The Shadow's Edge Read online

  So clear now. Why not before?

  She had first met John Croop while shopping at the Price Right – had quite literally run into him while rounding an aisle out of the deli section. The half dozen items she was balancing in her arms had spilled to the floor and he had gallantly insisted on picking them up. When he bent down she had thought what a handsome man he was – soft-spoken and gentle of manner. After that first encounter she had not seen him again for several weeks. Then, coincidentally – or was it? – he had shown up just in time to help her with a flat tire when she was leaving the pharmacy. She had offered to pay him for his trouble to which he had responded, “I wouldn’t think of taking your money. I will, however, accept a coffee in payment but only if you’ll join me.” How could she possibly refuse? It had seemed so utterly innocent.

  She bought a couple of coffees to go at the diner and they sat together on a bench outside, enjoying the weather. Croop, aware as everyone was of her background, asked how she was dealing with such a difficult past. Callie acknowledged only that she was coping as best she could. Croop seemed remarkably empathetic but did not press for more information. Neither did he push to see her again or hint that they should expand on their talk. So totally charmed by Croop it had in fact been her idea to have coffee again sometime. He seemed somewhat reluctant, pointing out that she was a married woman and that he wouldn’t want to give the town’s citizenry the wrong impression. “You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t have---”

  “You know, I was just thinking,” he said, “I have to take a drive out to a friend’s place near Fairmont tomorrow. I’m keeping an eye on the place for him while he’s away. Why don’t you come along and keep me company? It’ll give us a chance to talk without worrying about the town gossiping.”

  If it had been a year earlier she likely wouldn’t have cared much about anyone seeing her socializing with a man, but lately, with her changing views, she was more aware of such things. Croop’s idea seemed an acceptable solution. “I suppose that would be alright,” she had said.

  He suggested she drive her car out to Thornhill Road – it was on the way - and he’d pick her up there. This struck her as just a little odd but she didn’t have any real qualms about Croop. He was, after all, a reserve cop and seemed like a decent guy. She knew several women in town who would have loved to date him but he seemed to be something of a loner. The fact that he was handsome, eligible, and yet still unmarried had led some to believe he was gay. Callie supposed it was possible that he was. Either way he appeared safe to her.

  * *

  When Croop turned off the highway, took a secondary road for a few miles, and finally turned into his friend’s property Callie actually cringed at the sight of the place.

  “Sorry about the shabby appearance of the house,” Croop said. “My pal bought it recently and plans to fix it up. He’s quite a handyman – it’ll likely turn out to be impressive enough once he gets around to it.”

  Callie tried not to let herself overreact but she experienced at that moment the first twinge of uneasiness.

  Croop seemed to sense her discomfort and when they went inside he set about trying to put her at ease. He pulled aside curtains, letting sunlight fill the dingy interior, then filled an electric kettle with water and made tea. His efforts to relax her worked, at least to some degree. She settled into the worn sofa with a hot mug of tea resting on her lap. Croop sat opposite her, smiling.

  The look on his face was hard to read. “A penny for your thoughts,” she said.

  “Oh, they’re worth much more than a penny,” he quipped.

  An innocent enough rejoinder but she thought she detected just the tiniest hint of wickedness there, too. Her problem was she didn’t trust her instincts anymore. There was a time she relied on her gut to tell her when something wasn’t quite right but now she never really knew whether her radar was off a little. In situations like this she often feared she misjudged people because of her inability to interpret actions or events correctly.

  When Croop spoke next, though, her anxieties were alleviated, at least a little. “How’s the tea?” he asked.

  “Fine. Very good actually.”

  “I’m glad you like it. It’s a special blend. My pal orders it online from an importer in Augusta who brings it in from England.”

  “I’ve heard you make your living on the internet. What do you do exactly, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’m what’s known as an ISD – an independent software designer.”

  “That sounds very impressive.”

  “Not really, but it’s work I enjoy. It pays well enough and it allows me to work from home and dictate my own hours. For the last couple of years I’ve been working with a range of database engines, mostly building applications from the ground up but also---”

  Callie held up her hand. “It’s like you’re speaking a different language, John. I’m afraid I don’t have a clue what any of that means.”

  Croop smiled good-naturedly. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s one of the disadvantages of working and being on my own so much. Sometimes, when I get a captive audience, I get a little carried away with the computer-speak. It’s basically why I signed on as a reserve cop – it forces me out into the real world every so often.”

  “Do you enjoy the cop thing?”

  “Oh, sure, I guess. I normally just do two days a week - weekend support usually - and occasionally stand in during holidays. It’s interesting work … well, I almost forgot about you being the police chief yourself. You know very well what’s involved of course.”

  “Yes, I think I have a pretty good idea all right.”

  “Do you miss that part of your life at all, Callie?”

  Callie was pensive for a few moments. “It’s not that I miss being a police officer so much … it’s more that I’m kind of sad that I couldn’t go back to it even if I wanted to.”

