Page 115 of The Dead Come to Stay
Jo Jones knelt in the center over the body of Stanley Burnhope. She’d stripped off her hoodie and was pressing it hard against his abdomen—and standing over her was a dark-haired woman with a short-handled sheath knife.
“Leave it—leave it—” coaxed the largest, squarest man MacAdams had ever seen. He seemed to be trying to disarm the woman, who shrieked and made a wild slash at him.
“Jesus,” Green said out loud.
The Geordie turned about, eyes immediately fastened to the gun in her hand.
“Whe?”
“Police!” Green replied. “You, on the ground.”
He complied, leaving MacAdams to make sense of everything else.
“Jo? What’s—what’s happening here?” he asked. She kept her hands pressed down, but let her eyes wander up; they were wide and glassy and adrenaline spiked.
“James,” she said quietly. “Meet Lina.”
“He killed him. Hekilledhim!” Lina’s eyes were rimmed, face contorted, mouth an open rectangle of grief. “He dies now.”
“Lina, can I come closer?” MacAdams asked. “You are Ronan Foley’s girlfriend?”
She shook her head violently, spittle forming at the corners of her mouth.
“No, hiszawjah!” she shouted.“Zawjah, habibi!”
“It means wife,” Jo said. “I think. James? I can’t—I can’t do this a lot longer.” He could see that her arms were shaking, but also that she’d managed to stop the bleeding. Burnhope’s eyes were open, but unfocused, his breathing stertorous.
“You were married,” MacAdams said, coming closer. Lina made a slash at him, though without much force or venom. “And he—Ronan was the father of your baby?”
Lina heaved a sob, her free hand finding her abdomen.
“You were going to run away together, weren’t you? Got married in secret, and then you were going away.”
“On—on a boat,” she hiccupped. “Far.”
“To build a new life. He’d done that before—he could do it again. You met when? Six months ago?” MacAdams asked. He should be watching Lina. He was watching Jo instead.
“He loved me,” Lina whispered. From the platform, Green agreed.
“I believe he did,” she said. “And he wanted better for you.”
“Much better,” MacAdams said. He was close now. Closer enough to take the knife—not fool enough to try. “He didn’t want you to live in hiding. Not you or the baby.”
Lina sobbed—and sagged on her feet. MacAdams took a step nearer.
“Give me the knife. You don’t want to kill this man. You have your child to think about,” he said, and was surprised to hear a gentler sobbing... from Jo.
“Thebaby,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Do you know how much you’ll matter to her? She needs a mother. Her own mother, not—not someone else.”
“Come on, now,” MacAdams urged.
Lina looked at Jo.“Scared,”she whispered.
Jo nodded, bloodied hands still trembling at their work. “I know. But I promise you won’t bealone.”
***
MacAdams felt the words somewhere deep in his gut. This was Jo talking about her family—about Evelyn’s baby—and about herself. It hurt him, for her sake.
