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Will checked the numbers on the mailbox, making sure they matched the note Sam Lawson had given Faith. Courtesy of MapQuest, which printed large arrows on their directions, and a couple of stops at some convenience stores, Will had managed to navigate his way through the rural town with only a few wrong turns.
Still, he checked the number with the mailbox a third time before getting out of the car. He saw the heart Sam had drawn around the address, and wondered again why a man who was not the father of Faith's child would do such a thing. Will had only met the reporter once, but he didn't like him. Victor was all right. Will had talked to him on the phone a couple of times and sat by him during an incredibly tedious awards ceremony that Amanda had insisted her team attend, mostly because she wanted to make sure someone clapped when her name was called. Victor had wanted to talk about sports, but not football and baseball, which were the only two sports Will paid attention to. Hockey was for Yankees and soccer was for Europeans. He wasn't quite sure how Victor had gotten interested in both, but it made for pretty dull conversation. Whatever Faith had seen in the guy, Will had been glad a few months ago when he started to notice that Victor's car wasn't in Faith's driveway when he went to pick her up for court days.
Of course, Will was not one to judge about relationships. His whole body was still sore from being with Angie last night. It was not a good sore—it was the kind of sore that made you want to crawl up into bed and sleep for a week. Will knew from experience it wouldn't matter, because as soon as he started putting one foot in front of the other, rebuilding some semblance of a life, Angie would return and he'd be back in that same place again. It was the pattern of his life. Nothing was ever going to change it.
The Berman home was a one-storey ranch spread out over a large lot. The house looked lived-in, but not in a good way. The grass was overgrown and weeds tangled the flowerbeds. The green Camry in the driveway was filthy. Mud caked the tires and there was a sheen of filth on the car that looked like it had been there for quite a while. There were two baby seats in back and the requisite Cheerios stuck to the windshield. Two yellow, diamond-shaped signs were hanging from the side window, probably reading Baby on Board. Will pressed his hand to the hood of the car. The engine was cold. He looked at the time on his phone. It was coming up on ten o'clock. Faith would probably be at her doctor's by now.
Will knocked on the door and waited. He thought about Faith again, how furious she would be, especially if Will was about to come face-to-face with the killer. Though it looked as if he wasn't going to come face-to-face with anyone. No one answered the door. Will knocked on the door again. When that didn't work, he stepped back from the house and looked up at the windows. All the shades were open. Some lights were on. Maybe Berman was in the shower. Or maybe he was fully aware that the police were trying to talk to him. Nick's hayseed landscaper act was pretty impressive, but he'd been sitting at the end of the road for about an hour. In a neighborhood this small, phones had probably been ringing off the hook.
Will tried the front door, but it was locked. He walked around the house, peering in the windows. There was a light at the end of the hallway. He was going to the next window when he heard a noise inside like a door slamming shut. Will put his hand to the gun on his belt, feeling all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something wasn't right, and Will was keenly aware that Nick Shelton was sitting in his car listening to the radio right now.
There was the unmistakable sound of a window banging shut. Will jogged around to the back of the house in time to see a man darting through the back yard. Jake Berman was wearing pajama pants with no shirt, but he'd managed to put on his sneakers. He glanced over his shoulder as he ran past an elaborate swing set, toward the chain-link fence that separated the property from the neighbor on the opposite side.
"Crap," Will mumbled, bolting after him. Will was a good runner, but Berman was fast—his arms pumping, legs moving in a blur.
"Police!" Will yelled, misjudging the height of the fence so badly that his foot caught. He fell to the ground and scrambled up as quickly as he could. He saw Berman go down a side yard, past another house and toward the street. Will did the same, taking advantage of the angle, shortening the distance as he chased Berman across the road.
There was a screech of wheels as Nick Shelton's Caprice pulled up. Berman dodged the car, slamming his hand on the hood as he made his way toward another backyard.
"Dammit," Will cursed. "Police! Stop!"
Berman kept going, but he was a sprinter, not a marathoner. If Will was good at anything, it was endurance. He caught his second wind as Jake Berman slowed, trying to open the wooden gate to a neighbor's backyard. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Will, then took off again. Berman was too winded, though, and Will could tell from the slow way his legs were moving that the man was about to give up. Still, Will wasn't going to take any chances. When he got close enough, he lunged, bringing Berman down in a heavy tackle that knocked the wind out of both of them.
"Dumbass!" Nick Shelton yelled, kicking Berman in the side.
Considering his run-in with the doorman at Anna's building yesterday, Will would've thought he'd be more gentle in his approach, but his heart was beating so hard in his chest that he felt nauseated. Worse, adrenaline was pumping all kinds of bad thoughts into his head.
Nick kicked Berman again. "Never run from the law, motherfucker."
"I didn't know you were cops—"
"Shut up." Will started to put the cuffs on him, but Berman squirmed, trying to get away. Nick raised his foot again, but Will drove his knee into Berman's back so hard that he could feel the ribs bend. "Stop it."
"I didn't do anything!"
"Is that why you ran?"
"I was going for a run," he screamed. "I always run this time of day."
Nick asked, "In your pj's?"
"Fuck off."
"It's a felony to lie to the police." Will stood, yanking up Berman with him. "Five years in prison. Plenty of men's bathrooms in jail."
Berman's face turned white. Some of his neighbors had congregated. They didn't look happy—or, Will noticed, particularly supportive.
"It's all right," Berman told them. "Just a misunderstanding."
Nick said, "A misunderstanding by this dumbass who thinks he can run away from the police."
Will wasn't worried about appearances. He jerked Berman's hands high, making him bend over as he walked him back across the street.
"My lawyer is going to hear about this."
Nick said, "Be sure to tell him how you ran away like a scared little schoolgirl."
Will pushed Berman into the road, keeping his hands high so that the man had to walk with a stoop. He asked Nick, "Mind calling this in?"
"You want the cavalry?"
"I want a police car screeching up to his house with lights and sirens blaring so everyone in the neighborhood knows it's there."
Nick gave him a salute as he trotted off toward his car.
Berman said, "You're making a mistake."
"Your mistake was fleeing the scene of a crime."
"What?" he turned around, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "What crime?"
