* * *
Thirty minutes behind Brooks, Abigail walked into the station. The older deputy—Boyd Fitzwater, she remembered—immediately got up from his desk and came around to meet her.
“Ms.Lowery, we sure appreciate you coming in like this. The chief’s in his office, talking to the prosecutor and all. I’m going to take your statement.”
“Yes.”
“You want some coffee, something cold?”
“No, thank you.”
“We can sit down right here. Should be quiet. Ash is back with the paramedic we called in to treat the Blake boy’s nose.” He smiled when he said it. “It’s busted good.”
“I’m sure a broken nose is preferable to a bullet. I believe Chief Gleason would have been justified in firing his weapon when Justin lunged toward him with the knife.”
“I’m not going to argue. But if we could start this from the beginning. I’m going to record it so we get it all straight. I’ll be taking notes, too. All right with you?”
“Of course.”
“All righty, then.” Boyd switched on a tape recorder, read off the date, the time, the names of all involved. “Ms.Lowery, why don’t you just tell me what happened tonight?”
“At two-oh-seven a.m., my perimeter alarm signaled a breach.”
She spoke clearly, precisely.
“As Chief Gleason had indicated, Justin Blake most usually traveled with two individuals. I wanted to be certain there wasn’t indeed a third man who might have circled around. My alarms didn’t register, but I felt it best to be certain. After I spoke with Deputy Hyderman on the phone, I took my dog and went out the back of the house. My dog showed no sign of detecting anyone in that area, so I continued around to the front, where I saw Chief Gleason and the two trespassers. One, identified as Doyle Parsins, was already on the ground, and Justin Blake continued to crouch by the left-rear tire of Chief Gleason’s police cruiser.”
“Did you hear anybody say anything?”
“Oh, yes, quite clearly. It was a quiet night. Chief Gleason said to Justin, ‘You’re going to want to show me your hands.’ I should add that at this time, Chief Gleason’s weapon was secured in his holster. Justin responded, ‘You want to see my hands?’ and drove the knife he held in his right hand into the left-rear tire.”
She continued, giving Boyd a word-for-word, move-by-move statement. Boyd interrupted once or twice to clarify.
“That’s really detailed.”
“I have an eidetic memory—you might call it photographic,” she added, though it always irked her to explain with that inaccuracy.
“That’s really helpful, Ms.Lowery.”
“I hope so. He would have killed Brooks if he could have.”
Though he reached over to turn off the tape recorder, Boyd lifted his hand from it, sat back. “Ma’am?”
“Justin Blake. He would have stabbed Chief Gleason, and he would have killed him if he could have. His intent was very clear, as was his anger and, I think, his fear. It’s what he knows, you see? To hurt or eliminate what gets in his way, what interferes. There are people who simply believe their own wants and wishes are above everything and everyone else.”
She’d seen murder, she thought. The boy didn’t remind her of the cold, mechanical Korotkii. He lacked that efficiency and dispassion. But he’d made her think of Ilya, of the hot rage on Ilya’s face when he’d cursed and kicked his dead cousin.
“He might not have killed or caused serious physical harm before tonight. I think if he had, he wouldn’t have been so inept at this attempt. But if it hadn’t been this, tonight, it would have been someone else, another night, someone without Chief Gleason’s resources, reflexes and equanimity. There would have been more to clean up than a broken nose.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry. It was upsetting. More than I realized. My opinion isn’t relevant. If that’s all you need, I’d like to go home.”
“I can get somebody to drive you.”
“No, I’m fine to drive. Thank you, Deputy, you’ve been very kind.”
She started for the door, paused when Brooks called her name. He crossed over, laid a hand on her arm. “Be a minute,” he told Boyd, then led her outside.
