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  “Yes, I do.” Mike reddened to think that the statute was the exact opposite of his Hippocratic oath.

  “How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty,” Mike answered, because he had caused Bob enough trouble.

  “You are charged with one count of making terroristic threats in violation of Title 18 of the Pennsylvania Crimes Code, Chapter 27, section 2706(a), which provides that a person commits the crime of terroristic threats if the person communicates, either directly or indirectly, a threat to: (1) commit any crime of violence with intent to terrorize another. Do you understand the charge against you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty.”

  “Defendant Scanlon, this concludes your arraignment. Your preliminary hearing will be held within ten days, at which time the Commonwealth will present its evidence against you. You are released on bail and you will be free as soon as your bill is paid. You must come back and appear at your preliminary hearing. Please sign the subpoena regarding your next court appearance, which will be provided you by the Assistant District Attorney. Thank you.”

  Later, Mike found himself in the heated passenger seat of Bob’s Mercedes, being driven back to Foster Road to pick up his car. He was lost in his own thoughts while Bob took a business phone call, broadcasting the conversation through the car’s sound system.

  Bob was saying, “They’ll go higher, I know it. He has authority for fifty under the insurance, so we should get at least that much…”

  Mike turned his face to the window. Sara occupied his thoughts, and he had so many memories of her with Chloe that it was almost impossible to conjure one woman without the other. They turned onto Foster Street, which was still, dark, and quiet.

  Bob was saying, “Why the hell are you even calling me with this, at this hour? You’re not gonna make partner if you can’t…”

  Mike glanced ahead to his old house, which still had its Christmas lights up, probably using the eyehooks he had screwed inside the porch fascia, which had made Chloe and Sara laugh when they’d come home from the mall, with their Ironic Holiday Sweaters.

  Chloe had said, Babe, cupholders, really? It doesn’t have to be perfect.

  Sara had said, Leave him alone. They’re surgically correct Christmas lights.

  Mike blinked away the memory. It had been the first year of the Ironic Holiday Sweater, and this past one would be the last. Pain lanced through his stump, and he couldn’t wait to get to his car so he could take a pill.

  Bob pulled over behind it, still on the phone. “Okay, fine, gotta go,” he said, hanging up.

  “Thanks for the ride and the help.” Mike opened the car door. “I want to get over to Don’s. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Tell Danielle not to worry.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have to.” Mike was jonesing for the Oxy. “Go home to Danielle and the baby.”

  “They’re fine. I’ll call her and follow you to Don’s.”

  “Okay, good.” Mike closed the door, hustled to his car, and shook a pill out onto his lap.

  He swallowed it dry, but it went down easy.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Mike sat in a kitchen chair at Don and Sara’s, surrounded by a homey clutter. Bookbags lay on the floor like suburban tripping hazards, and the table was piled with skinny Wimpy Kid paperbacks, permission slips that somebody had to bring back to school, and reusable nylon lunch bags. Flat Stanley pictures and aging report cards blanketed the refrigerator, and multicolored magnetic letters on the freezer spelled, FOOD HAS CALORIES, DUMMY.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mike said again, as Don slumped opposite him. He had round brown eyes that were puffy tonight, a largish nose, and lips on the heavy side, which fit with his overall build, a teddy bear of a guy.

  “I know you know how I feel, brother.” Don’s wet eye met his, a grim connection. “You’re the only one who really knows. This isn’t supposed to happen, is it?”

  “No, not at all.” Mike felt a wave of deep grief. “A buddy of mine in the Army would say this is unacceptable.”

  “It sure is.” Don nodded, with a final sniffle. Light from the overhead fixture shone on his dark wavy hair, illuminating a nascent bald spot. He sat hunched over his beer in a forest green fleece from his company, Hambera Construction.

  “How are the kids doing?”

  “They cried, you can imagine.” Don rubbed his beefy face. “They’re finally asleep, and my parents are upstairs. Thank God for grandparents, huh?”

