Owen thought of Abigail out there with the man who’d killed her husband. “Do it,” he said.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find Abigail.”

Doyle cleaned up Mattie’s makeshift campsite in his garage. The lab guys had carted off what they needed and dusted for prints and scraped up anything that looked as if it might have an eyelash or some other kind of DNA in it. He figured Mattie hadn’t cared about covering his tracks. He’d cared about getting through the night without freezing to death, starving, dying of thirst or getting shot.

Sean and Ian had promised to stay within earshot. Doyle could hear them bickering in the backyard. He’d kept them home and pulled himself off the investigation. He was a police chief in a small town and accustomed to knowing the people he dealt with, but this was different. This was Mattie Young sleeping in his damn garage. This was a guy he’d known since kindergarten messing up under his nose.

And it was Chris.

Doyle stuffed a half-filled trash bag into a plastic garbage can, replaced the lid and bit back something between a sob and a growl. He’d been mixed-up and out of sorts ever since Mattie-and it was Mattie-had come after Abigail with a drywall saw.

“Mattie-hell. What were you thinking?”

He wasn’t thinking, just as he wasn’t thinking when he’d broken into Chris’s house seven years ago and hit his friend’s wife on the head then, stolen her necklace, ran.

But he hadn’t killed Chris.

Doyle just couldn’t see that one. Mattie was a chronic screw-up and a whiner, but even when he was drunk, he wasn’t a murderer. He wasn’t someone who’d lay in wait for his target and take him out with a single shot the way Chris’s killer had done.

Not his problem now. He’d promised to take the boys into Ellsworth for pizza and a movie.

Lou Beeler’s car careened into his driveway.

Doyle called for his sons. They came running and stood at his side as the state detective got out of his car.

“It’s Ellis Cooper,” Lou said.

“Ellis?”

“We’re going after him. You have a place to leave your sons?”

Sean slipped his hand into his father’s and tugged on it. “We can stay next door with Mrs. Casey. Me and Ian will be fine.”

Doyle looked down at his son. “Ian and I.”

The boy grinned at their old refrain. “That’s what I said.”

They’d be okay, his boys. Doyle nodded to the state detective. “Give me a minute to get these guys settled and I’ll ride out there with you.”

CHAPTER 31

Ellis Cooper held a gun to his nephew’s head. Linc was pale but very still, his blue eyes wide with fear but focused on Abigail as she stood three yards from the two men on the edge of the cliffs, her Glock drawn.

If she’d realized what was happening sooner, she’d have shot Ellis before he ever saw her. But she hadn’t.

“Drop your weapon, Abigail.” Ellis’s voice was calm, just as it had been earlier that morning on the phone to her. “If you don’t, Linc is dead. I’m an expert marksman.”

She had no doubt he was telling the truth. “One of your many secrets.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. He liked being in charge. “Do it now.”

“Okay, I’m putting the gun down-”

“Toss it in the water.”

Hell. She nodded, opening her fingers from her grip on the weapon. “I’m tossing it now.” She reached her arm out and pitched her Glock over the cliff. “Done. Now let your nephew go. You have me. That’s enough for you to get away.”

“So noble.”

Linc sputtered in a mix of anger and terror. “Ellis…Jesus…”

“Focus on saving your own skin.” Abigail kept her voice calm. Reasonable. Any vulnerability on her part would only increase Ellis’s sense of control over her. He needed to see he had one option and one option only, and that was not to fire his weapon. “Go, Ellis. Disappear. Don’t waste your time on these games.”

“You won’t stop. You won’t ever stop.”

“Neither will the FBI, Doyle Alden, Owen Garrison or Lou Beeler, even after he retires. The Maine State Police will keep the Browning file open. I know a couple of Boston detectives who’ll hunt you.”

“This is you. All you.”

“It’s not just me. It’s never been just me. And that’s not why you’re out here now. If you wanted me dead, you could have shot me while I was sitting out on the rocks reading a book.”

Linc licked his lips. “Ellis, you’re sick. Let your family help you-”

“Shut up!” He pressed the barrel of his gun against his nephew’s temple. “I don’t want your help. I’ve lived in my brother’s shadow my whole life. I’ve kept to myself. I’ve done so much for you and Grace. For him. And what’s my thanks? He decides to sell my house. My sanctuary.”

“You made it your sanctuary because you loved Doe,” Abigail said.

“Because I love her. Present tense. I’m not a pervert who likes young girls-who goes from one girl to the next to the next. I keep Doe’s memory alive every single day. I honor her.”

“What if her ghost is here now, where she died, watching you?” Keep him talking, Abigail thought. If he’s talking, he’s not shooting. She went on, brisk but choosing her words carefully. “Everything I know about her tells me she was a kind, gentle soul. I saw the picture of her you left. The one you took. You knew that even in death, she was beautiful. Did you leave it for Owen to remind him?”

“He never appreciated her. It’s his fault she died. Not mine.”

An eleven-year-old boy, a little brother. Ellis’s twisted expectations had poisoned him. But Abigail wanted to keep him talking. Owen would be missing her soon. All she needed was a distraction, a break.

“No one appreciated Doe as much as you did,” Abigail said. “I see that now.”

“She didn’t understand. She was so young…so innocent…I was only eleven years older. What I felt for her wasn’t unnatural.”

“She was fourteen.”

“I promised her I’d wait for her.”

“That’s not why she ran crying. That’s not why she was so upset she slipped and fell to her death.” Abigail paused, making sure his attention was on her and what she was saying. She saw his spark of anger, the resentment in him. “And it’s not why you let her drown.”

“I didn’t let her drown!”

“Sure, you did. She was upset because of you. You didn’t just express your love and tell her you’d wait. Your interest in her wasn’t so innocent, was it?”

“The love we had was pure-”

“Did you rape her?”

His face reddened. “She died unspoiled.”

“But you came on to her,” Abigail persisted. “That porcelain skin, that silken hair-you wanted her, Ellis. You wanted her all to yourself. You had no intention of waiting until she was older. If you didn’t rape her, what did you do? Expose yourself to her? Make her expose herself-”

“You slut! You bitch.”

It was her opening. In his fury, he lowered his gun.

Abigail yelled to Linc. “Jump!”

But he needed no prodding. Knew it was his one chance. The tide was up, the water was deep-and he wasn’t a frightened distraught thirteen-year-old. Linc propelled himself over the cliffs, even as Abigail dove for his uncle, grabbing his gun hand and, using a hold she’d practiced countless times, snapped his ulna in his right forearm. She heard the break. He screamed in pain, dropping his gun. It slid off the edge of the rock wall into the water. She sliced a low kick to the inside of his leg, bringing him down onto exposed rock.

“You bitch!” he yelled.

“Where’s Mattie? He was here. I found a poncho-”

Ellis grinned, smug, as she held him on the ground. “Mattie’s in the water, too. He’s been there for a while. You needed a killer. I needed an end to your scrutiny. I needed to give my brother a reason to take my house off the market. The murderous yardman, the publicity-no way would Jason find a buyer. And Grace. It wasn’t easy, Abigail, to sacrifice my own niece, but I had to. For all our sakes, we needed a killer.”