The secrets they keep, p.26
The Secrets They Keep, page 26
Cursing her heavy bag as she lifted it, she took a step forward, pulling the bag back and swinging it forward, hitting the back of Tom’s head. He moaned, stumbling forward past Luke, before turning around to her.
He won’t stop. I can’t stop him.
She clenched her hand in her bag, fumbling around as he stumbled toward her. The cylinder between her fingers surprised her as she flicked the cap open and pulled it out, spraying Tom’s eyes.
“Fuck!” he hollered out in pain again, covering his eyes and stumbling forward.
She limped around the corner and reached out for the door handle.
He’s going to get me.
As she pulled on it, she swore her insides were coming out of her wound, but she pressed down on it with one hand and thrust herself forward into the rain.
I’m out.
She hobbled across the pavement toward the gravel, her bag dragging along the ground in her other hand. The door creaked open again, and Luke burst through, stumbling toward her as it began to close.
“I’m sorry,” he called out.
Tom pushed his way through the door and lunged out, stabbing his knife into Luke’s back.
Madigan took step after painful step, using the strength she had left to not trip over her own feet, or let go of her side or the bag in her other hand.
Keep it together. Keep going.
The bleak lot stood wide in front of her, and her bike seemed miles away.
Don’t look back.
Keep going.
Have to…
Chapter Thirty Five
“Oh, hello.” Mrs. Hensen opened the door, standing in the same clothes she wore the last time Grace saw her. “Umm, Brad’s not home.”
“May we come in?” Grace asked.
She nodded, stepping back to make room for Grace and Officer Vila. They stepped inside, out of the rain and into the dry home.
Her blouse is all wrinkled. Her hair is dirty.
Piles of toys lay on the floor in the living room to their right, and Mrs. Hensen tugged at her skirt, glancing back and forth between Grace and the mess.
“Brad’s out with Wallace for hockey,” she said. “I’m sorry, did he know you were coming? He always forgets these kinds of things.”
“Oh?”
“Well, he had a job interview today, but I guess it didn’t go well, because when he came in, he wasn’t in a talking mood. He probably just forgot because he was upset about that. I offered to take Wallace to hockey again, but he begrudgingly did it himself. It’s nice to get a break and have the house to myself for the first time in weeks. I’m sorry, it’s not always this messy.”
“I understand, and I’m sorry to interrupt that time, but you might be able to help with something. Could we sit down?”
“Oh, yes, can I make you tea? You’re both wet.”
Vila shook his head, but Grace nodded. “Please. If you’ll stay here?” she asked him.
He nodded as she followed Mrs. Hensen into the kitchen. She opened the door to a cupboard above the counter, revealing an empty shelf. She closed it again, swivelling around to the full pile of dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter beside it.
“I’m sorry, we seem to be out of clean mugs. I need to catch up on the housework around here.” She turned around and grabbed a washcloth, muttering, “Nobody else is going to do it.” She went to work washing out two mugs.
“How has Brad been doing since Cory’s passing?”
Mrs. Hensen leaned against the counter. “I guess the same. Not much has changed. He’s still stressed about money and finding a job. Still doesn’t do much around here. I guess I can’t blame it all on Cory. He’s the same even though he’s gone. Worse maybe, because he can’t blame everything on Cory anymore.” She sighed and wiped the mugs with a tea towel.
“On the night Cory Boyd was murdered, he and your husband spoke. You were there for the beginning of it, correct? How did he seem to you?”
“Just… very involved. He’s spent so much time on that business and helping Cory. Making excuses for him, even when he suspected he was a hindrance to the business. He should have been taking Wallace to hockey, but he was so distracted, I did it. I think I told you that, right?”
Grace nodded. “And how was he when you got back from hockey?”
“Fine,” she said, setting one of the mugs down hard against the counter and fumbling with the other.
She doesn’t think he was fine.
“Is there something I should know, Mrs. Hensen?”
“What do you mean?” she asked without looking at Grace.
Grace approached the counter and stood with her hands in front of her, holding the folder.
“Has Brad been truthful with us about everything?”
“Yes,” she said, licking her lips and looking at Grace, “he’s told me everything he knows. That’s all I know.”
“Mrs. Hensen, I have reason to believe Cory and Brad were in over their heads, even deeper than you’ve known.”
She frowned and set the tea towel down. “What do you mean?”
“I need you to be honest with me about everything. As honest as you can, alright?”
“I am,” she said, but her voice quivered. “What are you talking about?”
Grace opened the folder and held the photos out to her. She took them and studied the first one with a frown, flipping to the next picture, her eyes opening wider. Her chest heaved as she flipped to the next picture. She reached out for the counter and leaned against it as tears filled her eyes.
“Where—” she whispered. “Where did you get these?”
“Mrs. Hensen,” Grace said. “Did you know any of that was going on?”
“No,” she gasped, looking up at her. She set the photos down without looking at the rest.
“We believe Cory threatened to tell you about the evidence he had of Brad’s affair and that Brad may have stopped him from doing so.”