  “Totally,” Mike said, though Emily had none, which was one of the reasons he felt so lucky in Bob and Danielle. Bob was to his right, leaning against the counter with a beer. “You’re gonna get through this.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. For the kids.”

  “Did you, for Emily?”

  “Not yet.” Mike didn’t want to talk about himself. He hadn’t told Don about his arrest when he saw how upset he was, at the front door. “Do they have any suspects? They must have. The Acme, after work, couldn’t be busier.”

  “That’s why I’m staying optimistic, and it’s early.” Don shook his head. “No weapon turned up yet. They’re looking for witnesses, but nobody saw anything.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “They didn’t find her right away. The coroner hasn’t come back with the time of death yet, but they told me how they think it went down.”

  Bob stepped to the table. “You don’t have to talk about this, Don. We’re friends, here to see if we can help.”

  “No, it’s okay. I need a sounding board.” Don waved him off. “Think about the timing. Sara called me about three thirty, when she was leaving school. She told me she had to run some errands, then she had to stop by the Acme.”

  “Did they find food shopping bags in the car? Had she gone shopping already?”

  “No, she was attacked as she left the car to go into the store.” Don winced. “Her purse was taken, but no jewelry. She still had her watch and earrings, which weren’t expensive. But her wedding and engagement rings were, and she still had those.”

  “I’m trying to understand the motive. A purse? It doesn’t figure.”

  “I know. We’re not the richest people in this neighborhood and we don’t look like we are, either. You know how many BMWs are in that lot, at any given time?”

  “So assume it was random, a purse snatching. Do you think she would have fought him over it?”

  “No way. She was smarter than that and she never had much cash on her, unless she was going by Staples for school supplies, on our dime.”

  Mike knew how that went. Chloe used to spend their money on classroom supplies all the time, like most teachers.

  “Anyway, the police found one single knife wound, to the heart.” Don took a slug of bottled beer. “It would have … done it, right?”

  “Yes.” Mike felt awful at the agony on Dan’s expression, his forehead collapsed into lines. “She wouldn’t have felt any pain, if that comforts you.”

  “It does.” Don’s heavy lower lip trembled. “The cops say he took her purse, sat her back in the driver’s seat, shut the door behind her, then took off.”

  Mike tried to visualize it. “She would look like she was sitting in a car, maybe taking a nap.”

  “Right. An old man noticed that she was in the same position during all of his errands and he called the cops.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About six thirty.”

  “Don’t they have any surveillance tape? They must have cameras in that lot.”

  “They do, but snow covered them.”

  “Oh no.” Mike let it sink in. “I wonder if it was someone she knew. She let them approach.”

  “Yeah, but she’d let anybody approach. She was so friendly.” Don’s eyes filmed, but he blinked tears away. “If somebody asked her what time it was, she would have told them, and it would have been too late.”

  “You’r
e right.” Mike could envision someone getting Sara’s attention, then surprising her. He thought about what Linda had said, after DeMaria and Oldstein were killed. Good people can’t imagine evil. It catches us by surprise, and it always will.

  “It doesn’t make sense to me, any of it.” Don shook his head in bewilderment. “Why her? The cops asked me if she had any enemies, and I almost laughed. It couldn’t be that it was targeted at her, could it?”

  Suddenly Mike had an answer to the question. Now that Sara was dead, he wouldn’t have any way of finding out the identity of Chloe’s lover, so, if he reasoned backwards, maybe it was possible that Sara had been killed to prevent her from telling him. It sickened him to think he might have played a part in Sara’s being murdered, but he had to own it, and he looked Don in the eye. “Don, this might be crazy. But I might know a reason that Sara was killed.”

  “What?”

  “Chloe had an affair, when I was away. It lasted a month, then she shut it down. She was actually pregnant when she died.”

  Don’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding?”

