CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Kate positioned herself in Janet Klein's living room, settling into the floral armchair where she could observe both the front window and the hallway leading to the rest of the house.
Only a single table lamp cast a soft glow across the room, creating the impression that someone might be home.
The television remained on but muted, exactly as they had found it when entering the house fifteen minutes ago, adding to the illusion of normal evening activity.
DeMarco had taken a position on the kitchen floor, her back against the cabinets, where she could remain hidden from anyone entering through the front door while still maintaining a clear line of sight to the living room.
From her concealed position, she could move quickly to provide backup if the killer arrived expecting to find Janet Klein, alone and vulnerable.
"Kate," DeMarco said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Kate looked back at her, her partner's face just barely illuminated by the glow of her phone screen and the scant bit of remaining daylight coming through the kitchen window.
“Yeah?” Kate said.
"I may have found something that could potentially be connected to the killer and to Janet."
Kate turned her eyes on the front window while listening. "What did you find?"
"The estimated date of the book club's creation came right on the heels of a terrible neighborhood tragedy not too far away from Eleanor's home.
A teenage boy named Brandon Fisher was struck by a car and left for dead.
The accident seems to have happened just a few blocks away from Eleanor's house.
This was a bit over twenty years ago. And about two months after, when we believe Janet quit the book club. "
“So, a hit and run?" Kate asked, feeling a slight prickle along her spine.
"That's what it looks like. The boy was found hours later, having crawled toward a nearby house, trying to get help.
He died before anyone found him." DeMarco consulted her iPad screen.
"The parents pushed hard to find answers, but when there was nothing found after several months, the case sort of disappeared. And I just wonder…"
“You wonder that if Janet and the other founding members were involved in that accident, it would explain why someone might want revenge after all these years."
“Seems like a stretch, I know.”
“Not too big of a stretch,” Kate said. “I came to the same conclusion, after all.”
"And it could explain why Janet was so terrified when she realized the book club members were being murdered," DeMarco added. "She knew exactly what this was about."
The pieces were forming a clearer picture in Kate's mind.
A group of women involved in a fatal accident, forming a book club shortly afterward, perhaps as a way to maintain contact and ensure their secret remained safe.
Twenty years later, someone had learned the truth and decided to exact justice in their own way.
"The question is how he found out," Kate whispered back. "After two decades, something must have happened to expose what they did."
Before DeMarco could respond, both women heard the soft sound of movement on the front steps. The noise was subtle, barely perceptible, but their trained ears picked it up without much trouble, even in the midst of conversation. Someone was approaching the house with deliberate stealth.
DeMarco immediately went silent and scooted further back into the kitchen, pressing herself against the cabinets where she would be completely hidden in gloom and shadow.
Kate remained in the armchair but shifted slightly to ensure her weapon would be easily accessible while maintaining the appearance of casual relaxation.
The movement on the front steps continued for several seconds, suggesting someone who was taking time to observe the house and plan their approach. Kate could feel her pulse quickening as she waited, every sense heightened by the anticipation of confrontation.
There was no knock at the door. No announcement or attempt to gain entry through conventional means.
Instead, Kate heard the soft click of the front door’s knob turning and then the door opening.
This was followed by the barely audible sound of someone stepping into the house.
Whoever had entered was moving with confidence, as if they belonged there or had done this before.
Kate could hear soft movement in the front hallway, approaching the living room where the single lamp created a pool of warm light.
And then a figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the darker hallway.
Kate could see it was a man of average height and build, carrying what appeared to be a canvas bag in his right hand.
He moved toward her with purpose, clearly expecting to find Janet Klein in the chair where Kate now sat.
When he saw a woman sitting in front of the television, he moved quickly into the room, his hand reaching into his bag.
Kate briefly wondered what he had, and what book Janet was currently reading.
As he stepped into the circle of lamplight, Kate smoothly drew her Glock and pointed it directly at him. "Federal agent. Stop right there and take your hand out of that bag."
The man froze instantly, his body going rigid with shock and surprise.
In the soft light of the lamp and muted television, Kate could see his face clearly for the first time.
He was probably in his late fifties, with graying hair and deep-set lines around his eyes.
His expression was one of complete bewilderment.
"Wait," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine confusion. "You're not Janet."
Kate kept her weapon trained on him while studying his face. There was something broken about his expression, a deep sadness that went beyond the immediate shock of being caught. "That’s a keen observation,” Kate said. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?"
The man's hands began to tremble, and Kate could see tears forming in his eyes. "She… she needs to pay. All of them need to pay for what they did." He was trembling, perhaps aware that he had been caught.
"Pay for what?" Kate asked, maintaining her firm grip on the Glock while keeping her voice calm and controlled.
Tears began flowing freely down the man's face, and his voice broke as he spoke.
H continued to shake, so much that Kate could hear his teeth clinking together.
