Epilogue
Life had finally quieted down, Nikki thought, as she climbed into the passenger seat of Pierce’s Jeep. It had taken a while, but she felt like she could breathe again.
Duke Wheelan, the Savannah Slasher, was in prison, awaiting trial, and still protesting that he was just doing God’s will when he’d taken the lives of Billy Huber, Mavis Greenlee, and Jeanne LaRoux.
He had taunted the police with his Hebrew and Arabic numbers.
Hebrew for the Old Testament from which the commandments were originally written.
Arabic as a clue for the modern man not versed in the Bible.
Now, along with murder, Wheelan faced assault and many other charges.
On top of that, he was now a prime suspect in his own mother’s death, as the police had proven through DNA analysis that the blood that he’d mixed in his sacrificial concoction was hers.
It was not only his sister Frannie’s blood that confirmed it, but his own as well.
They’d discovered his lair, a spot his sister had just considered Duke’s “man cave,” and though Frannie had had suspicions about her brother being involved in their mother’s death, she hadn’t linked him to the recent homicides or the terror that had reigned over Savannah when he’d been on his killing spree.
Nikki had stupidly assumed Frannie was Duke’s wife as they didn’t resemble each other, but it made sense. A wife would have seen the man’s scars from self-flagellation; a sister was less likely to notice.
“Ready?” Pierce said as he slid behind the wheel.
“As I’ll ever be.” She caught a glimpse of Lily standing in the doorway to the house, Phee next to her, Chloe in her arms. Nikki waved to her daughter and blew her a kiss. Chloe responded by blowing her own and nearly slapping Lily in the face by throwing out her arm.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Pierce backed out of the drive. He placed his hand over hers for a second. “This is a good thing,” he said.
“I know. You don’t have to convince me.”
“Good.”
They drove out of the city, and Nikki rolled down her window, letting the fresh air invade the interior and waft through her hair.
It had been a rough two months, but things were looking up.
Sol, Pierce’s partner, had sustained a wound to her shoulder in the apprehension of Jamison Kittle, but she’d survived, claiming the scar as her first “war wound” and back on the job.
Thankfully, Pierce hadn’t been injured. Nor had she in her final battle with Duke Wheelan.
Chloe’s hair was growing in where the monster had yanked out a handful, and she seemed none the worse for wear.
Two nights sleeping with Nikki and Pierce and no more nightmares.
Nikki was still upset that a monster had broken into their home and assaulted their child, probably to kidnap Chloe and use her as bait, so he could lure Nikki out.
For all his proclaimed faith, Wheelan had no soul.
As for Phee, the girl had been more traumatized, but was seeing a child psychologist and healing. She had also shown an interest in ballet and karate classes, having been impressed by her mother and aunt’s prowess in taking down the Savannah Slasher.
Luck had been with them that night.
Nikki had gotten her exclusive.
Tom Fink had been pleased, up until the point where she turned her last story in and told him to shove the job.
Well, not in such blunt terms, but he got the message, and her only regret was that she would miss Roy, who had been horrified that she was leaving him.
“How can you do this to me?” he’d asked over beignets and coffee. “You’re leaving me in the lion’s den!”
“Please, no references to the Old Testament,” she’d said.
“Too soon?”
“Waaay too soon,” she’d said. “And it probably always will be.”
“Oh, not for you, Nikki Gillette,” he’d argued. “You rebound faster than Tom Brady.”
“He’s a football quarterback, not a basketball player, for the love of God, Roy,” she’d said and caught the twinkle in his eye, as he took a sip from his coffee “Oh, I see, you’re just messing with me.”
“Well, you deserve it for abandoning me.”
He’d survive, she thought now, and she wasn’t abandoning him. She’d make a point of keeping in touch while she wrote her next book on the Savannah Slasher, to her agent, Ina’s, unending joy.
Yeah, life was settling back to normal.
Whatever that was.
Maybe she was about to find out.
She braced herself.
“You’re sure about this?” Pierce asked as he parked the Jeep in front of Bart Yelkis’s home, a cabin-like house on a few acres not far from the city.
“Yes.” Nikki took a deep breath and reached for the passenger door. “Let’s go.”
“There’s no changing your mind,” he reminded her as he cut the engine. “Once the deed is done—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I said I’m fine with it.” She opened the passenger door and stepped outside.
“Okay, then.”
“Look,” she said, as they walked up a cracked concrete path, past a carport that housed an older-model Chevy truck and an electric bike. Toby’s bike. Pierce had said the kid had moved back home after couch surfing and living with his aunt, but being here with his dad didn’t work.