  Suddenly Bob started coughing, his hand going to his chest. The veins in his neck bulged over the starchiness of his cutaway collar.

  Mike looked over. “You okay?”

  Don began to rise. “Need water?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Bob choked out, waving them off. He straightened up and crossed to the paper-towel dispenser. “It just went down the wrong way. Excuse me.”

  Mike figured that the news of Chloe’s pregnancy shocked him. “Sorry, Bob, I should have told you, but we didn’t get a chance. I told Danielle today, too.”

  “Was she upset?” Bob wiped his eyes over the sink, then turned on the water and leaned over to slurp some.

  “Yes, but not as upset as I am.” Mike turned back to Don. “To make a long story short, I went into Chloe’s email and found the email address of her lover, which is Mac702@wahoo.com. I got into a fight today with a young guy who lives on my street, Pat MacFarland, because I thought it was him.”

  “A fight?” Don leaned forward, urgent. “You fought this Pat MacFarland?”

  “Yes, I had sent Mac702 an email that said, I’m coming after you. So that means that Chloe’s lover could have been on the lookout for me today, whether he’s Pat MacFarland or not. Whoever he is, he could have been worried he was going to be exposed and he went after Sara.”

  “I’m not following you. Why would he go after Sara?”

  “To keep her from telling me who Chloe had an affair with. He would have known that Sara was Chloe’s best friend, and most men would figure that a woman would tell her best friend if she was having an affair.”

  “Of course.” Don blinked. “They told each other everything. I heard about it when you and Chloe had a fight. I know what you fought about. You work too hard, and it drives her crazy.”

  “Right, I heard you don’t stand up enough for yourself with your employees.” Mike had never spoken so openly to Don before, and it struck him as sad that it had come too late. “You’re too nice a boss. They take advantage of you.”

  “Exactly.” Don paused. “But I didn’t know Chloe was having an affair. Sara never told me that, and I’m not really surprised. I’m sure they had things they kept between them, and I get that.”

  “Me, too. It would make you think badly of Chloe, and Sara wouldn’t want that.” Mike nodded. “All right, so we know that Sara didn’t tell you, but I think she knew. That’s why I wanted to talk to her today.”

  “You were going to talk to her today?”

  “Yes, I texted her. I was supposed to meet her today.”

  “She didn’t mention that. Maybe she guessed you were going to talk to her about the affair. So she didn’t tell me about the text because she hadn’t told me about the affair. That means that Sara’s killer could have been Chloe’s boyfriend.” Don’s eyes widened. “You think Pat MacFarland killed Sara?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Who is he, where does he live?” Don jumped to his work boots. “I’ll go there, right now.”

  Bob stepped over, waving a hand. “Slow down. We don’t have all the facts yet, and it’s for the police to follow up.”

  Mike had to agree. “Right, let me explain. We’re not sure it’s him, all we know is the killer could be Mac702 and we don’t know if Pat is Mac702. But we know that Mac702@wahoo.com is the email address of Chloe’s lover, which gives us two new leads. The host site has to have the identity of whoever has registered that email address, and every computer has its own ISP address. We should tell the police and they can follow up.”

  “Wait, first, I could go check Sara’s email to see if they talked about Pat MacFarland, or the affair, on her email. They probably did. You know how they were, texting and emailing all the time. The computer’s upstairs.” Don hurried to the threshold. “I could have the name of my wife’s killer in her email.”

  Mike rose, too, his heartbeat quickening. “I should’ve searched Chloe’s other email, but I went half-cocked this morning.”

  “When did you say they had the affair? I’ll search by date.”

  “Last year, from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Want me to come with you?”

  “No, stay here. I don’t want to upset the kids.”

  Bob stopped Don with a hand motion. “Don, if this is too much to do tonight—”

  “No, it’s fine. Wait here.” Don left the kitchen, and Bob crossed back to Mike.

