Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(92)



Do you honestly believe Mack mutilated and killed two women in his sleep?

“Your husband’s nocturnal behavior . . . ?” Patterson prompts.

With resignation, Allison admits, “He takes sleep medication. Dormipram, it’s called. One of the side effects is sleepwalking.”

“Does he talk in his sleep?”

She remembers the crazy gibberish he spoke in the kitchen that night. “Sometimes, but—”

Cleary cuts her off, asking, “Does he remember these episodes later?”

“No.” She’s not about to elaborate unless they force her.

“So it’s conceivable that your husband might have left the house in his sleep and made a phone call in his sleep? One he didn’t remember when he woke up?”

“I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“I didn’t ask you that. I asked if it’s conceivable. That’s the question you need to answer.”

“I guess so,” she says reluctantly. “But—”

“Thank you, Mrs. MacKenna.”

Jamie’s lips curve into a smile as she stares at the computer monitor.

Things couldn’t be better.

The live-action image from one of her surveillance cameras shows Mack sitting on the couch in his living room, nervously tapping his BlackBerry against his knee as a police officer stands guard in the doorway.

In another screen, Allison MacKenna is putting some things into an overnight bag as a female officer waits in the doorway.

According to the conversation that just wrapped up between Allison and those cops, she’s going to be driven back over to the Weber home. She asked if she could pack some spare clothing, which makes it obvious to Jamie, at least, that she’s not planning on returning home again any time in the near future.

But the big question of the day is, where will her husband be sleeping from now on?

My money’s on anyplace other than with his wife.

Jamie’s smile gives way to a giggle at the thought—especially when she remembers the hint of misgiving in Allison’s tone as she answered the detectives’ questions about her dear husband.

She wanted so badly to defend him, but she couldn’t.

She wanted so badly to find a reason to trust him, to give him the benefit of the doubt—and perhaps she did.

For now.

But that won’t last for long.

She’s soon going to find out that she married a monster capable of pure evil; a monster capable of robbing her of the very thing that matters most to her in this world. And when that happens, there will be no going back. She’ll be shattered.

On screen, Allison surreptitiously wipes her eyes on the rolled-up sleeve of the men’s shirt she’s wearing and sneaks a peek at the policewoman to see if her tears are noticed.

“Are you almost finished?” the woman asks without the slightest bit of sympathy for poor little Allison, wife of the most notorious criminal this safe small town has ever known.

If you think that’s bad, lady—that he killed a couple of so-called innocent women—just you wait.

Allison nods and takes something else from her drawer—not the one where she keeps her lingerie. Such a pity Jamie has no reason now to rummage through another drawer filled with deliciously silky undergarments.

Everything is in place for the final phase of the plan, though Jamie did hit a slight speed bump when the MacKennas moved out of their house after the Lewis murder.

The Weber home, with its sophisticated security system, provided a whole new set of complications.

But then, Jamie always did welcome the opportunity to rise above the greatest challenge, and this was no exception.

The plan hinged on finding Mack’s BMW in the commuter parking lot, and there it was on Thursday afternoon, parked as always in the secluded far reaches, almost obscured by a clump of shrubbery.

It was so easy for Jamie to crouch beside it and affix a tiny camera just beneath the mirror on the driver’s side of the door. The camera was trained not on the car itself, but angled to focus on a spot directly opposite the door, about three feet above the ground.

The exact height and location of the keypad beside the Webers’ security gate. All Jamie has to do is watch carefully the next time Mack punches in the “secret” code.

Ha—there are no secret codes where you’re concerned, Jamie silently tells Mack, who was so pleased with himself after having that new burglar alarm installed at home.

You probably should have waited to share the password with Allison in person—or at least, have whispered it into the phone when you made that call.

But I must say, I’m so glad you didn’t.

Now there’s just one more step to take before James MacKenna is sent off to prison for the rest of his life, and his wife is left utterly alone for the rest of hers.

But what needs to happen next won’t be nearly as satisfying as what came before. There will be no wriggling, scantily-clad female begging for mercy—not a grown one, anyway, and somehow that takes the fun right out of it.

What will I do when I’ve won this final battle?

What reason will I even have to go on living after it’s over?

Maybe I won’t.

Maybe I’ll do what Jerry did, and leave this miserable world behind.

On the screen, Allison picks up a framed photograph from her dresser top. Jamie can’t see it clearly from here, but remembers which picture it is: the one of Allison with her baby on her lap and her daughters at her side, one cozily tucked under each arm.

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