"They killed my son. You… you have to know that, right?
They killed him. Twenty years ago, they killed Brandon and left him to die alone in the dark.
He crawled fifty feet trying to get help, and they just drove away like he was nothing. Nothing!"
Kate felt the weight of his grief fill the room.
This was a father who had lost his child and spent two decades living with that pain, and now she could see the full scope of his anguish in his expression.
And, as it turned out, the news article DeMarco had found turned out to be tied directly to the case after all.
"My boy was seventeen years old," he continued, his voice becoming stronger despite the tears. "He was walking home from a friend's house when they hit him. They were drunk, but they didn't stop. They didn't call for help. They let him die alone."
Kate kept her weapon steady while processing this information. She had no real worry that this man would try to hurt her. If anything, he may be to the point where he might hurt himself. "What's your name?"
"Robert Fisher. Brandon Fisher was my son."
"Mr. Fisher… I understand your pain. I unders—”
“No… there’s no way you can,” he interrupted.
But Kate went on. “But you've murdered three innocent women. I promise you that we will work to find Janet Klein and question her about what happened to Brandon. But right now, you have to pay for what you’ve done.
I have to arrest you for the murders of Margaret Carlisle, Jennifer Haynes, and Eleanor Whitman. "
Robert's expression hardened with renewed determination. "I don't care what you do to me. I…really don’t. I'll come quietly just as long as Janet pays for what she did to my boy."
Kate shook her head. "I can't promise you that. What I can promise is that we'll investigate what happened to Brandon and pursue justice through proper legal channels. And if Janet will admit to what she did or if we can find proof, then she will see repercussions."
The denial hit Robert like a physical blow.
His face contorted with rage and frustration as twenty years of suppressed anger erupted to the surface.
He kicked over the coffee table beside him, sending magazines and remote controls clattering across the floor.
Kate got to her feet in a flash, the gun still trained on Fisher.
"Proper legal channels?" he shouted. "Where were your proper legal channels twenty years ago when they covered up my son's death? Where was justice when they went on with their lives and their precious fucking book clubs while Brandon rotted in the ground?"
Kate increased her grip on the Glock but still maintained a safe distance. The intensity of his rage was palpable, filling the small room with dangerous energy that could explode into violence at any moment.
"You don't understand," Robert continued, his voice raw with emotion.
"Eleanor Whitman came to my house six months ago.
She confessed to everything. She told me how they were drunk, how they hit Brandon, and decided to just drive away.
She said they formed that book club to stay in contact, to make sure their secret stayed safe.
She said… said the only reason she was coming clean was because some friend in the club of hers had recently been diagnosed with cancer and made her think about… about life and… and…"
Kate could see the complete breakdown of a man who had carried unbearable grief for two decades. "Mr. Fisher, I do understand. But killing those women won't bring Brandon back. Did it?"
"It's not about bringing him back!" Robert screamed, kicking over a small side table. "It's about them paying for what they did! It's about them understanding what it feels like to lose everything!"
DeMarco appeared in the kitchen doorway, her own weapon drawn and ready to provide backup if Robert's rage escalated further. The sight of a second armed agent seemed to deflate some of his anger. Kate could see the dawning of defeat on his face. He realized that he was outnumbered and surrounded.
Robert looked between Kate and DeMarco, and the fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
The canvas bag he had been carrying slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.
His shoulders sagged as the full weight of his grief returned, no longer masked by the adrenaline of revenge.
"I just wanted them to pay," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He was essentially weeping the words out. "I wanted them to understand what they took from me."
Kate approached him slowly, her weapon still drawn but her voice gentle. "I know you did. But this isn't the way."
Robert nodded weakly as Kate reached for her handcuffs. "I lost everything when they killed Brandon. My wife, my career, my whole life. And they just went on like nothing happened. I’ve seen them… as I studied them. Smiling. Enjoying life. So… so... free."
"Robert Fisher, you're under arrest for the murders of Margaret Carlisle, Jennifer Haynes, and Eleanor Whitman," Kate said. As she spoke, her gun still trained on him, DeMarco circled him and secured handcuffs around his wrists. "You have the right to remain silent."
As Kate continued reading Robert his rights, she could see that the man was no longer listening.
He had collapsed into himself, overwhelmed by the grief that had driven him to murder three women in pursuit of a justice that could never truly heal his broken heart.
He was shaking so badly now that she expected him to fall to his knees at any moment.
And God… she didn’t blame him at all. If what he was saying was true… she couldn’t imagine the torment.
"I promise you that Janet Klein will face questions about what happened to your son," Kate said as she holstered her gun. "But you'll have to face justice for what you've done as well."
Robert nodded again, tears still flowing down his face. They came faster now, glistening over his cheeks. "I know. I just couldn't let them get away with it anymore."
Kate wasn’t sure what to say because, God help her, deep down she understood.