  “Listen, Mike, I want to find out who killed Sara as much as anybody, but I think you’re speculating wildly. And no, I don’t think running to the police like chickens with your heads cut off is prudent.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re all over the map. This afternoon you went to MacFarland’s house and punched him in the face. You were convinced he was Chloe’s lover, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You still think that?” Bob lifted an eyebrow, skeptical. “Why would he kill somebody to keep it a secret he was having an affair? Or even that he got someone pregnant?”

  “It’s possible, I don’t know.” Mike felt himself waver, and his mind flipped through the possibilities. “Still I’d like to know where Pat was at the time Sara was killed, wouldn’t you?”

  “Be realistic. He was probably at a dentist’s office or a lawyer’s. I fully expect him to sue you for damages, on top of the criminal case.”

  Mike wasn’t worried about himself, right now. “But what we’re saying about Sara’s murder is at least possible, isn’t it? We should go to the police with it and let them figure it out. There’s no downside, and it might lead to Sara’s killer.”

  “There’s a downside for you, after what you did today.” Bob’s frown deepened. “Are you going in there to accuse Pat of killing Sara? You could be adding a harassment charge to any litigation against you, and your credibility is at an all-time low tonight.”

  “Then I won’t accuse him outright because I don’t know for sure anyway, and I won’t mention the assault charge unless they ask me.”

  “Still.” Bob shook his head. “I don’t think the police are in the habit of taking statements from people who were charged with assault the very same day. Why don’t you sleep on it and see how you feel tomorrow?”

  “I don’t agree.” Mike felt as if he was right, even after a day when his every instinct was proving wrong. “You don’t defeat the enemy by sitting around, thinking about things. You act.”

  “Mike, there is no enemy.” Bob stiffened. “You’re not at war. You’re home. You need to realize that, and with due respect, it’s not your call. Sara is Don’s wife, and it’s his call.”

  “Then I’ll ask him.”

  “What’s the rush? He’s been through the mill today, and now you got him riled up, thinking he’s on the trail of his wife’s killer.” They both turned to the sound of heavy footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and Don entered the kitchen with a paper, his lips pursed in disappointment.

  “Turns out S
ara did know about the affair, and they talked about it in email, but they didn’t say his name and it was only one time. You can see why.” Don held out a printed copy of an email from Sara to Chloe.

  “Thanks.” Mike read, with Bob beside him:

  C, You dropped a bomb on me last night. I love you and I know this is a hard time for you, but I have to say, I think you’re making a big mistake. Call me at lunch today and let’s talk. Love you, no matter what. S xoxoxo

  PS From now on, don’t put anything in print. Don and the boys use my computer.

  “Damn.” Mike felt a stab of regret, wishing Chloe had listened to Sara. “Your wife was a great friend.”

  “I know, right?” Don nodded, frustrated. “Still, go to the cops with what we know. I would go with you, but I don’t want to leave the kids. I’ll call the District Attorney and tell them you’re coming. His name is Sanford James, he told me his assistants would be at the Clifton precinct house tonight. Okay?”

  “Yes.” Mike folded the email to bring as evidence, but Bob stepped over to Don.

  “Don,” he said, “I’ve told Mike that I’m not sure this is the best idea for him, at this time. I think his credibility is hurt because of his assault on Pat MacFarland today. It would look like harassment and could impair his case when it goes forward.”

  “No, it won’t. I’m good to go.” Mike appealed to Don, turning to him like a judge. “I might not be the most credible guy in the world, but if you pave the way with your phone call, they’ll know what to expect. I don’t want to sit on it overnight while some killer gets his ducks in a row. It’s your call, but I’d move on it right now.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Mike hurried with Bob to the Clifton Township Administration Building, an institutional box of gray stone, three stories tall, which housed the local police and other township agencies. The media clustered out front on the sidewalk, talking in groups and posing TV reporters in klieglights. Boxy newsvans lined the curb, and traffic slowed to gape or honk for fun.