  “You’ve had a difficult time, what with all you’ve been through.”

  Croop’s empathy seemed so sincere Callie’s stubborn reluctance to talk about her dreaded past seemed to dissipate. “Yes … it’s been very hard. Losing my daughter was so completely overwhelming and then, on top of that, believing that my husband was dead, too – another victim of the man who had fathered me – it … it ...” Her voice broke. A flood of tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Before she realized Croop had moved he was beside her on the sofa, a comforting arm around her shoulders. It felt good to feel a man’s close presence. She leaned into him with her head against his chest.

  When Croop gently tipped her head back with his finger under her chin she expected nothing more than a reassuring smile. Then he leaned forward and very slowly brushed her lips with his own.

  It was like a switch was thrown somewhere deep in Callie’s brain. With an abruptness she was totally unprepared for, passions long forgotten suddenly surfaced. What she initially regarded as a consoling gesture between two tentative friends turned into an urgent demand for something much more. In a blur their clothes were discarded, their physical union happening so fast it seemed surreal.

  And, in an instant, it was all wrong. That same switch had been thrown again and Callie now wanted nothing more than to put an end to what was happening. But she could envision the bitterness that would result. All she could do, realistically, was wait Croop out. When he was finally done she pushed him off, gathered up her clothes, and scurried to the bathroom, quickly but thoroughly washed all traces of their conjoining – she couldn’t think of it as lovemaking - away. She felt sickened by what she had allowed to happen. She would have given anything to be able to escape to her own vehicle and disappear. The idea of a long drive back to Thornhill Road with Croop now made her almost nauseous.

  When she reappeared she saw Croop was still completely naked and sprawled unselfconsciously on the sofa. “Everything okay?” he said. His tone was callous and the look on his face showed no regard for her obvious discomfort.


  “I need to leave,” she said.

  “What’s the hurry, baby?”

  “John, please, just take me back to Colville.”

  “All in good time. Let’s have a drink and---”

  “NOW!”

  Croop only squinted his eyes, a cold smirk on his face. “Maybe I don’t feel like leaving right now.”

  There was a time Callie would have felt entirely capable of taking control of a situation like the one she now found herself in. But that was long in the past for her. Physically overpowering Croop, grabbing his keys, and taking off did not register with her as a viable option now. Although against her instincts she felt forced to try to appeal to Croop’s inner sense of decency. “Please, John. I don’t feel well. I need to go.”

  Croop made no effort to move, the smug smile remaining in place.

  She stared at him, waiting him out.

  Finally, he relented. “Okay, Callie. If that’s what you want, of course we’ll get you back home.”

  The ride back to Thornhill Road was the longest journey of her life.

  Every few days for the next two weeks he phoned her. She tried to end the first call on a reasonable note. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I was interested in a relationship,” she enunciated slowly. “It was a mistake. Please understand, and please don’t call me again.”

  When he continued to call she became more adamant and less pleasant. Her unremitting rejections, however, only resulted in a shift of gears on Croop’s part. Without spelling it out he made it clear that, if she were more obliging, he would have no reason to have a little chat with Jack when he eventually came on the scene.

  With all Jack had been through in the past seven years the last thing in the world she wanted to hit him with when he returned was a troublesome suitor who, as luck would have it, happened to be a part-time cop. She could visualize how Croop would portray her in his version of events.

  The thought crossed her mind that she should confide in Miles about what was happening. But she dreaded the thought of having to admit she had been so foolish as to let Croop into her life.

  She knew she had to deal with Croop, and soon. She expected Jack to make an appearance any day and she didn’t want Croop spoiling whatever chance she and Jack might have for a reconciliation.

  That she had to deal with Croop was a certainty; how she was going to do it remained a mystery.

  6

  With Jack’s release scheduled for the following day Callie made the decision to confront Croop face to face. Appealing to his sense of decency had so far met with no more success than her repeated demands but maybe seeing him in person she could convince him it was in his own best interest to listen to reason.

  She got his number from the phone directory and was about to punch in the numbers when the phone rang in her hand. It was him. She took a deep breath. “I want to see you.”

  “Finally, you’re being reasonable,” Croop said.

  She detested the cockiness in his voice. “I need to talk,” she said, striving for an authoritative tone. “Nothing more.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

  “Thornhill Road, same place as last time. Meet me there.”

  “It’ll have to be tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

  Damn, she thought. By then Jack will probably be here. “All right. Ten tomorrow morning.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Soon after she rang off Miles walked into the living room. “Everythin’ all right?” he asked as he watched her putting the cordless phone back in it’s cradle.

  She nodded in the affirmative, rose from her chair, and left the room. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  * *

  She arrived at the Thornhill Road location early to give herself time to slow her breathing, get her emotions under control. When she saw Croop’s vehicle in her rearview mirror she got out of the pickup and waited, leaning against the rear fender. She was trembling, a combination of anger and nervousness. She had no clear concept of what this meeting would involve. Another plea for sympathy and understanding was most likely to be unproductive, but what else was left to her?

