Page 49 of One Last Breath

I turn to see Detective Donnelly approaching, gun drawn. Behind him are several uniformed officers, all with guns drawn as well.

“Back away from her now!” Donnelly commands. “Or I will shoot, and I promise you I will aim to kill.”

George continues to stare stupidly at the detective for another moment, but when Donnelly pulls the hammer back on his gun and aims it at his forehead, he backs away. He tosses the bolt cutter and raises his hands, glaring hatefully at me as he does.

“On your knees!” Donnelly shouts. “Jarvis, take him.”

One of the officers holsters his weapon and rushes forward to handcuff the kneeling George. Donnelly holsters his weapon and looks at me. “Are you all right?”

My head still swims. I manage only one more word. “Lila.”

He frowns, and I point a trembling hand toward the geranium bed. He turns toward it, and when he sees Lila’s body, he gasps. “Oh, shit.”

The other officers release similar exclamations of surprise. A few retches at the sight and one, a poor boy who can’t be any older than Annabelle, actually vomits.

I sigh and allow my eyes to close. Donnelly calls my name, but I don’t answer. I’m sure I’ll live, but right now, I need rest. I’ve done my duty. I’ve brought justice for Lila. Everything will be all right now.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

I wake up in a hospital bed. I have been cleaned and bandaged and dressed in a gown. My head still feels furry but far less so than before, and judging by the slight euphoria that accompanies it, I believe it's the painkillers and not any injury that causes me to feel this way.

I lift my head and find Detective Donnelly standing at the window, looking out across the city. He's talking to someone on his phone. "They were able to find the artifacts Lila Benson referred to in her notes. It turns out there was a hidden compartment in the fountain in the courtyard, inside the rock." He chuckles. "Yeah, the angry Moses fountain." After a pause, he says, "Hell if I know. He was probably just eccentric. A lot of these rich people aren't right in the head."

I stir, and Donnelly turns to me. “Hold on, she’s waking up. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and comes to me, sitting next to my bed and smiling tenderly as he takes my hand. “Hey there, Miss Wilcox. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you have. That was a brave thing you did back there. I feel obligated to tell you it was also a stupid thing, but it was brave too.”

“Those two things go together a lot, don’t they,” I remark.

He laughs again. “So they do. I have to ask, though. Why didn’t you come to us first?”

“I did.”

His smile fades, and his eyes move away from mine. “Yeah. You did.”

He hesitates, and I can see him weighing whether or not to explain to me why they didn’t have enough to act on the first time. In the end, he decides only to say, “I’m sorry for that. Still, if you find yourself in a position like this again, you need to go to the authorities. Actually, you need to remove yourself from the situation, then go to the authorities.”

I sigh and push myself to a sitting position. He quickly helps me, and when I’m settled, he offers me some water. I sip it gratefully, then meet his eyes. “I don’t mean to disparage you or your profession, Detective, but that doesn’t always work.”

“It almost always works better than vigilantism.”

Almost always isn’t good enough, I think, but don't say. It’s not nearly good enough.

I don’t want to argue that point right now, though. It’s not a debate I’ll win with a veteran law enforcement officer. Instead, I ask, “Will the family face justice for concealing her death? Will they be punished for their crimes?”

He sighs. “I don’t think there are any crimes we can charge them with.”

I stare at him in shock. “You must be joking! They covered up a murder on their estate!”

"Elizabeth did," he replies, "and probably James. Annabelle clearly knew nothing about the murder, and I doubt the son did either. As for the parents, the pudding is in the proof, and we don't have any. We can probably convince a jury that Elizabeth covered the murder, but even a public defender would be able to sell a jury on not guilty by insanity."

“So she’ll be committed, at least?”

He chuckles bitterly. “Yeah, for a few months in a resort that calls itself a mental hospital where everyone will express their deepest sympathies at the trauma she’s endured.”

“But that’s not fair!”

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