massive granite surface was empty except for a bowl of muffins. A half eaten one sat on the top.
“You ate my muffins.” he said.
“Yeah.” Todd smiled a little. “God, they sucked. Did you cook those?”
“They're special. I'm diabetic. I thought you knew that.”
Reggie placed his pistol on the counter so that Todd could see it.
Todd said, “I doubt a lily white rich jackass like you could hit me without hitting your bitch.”
Reggie just stared. He watched Todd's face and arms. They started to tremble.
“Where..” said Todd. He swallowed. “I want the video.”
“I haven't slept all night.” said Reggie. “I've haven't slept since they put you away. I can wait a little longer.”
Todd bit down and tried not to close his eyes as he said, “I'm getting it.”
Reggie sighed.
He said, “I put tranqs in the muffins. It takes time to metabolize. Just wait...”
Todd's gun clattered on the floor, followed by it owner. Sara jumped away and almost bashed her elbow against the island. She opened her mouth, but Reggie made a silencing motion. He liked that she obeyed. Reggie had never been with a woman like his wife since she'd died. His recent molls were all young, docile and disposable. They were exactly what you'd expect a lily white rich jackass such as himself to hang his bugle on. But it didn't have to be that way. Had Todd Laurel and his buddy never entered his life, Reggie would be married to the same woman today. And she would be old and opinionated and still the most beautiful woman he'd ever known.
Reggie placed his pistol on the island and sat on one of the bar stools. He motioned for Sara to sit on the other. As she walked over she cast a hesitant glance behind her, where Todd was curled up on the rug in front of the sink.
Reggie wagged a finger at Laurel. “Fifteen years ago this guy killed my wife.”
Sara hugged herself and nodded, looking at the floor and saying, “You told me.”
“It was big news then, but everyone has since forgotten. Let me tell it again.”
Sara shrugged.
Reggie said, “My wife and I were at home. We lived in a secluded cottage in Hopkinton. We were in bed when this kid...” He paused and gestured again at the now aging convict. “...set off the alarm.” Reggie shook his head. “We should've barricaded ourselves in the bedroom and let the cops do their jobs. But that's not what my wife did. Do you know why?”
Sara said, “She shot at him. She missed and he killed her.”
“I said do you know why? It was because we knew Laurel. He'd harassed us for a couple years by then. It had something to do with our affluence and our Jewishness. You know how it is. The police did little about it. The gun was my wife's idea. When Todd broke into the house, she wasn't going to stand still and watch.”
“Okay,” Sara nodded. “I understand.”
“I'm sure that you don't.” said Reggie. “She had no reason to think Todd was capable of murder. He was a nuisance, but he'd bothered us for a long time without escalating. Something had changed. He'd come with an older man, a man whom I believe put him up to it. He was a skinny guy with a burn over one side of his face. He burst into the house, shouting while Todd stood back. Do you want to see?”
“What? See what?”
Reggie stood and unlocked a door in a table by the entry to the hall. He retrieved a memory stick and a computer tablet and brought them back to the table. From the memory stick, Reggie loaded a video featuring a posh living room at night. A sliding door leading to a porch was ajar and bits of glass littered the floor. There was the skinny burned man, standing firm in the center of the room while Todd cowered by a small potted tree.
Reggie said, “This is from the security camera.”
The two criminals were the only ones in the room. There was no sound, but it was clear that the burned man was shouting something. Then he went off camera. Todd tried to follow, but the Binders entered the room from another direction. Reggie’s wife pointed the gun at Todd and he froze. He walked backward and the woman walked forward. She was yelling, gesturing with the gun, and looking out of control. She fired and missed. As Todd backed through the door, retreating to the porch, Reggie appeared to be talking his wife down. He approached her from behind, wrapped his arms around her, and placed a hand on top of the gun. She let it go and Reggie took it from her hands.
As Reggie pulled away, the burned man entered the frame again. He fired twice. Reggie’s wife hit the ground. The burned man closed the distance and fired again, into her face.
Sara gasped. In the video, Reggie, having just pulled the gun away from his now deceased spouse, released another silent shot. The burned man was dead. Police lights flashed outside, behind Todd, and the video ended.
