Fifty-Nine

FIFTY-NINE

NO POLICE CARS OUT front when I get there. Plenty of lights on in the house. Blue Bentley in the driveway. My Glock in my hand as I get out of my car.

The front door is unlocked.

Maybe she called the police. Maybe it was a false alarm, though it was clear to me before the call ended that she was speaking to someone she knew.

What are you doing here?

Only one way to find out.

I step inside.

"Claire! It's Jane."

Nothing.

"Claire!"

Louder this time.

Still nothing from the big, quiet house.

Upstairs or downstairs?

I stay down here, walking slowly into the showroom they call a living room. I've been here plenty of times before. Rarely under pleasant circumstances, no matter which Jacobson I was with. But then last time I sat with her in this room, I almost liked her. She almost acted like a human being, a wounded one, for the first time, at least in my presence.

Before I left that day, I told her to call if she ever needed help.

Now she has.

But what kind of trouble?

And where is she?

"Claire! Talk to me."

I step out onto the patio and under the floodlights flashing onto the back lawn. I once saw a young woman running away from Rob Jacobson out here.

Now, at the very edge of the property, I see a man running away, the light briefly hitting one side of his face before he lowers his head as if he's the one being chased.

For a moment, I think it might be Claire Jacobson's son, Eric.

But then he's gone, in the direction of the beach. There's no one else in sight.

Too late to stop him by firing a warning shot, I stop.

In the middle of the swimming pool is a body, slowly sinking.

Clearly a woman.