See Me(142)

She turned toward the window as they navigated the largely empty roads. “I still can’t believe that Lester shot him.”

“If you were there, you’d believe it. He was out of control. Like he snapped.”

“Do you think they’ll get any answers from him?”

Colin considered it. “Yes. Once he’s lucid again. I have no idea how long that will take, though.”

“I know he can’t get to me, but…”

Maria stopped short of saying Atkinson’s name, but then again, she didn’t have to. Colin wasn’t taking any chances. He took a circuitous route back to Maria’s condo, alert to any suspicious cars. Maria knew what he was doing and made no objection.

It was just after midnight when they pulled into a space reserved for visitors at her condo complex. Colin stayed alert to any movement, but all was quiet as they climbed the steps to her door.

There, however, Colin and Maria froze.

They both saw in the same instant that the doorknob had been broken off, and that the door stood partly ajar.





Her place had been trashed.

As Colin watched Maria wander around in a daze, crying nonstop and surveying the damage, his own outrage continued to grow.

Couches, chairs, and pillows slashed open. The dining room table overturned. Dining room chairs tilted on broken legs. Lamps shattered. Photographs torn. The contents of the refrigerator splattered and smeared throughout the kitchen. Her things. Her home. Violated. Shredded. Ruined.

In the bedroom, her mattress had been torn open, the bureau knocked over and drawers broken, another lamp shattered. Empty cans of red spray paint littered the floor and virtually every piece of clothing in her closet had been marked by the paint.

This, Colin thought, was what rage looked like. Whoever did this was as out of control as Lester, maybe more so, and the fury Colin felt was getting difficult to control. He wanted to hurt the guy, kill the guy…

Beside him, Maria gasped, her sobs becoming even more hysterical, and Colin put his arms around her when he spotted the words that had been painted on the bedroom wall.

You will know how it feels.





Colin called 911, then Detective Wright. He hadn’t expected an answer, but Wright answered on the second ring. After Colin told him what had happened, Wright said he’d head right over, that he wanted to see the damage for himself.

At Maria’s request, Colin also called her parents, and while they insisted they would come over, Maria kept shaking her head. Colin understood. Here and now, Maria couldn’t deal with their fears and worries, not on top of all this. She was barely holding it together as it was. He told her parents that she needed to talk to the police, and let them know that he’d keep her safe.

Two officers arrived within a few minutes and took Maria’s statement, which wasn’t much. There was more luck, though, with one of the neighbors who’d come out to see what was going on. Colin listened as the guy who lived next door said that he’d returned to his place only a couple of hours earlier, and was certain that the door hadn’t been ajar. He would have seen the lights. No, he said, he hadn’t heard anything, other than music, which he noted had been turned up loud. He’d considered coming over to ask that it be turned down, but it had stopped soon after that.

After Maria had regained a semblance of composure, Wright reviewed her and the neighbor’s statements with the officers; he then spoke with Maria and Colin. Maria had trouble keeping her thoughts straight. Colin rehashed most of what he’d told Wright earlier in Shallotte, all the while fighting the urge to hit something.

Colin wanted to find Atkinson, even more than he’d wanted to find Lester.

And he wanted to kill him.





It was almost two a.m. when Wright said they could go, and he walked with them to Colin’s car. Maria, Colin knew, wasn’t in any shape to drive, and she didn’t argue. When they reached the car, Wright held up his hand. He stared at Colin in much the same way Margolis did.

“Hold on,” he said. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize it earlier, but I finally figured out who you are,” he said.

“Who am I?”

“You’re the guy Pete thinks should be in prison. The guy who gets in all those fights. Beats the crap out of people.”

“Not anymore.”

“Lester Manning might have a different opinion about that. Not that I give a crap what Lester Manning thinks.”

“Do you know when the police will be done in there?” Maria asked. “And when I can get back in?”

“Aside from vandalism, it’s not otherwise a crime scene,” Wright answered. “But the forensics guys take their time. I’d guess that you won’t be able to get back in until midmorning tomorrow at the earliest. I’ll let you know for sure when you can, okay?”

Maria nodded. Colin wished there were something more he could do for her, but still…

“Do you know if they impounded the car that was at the bungalow?” he asked. “The one where Margolis was shot?”

Wright frowned. “I have no idea. Why?”

Colin told him.

Wright shrugged. “Seems likely that they would impound it. I’ll see what I can find out, though.” He turned toward Maria, then back to Colin. “I know you’re both exhausted and I know you want to get out of here, but do you happen to know the name of the detective in Charlotte that Pete was working with?”