“Let me do the talking,” Pierce said, as he rapped on the bent screen door.
“Sure, Detective. You take the lead.” They’d already discussed this, so she didn’t really understand why he was bringing it up again.
She heard footsteps, then the door opened, and Bart Yelkis stood on the other side of the screen. No introductions were necessary. They all knew each other. A television was on somewhere inside. Nikki heard the smooth voice of a sports announcer.
“What’s goin’ on?” Bart asked, eyeing them both with more than a little suspicion. He was a short, stocky man whose graying hair had receded while his belly had expanded.
“Is Toby here?” Pierce asked.
“Yeah, but I asked you what you want.”
“To talk to him.”
Bart muttered something under his breath, then called over his shoulder. “Toby! You got company!”
No response.
“Just a sec,” Bart said, but still didn’t unlatch the door. “Toby!” he yelled more loudly.
“What?” came a response from deep inside the house.
“I said you got company!” He walked away from the door, and then she heard him say, “Well, shit, son, take those damned things out of your ears, so you can hear. What’s the matter with ya? I told ya, someone’s here to see ya.”
Less than a minute later, Toby appeared on the other side of the screen, and even through the mesh, Nikki saw him pale at the sight of her.
“Okay, he’s here,” Bart said, catching up to his son and planting himself firmly by the kid’s side.
“I’d—we’d—like to talk to him.” Pierce looked directly at the boy.
Bart snorted. “Okay. So talk.”
“In private.”
“That don’t sit well with me,” Bart said.
“He’s seventeen,” Pierce said. “I think he can speak for himself.”
“About what?” Bart said.
Toby cleared his throat. “I can handle it, Dad.”
Bart scowled. “I don’t think—”
“I said, ‘I can handle it’!” Toby glared down at his shorter father.
Bart hesitated, then rubbed his jaw, scratching a few days’ worth of the silvery whiskers that covered the lower half of his face. “I really don’t—Oh, hell! Go on, talk if ya want. But I’ll be right here in the livin’ room watchin’ the game.” He peered through the mesh and repeated, “Right here.”
“Fine,” Pierce agreed.
Bart then glanced up at his son. “Toby? You okay with that?”
“Yeah.” Toby didn’t bother hiding his irritation as he opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch, while his dad disappeared inside and opened the blinds to the picture window that looked onto the porch.
Through the blinds, Nikki saw Bart sink into his recliner that sat next to a table with a top crowded by a bottle of beer, an ashtray, and several remotes.
“So you wanted to talk to me? About what?” Toby asked, a little insolence still in his words.
Nikki motioned to Pierce. This was his show.
Pierce said, “We saw your bike when we came in.”
“Yeah. So?” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his battered jeans.
“It’s the same bike that we caught on CCTV the night Nikki’s car was vandalized.”
Toby shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Yeah, it was,” Pierce argued, still calm. “We have the tapes to prove it.”
Color infused the boy’s face. “I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, you were,” Pierce said, cutting him off. Firm, but in control. “You’re angry at Nikki, and probably at the whole world, and no one’s blaming you for that. But you lashed out, and this time you committed a crime.”
“So what’re you, now?” Toby said, leaning back against the window. “A shrink?”
“You know what I am,” Pierce said calmly.
“Yeah, my mom’s damn partner, and you didn’t save her,” he charged, his voice cracking a little. “Isn’t that what partners are supposed to do?”
“It wasn’t Pierce’s fault,” Nikki said, unable to hold her tongue a second longer. “It was mine. I made a bad mistake and she … she tried to save me.”
“And ended up dying!” he said, his chin wobbling before he clamped his jaw tight and kept the tears glistening in his eyes from falling. “And you’re right. It is your fault. All your fault!”
Nikki crumpled inside, all her guilt knotting her stomach, but it was something she had to live with. Toby had to live with. Everyone had to live with. “I know this sounds trite, and might not mean much to you, but I’m sorry. Truly sorry.” Her own damned voice caught, and she cleared her throat.
“Big fuckin’ deal! Sorry isn’t good enough!
It won’t bring my mom back, will it?” He sniffed and glared at Pierce, his jaw beneath his thin beard shadow rock hard.
“And now, so what? You’re here to arrest me?
” His voice was rising again, and through the window, Nikki saw Bart leap from his La-Z-Boy and storm to the door.
Pierce said, “I’m here to make you an offer.”
“What?” Toby asked. “Like a plea deal? I’ve seen those on TV.”
“No. It’s different. Nikki is not going to press charges, and we’re going to forget the incident with the car ever happened, but you need to consider moving into the garage apartment at our place.”