Mrs. Hensen swallowed hard and took a step back, shaking her head. “Brad wouldn’t. He couldn’t.”
“You didn’t think he was having an affair either, though, did you? Is it possible he could be doing other things behind your back?”
She shook her head again and glanced out her window. She’s thinking about how he’s always taken their son to hockey. How, even in his foul mood today, he took him. To see her. His mistress.
“If Brad’s capable of killing Cory, you don’t want him near your son. If you’re even the slightest bit suspicious—”
“He wasn’t back yet,” she said, her voice shaking with each word. “When we got back from hockey that night. He wasn’t here, but he told me not to say anything about it because of all the—the bad blood between him and Cory. He said he didn’t want you to—to get the wrong impression about…”
“Didn’t you think that was strange?” Grace asked.
Mrs. Hensen put a hand to her mouth and turned to Grace. “He—he couldn’t have…”
She doesn’t seem as sure this time.
“I—I need to sit down,” she said, passing by Grace and sitting down at the kitchen table. “He’ll be back soon.”
Grace turned, noticing the empty slots in their butcher’s block on the counter.
A seven-inch knife stabbed Cory three times. If we could find the knives…check them for blood…
Grace turned around as Mrs. Hensen wiped the tears from her eyes.
“Where did he say he was?” Grace asked. “That night.”
“Out for a drive,” she choked out. “To think.”
“And that wasn’t odd to you?”
“No… I was upset. Upset he didn’t take Wallace to hockey instead of just taking a drive. Just doing whatever he wants, when he wants.” She gripped the back of the chair.
She’s angry now. It’s all sinking in.
“I spend all my time either at work or with Wallace, and even though Brad’s unemployed, all he does is hang around here, playing the stocks, and… and taking Wallace to his hockey games.” She wiped her cheeks and sniffled. “Now I know why.”
“What did he do when he got in that night?” Grace asked.
“He—he went up to have a shower.”
“Do you have any other reason to think he may have been involved in Cory’s murder? Did he get rid of any of his clothes? Did he seem different that night?”
She stared up at Grace, her eyes darting from side to side.
“And the next morning, when he told you about the money transfer to Cory, how did he seem?”
“Like that was the end of it.” She sat up straight and turned to Grace. “Oh God.”
“What did he say to you exactly? Try to remember it.”
“I saw the transfer from the account. He didn’t tell me. I asked him. He said he sent him the money, but that was the last time. I was upset. I told him he took that money away from us and gave it to a gambling addict. He said he could get the money back. That he’d get it back. I asked how, and he said if Cory didn’t accept it, they’d transfer it back to him. I laughed in his face. A gambling addict turning down money? But—but he seemed… so confident. Like he knew he’d get it back.”
He could have known Cory was dead and transferred it to cover up any suspicion surrounding him. To make it look like he was helping him. It fits with everything so far.
The door opened, and Brad Hensen walked in.
“What’s going on?” he asked, walking hand in hand with their son into the kitchen with Vila close behind.
“Wally,” she sniffled. “Come here. Now.”
He took a step away from Brad and looked behind him at Vila before walking over to his mom. She hugged him. “Go up to your room and play, okay?”
He ran out as she stared at Brad. As he thumped up the stairs, Mrs. Hensen stood. “I know,” she said, her voice stronger than before. “I know what you did.”
“What did I do?” he asked.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” she said.
He looked past her at the photos on the counter and paled as he looked back at her with apologetic eyes, his shoulders drooping.
“Honey, that’s—that’s over now,” he said, opening his arms and walking toward her.
She took a step forward and smacked him across his cheek.
“Pam—”
She smacked him again, and Vila stepped forward, but Grace raised her hand.
Let it play out.
“How you answer this next question will mean the difference between you seeing your son again before he’s eighteen or not,” she huffed between tears.
“I promise, it was nothing,” Brad said.
“Did you kill Cory Boyd?” she asked.
He shook his head and reached out for her. She smacked his hands away over and over, her hair swinging across her face with each moment of impact until he pulled them away.
All of the frustration is finally emerging, erupting like a volcano from within.
“One chance, Brad,” she screamed. “You’ve put me through hell. You’ve ruined me! Everything we’ve had…could have had...”
She huffed and stared up at him with cold eyes. “You tell me the truth, or I swear you won’t see our son again!”
Each step Madigan took drained her as rain poured down on her, blurring her vision. She staggered forward, keeping her eyes on the part of the bushes hiding her bike.
There. I have to get there.
Water splashed behind her as a hand clamped down on her shoulder, grabbing her jacket and spinning her around so fast, she fell, landing on her back in the mud. The familiar burst of pain rang through her tailbone toward the hip she had landed on in Grace’s kitchen when Tom had first attacked her.
No Buster to help me now. No one is coming, either.
Wiping her eyes, she blinked up at Tom, squinting down at her through red eyes, knife in hand. He dropped to his knees, his chest heaving, wiping away the rain from his face.
Groin.
Eyes.
Neck.
The weak spots.
I have to get to a weak spot.