Reggie shut off the screen and said, “I managed to move the body of the burned man before the cops entered my home. I never showed them this video and they never questioned my story. Todd shot my wife and was bloody from holding her body.”
“Oh my god.” said Sara. “Todd Laurel didn't kill your wife.”
“That’s right.”
“You sent him to prison for it. Why?”
“Because I don't believe in hell. Only the living can pay for their sins.”
“What sins?” Sara pointed at the prostrate form. “That man didn't kill your wife.”
“He would have.” said Reggie. “And that's good enough.”
“How can you know that?”
Reggie raised his palms and his voice, as if the answer were obvious.
“Because he's here.” Reggie said. “I followed Todd's prison career. He was a model inmate and they released him early on parole. And yet, what was the first thing he did upon his release?”
“He put a gun to my head. And you knew he would.” She wasn't so docile now. “What did you expect? Todd Laurel didn't kill your wife.”
“Do you remember a few months ago, when a Special Olypics volunteer burned down Edison Middle School, nearly killing all the kids inside?”
Sara said, “I'm going.”
Reggie reached for the pistol, saying, “Please stay.”
She gave him a dirty look, but didn't move.
“My company's product, the Sorter, tried to tell the police that man was dangerous. They were slow to respond. This time I'm not taking chances. Yesterday the Sorter predicted that Laurel would come after me if released. I talked to the Suffolk County sheriff myself. I also slipped a lead to the press.”
“Did you tell them that Laurel wasn't guilty of murder?”
Reggie shrugged off the question. “The parole board doesn't have to listen to the Sorter, and they didn't. Maybe now they will.”
“You set him up.”
Reggie leaned forward, poking his chest with his index finger as he spoke. “I didn't make him come back here. It doesn't matter that Todd Laurel didn't pull the trigger. He would've had his friend not done it first. It may have taken him longer, but he'd come around. I am certain of it.”
“You can't know that.”
“He took the damn test!” Quieter, he said, “And so did you.”
Sara didn't answer.
Reggie said, “I'll prove I can know what people will do. Here.”
He handed Sara the gun. When she wouldn't take it, he placed it on the table and walked away.
“Look behind you.” he said.
Sara stood, spun, and saw Todd Laurel waking up. The weapon he'd held against her head was just out of his reach. Sara's fingers tickled the grip on Reggie's pistol, but she didn't grab it. Todd lifted his head and saw her. He saw the gun on the counter. He lunged for his own weapon and lifted it, but the drugs were still wearing off and that made him slow. Sara took the pistol on the table, swung it forward, and popped it off without looking. She pulled the trigger a half dozen times before dropping it. Todd Laurel's blood crept toward her bare feet.
/>
She looked for Reggie. She found him standing in a corner and holding a video camera. He shut it off, removed the memory stick which also contained Reggie's first adventure with murder, and locked it in its drawer.
He said, “I'm not nearly done proving my point.”
FOUR
Marianne didn't like what she had to do, but she believed it was right. She wasn't worried about destroying Reginald Binder. What she didn't like was his uncertain psyche. His public persona was a caricature of charisma, resembling a costume with no one inside. People called Reggie hollow and shallow, but Marianne knew better. He was careful and deceitful. She suspected he was dangerous when backed into a corner too. Nonetheless, she was committed to this path.
She switched the shower from hot to cool. She turned her body in the stream, letting it flow on every part of her. Then, by inches, she pushed the handle down to make the water colder and colder. Marianne was never sick, but it seemed the price to pay for that was a host of less debilitating maladies. Chief among these was her eczema, a plague that no balm was capable of soothing. Only the frigid water would do. She'd turned these cold showers into her daily meditation. The ritual put her mind right for the things she did. For what she did to other people every day.
When she stepped out of the shower, she heard a whoosh in her skull and took a dizzy misstep. Marianne steadied herself with the towel bar on the shower door – and then keeled over the toilet and puked. So much for never getting sick.
“Marianne?” came a woman's voice from the next room. “What's going on?”
She felt better