Prior Bad Acts

61

CAREY LAY AS still as she possibly could as she listened to Karl moving around the room.

Come on, Sam…

He said nothing, maybe out of courtesy so she could sleep, as crazy as that sounded. He wanted her to get her rest.

The sounds of movement stopped. Near her. She could feel him watching her. She held her breath and kept her fingertips on the grip of the knife.

He touched her left hand, which lay on top of the blanket. It took everything in her not to jerk it away.

“You can wake up now, Judge.”

The voice was not Karl’s. It was lower, a gravelly monotone with an odd, slow cadence.

Carey opened her eyes and looked up, her heart stopping as she saw the craggy, homely face dark with beard stubble, the rubbery-looking too-red lips.

Stan Dempsey.

“Your good friend Karl Dahl isn’t coming back in.”

“He’s not my friend,” Carey said.

“Not anymore. You can’t help him anymore.”

“I never wanted to help him in the first place.”

“You just don’t get it, do you? You’re supposed to hand out justice. The guilty have to pay. Actions have consequences.”

Carey knew better than to argue or try to explain.

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“I have special plans for him,” Dempsey said cryptically.

“How did you find this place?”

“Simple police work: I followed the car,” he said.

“You were watching my house.”

“Have been off and on for some time now. I haven’t had much else to do with myself this past year,” he said. “I know a lot about your life, Judge Moore. Where you live, what your schedule is, where your little girl goes to school.

“I know who comes and goes from your house, and what cars they drive. When that car came past me this morning, I knew that wasn’t your nanny driving.”

“Did you know it was Dahl?” Carey asked.

“We’ve talked enough now. Get up,” he said, pulling on her arm. “Judge Moore, you’re under arrest for crimes against humanity. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”