She reached her arms out, and he swatted her hands away as if they were mere flies.
“That night,” Tom said, panting, “I was going to have my way with you. I was never supposed to kill you. Just scare you. You got away so easy. All ya had to do was stay away. Now look what you made me do.”
He tightened his grip on the handle of the knife and bent down toward her, staring into her eyes. He pushed his fingers into her wound, and she screamed out into the empty lot as she writhed with pain. Squinting, between her lids, he smiled, relishing her pain.
This is my chance.
She lifted her knee and brought her boot down against his groin with a loud grunt, letting the pain exit from her mouth with the noise. Tom howled and slumped down over her as she tried to roll away.
He reached out with one hand, grabbing her hair, and she screamed again. She grabbed her hair and pulled away from his grip—crawling—using her hands as claws, sinking into the mud and pulling herself forward, out from beneath him, kicking each time she gained an inch with her other foot. Her necklace, her half of the matching set she shared with Grace, dangled from her neck, swaying in and out of view as she crawled forward.
I can do this.
She scrambled to her feet and broke out into a limping run toward the fence, crying out in pain with each stride. As she reached the bush, Tom followed just a few feet behind her.
She bent down and grabbed her helmet, using her full force to whack the knife out of his hand, screaming out into the rain. He stared down at his empty hand in shock as Madigan dove for the knife in the grass. As soon as she grabbed the handle, she turned and grunted, shoving the knife into Tom’s calf. He hollered out in pain, and his boot connected with her stomach, jerking her hand and knife out of his calf. She steadied herself on the grass with her other hand, and he kicked her again.
“I’d have killed you by now,” he said, kicking her again, “but I like a little fight in my girls.”
He kicked her again and grunted, taking a step back as she fell on her side, tucking the knife into the grass beneath her as she curled up in pain.
Everything hurts.
Tom got down on his hands and knees on top of her and brought his open palm down across her cheek, laughing as he turned her over onto her stomach. She tried to get up, but it ached too much to move anything. With both hands, he grabbed the waist of her jeans and yanked at them, tugging them down inch by inch each time.
No.
He laid down on top of her and brought his mouth to her ear, his hot breath panting into it, and the sweet smell of cotton candy gagging her.
One shot.
Madigan grabbed the knife in her fist and brought it to her side.
Don’t screw this up.
“I’m going to make you wish I’d just killed you that night in the kitchen,” he huffed into her ear.
“Why,” she huffed. “Why…” Even speaking hurt her jaw where he’d struck her.
Tom chuckled, leaning his head closer. “What’s that? Begging for your life? I like that.”
“Why didn’t you come back?” she huffed. “So many nights I was alone… you could have…”
“I watched you,” Tom said, a proud tone to his voice. “How scared you were. That was like foreplay—”
She drove the knife up into him, between his throat and chin. Blood spurted out onto her face, and a huff left his lips before something of a wheeze escaped them.
She pulled the knife out, turning her head as blood rained down on her face and the ground beside her.
Tom gagged, rolling off of her, grabbing at his throat.
“All those nights,” she wheezed, rolling onto her side, facing him as he choked. “I was scared you’d come back.”
He coughed up blood, but blinked in her direction, and she could swear he was still listening.
I hope you’re still listening.
“Now,” she said, reaching for her bag, “I’m afraid you’ll be gone for good.”
And you won’t be held accountable for what you did.
She dug her hand in her bag and produced her phone.
“Can’t let that happen,” she muttered to herself as short gagging noises sputtered from beside her.
Brad stared at his wife as if she were speaking another language.
He doesn’t want to lose her, but he won’t admit to what he’s done. Not yet.
“I know you weren’t home that night,” Grace said.
Brad looked from her to his wife, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“I know where you were, Brad.” Grace folded her arms over her chest. “I can tell your wife everything according to what I know, or you can. My version or yours? What do you want her to hear?”
Vila stepped further into the kitchen and took out handcuffs, but Grace held her hand out, and he stopped just behind Brad.
“I did it for you,” Brad whispered in a weak voice, barely audible.
Enough to send Mrs. Hensen to the tile floor on her knees.
“Oh, God,” she gasped, covering her face with her hands.
He took a step toward her, but Grace stepped between them.
“He was blackmailing me! He’s the reason our money’s gone! He was trying to take everything away from me, and I had to do something!”
“How did you know he was at the wedding?” Grace asked.
“I called him. After he sent me the photos. I called, and he wouldn’t pick up, but then he did. Told me he was at a wedding and couldn’t talk, but if I signed the business over to him, he wouldn’t send the pictures. He said if I didn’t, he’d not only send them but lie to her and tell her it was more than it was. I couldn’t let him do that. Honey, I love you. I love Wally. You have to know that.”
Grace nodded to Vila, and he cuffed Brad while Mrs. Hensen wailed on the floor. Their son came around the corner, hesitant to step into the kitchen.
“Mom?”
“Oh, come here,” she said, reaching her arms out to him. “My sweet boy.”
“Wally,” Brad said and shouted it again when he ran past him to his mom. “I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
