knife’s tip into the floor next to Henry’s cheek. Henry’s eyes were wide with adrenaline and what Corbin hoped was fear. Corbin began to pull the knife out of the hardwood plank, but his hand, slippery with sweat, slid off the handle. The motion caused him to rock backward a little, landing off-balance on the palm of his left hand. The knife vibrated like a tuning fork. Corbin watched as Henry quickly got to his feet, grabbed the handle of the knife, twisted it out of the floor, and lunged. All Corbin could do was put up his right forearm for protection and kick out with his legs. It wasn’t enough. The knife found his throat.
Corbin rolled onto his back, both of his hands instinctively grabbing at the wound, warm blood oozing out between his fingers. He heard scrabbling along the floor, but couldn’t raise his head to look for Henry. Instead, he stared up at the coffered ceiling, all feeling from his body beginning to dissolve. He was ready to close his eyes when he saw Kate crouched above him. You look a little like my father, Corbin said, but all that came out was the sound of his own blood gurgling in his throat. You have his eyes.
Chapter 29
Alan woke, the alarm clock rattling in his ear. He gingerly turned his head toward the digital numbers. They were telling him it was ten thirty. For a moment he didn’t know if it was day or night, then he realized it was dark outside. He thumped at the clock and closed his eyes again. His temples throbbed as though his skull were pinched in a vise.
The alarm went off again. He sat up this time and looked around. It wasn’t his clock. It was the door buzzer. He jumped off the bed, surprised that he was still dressed, and walked sloppily across the living room to the intercom. Kate, he thought. Fragments of the evening came flooding back to him. There was Jack, and the long, rambling monologue about Corbin having killed before. There was the walk back across Boston, and the Irish pub, and then it started to get hazy. Still, he remembered seeing Kate. They were arguing and she looked scared. It was in a kitchen, he thought, but he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there, or how he’d gotten back to his own apartment.
He pressed the button that answered the intercom.
“They’re on their way up,” the doorman said.
“Who?”
“The police. They showed me a warrant.”
There was a loud rap on the door. Alan felt a wave of nausea but went and opened the door.
“Alan Cherney?” It was the woman cop he’d seen before. Behind her were two uniformed officers, both male, both shorter than she was, plus another woman in plain clothes, who looked like an intern along for the ride.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Roberta James, and this is Agent Abigail Tan from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and we have a warrant to search your premises.” She handed Alan a piece of paper that looked as though it had been folded and unfolded many times.
“Okay,” Alan said, and took a step backward to allow all four into his apartment. “Does this have something to do with Audrey Marshall?”
“It does, actually,” the agent said, her voice sounding as young as she looked. She removed two pairs of latex gloves from her jacket pocket and handed them to the uniformed officers. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about your relationship with the deceased?”
Alan rapidly shook his head, aware that he was having trouble meeting her stare. He felt another sharp wave of nausea. “Excuse me,” he said, and bolted for the bathroom.
He managed to get the door shut behind him before kneeling on the hard tile, vomiting until there was nothing left but bile. Then he splashed cold water on his face and brushed his teeth. He studied himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, the lower lids wet with tears from throwing up. His skin was the color of chalk. Wiping away the tears, he felt a terrible sense of dread, not just because the police were searching his apartment, but because he knew something was very wrong.
He heard a police radio out in his living room. What were they looking for? Before heading back out, he opened his medicine cabinet to look for ibuprofen, grabbed his allergy medicine by accident, and putting it back on his shelf, got a sudden, jarring flash of Jack scratching