right away,” Jack told his client, “but I have no idea when the legislature will act on it. It could take months or even years.”
“I hope I can wait,” Felton said.
Jack had no idea what he meant by that remark.
Jack was driving back from Bass Creek in a rainstorm when he heard the news of Felton’s release. The warden called him to tell him it was imminent.
“I’d like to be there,” Jack said.
“The paperwork is almost done. It will probably take no more than an hour to complete. After that I have no authority to hold him,” the warden said. Since Jack was at least four hours away, there was nothing he could do.
Even though the only ostensible reason for Jack to leave his home in Bass Creek was to be in close proximity to the case, which had just ended abruptly, and his client, who would very shortly no longer be in prison, Jack continued driving to Oakville.
“I just felt I needed to be there,” he told Henry later. “And I didn’t know what for.”
He would find out soon enough.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The rain was coming down in sheets as Kathy made her way home late Wednesday night. She could barely see the red brake lights of the cars ahead of her as she drove north on I-95. Her windshield wipers were on the fastest speed but the rain was coming down so fast that it was as if they weren’t moving. Cars were pulling off on the shoulder to wait it out but not Kathy. She wasn’t wired that way. She’d worked overtime, she was tired, and she wasn’t going to stop until she was home.
She’d read somewhere that it was rain like this that spawned the phrase, “It’s raining cats and dogs.” The way she’d heard it, a hard rain in London around the turn of the century would cause cats and dogs to be swept into the sewers—thus the phrase. She didn’t know if it was true or not but if it was, this was certainly a cats-and-dogs downpour. Kathy had never seen rain this hard anywhere but in Florida.
She’d almost missed her exit in North Miami, catching a glimpse of it through the sheets of rain at the last minute. Once off the highway, she could negotiate the side streets almost from memory. Still, she was careful.
“Shit!” she yelled out loud. She was on her street now and almost at her driveway when she remembered that she couldn’t pull into the garage. Her ex-husband, Steve, had stored some of his stuff in there and had not yet picked it up although Kathy had been on him to do so. The divorce had been six months ago and his shit was still there. “If he doesn’t pick it up this week, it’s all going in the garbage!” she told the air as she reached into the backseat with her right arm and rummaged for her umbrella, which was on the floor back there somewhere.
She pulled into the driveway. The rain was coming down harder now, harder than she had ever seen it. She put the car in park, turned it off and half opened the umbrella. There was a trick to this. If she opened the door, stuck the half-opened umbrella out first and opened it fully, she might not get as wet as she sprinted from the car to the front door. The shoes were new. She wanted to save them if she could.
She opened the door, but the rain was coming down too hard, and she had not anticipated the wind, which suddenly shifted toward her. The umbrella was up quick enough but she was still soaked by the time she stood upright. Nothing to do now but make the mad dash. Between the rain, the darkness, and the wind, she had trouble finding her own front door. With the umbrella positioned in front of her, she never saw the dark figure to her left. If she had, she might have thought it was a tree anyway. There was a tree over there somewhere.
Finally she was at the front door, key in hand. She opened it as quickly as she could, but as she pushed the door in, she felt a force from behind her propel her across the threshold. She knew it wasn’t the wind; she could feel an actual contact with something. Then she was on the floor and heard the door slam shut. Someone, something was on top of her. She turned her