Rex Hanlon
HANLON COULDN’T SIDESTEP; the hallway was too narrow. John Kennelly was a big man, which made him dangerous when he was in a good mood. And now he was furious.
The way Hanlon figured it, he probably deserved what happened next.
He braced for the impact when he felt something brush past him. Kat Taylor, swimming in her oversized white sweater, black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, stepped in front of him, blocking John’s path.
She was half the size of John, and yet stood between the two without fear. Probably because she knew what would happen next: John stopped, almost falling forward from his momentum, not wanting to hurt her.
That didn’t stop him from trying to get to Hanlon. He tried to step around her but she kept moving to block his path.
Hanlon was relieved that he’d brought Kat. After having her break into the apartment, he thought it might be best not to involve her with anything else. But she raised the issue. She said they needed to do something about Scott—and that she would do whatever she could to help.
Without her, this would have turned out very differently.
And probably much bloodier.
“Everyone, please, just stop,” Hanlon said, flicking on the wall switch. The blast of light made everyone squint, and his hand instinctively moved toward his belt, so he could jerk it up into his jacket and come out with his gun.
Not that he wanted to shoot John. But just in case. He’d seen people at their worst, at that point where unspeakable acts of violence became very speakable, and John was well past that point.
John finally gave up trying to get past Kat and stuck a finger toward Hanlon.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Let’s go in the living room, Mr. Kennelly,” he said.
“Don’t ‘Mr. Kennelly’ me. My son’s killer is free because of you.”
“And I’m here to make that right.”
That made John stop and listen. His eyes went wide, and he suddenly looked a lot less likely to tear out Hanlon’s throat with his bare hands. That was a good start.
John retreated toward the living room, backing up slowly, not taking his eyes off Hanlon. He sat back onto the couch, perched on the edge of it. Susan sat down beside him, while Kat stood off against the wall, her arms folded.
Kat already knew what was coming. They’d talked on the walk over from the shopping plaza a few blocks away where they parked. Now it was time to get the Kennellys on board. It would be a tough job, and an extra set of hands—strong hands especially—would make the whole thing easier.
Hanlon could feel retirement hiding right around the corner, waiting to pounce. He wasn’t a young man anymore. There was strength in numbers.
And this, to his mind, would help make things right. He knew how it felt, to see justice not get done. He knew the pain and the ache that lived in your soul because of it. And he didn’t want them to go through that. More than that, he wanted to close what he was pretty sure was going to be his final case.
He’d spent years watching an imperfect system let guilty men go.
And he was tired of it.
So he got ready to talk. The whole ride there, Hanlon had been rehearsing. Talking to the empty, rainy roadway. Trying to figure out the right combination of words. By the time he parked, he was feeling pretty good. He’d developed an apology that respected the parents and their loss, and put his own actions in the appropriate light, with a promise to fix it.
But standing in front of such blatant fury and sadness, John and Susan perched on the couch and shaking with anticipation, he forgot everything he came up with. So he decided to wing it.
“I can never apologize enough for what happened,” he said. Turning to Kat, he added, “I never should have put you in that position. Asking you to sneak in here—that was wrong. It was an act of desperation. But I knew—I know. Thomas Scott is the man who did this, and goddamn any system that would leave kids in danger.”
Hanlon turned to John and Susan.
“Before we move forward, I want you to know something.” He paused, looked at the floor. “I lost my son in a car accident years ago. He was eight. I don’t want you to think I know the exact kind of pain you’re feeling right now. I can’t. How you lost your kid and how I lost mine, they’re very different things. But I know that feeling of emptiness, of…”
He caught himself. The memory was choking him up already. The thought of Chris, and the way he laughed, and how he was showing an interest in music and talked about wanting to learn guitar—it suddenly became too much. He closed his eyes, focused on the task at hand.
“There’s a kind of hurt that only a parent who lost a child knows,” Hanlon said.
John seemed to soften. “What is this?” he asked.
“The system failed,” Hanlon said. “I failed. A killer is back on the street. I propose we take him off it.”
“You mean kill him,” John said, his face lighting up a little.
Hanlon nodded.
“How did you even know we would be here?” John asked.
“After that display at the courthouse today, I figured there was no stopping you,” Hanlon said. “Despite what you may think, I’m actually pretty good at my job.”
“This is a lot to take in,” Susan said, pressing a hand to her chest.
“It is,” Hanlon said. “And we don’t have to do it. We can end this conversation right here, right now, and all go our separate ways. But if we do follow through on this, we need to make a promise to each other. What’s discussed and decided stays in this room. Just between us. No one else.”
There was a sniffle behind them.
Hanlon froze.
Someone else was in the room.
His hand went to the inside of his jacket. His age was catching up with him. He should have been paying more attention. Listening more closely. He’d pushed the front door closed, but he should have locked it.
He turned to find Paul and Daisy Zhou, the parents of Mei, the second victim, standing in the hallway. The two of them so small in the hallway, standing apart from each other.
He didn’t need to ask how much they had heard.
Their wide-eyed expressions of shock made that pretty clear.