Chapter 5

Bobby took a quick look at all sides of Van's house. He wanted to know where Van might attempt to run when he knocked on the front door. He couldn't see much of the back of the house, because it was perched close to the bluff's edge. The drop off seemed steep enough to make it was unlikely that Van could safely run in that direction in the dark.

It was more likely that he would try to escape on the right side of the house. The lot immediately next door in that direction had been set aside by the city as a public access point. It was for non-homeowners to picnic on the grass, or to just stop and enjoy the views from the bluff.

Returning to the front door, he prepared to ring the doorbell. He fought to lower his heart rate as best he could, though his rage threatened to consume him regardless. He pulled the recorder from his back pocket and turned it on, putting it in the front belly pouch of his sweatshirt. He had no intention of using the gun tucked into the small of his back. The gun and Julie's suicide note were brought as props, to confront Van with evidence of his crimes.

He rang the doorbell and took two steps back. He knew that he would now be visible through the door's peephole, but he didn't expect the door to be opened for him anyway.

Van Daddock was slumped in front of the big screen television in the first floor family room. Normally he would be in the Pike's fraternity house, close to the USC campus. But his parents were away on vacation, and they had asked him to watch over the house during the holiday weekend.

Saying he was freaked out would be a gross understatement.

His chest still hurt like a bitch, and the images from Julie's bedroom kept springing up vividly in his mind's eye. He was drinking scotch and water at a pretty good clip, trying to turn the images off. But he could still see Julie pointing the pistol's huge barrel at him, her lying on the floor, the feel of her limp dead wrist...

He was afraid that his role in her death would be discovered. The idea of being arrested for manslaughter or drug dealing terrified him. It helped keep the scotch and water flowing freely into his glass.

He sat holding the cigarette case that had saved his life, touching the bullet stuck in its center, running his fingers over it, again and again.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang, spilling his latest drink all over his chest. He sat, unable to move. Eventually the doorbell rang again, followed by loud, insistent knocking.

He somehow managed to stand up and move to the front door. He wanted to confirm it was the police at the door. If it was, he intended to continue ignoring the knocking, and call the lawyer that his family kept on retainer.

He reached the door, and trembling with fright at what he would see, brought an eye to the peephole.

Bobby had been staring at the small pinpoint of light visible at the center of the peephole, waiting for it to be blocked by someone looking through it. He hoped it wasn't one of Van's parents on the other side, but in his current frame of mind, it was a risk he didn't really care that much about.

When the point of light disappeared, he used the two steps distance to launch himself at the door, striking it with a powerful kick next to the doorknob.