Hamilton called out as he drew closer.
The man straightened up quickly and withdrew his hand from his pocket.
He looked around quickly, nervously.
“Orson, come.”
But Orson was in manic mode and barely acknowledged Hamilton. The dog was lowered on his haunches, growling and panting as if readying to launch at the stranger.
Hamilton prepared for trouble.
“He bite you?” he asked.
The man shook his head, trying to keep his head low.
But Hamilton didn’t want to take any chances. He was the lead attorney in a high-profile case, and he didn’t want any bad press.
Hamilton keyed up the cell phone’s menu and engaged the camera function. He started to videotape the scene. The man looked up, startled.
“I just want proof, buddy. I don’t want to be sued later.”
He saw the man clearly. Tall with dark clothes, a cowboy hat.
The man seemed to panic. “I said I’m all right.”
Then he ran away. Hamilton could hear him breathing fast, could feel his determination.
Orson began barking again and started to chase him. For a moment, Hamilton thought the dog might catch him. “Orson, stop.”
Orson slowed down and stopped running eventually, and the man disappeared into the night.
Orson ceased barking, and the park returned to silence.
Hamilton checked the phone and the image of the man that was there. He was happy he got the man on tape, proof positive that the dog had not injured him.
What Hamilton didn’t see was that the car the man had driven was now partially submerged in Echo Lake.
Hamilton continued with his nightly jog while the lake water gently lapped against the car.
4
Before she could scream, his right hand closed over her mouth. He lifted his knee like a punch, deep into her stomach, and then stepped back. She collapsed onto the floor at his feet.
He watched her gasp for breath, writhing like a fish out of water. He looked down at her.
This was the woman they were all so afraid of? It was comical.
She was rolling on the floor bumping into furniture, fighting to breathe. She would scream soon, but she couldn’t do that until she got her breath back, and by then…
“If you give me what I want, you could still leave here alive.”
She emitted small gasping sounds, her eyes wide open as she continued to gasp for air.
“Where is your diary?”
She started to cough. She was getting air now.
He walked to a table and picked up the bag he brought. Pulling out a knife, he held it up for her to see.
This made her panic and added to her breathing difficulty. “I don’t have the diary,” she struggled to say.
He ran his thumb along the knife’s sharp blade. “This is just for you, but if you tell me what you did with the diary, you will live.” He walked toward her with the knife. “You’re so beautiful. I understand the power you have.”
He knelt down, ran the knife along her cheek, and stopped at her throat. “Don’t move,” he whispered chillingly.
She froze.
“Now tell me where it is.”
“I told you, I don’t have it.”
“I’m running out of patience,” he said sternly.
“I don’t have the diary. I got rid of it, I swear. If I had it, I’d give it to you,” she said between coughing fits.
“Then where is it?”
She said nothing.
“WHERE IS IT?”
Again she resisted but started to cry.
“Is this a secret you really want to die for?”
“I put it in the mail.”
“To whom?”
“To Laura Charles.”
“Laura Charles?”
“Yes. To her foundation.”
He looked at her in disbelief and involuntarily withdrew the knife a little.
“Why there?” he asked, truly puzzled.
“I know why,” another man said.
Gloria looked at the other man standing in the shadows. She hadn’t noticed him until now.
“Help me, please,” Gloria begged him.
He avoided her eyes. “I’ll take care of it. Let’s just get this over with.” He had no stomach for this.
The man with the knife looked at him. “Okay, I believe you.” He returned his attention to Gloria and ran the knife around her face again.
She recoiled.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you live after all, but you are so beautiful. I won’t destroy your face.”
She was sobbing now.
“I’ll save this for later.” He put down the knife and placed his hands on either side of her face. “Don’t worry, this will be quick.”
“Please help me,” she called out to the other man, but he did nothing.
She started to cry. “Please God, no.”
“Ssh, shh,” he said.
With his hands on either side of her head, he quickly twisted her neck as far as he could.
There was a snap of bones.
Her open eyes seemed to find the one she called out to for help.
And he, the other man in the shadows, full of fear and regret, wondered how he would live with the memory of her murder.
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