Page 72 of Fallen

I make my way to the trailhead, where a sign reminds me to bring water and mosquito repellent if I plan to hike. I look down at the damp earth at my feet and see the footprints. Male boots with a waffle sole. Cop’s boots, I think, and I start down the path.

I’ve gone just a few yards when I find him. He’s standing on the footbridge, leaning, his hands on the rail, looking into the forest. I stop twenty feet away. “Nice night for a softball game,” I say.

He looks at me. Something not right about his eyes. “Scotty’s going to be a good hitter.”

“Like his dad, I guess.”

He nods, keeps his hands on the rail. He’s wearing khaki pants. A short-sleeved shirt, untucked. The sheriff took his service revolver, but I know he owns a pistol. I wonder if said pistol is tucked into the waistband of his slacks. I wonder how close he is to the end of his rope.

He lowers his eyes to the trickling water. Not looking at anything in particular. His body language is off. He knows why I’m here.

“I saw a fox a few minutes ago,” he tells me.

“They’re out here.” I pretend to look around. Hold my ground. Wait.

“I figured you’d show up sooner or later,” he tells me.

“You know I don’t have a choice,” I tell him. “I’ll make this as easy as possible for you, if that’s any consolation.”

“It’s not.” The laugh that follows is the harsh sound of ripping fabric. “Does Jen know?” he asks, referring to his wife.

“Not yet.”

Silence descends. As thick and uncomfortable as a wet blanket on a freezing night. We listen to the spring peepers for a moment and he seems to relax, as if he’s made some decision.

He steps back from the rail, reaches beneath his shirt. My heart rate jacks at the sight of the pistol. It’s a semiauto H & K .45. Quickly, I slide out my sidearm, level on him, center mass.

“Dane.” I say his name firmly. “Your son is playing baseball fifty yards away. You don’t want to do this to him. Put down the gun.”

He doesn’t raise the pistol, but holds it at his side. At first, I think he’s going to obey my command and toss it. But his finger is inside the guard.

“Come on,” I say. “You know I’ll do right by you.”

He doesn’t seem to hear me. Doesn’t seem to care that I’ve got a bead on him and he has zero in the way of cover.

He turns to me, looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. “I didn’t kill her,” he tells me.

“No one said you did.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps. “I know how this works.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that. All I can tell you is that it isn’t too late to end this. Put down the gun. Talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Okay?”

He cocks his head, trying to decide if I’m bullshitting him. “It’s over for me. This isn’t going to go away.”

“You made a mistake,” I tell him.

“It’s all going to come out. For God’s sake, it’ll destroy Jen and the kids.”

“We’ll deal with it. They’ll get through. Come on. Toss the gun.”

Every muscle in my body goes taut when he raises the pistol. But he only taps the muzzle of it against his forehead. “I pulled her over. I had sex with her. I did it. I fucked up. I … I don’t know what happened to me that night. She was … just … there. For God’s sake, it was like she wanted it. I’m telling you she … knew things. She was … and I … fucking lost it.”

He doesn’t have to say her name. I see it on his face. I bank the rise of disgust, bite back the denunciation dangling on my tongue. I’m keenly aware of the pistol in my hand, the pulse of anger in my veins. How easy it would be to put him out of his misery …

“Was she blackmailing you?” I ask.

He looks up at me, jerks his head. “For years.”