigail looked into the eyes of the man who’d let a fourteen-year-old girl drown. The man who’d murdered her husband.

“You make me sick.”

He tried to reach for her throat with his good hand, but she smashed his head against the rock. He went slack, unconscious. She checked him for hidden weapons, then scrambled to her feet and looked over the edge of the cliffs.

A huge swell took Linc against the rocks to her left, but he grabbed one with both arms and held on.

Directly below her, she caught a glimpse of Mattie right before a wave took him under. He didn’t fight it. If he was conscious, he clearly had no strength left in him.

If she didn’t act now, he’d drown or smash his body on the rocks.

The water was deep. She was a good swimmer.

Owen would have missed her by now. He had to be on his way. All she had to do was get to Mattie and stabilize the situation.

Abigail couldn’t just let him die.

She jumped.

No one was at the cliffs when Owen arrived. Dead branches clicked and cracked in the strong west wind that blew hot through the trees. Dark clouds had moved over the island, a storm imminent. He noticed tufts of wild grass that had been trampled.

He knelt down, saw a smear of blood on exposed ledge.

He heard a sound in the trees behind him.

Ellis staggered out from under a low fir branch on his walking stick. “There’s nothing we can do. Abigail’s in the water.” He spoke rapidly, blood pouring down the right side of his head. “She jumped in to save Linc. Mattie—he was out of control. He pushed Linc into the water. He was about to push me, but I had my walking stick. I got to him first. They’re all down there now. Abigail, Mattie, Linc.”

Owen stood up. “How did you bloody your head, Ellis?”

“What? Oh, this.” He wiped his fingers through the blood. “It’s nothing.”

“Abigail smashed your head on this rock, didn’t she?”

He seemed confused. Snot dripped out of his nose. Sweat beaded on his forehead and darkened his armpits. “It’s your fault. She wouldn’t have slipped…”

“I don’t have time for this.”

Owen heard someone on the trail coming in from the road. The FBI agents, Lou, Doyle—it didn’t matter. He needed to deal with Ellis and get to the people in the water.

Ellis lifted his walking stick, blood dripping into his right eye. “Move away from the cliffs. I want them to drown before you can rescue them. Just as your sister did.”

In two steps, Owen was at him. He snatched the walking stick and tossed it aside, just as Doyle and Lou arrived, guns drawn.

“It’s his fault,” Ellis screamed. “It’s all Owen’s fault!”

Owen ignored him and looked at the two police officers. “I need to get in the water.”

Abigail had never been so damn cold in her life. She huddled with Mattie in the cold water, the waves pushing them against the sheer rock face of the cliffs. His thin frame was limp from the battering it had taken from the rocks and water. His teeth chattered. He tried to speak, but his words were slurred. She recognized the signs of hypothermia and knew she’d be feeling them herself before too long.

Across the small horseshoe cove formed by the cliffs, Linc Cooper had managed to secure himself on a rectangular boulder just under water, but the waves continued to pound him. With the cold, he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

And Abigail knew neither would she.

Without help, they’d never last through high tide. The isolated cove wasn’t easily visible to passing boats. The gusts of wind and the crash of waves would keep them from hearing any screams for help. And there’d be no kayakers out in these swells.

“Pretend you’re in a hot bath,” she whispered to Mattie. “Think about sitting by Owen’s woodstove.”

“I…deserve to die.”

“You deserve to live, Mattie. Come on. Stay with me.”

A huge swell engulfed them. Cold salt water went up her nose and down her mouth. Abigail coughed, spitting, trying to keep her feet under her, on the rocks. She hung on to Mattie, who barely responded anymore to the battering his body was taking. If she let go, he’d drown. She could feel his ribs under his soaked clothes. How long had it been since he’d taken care of himself?

His drooping eyelids struggled to open. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You can’t drink, Mattie. That’s all there is to it.” Abigail kept her tone cheerful, positive. “Once we get out of here, I’ll make you a nice pot of hot coffee. We’ll, hell, here comes another wave. Hang on.”

It was too strong a swell to fight, and she went with it, holding Mattie under by his armpits as they smashed into the face of the cliffs. She felt rock claw at her back and legs but didn’t fight the impact.

She swore she heard thunder.

“Great.” She held Mattie close to her. “Locusts are next.”

“Abigail…Chris…I didn’t…”

“I know you didn’t kill him. Ellis killed him.” She felt him sobbing into her. “Oh, Mattie. You didn’t cause Chris’s death. Ellis would have found a way to kill him no matter what you did.”

“I was mad…Grace.”

“She was in love with Chris.”

“A fantasy. I was real.”

“You? Mattie…” Abigail grinned at him, trying to encourage him to keep fighting, even as she shivered, her own teeth beginning to chatter. “You and Grace? I’ll be damned.”

The thought of Grace seemed to help him stay a bit more alert. “She tries. She loves her brother. I just couldn’t—” He slumped, his eyes closing again. “I couldn’t fight a ghost.”

“Chris knew about the two of you?”

Mattie didn’t respond. He was too sleepy, nearly unconscious.

Another swell overtook them, inundating them and dislodging them from her wall and back into deeper water. She felt him slip out of her grasp and lost him as she pushed her way back to air.

As if she’d imagined them, Abigail felt strong arms encircle her.

Owen’s arms.

“I’ve got you, Abigail. Let me take your weight.”

“Mattie…”

“I’ve got him, too. You kept him alive.”

“Linc—”

“He’s okay. A rescue team’s on the way.”

“Ellis. I hit him, but he’s still alive—”

“Doyle and Lou have him. You can relax now.”

“Damn Maine water. I had to fight off ice cubes as well as rocks.” She tried to stop her teeth from chattering. “You didn’t just jump off the cliff, did you?”

His arms tightened around her. “Hell, no. Lou had a rope and some clamps.”

“Batman.” She smiled at him, wondering if she was delirious. “My very own Batman.”

She didn’t remember what happened after that.