He allowed himself a moment to regroup. What came next was the most important part and it had to go right if the rest of the master plan was to work. When he was sure he was in the right headspace, he channeled the persona of rookie officer Harper Devery and called out.
“Ms. Hunt! Come quick! I need your help!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Claire, come out now!” Jessie ordered.
A moment later there was movement behind the drapes. Claire Sanderson Vallejo stepped into view with her hands above her head. She was still dressed in the black slacks and pristine white blouse from their meeting earlier today at her office. Jessie noted that her hands were empty. No scissors. She was unarmed.
“You have to let me explain,” Claire pleaded.
Jessie was about to call out to Goodwin and Devery when Claire dropped to her knees, choking on a sob.
“Don’t move,” Jessie warned.
“Please, I need you to understand. And I especially need Detective Goodwin—Sam—to understand. It had to be this way. It’s the only way they could be redeemed and I’m the only one who could do it.”
“Save it until we’ve read you your rights, Claire,” Jessie said, but Vallejo kept going.
“These women, they worm their way into innocent men’s lives, just waiting for the moment when they can destroy them. I know. It happened to my father. It happens all the time.” Her voice broke as she continued, words interspersed among moments of weeping.
“There are so many good people out there, hard-working immigrants who come to this country looking for a better life. But these freeloaders, they show up, pretending to fall in love so they can live the sweet life. And then, when the husband least expects it, they pounce. It’s a disgrace. I’ve seen it, Jessie. I’ve lived it!”
Jessie tried to stay level-headed. She wasn't sure if this counted as a confession or if it would hold up if Claire hadn'tbeen Mirandized. More pressing, she wasn't sure if the woman intended her harm.
“Where are the scissors, Claire?” she demanded.
Before Vallejo could respond, Devery called out from the other end of the house.
“Ms. Hunt! Come quick! I need your help!”
“Devery?” she shouted back. “I can’t. I’ve got Claire Vallejo here. We need to secure her.”
She could hear footsteps running toward them. She kept the gun pointed at Claire but looked in that direction. A moment later Devery appeared at the threshold of the dining room. He was covered in blood.
“It’s Detective Goodwin,” he panted. “He’s asking for you. I don’t think—I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, aghast. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said, looking flustered. “She must have stabbed him.”
“I didn’t stab any—!” Claire started to say.
“You better hurry!” Devery interrupted. “He wants you. I don’t think he has long. He’s in the first bedroom on the left.”
“Did you call it in yet?” Jessie asked, holstering her weapon and starting that way.
“No. I wanted to tell you first.”
Jessie broke into a sprint. She yelled at him over her shoulder.
“Call it in now! And cuff her!”
As she dashed down the hall, she heard sirens in the distance. With each step she took, they got louder. She got to the bedroom door and looked in. Sam Goodwin was lying on the floor. His right hand was pressed against his neck. Blood was seeping through it. She turned on the light and dropped down next tohim. His injuries were bad. Just a quick glance suggested a half dozen or more punctures. His eyes were fluttering weakly.
“Oh god, Sam,” she muttered, pressing her own hands against the deepest wounds. It didn’t make any difference. Sam’s eyes seemed to focus in her presence. He looked at her intently and tried to speak, but nothing other than rasping came out of his ruined throat.
Then he removed his hand from his neck and pointed at the bedroom door briefly before it dropped to his side.
