Part 63 (2/2)

making him cry hard. He called for me, but I ran. I ran away and left

Darren with the monsters. And they killed him. They killed him because

I ran away.”

”No.” He gathered her close, letting her weep against his chest as he

stroked her hair. ”No, you ran to get help, didn't you, Emma?”

”I wanted my Dad to come.”

”That was the right thing to do. They weren't monsters, Emma.

They were men, bad men. And you couldn't have stopped them.”

”I promised I would take care of Darren, that I wouldn't ever let

anything happen to him.”

”You tried to keep that promise. No one blames you, baby.”

But he was wrong, Emma thought. She blamed herself And always would.

IT WAS NEARING MIDNIGHT when Lou got home. He'd spent hours at his desk

going over each note, every sc.r.a.p of information. He'd been a cop for

too long not to know that objectivity was his best tool. But Darren

McAvoy's murder had become personal. He couldn't forget the

black-and-white photo of the boy, barely out of babyhood. The image had

imprinted itself into his brain.

He had an image of the child's bedroom as well. The blue and white

walls, the scatter of toys as yet unpacked, the little overalls neatly

folded on a rocking chair, the scuffed sneakers beneath them.

And the hypodermic, still full of phen.o.barbitol, a few feet away from

the crib.

They'd never had a chance to use it, Lou thought grimly. They hadn't

<script>