What Have You Done(77)

The five steps that led to the porch gave without creaking as he climbed toward the entrance. He scanned the area for a final time, then walked to the edge of the porch and took the spare key from under a large potted plant. He opened the front door and slipped inside.

The house seemed much more spacious on the inside when it was dark and empty. Liam stood in the hallway and, with the help of his flashlight, surveyed the living and dining rooms to his left. He rushed toward the kitchen at the end of the hall and turned toward the basement.

Sean kept his gun-cleaning kit in an old file cabinet next to his workbench, adjacent to his tools and extra scraps of wood from past projects. The musty aroma of damp dirt and mold consumed Liam as he made his descent.

The workbench and cabinet sat on the opposite side of the room. Liam walked over and pulled the plastic case that sat atop a pile of junk in the file cabinet’s second drawer. As he took it out, he recalled all the times he’d cleaned his own pistol with his brother at the very bench he now used to lay the case upon. He turned on a light that hung directly overhead and, with his heart racing, popped the two metal locks.

The smell of gun oil hit him immediately as he leaned in closer to see what he’d been searching for. The evidence was there in all of its horrific glory.

A used can of Olin oil sat capped but overflowing. The rod, brush, and cleaning pads were stained and hardened with dried residue. The interior of the case was slippery, the foam padding crushed and torn. In the midst of spilled oil and soiled instruments were several bags full of hair. Black, blonde, brown. Hair from all the victims. Kerri’s had to have been in there too.

Liam closed the case and backed away from the workbench. He now knew the absolute truth. Sean had killed Kerri and the other women they’d found. There was no more doubt. His breath came in shallow waves, and he suddenly felt as if he’d run a marathon. He couldn’t steady himself, the room swaying from side to side, the floor buckling underneath his feet. He closed his eyes and leaned on the workbench, waiting for his dizziness to pass and his breathing to return to normal. He had known what he would find down there, yet seeing it, seeing the absolute truth, was too much for him. His older brother, the man who had been like a father to him, the man who had looked out for his well-being through all aspects of his life, the man who had literally saved his life, was a murderer and was framing him for the killings. Why?

Lights filtered through the windows on the other end of the basement. Headlights from a car. Someone had pulled into Sean’s driveway.

Liam put the case back in the cabinet and pulled the chain on the bulb above. He tried to see who had come, but the windows were at ground level, and he couldn’t get the right angle.

Footsteps thumped above on the first floor.

He froze in place, shut off his flashlight, and stood completely still. The footsteps were slow, deliberate. The floor above creaked as each step was taken. Whoever was in the house was in the hallway. Liam scurried toward the back of the basement and fell against the wall, waiting. The footsteps carried themselves into the kitchen and stopped. He held his breath, his eyes searching for another way out. Something was shuffling above him. He looked in the darkness for a place to hide or escape. There was a brief moment of silence above.

Then the footsteps began to come down the stairs, into the basement.

Liam moved quickly, feeling his way deeper into the blackness that had swallowed him. He couldn’t see where he was going. The footsteps were halfway down.

He came upon a set of stairs that led up to hurricane doors and out into the yard. He climbed up, unlatched the lock as quietly as he could, and pushed the doors open.

The fresh air hit his face and felt colder than before. With his peripheral vision, he could see a red flashing light. As soon as he hopped from the basement, he heard the footsteps running across the basement, up the stairs, and through the hurricane doors he’d just emerged from. He was tackled from behind and slammed violently to the ground, his face pushed into the grass, almost smothering him. He tried to fight back, but whoever was on top of him had more leverage. A strong hand kept his head from poking up from the ground. For a brief moment, he was six years old in his bathroom, his mother on top of him, pinning him down.

We’re going to visit your father.

“Stay still, you son of a bitch,” Lieutenant Phillips commanded. “You’re under arrest.”

Liam quickly pulled his arms underneath him and spun around, knocking Phillips off of him so he could climb to his feet. As soon as he was up, Phillips was on him, tackling him at the waist and thrusting him back to the ground. Liam hit with a thud that knocked the wind out of him, and he ducked away from a flying right hand. He countered with a jab as hard as he could to the lieutenant’s stomach, knocking him backward. Liam leapt on top of Phillips and pinned his arms down with his knees, panting and wheezing, his hands working frantically until he found what he was looking for and came away with the lieutenant’s gun. He got back to his feet and stood over him.

“Take out your cuffs,” he commanded.

Phillips remained on the ground. “Liam, it’s over. No matter what you do to me, they’re going to catch you. You’re making things so much worse for yourself. Let me take you in. I’ll do it the right way. I’ll take care of you.”

“Take out your cuffs!”

Phillips reached behind him and came away with his pair of handcuffs. The chrome glistened in the moonlight.