“If you’re sure you’ll be okay,” Kyle said.
“I’ll be fine.” Sarah paused with the car door open. “You’ve never told me how you know Tom Oliver,” she said.
Kyle shrugged. “I did some legal work for him a couple of years back. I hope he’s doing a good job for you.”
“I think so,” Sarah said. “What kind of work did you do? I mean, mostly you do criminal law. Has Tom been in trouble with the law? Should I be worried about letting him into my home?”
“The work I did for him didn’t involve Tom, so I think you’re fine,” Kyle said. “Look, this involves client privilege. Why don’t you ask him? If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”
“Well, thank you again for taking me to church and for lunch,” Sarah said.
“Happy to do it.” He paused, apparently trying to find the right words. “Look, I know a little of what you’re going through. Remember, I’ve lost a loved one, too. Don’t hesitate to call on me for help.”
As Kyle pulled away, Sarah thought about the loss he’d suffered. She recalled the terrible incident when Kyle’s fiancée, Nicole, went with a small group of church volunteers on a mission trip to Guatemala. They were constructing a church building when one of the heavy wooden crossbeams they were installing broke loose and fell, snapping her neck. She’d died instantly.
There was a time after the accident when Kyle’s faith seemed to waver, but apparently he never lost it—at least, not that Sarah and Harry could tell. He mourned Nicole, but he didn’t seem to blame God for the mishap. She guessed it said something about the strength of Kyle’s faith, but it wasn’t what happened with her. She couldn’t bring herself to forgive God for the tragic accident that drastically changed her life. Maybe she should talk with Kyle about that sometime.
Tom Oliver climbed out of his pickup truck. “How you doing, doctor?”
“Doing okay, I guess,” she said. “Tom, feel free to tell me if it’s none of my business. Kyle mentioned in passing that he had done some legal work for you, but he wouldn’t give me the specifics. He said those would have to come from you. Would you mind telling me what that’s about?”
Oliver looked at his work boots, and for a minute Sarah thought he wasn’t going to respond. Still looking down, he said, “It’s sort of personal, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this in confidence.”
“Of course.”
“I have one son, Tommy. A couple of years ago he and another teenage friend were celebrating having just turned eighteen. They were in a car with Tommy’s friend driving when it crashed into a vehicle driven by an elderly man. That man died. The boy driving the car Tommy was in had a blood alcohol over the legal limit. My son’s BAC showed he’d had only one drink. Kyle defended my son and managed to get him off. The other boy went to jail for intoxication manslaughter.”
“Oh,” Sarah said. “That must have been a tough time for you.”
“That’s when I first met you,” Oliver said. “You probably don’t remember, but all three victims were brought to the emergency room where you’re on staff. One of your colleagues worked on the old man but couldn’t save him. You treated Tommy and the driver of his car. I think you were the one who drew blood alcohol tests on both boys.”
“I see so many patients in the ER—”
“I’m sure you don’t remember. That’s okay.”
After Sarah unlocked the front door, Oliver led his crew into the house, while she stood on the front porch trying to recall the incident. She had a vague recollection of examining the two teenagers. There had been some kind of argument at the trial that the blood samples had been switched. But, as she’d told Oliver, she saw so many patients . . .
She shook her head and walked slowly into her house. If only the boy hadn’t been drinking. For that matter, if only the person who’d crashed into Harry and killed both him and their daughter had been more careful. Couldn’t God have intervened? Why did good people have to die? Why had she been robbed of the joys of being a wife and mother? Why?
The more she thought about it, the more Sarah decided she’d seen too many tragedies at this point in her life. And not all of them had been in the emergency room.
* * *
Night was falling when Tom Oliver found Sarah and said, “That’s it.” He indicated the home with a sweeping gesture. “I think the painting’s done. When it comes in, we’ll be back to install carpet in a couple of areas, but other than that, we’re through. If you see anything we need to correct or touch up, maybe some paint that needs another coat, just give me a call.” He handed her a card. “Tomorrow’s Monday. I’ll talk with your insurance agent then about payment.”
Sarah took the card and shoved it into the pocket of the jeans into which she’d changed right after church. “Thanks. And whatever’s left after insurance pays, I’ll give you a check.”
She stood at the door with Oliver and watched his crew load the last of the ladders and drop cloths into their panel van. “None of my business,” he said, “But have you considered a security system? You’re here alone, which would probably be enough to make most women get one. Now I understand someone set this fire.” He hesitated. “You know, my company doesn’t just do restoration after fires. A lot of what we do is construction and repairs, but we also install home security systems.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’ve thought about it, but I’m not ready to install one. I’ve heard too much from people who hate theirs—false alarms, maintenance, all sorts of problems.”
“Suit yourself,” Oliver said. “Some of my customers are happy to put in a system so they can get rid of the pistols they have for self-defense.”
“I don’t have one of those, either,” Sarah said. “I know it’s foolish, and maybe I’ll change my mind on both counts, but for now, I guess I’ll depend on locks and lights.”
Oliver took a minute to think about this. Then he shrugged. “Call me if you change your mind.” With that, he headed for his pickup.
After he was gone, Sarah went through the house in what she was sure would become a nightly ritual. She closed the blinds. She made certain all her doors and windows were locked. She double-checked that the garage door was locked as well, the bars firmly into the slots in the track.
Then she slumped into a chair in the living room, put her head in her hands, and wondered why she was fighting back the tears she felt damming up behind her eyes. There was no one to see them. But somehow she felt that Harry was watching—and she wanted to be brave for him.
* * *
Almost midnight, but the lights were still on throughout the house. He wondered if the doctor thought the illumination would scare him away. Was she in the house at this moment, cowering behind locked doors? Had she gone to bed, hiding under the covers like a frightened child?
He felt the comforting weight of the pistol in his pocket. His hand traced the outline of the 9mm Beretta semiautomatic. It had cost him over four hundred dollars, but it was worth it—lightweight, compact, deadly— the ideal gun for his purposes.
But he wouldn’t be using it tonight. No, it was too soon. The doctor had to sweat, to go without sleep, to feel her heart beating in her chest like a trip hammer until she was certain it was about to explode.
She’d live every day not knowing when he’d strike next or what he’d do. And finally, when he thought he’d made her suffer as much as he could, he’d kill her.
Chapter 5
5
Monday morning dawned