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stared into my eyes for a moment, and I thought he might punch me. Finally he softened a bit. “Come up.”

  He had sold the house where his wife died. He lived in a cheap bachelor apartment above a deli, and we had to climb the metal fire escape stairs to get there. The inside was squalor; filthy laundry everywhere, the smell of dozens of old beer bottles, dishes stacked in and around the sink. He took the only chair, so I sat on the end of the bed.

  “Why the hell did you tamper with the evidence?”

  “Because I had to know. And since I was quitting anyway, I just kind of didn’t care about evidence.”

  “Had to know what?”

  He sipped from a beer. The bottle was sweating, so it was still cold. He had been drinking while he waited for me to arrive.

  “Why Dani’s alive and Mary Beth’s not.” His eyes were watery now. “He used the same gun, twice in the same day. The first time, he gets off three shots, no problem. Second time, it jams on the first pull. What the fuck is that?”

  “I don’t know. Blind luck.” I hadn’t ever thought about the gun like that. Obviously, it was something Mike dwelled on.

  “And he came to my house first. He obviously had both of ‘em scouted. But why me first? Why the fuck did everything have to line up so Mary Beth died?”

  “I don’t know,” I said again.

  “I wanted to use it on him. When I tracked him down. I dreamed I’d use it to put three shots in his evil fuckin’ head. Then for a while I thought about using it to put a bullet in my own forehead. Then I scrapped it.”

  “Scrapped it?”

  “I threw it in a fire, then fished it out the next day and threw it in a dumpster. The gun’s gone. I knew I couldn’t put it back and I knew it was worthless as evidence as soon as I took it. If I didn’t get to kill Savala at least I could destroy the gun.”

  I sat in silence; I had nothing left to say. All I could do was make a broken man feel worse. Finally, I just stood up and left.

  After I was gone, he went and got the gun.

  15

  I picked up Dani from work and we headed home. The plan was to stay together as much as possible, so neither was alone. Safety in numbers. As I turned onto our street, my police radio mentioned Mike’s address.

  Shots fired. Arson. Fire trucks and paramedics en route.

  “Jesus, that’s Mike Hudkins’ address.”

  She shivered. “Savala.”

  Instead of pulling into our driveway, I pulled in next door. “Stay with the Millers until I get back.”

  She shook her head violently side to side. “You can’t go there. You can’t. You can’t keep going after him! He’s going to kill you!”

  “Mike was smart. He started a fire. Whatever happened, it drew a lot of attention, and our guy Savala hates attention, remember? That crime scene will be the safest place in the world.”

  “Then take me with you.”

  I wanted to agree with her, to bring her along so a dozen cops and firemen could be her shield against Savala, but I had watched her crumble under the stress of this case before. Seeing Mike Hudkins rolled out on a stretcher, or in a body bag, would be too much for her. I refused to ruin all the work she had done to rebuild herself after the attack. “No chance,” I told her. “Stay with the Millers. Stay in the same room, and close the curtains so nobody knows you’re there. As long as you’re not alone, Savala won’t hurt you.”

  She climbed out, pale and crying. The neighbour, Stacy Miller, already had the door open since noticing us parked in her driveway. She pulled Dani into a hug. I drove back to Mike’s apartment wondering if in my dedication to finding to Savala, to protecting Dani, if I had finally broken my marriage.

  16

  By the time I got there, it was all over. The fire was out. One wall was black and a lot of the ceiling was wrecked, but the building would survive. There was one bullet hole in the wall, about three inches off the floor on the same side of the apartment as the fire. There was no sign of Mike, or anyone else. But in the burnt side of the apartment there was a gun. It had been right in the heart of the flames, but the serial number was still there. It was the gun Mike had stolen from the evidence room.

  Charlie and Gord were on site before I got there. They were the ones who ran the gun through the database.

  “So I guess ol’ Mike had the gun,” said Charlie.

  “Yeah. But he told me he destroyed it years ago,” I responded. “In a fire.”

  “Not exactly a subtle co-ink-ee-dink, setting the place to burn down. You figure Savala was listening to you guys the whole time?”

  “That’s one option,” I said, once again slipping into my habit of nodding as I thought things through. “There’s another that’s more likely.”