  Croop came to a stop behind the pickup and slowly emerged from his car. She was surprised to see he was in his Colville Police Department uniform, complete with .45 caliber Heckler & Koch on his hip. There was a hint of swagger as he approached her.

  “Hello, baby,” he said.

  “Don’t call me that,” Callie said. She wanted to sound in control but her demand came out more as a plea.

  Croop smiled. “So … you wanted to meet.”

  Callie willed herself to calm down. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say. “Look, John, I’m just looking to … I’m asking you to be a friend. I need you to stop calling me. There’s never going to be anything between us, you must know that. Can you please just accept it and move on?”

  Croop shrugged. “Well, seeing as how you put it that way, why not?”

  For a fraction of a second her hopes rose. Could it be that simple?

  “On one condition,” Croop added.

  She should have known nothing could be that easy. “Which is?” she asked, dreading his reply.

  “One more tussle in the sheets.”

  Callie shook her head in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “It’s up to you,” he responded. “One little toss and it’s the last you hear from me. Guaranteed.”

  Callie had not the tiniest bit of confidence that Croop was sincere. It was very plain that she was going to have an ongoing problem with him. Something major had to happen to change that. But what?

  Croop crossed his arms across his chest, confidently awaiting her response. “Okay, then,” he said when she didn’t answer. “Well, I’m sure Jack will be very interested to hear what you’ve been up to. When do you expect him exactly?”

  His arrogant and self-assured attitude ignited something deep and primitive in Callie. A solution to her problem flittered through her brain. “Where?” she said.

  Croop almost laughed at how easy it was to control her. “Fairmont’s good. Why mess with a good thing?”

  She felt an almost irrepressible urge to puke. “Fine. I’ll follow you.”

  “No, we’ll take my car.”

  This was a problem but she knew Croop was in no frame of mind to negotiate. While she grappled with this dilemma Croop stepped in front of her, pressing his body hard against her. He put his lips to her neck, under her ear, at the same time placing his hand between her legs.

  Callie’s response, the sudden reactivation of long dormant skills, was swift and precise. She placed her right hand on Croop’s chest and pushed hard, at the same time slipping the gun from his holster with her left hand.

  In less time than it took to draw a breath Croop was staring, unbelieving, at his own gun pointed at his chest. “What the hell are you doing?” he stammered as he stumbled back.

  It was a good question. One for which she had no good answer.

  “I asked you to leave me alone,” Callie muttered, her voice strangely quiet and calm. “I begged you. But you don’t listen. You never listen.”

  Croop held out his hands, palms displayed, like he was trying to stop traffic. “Listen, Callie … I get it … okay? I’m out of here. Don’t do something stupid.” There was an undisguised fear in his voice now. Gone was the arrogant bully of a moment before. He was in big trouble and he knew it.

  “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” she whispered.

  There was no disguising the crazed look in Callie’s eyes. Croop could see she was building up to killing him.

  He made a grab for the gun.

  What he got was two bullets dead center in his chest. The force of the slugs knocked him a few steps backwards but he was still on his feet. He looked confused as he stumbled forward, finally falling to his knees, and ultimately collapsing face down on the road.

  Callie stared at Croop’s corpse for several long mome
nts. There was no mistaking the stillness of death.

  Oh my god, she thought, what have I done?

  What she had done was kill a cop. And it didn’t matter that he was a part-timer or that he was a scumbag - he was still a cop.

  She couldn’t even begin to process the trouble she was in. Her first inclination was to run. Just get in the pickup and drive away as fast as she could. But it didn’t take long to see the absurdity of such a move. She, of all people, knew how easy it would be for Jessup or the state cops to piece together what had happened here.

  It wasn’t hard to imagine the downward spiral her life was about to take.

  There was only one thing to do and she had to do it quickly.

  She took hold of Croop’s arms and dragged him off the road, around his car to the passenger side. It wasn’t easy. She was not the physically powerful woman she once had been, and Croop was not a small man. Somehow she managed to heft him into the back seat.

  When done she leaned against the car, running her fingers through her hair, fretfully massaging her temples. She had to clear her mind, to reason out what to do next.

  The shell casings.

  She scoured the ground until she found both spent shells and put them in the front pocket of her jeans. There was blood on the road where Croop had fallen but a few handfuls of dirt from the roadside covered them. A little scuffling of her boots obliterated the drag marks. She tossed Croop’s gun and hat into the backseat beside his body.

  She got behind the wheel of Croop’s car. If she could get the car and it’s grisly contents out of sight before someone happened along and then make her way back to the pickup fast enough, maybe – just maybe - she could distance herself from all that had happened here. Her plan, if it could be called that, seemed to offer an impossibly remote chance of success but she was in no frame of mind to think of anything better.

  There was only one spot nearby where she might be able to hide a car. It was a small copse of trees in a little valley at the most remote corner of a farm just up the road.