Page 70 of 4th Silence
Behind us, Meg is still punching Alex. “Meg,” JJ commands. Just her name.
I shove the gun into my waistband and grab my sister’s shoulders. She’s shaking with rage. “Meg, stop.” I pull her off him. In the distance, sirens pierce the air.
She struggles against my grip, her eyes wild. “He bashed her head in and left her there!”
“I know,” I say as JJ rips the Sherman from Alex’s grip and slams a foot down on his back to keep him pinned. “I know. But we’re not like him. We get justice the right way.”
Meg’s breathing is ragged. Her body vibrates, but she stops fighting me. Her shoulders drop a fraction, her jaw unclenches. “The right way,” she repeats, almost to herself. She looks down at Alex, who’s visibly shaking on the pavement. “Fine.”
“Let’s see what was worth all this trouble,” JJ suggests, opening the bag.
I hold my breath, feeling Meg do the same. Mom draws closer, eager.
JJ reaches in, and when his gloved hand emerges, he’s carefully holding the very end of a hammer. Not just any hammer—a claw hammer with a wooden handle, its metal head gleaming dully in the winter light. There’s something dark crusted along one edge.
Meg’s voice is a strangled whisper. “Oh my God.”
“Probably blood.” JJ slips it into the evidence bag so as not to destroy fingerprints. “And what appears to be hair.”
“Tiffany’s murder weapon.” The words feel surreal as they leave my mouth.
The sirens draw closer. I retrieve a second, larger bag for the purse. Mom smiles.
“You two,” JJ says, looking at Meg and me, “are either the most determined or the most reckless women I’ve ever met.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Probably both.”
“Family trait,” Mom chimes in.
I laugh—a sharp, sudden sound that surprises even me.
JJ grabs Alex by his collar and hauls him back into the driveway, slamming him against the side of his SUV. Alex’s face crumples.
The cockiness is gone, replaced by something small. “That’s not—” he starts, then stops. His eyes dart between all of us, and I note a slight twitch at the corner of his left eye. The way his hands keep opening and closing. His shallow breathing. “You don’t understand.”
“We’re going to have this conversation at the station.” JJ’s tone brooks no argument.
Alex reaches for one last desperate attempt at control. “You won’t believe me anyway.”
Meg, still breathing hard from the chase and tackle, straightens her spine. “We don’t have to,” she says. “Evidence speaks louder than words.”
I climb into the back of the SUV to get my poor feet off the ground. “That’s the thing about forensics, Alex. Blood doesn’t lie.”
Mom hails the police units that pull up at the curb and then lights up when she spots a news van. As uniformed officers approach, I grab the blanket and wrap myself in it. Closure is rare. This moment—watching Alex being read his rights, the evidence bags containing the hammer and purse being carefully documented and secured—feels surreal.
Meg climbs in beside me and rubs my arms. “How bad are your feet?”
“I’ll live. How’s the head?”
“Hard as granite.” She knocks her fist against it. “I’ll live.”
We share a grin. JJ approaches as Alex is placed in the back of the cruiser. “Are you two out of your ever-lovin’ minds?”
“The Emperor of Cold Cases delivers again,” I say, attempting to divert his anger.
He shakes his head. “This was all you. Both of you.”
Mom is giving a speech to the reporter who waves a microphone in her face.
“And her,” I say, nodding in Mom’s direction. “She’s the one who insisted we take it on.”
