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Sophia stared at him, shaking with terror. Geoff slammed shut the backdoor and stepped away.
He heard a crunch on the gravel of the driveway, turned and swayed.
The baseball bat seemed to come out of the darkness from nowhere. Geoff saw it complete the last few inches of its journey as it smashed into his forehead sending him crashing onto the hood of his car.
He heard the children squeal and felt a second smack to his left temple. He couldn’t move, just lay there as the blows kept coming. He heard his own skull crack open, caught the spray of blood out of the corner of his eye. A terrible tremor of pain shot down his spine. He gasped and the smell of blood flooded his shattered nose, the taste of it in his mouth.
And then he died.
Chapter 120
JUSTINE AND I were almost at the end of Simeon Street, about to turn right from Military Road, when I saw a large figure running from the driveway of No. 20.
Pulling into the street, I parked at the curb and yanked on the handbrake. We both heard screams and jumped out of the car, sprinted ten yards along the sidewalk toward the Hewes’ house and turned onto the gravel.
The driveway was like a scene from a Saw movie. Geoff Hewes lay face up, the side of his head smashed in. He was clearly dead, his blood spattered all over the front of the car. Two young children were in the back screeching hysterically.
We ran to the rear doors. The kids couldn’t move, couldn’t stop screaming. I managed to pull Sam out and told him to go to the house. The boy was spasming with terror.
I whirled back to the car and saw Justine on the other side, opening the rear door and cupping the little girl under her knees and shoulders, lifting her out. I took her from Justine and we headed for the house.
It was only then that I heard whimpering from the hall. The door was open a crack. Still cradling Sophia, I opened the door with my foot and lowered the little girl to the step. I saw Pam sitting inside, rocking, her broken fingers out in front of her, tears streaming down her bruised face.
The two kids ran into the house, almost falling onto their mother. Pam tried to hold them, but her hands were smashed up.
“What in God’s name’s happened?” Justine exclaimed, running over to the injured woman.
I reached for my cell.
Pam could barely speak. Her children clung to her, terror in their faces, eyes wide, tear-streaked cheeks.
“Daddy’s dead!” Sam cried.
“What?” Pam stared at the boy, then up at me.
“We need to get you an ambulance, Pam.” I stabbed 000.
“Craig? What’s happened?” Pam croaked.
I ignored her. “Emergency … Simeon Street. Number 20. One fatality and a seriously injured woman … Yes.” I glanced over to Pam and saw the horror in her eyes. Justine had an arm about her shoulder. “Yes,” I said again. “Get here quick!”
Pam was trying to pull herself up. Justine helped her.
“Listen to me.” I took a step forward and turned Pam’s face to mine. “Geoff’s dead, Pam. I have no idea what –”
“NO!” she screamed. “NO!” Pulling away, she glanced at the kids for a second, staggered to the front door and out onto the driveway.
Even in the subdued light from the street she could make out Geoff’s misshapen head and contorted body, the blood. She fell onto him where he lay on the hood, her own physical pain suddenly numbed. Then she pushed her head down into his abdomen and began to wail.
Chapter 121
IT WAS 10 pm and Darlene was alone in Private HQ. She kept unsociable hours, always had. She’d been one of those students who worked during the night and slept until 3 pm.
She walked over to a large metal bench dominating the center of the lab. Above her hung a powerful light bleaching the work surface. On the counter lay remnants of Julie O’Connor’s papers salvaged from the apartment in Sandsville.
She had already spent several hours sifting through the material, sorting it into three piles. Useless ashes, vaguely useful scraps and a small heap of material that might be of some practical use.
This last pile included about a dozen pages of a scrapbook. She glanced through these, turning the pages carefully with latex gloves. It was a peculiar mess. Many of the surviving pages contained pictures of Julie holding babies. Then there were pictures of babies cut from magazines, ads for prams, baby clothes, toiletries.
