Page 73 of Fallen

“How much?” I ask.

“Twenty grand.” He shrugs. “Maybe more. I lost track.”

“Does Jen know?”

“She doesn’t know anything.” He shakes his head. “Schwartz was … crazy and … relentless. Said all sorts of crazy shit. Claimed she got pregnant that night. Had a kid. Said she had proof it was mine. Called it her ‘insurance policy,’ and she was going to wreck my life.”

“She said the kid was yours?”

“There was no kid,” he snaps. “She was a pathological liar. A fucking sadist. All she wanted was money. Ruining me was the icing on the cake.” His smile sends a chill down my spine. “Looks like she got her way, didn’t she?”

He looks down at the .45, makes a sound that’s part sob, part laugh.

For an instant, I think he’s going to use the gun on himself, so I try to engage him, keep him talking. “You met her at the bar in Wooster? The night she was killed?”

“I tried to reason with her. Told her I had a kid on the way. That I was out of money.” He taps the muzzle of the H & K against his forehead again, so hard I hear the steel tap against his skull. “She didn’t want to hear it.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He lowers the gun to his side. His eyes latch on to mine. “I’ve done some shitty things, Kate. I’ve raped. Lied. Cheated on my wife. But if you believe one word of what I say tonight, believe this: I did not kill Rachael Schwartz.”

In the gauzy light I see the shimmer of tears in his eyes. The tremble of his mouth. The run of snot he doesn’t seem to notice. A mask of hopelessness. The soul of a broken man.

“Then all you have to deal with is the assault,” I tell him. “Fletch, you can do that. It’s not too late.” The statements aren’t exactly true, but I’m free to tell him whatever I think he needs to hear in order to bring this to an end.

“Come on,” I coo. “We’ll figure it out. Just put down the gun.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a straight shooter, Kate. I always liked that about you.”

“Dane—”

He cuts me off. “I’m fucking done. I used my badge to prey on that girl. She wasn’t the only one. But I swear to God I didn’t kill her. You want the truth? You’d better keep looking.” A sob escapes him. “When you find it … make sure my wife knows.”

Finality rings in his voice, as if he’s going on a trip with no plans to come back. I get a sick feeling in my gut. In the back of my mind I’m wondering where the deputy is. T.J. “Dane, your kids need you. Jen needs you.”

He shakes his head. “We both know I’m going to fry for this. Everything I’ve ever worked for. It’s gone. I got nothing left.” He begins to cry. “For God’s sake, I can’t spend the rest of my life in prison for something I didn’t do. You know what they do to cops.”

Taking his time, he starts toward me. Gun at his side. Finger outside the guard.

I step back. My finger on the trigger. Pulse in the red zone. “Keep your distance,” I tell him.

He keeps coming. Not in a hurry. Looking down at the pistol in his right hand.

My heart stumbles in my chest and begins to pound. “Don’t do this, Dane. Don’t.”

“I didn’t kill her.” His tread is steady. Gun at his side. Nearly to the edge of the footbridge. Just ten feet away from me now.

I walk backward, my pistol at the ready. Cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. “You need to stop right there,” I tell him. “Drop the gun.”

He stops, tilts his head as if I’m some puzzle he’s encountered and he’s not sure how to solve it.

“I’m glad it was you, Burkholder.”

He looks down at the H & K in his hand, fiddles with the clip, thinking about something I can’t fathom. It’s like watching a wreck in slow motion. Knowing it’s going to be horrific, that someone is going to die. That there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. A sense of helplessness assails me.

“Dane! No! Stop!”

Quickly and without hesitation, he raises the gun, shoves the barrel into his mouth, and pulls the trigger.