  Charlie’s eyebrows went up. “Such as?”

  “Such as Mike lied to me. Then he decided to burn the gun in order to make the evidence match his story. But he was too drunk to do it right and started a fire. That’s why there’s no sign of struggle, no blood on the floor. That’s why it looks like the gun was fired from inside the flames. Mike set the place on fire by accident, and ran away.”

  Gord chimed in with a “Sounds good to me,” but really, we were all trying to sort out what had happened. “Why would Mike lie about the gun anyway?”

  I think I spoke it before I thought it: “Because Mike’s the one killing people and that gun will prove it.” Charlie and Gord were staring at me now, both of them simultaneously hating me and starting to agree at the same time. They were still processing the idea that maybe Savala had never come back, that perhaps the murders were someone else—a copycat—who knew the details of the case, the little things we never told the press. The facts that never got out because there had never been a trial. They were still thinking about that when I jumped to the next conclusion.

  “Because Savala liked to distract us with a crime at a cop’s house before we went after our wives.”

  I was out the door and sprinting before I heard Charlie say “Daniela.”

  17

  We drove with the dash-top light flashing until my street, where I killed the light and slowed down. Charlie and Gord were in my car with me, and back-up had been called but were still a few minutes away. I pulled into my driveway, got out and tossed the keys to Charlie. The two of them went to check the house while I headed for the Millers’.

  Nothing seemed wrong. No screaming, no broken windows. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe Mike had just accidentally started a fire and was off somewhere buying burn cream. However, there was a strange car parked on the road, and that was enough to make my heart rate soar.

  I cut across the yard, trying to peek inside the curtains, but they were shut, just like I had to Dani to do. I tried the front door without knocking, but it was locked. Also smart. But I didn’t want to knock. Not if my former partner was inside, pennies in his pocket, waiting to exact some twisted revenge for his dead wife.

  I ran around back. The window into the dining room wasn’t covered, and I saw a man’s back. A large man. As I came around, I saw that it was Mike, and he had his arms held out in front of himself, a gun between his hands.

  I came in the back door, which led to a mud room full of boots and coats, then through the hallway to the kitchen. The floor was a mess. Stacy Miller was dead on the floor, her forehead a mess of entry wounds. There was shattered glass all around; most of the larger pieces belonged to a wine bottle, the same brand that Dani liked. I stepped over her legs as I advanced toward the dining room, where Mike was still standing, gun raised into the living room. He must have seen me in his peripheral, but he didn’t turn, didn’t speak to me. He just stared into the living room. My own gun was raised and cocked, and now I slid the safety off, aiming for Mike’s centre of mass. At this range, I wouldn’t miss.

  “Please…” whimpered a voice from inside the living room, right where Mike was aiming.

  “Dani!” I shouted, a sudden outburst I couldn’t fight no matter how dumb and impulsive it was.<
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  “Andy!” she shouted back. And then Mike pulled the trigger. And I pulled mine. I heard glass shatter and Dani scream, and at least I knew she was alive enough to scream.

  My bullet hit Mike, and he twisted, groping toward his left, where the bullet went in, before collapsing in a heap. I ran toward Mike, then jumped over him, turning the corner into the living room, expecting Dani to be in a heap on the floor too, but hoping desperately that Mike had missed. Instead of my dreams coming true, I jumped into a nightmare.

  Alex Savala was standing behind Dani, holding a silenced pistol to her head. She was his human shield. Her face was sickly pale, her eyes a blaring red, her cheeks stained with tears. Her mouth was bloody, since Savala had punched her.

  The former mafia hitman sneered at me. “You pigs’ll kill anything, even each other. You’re the worst murderers of all.”

  He was extremely twitchy. I knew Savala had planned on getting in and out, but Mike had ruined it, and now he was cornered. His finger was on the trigger.

  “There are other cops here. Our shots will bring them running. Surrender and you get to live.”

  “Who says I want to live? Live in a world without Shelly? That’s worse than death. That’s what you pigs deserve, not me.”

  I knew how serious this was. He only had to goals left now: to kill my wife and then commit suicide-by-cop. He had no escape plans. There was no bargaining with him. As soon as he worked up the nerve, he’d shoot Dani and then turn the gun on me, and that was the only way