Robie pushed the door open and looked around.
It was set up as a study, with a desk, bookshelves, and comfortable chairs.
“Dad!” cried out Robie.
His father was lying on the floor next to his desk. His head had a bloody gash in the back and Dan Robie was struggling to get up.
Robie and Reel rushed over to him.
“Dad, just stay where you are. What happened?”
“Some…somebody hit me. From behind.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“N-no. Just m-my head.”
“Did you see who hit you?”
His father shook his head and then slumped back down.
Reel was already calling 911. She ordered an ambulance and then phoned the police.
“They’re on their way,” she said.
Robie was holding his father’s head.
“Get me a wet towel.”
Reel ran out to do this.
Robie said, “Just take it easy, Dad. You’re going to be okay.”
“Vic-Victoria. T-Ty?”
“It’s okay, just keep still. The ambulance is on its way.”
While Robie was waiting for Reel he glanced around the office looking for any clues that might lead them to whoever had done this.
One shelf was devoted to sports memorabilia. As he saw this, he gaped.
When Reel came back in with the wet towel, Robie had her apply it to his father’s head wound, then he bolted out of the room and down the stairs.
He hurtled onto the front porch, hung a left, and rushed around to the rear of the house. He reached the garage and went inside.
The Volvo was gone.
The Range Rover was there.
Robie raced over to it and stared for a moment at the New Orleans sticker on the back of the SUV. He used his knife to peel it off.
Underneath was what he thought he’d find.
A bullet hole.
The bullet hole caused by my gun when I fired it at the vehicle driving away from Sara Chisum’s murder.
The bullet hole in the Range Rover in Sherman Clancy’s garage had been created later. So it would be found and concluded that that vehicle was involved and not this one.
The ambulance arrived at the same time the police did. Taggert had phoned and let Robie know that she and Sheriff Monda were on their way. A BOLO had been put out on the Volvo and Victoria and Tyler Robie.
Robie led Reel back to the garage and showed her the bullet hole.
“How’d you find that?” she asked.
“The shelf full of Dallas Cowboy memorabilia in my dad’s study. Why would a Cowboys fan have a Saints sticker?”
“But who put it there?”
“Whoever shot Sara Chisum. The same person who took Victoria and Ty.”
“But why the hell kill Priscilla?”
“I don’t know.”
They raced back around to the front of the house.
“Where do you think they’ve taken Victoria and Ty?” asked Reel.
“I don’t know.”
“Why even kidnap them?’
“I don’t know, okay?” barked Robie.
“Okay,” said Reel calmly. “Okay. It could be Henry Barksdale.”
“Why would he come here and do this?”
“It’s his old homestead. If he’s crazy enough to kill all these people, then he might have come here and attacked your father, killed Priscilla, and then taken Victoria and Ty. Maybe he saw them as interlopers.”
He nodded, pointed at Reel, held up three fingers, and then slowly dropped them one at a time.
When the last finger went down, Reel kicked open the door and sprang inside.
Robie was right behind her. They started to do their sweeps and then stopped.
In the middle of the room was Tyler, sitting in a chair.
Robie froze for an instant when he saw the little boy. In his mind flashed the child he’d seen reaching for his father. It just came from nowhere, like the thrust of a knife into his belly.