Page 57 of Gideon

I rolled down the window as we stopped next to him. “Are you Gary Langly?”

“Yeah,” the man said hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Tell me where you live,” I said, glancing back at Gary in the rear seat.

“I don’t want to go there. He’ll come after me. I know him—he’s an ex-Marine, and he hates me. He’s hated me ever since I married Pam.”

“You’ll be hunted for years if you don’t face this now,” I said firmly. “If he shows up, we’ll handle him. We’ll make him understand that you had nothing to do with your wife’s death. How did she die?”

“She was attacked during her run—stabbed thirty times,” Gary said, his voice trembling. “I had to identify her from a police photo. Whoever did it... they really gave it to her. Her face was barely recognizable except for her hair. Pam had beautiful hair. Pitch black and as long as my arm—that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with her.”

“How long has she been dead?” I asked.

“Three days,” he replied.

“Three days. And you called us two days ago?” I pressed. “Did you already have her funeral?”

“She was cremated. Her brother handled all of it,” Gary said, avoiding my gaze.

“Why does her brother think you killed her?”

“He thinks I did it for her insurance money,” Gary explained bitterly.

“How much is the policy?” I asked, suspecting a significant amount.

“Two million dollars. The insurance company is holding it until they can prove I didn’t kill her. Can you believe that? They’re questioning if I murdered Pam.”

“That’s standard,” I said. “With a sum like that, they have to investigate.”

“How long were you married?” River asked.

“Six months.”

“And how old was Pam?”

“She was eighteen, and I’m twenty-seven,” Gary said, lifting his chin as if daring us to challenge him.

“That’s way too young for anyone to die,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I imagine her brother is just devastated that his sister was murdered.”

“I don’t know what his problem is,” Gary snapped. “But if he’s smart, he’ll stay away from me.”

When we arrived at Gary’s house—a small, neatly decorated two-bedroom home—he immediately began stripping the place of anything connected to Pam. He yanked their wedding photo off the wall and tossed it into the trash.

River and I exchanged a glance. We didn’t need to say it—we both knew he was guilty.

Gary’s agitation was escalating by the minute. He stomped around the house, his movements jerky and erratic. It was clear he didn’t want to be there. I stepped outside to get some air and noticed a police car parked down the street. I walked over.

“Are you watching Gary Langly’s house?” I asked the officer.

“Who are you?” the officer responded, narrowing his eyes.

“He hired us to protect him from his brother-in-law,” I explained. “We’re former Army Special Forces. I was about to call the police because my teammate and I think he killed his wife. He’s strung out on something, and he’s throwing her belongings in the trash—including their wedding photo.”

The officer frowned and leaned closer. “Listen, we already know he’s guilty. He didn’t kill his wife himself—he hired someone to do it. But we managed to get her into hiding. The photos, the funeral, all of it—it’s fake. We don’t even have the name of the guy he hired, but we need him to confess so we can arrest him.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” I said. “I’m glad she’s alive. Gary told us about the thirty stab wounds, said the killer ‘really gave itto her.’ That was a dead giveaway he was involved. Can I get your number?”

The officer handed me his card.

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