Perhaps she didn’t know it yet, but this was a game she could not win.
44
717 High Street, 12:15 p.m.
Deborah watched, transfixed, as Jerald Pope was escorted, hands cuffed behind his back, into the Youngstown Public Safety Office.
She blinked, returned her attention to the reporter touting the breaking news.
“More to come in this gruesome story. For now, according to Chief Willard of the Youngstown police, after discovering overwhelming evidence early this morning, master boat builder Jerald Pope has been arrested for the murders of Valerie Gerard and Alicia Appleton. Back to you, Scott.”
The reporter’s image was replaced on the screen by her colleague’s back at the station. He wore a grim face for the camera. “Thank you, Marcia. That news comes from Youngstown, where it appears a frantic investigation into the disappearance and murder of two young women is finally coming to an end.”
Deborah turned from the television, shock settling over her. She walked numbly to the kitchen and picked up the prescription bottle. She stared at the few remaining tablets inside.
What had she done?
Fear slithered around her throat and tightened like a noose.
She rushed to the window and gazed out at the church where Christopher was working on the upcoming Sunday’s sermon. Soon he would grow sleepy and eventually lose consciousness.
Think rationally, she told herself.
There were two options.
She could call 911 and stop this now before it was too late. But then she would likely go to prison for the rest of her life. Christopher would understand and forgive her as she had forgiven him, but the rest of the world would not be so forgiving.
The other option, if chosen, would play out as set in motion, leaving her and Tamara well provided for, financially. Their futures would be assured. The chances of the police discovering the truth were minimal. The insurance was more than adequate for their current and future needs.
But Deborah knew her Father in heaven would know.
And He would not forgive her.
As much as she had no desire to spend the rest of her life in prison, she had a greater desire not to spend eternity in Hell.
Deborah reached for the phone.
The Overlook Inn, 12:15 p.m.
Barton stared at the television set.
Was it possible?
Was the nightmare finally over?
If an arrest had been made, the investigation would end. He looked heavenward and repeated a mantra of thanks. Sweet Jesus, was it really over?
But Jerald Pope? Incredible.
Barton hurried into his private office and unlocked his desk. He grabbed the plastic bag in the bottom drawer and removed the bane of his existence from it. Now that the danger had passed, he had to decide what to do with it.
Destroy it once and for all.
He’d kept it all these years ... just in case he needed to prove that he’d found the journal and learned of the secret inside. But now, that was no longer necessary.
Perhaps he would burn it or bury it with his father when he eventually passed.
No waiting. He would act today.
