Pescoli stared down at the naked man in front of her, coldly furious, partly boggled. She had him dead to rights, but this was Brewster.
“For the love of God, Pescoli, let me cover up!” Brewster declared, a look of panic in his eyes. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, what you think you know, but you’re wrong. And you’re trespassing!”
“I know you killed the judge,” she said in a flat voice. “I know you attempted to kill the sheriff, and I’ll bet my retirement that you shot and killed Carnie Tibalt.”
“What? You’ve got it all wrong. You’ve lost your grip! The only person I shot was Verdago, and that’s because he was aiming at you!” He looked frantic and embarrassed.
“Bullshit, Brewster. We know you killed them. Even Carnie. That’s when you dropped off the pictures, after you dropped her.”
“You’re crazy!” he sputtered.
“You left the six pictures. Some of them were people you wanted dead. And all of them were ones Verdago wanted to kill. Except you added your picture into the mix, trying to throw us off. One more beyond Verdago’s Dirty Half Dozen.”
He shook his head violently. “You’re not making any sense!”
“You figured that we would think Verdago and Carnie got into a lover’s quarrel, so you wouldn’t have to plant her picture with the others, but your count was still off. Seven, instead of six. Six people he wanted dead. Not seven. But you didn’t know, did you? That the magic number was six”
“I can help you, Regan,” he said desperately, ignoring everything she said. “You need help.”
“You forgot about sending the picture to Manny Douglas and that’s where you made your mistake. Because Verdago had six enemies, not seven. So you screwed yourself with your damned grandstanding. You couldn’t resist, could you? Crowing about it! Showing off!”
He blinked rapidly. “I’m innocent!”
“Save it for the judge! Oh, sorry. She’s dead, isn’t she? You already killed her!”
“You think you’re so damn smart,” he snarled. “You’re a lousy detective, Pescoli.”
“Better than you. Always better than you, Brewster. And that’s what matters. Put your hands over your head! Now! I’m not going to ask again. Get down on the floor, you lying sack of shit, while I cuff you and read you your rights.”
“I’ll have your fucking badge for this!”
&nbs
p; “Hands over your head! Get the hell down!” she yelled, her gun barrel aiming lower, directly at his black heart. She thought about really scaring him and sighting on his nuts, but stayed focused on his chest. She was going to shoot to stop. He wasn’t going to get away. “Get down! Cort Brewster, you have the right to remain silent.”
“What the fuck! I’m innocent!” he repeated, but his hands shot into the air. He was starting to kneel, when out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement in the window, a bit of blond hair.
Shit!
“Get down, now!” she ordered, but it was too late as the front door of the cabin opened and Heidi Brewster appeared.
“Dad? Oh, God, Dad, I’m so sorry!” She turned red-rimmed eyes on Pescoli. “What are you doing?” she cried.
“Get out, Heidi!” Pescoli ordered as Brewster sprang upward from the hallway, pushing a coffee table into her shins and vaulting toward the back door.
Pain screamed up her shins as Pescoli turned, aiming at Brewster’s back.
Heidi screamed, “Dad!” and took off after him, running into Pescoli’s sight line, crying and calling to the nude man who threw himself off the porch into the snow.
“Get down, Heidi!” Pescoli ordered.
“You can’t kill him! You can’t!” she cried. “Just because he had an affair!” She was hysterical now, a drama queen who’d finally found a legitimate stage. Pescoli shoved her aside and took off after him, flying through the back door, following his footsteps around the front of the house to his truck where he stood, still naked, legs braced, rifle at his shoulder.
Pescoli stopped dead in her tracks and saw him smile.
From the open front door, his daughter wailed, “Daddy, please, don’t!”
But Brewster, fired on booze and adrenaline, was too far gone.