1
Her high beams were the only lights guiding Cindy Garland along the Taconic State Parkway. Tree branches hung low over the roadway, and fallen leaves, wet from an earlier rain, made the pavement slick. The clouds hid the moon, plunging her into a darkness so thick it was impossible to see past the first line of elms that flanked both sides of the northbound lane. She was alone on the road, out in the middle of nowhere, the only vehicle in either direction.
Where was he?
Her trembling hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. In the glow of her dashboard lights, she could see the blood spatter on her wrists and knuckles. The same knuckles that had knocked on the door. A knock that had been followed by an innocent smile. But then the shouting began. And the crying. And the violence. Nothing had gone like she’d thought it would. Like they’d planned. How could she have been so wrong?
A set of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, quickly gaining until she had to flip the mirror up to dull the glare. It was him. He’d finally caught up. She stepped on the accelerator and listened as the engine revved, the sudden momentum pushing her back into her seat. The headlights kept pace. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she rounded a curve in the road and teetered on the brink of losing control.
How fast did he want her to go?
The headlights were only about a car length behind her. She checked the speedometer. Seventy-eight. She couldn’t risk going any faster on the twisting mountain roads. Not with the darkness and the slippery leaves and her nerves that still seemed frayed. Why was he going so fast?
Red lights suddenly popped on behind her, and the headlights that had been closing in began flashing strobes. It wasn’t him. It was much worse. It was the police.
No.
Cindy pulled off to the shoulder and watched in the rearview mirror as the cruiser stopped inches from her bumper, illuminating the interior of her car with splashes of red and white. There was a moment when she thought about taking off and hoping for the best, but she knew she’d be caught. She didn’t know these roads like the cops did, and in her current state, she probably wouldn’t get more than a few miles before she ended up in a ditch or wrapped around a tree. She’d just have to play it cool, take ownership of her speeding, and move on. Whatever happened, she’d have to avoid drawing any kind of suspicion. Not with the kind of night she’d had. Not with everything that had gone wrong.
Not with a body in the trunk.
A dark figure exited the cruiser and made his way toward her. Cindy rolled down her window and hid her shaking hands in her lap. The state trooper ducked down and shined a flashlight in her face, then around the interior of the car. He was clean shaven, smooth skin. Couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. She could see his name badge on the breast pocket of his uniform.
Kincaid.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the trooper said.
Don’t panic.
“Hello.”
“You know why I pulled you over?”
“Speeding?”
The trooper nodded and pulled the flashlight away. “You can’t go eighty on these roads. You’ll end up hitching a ride in the back of an ambulance. Or worse. Speed limit’s forty-five on this stretch for a reason.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I need to see your license and registration.”
Don’t panic.
Cindy exhaled slowly. “I can give you my license,” she said. “But this is my friend’s car. I don’t know where the registration is.”
“Who does the car belong to?”
“Rebecca Hill. She let me borrow it. I had a date back in Peekskill, and I needed to borrow her car.”
“Where are you heading now?”
“Nowhere really. Just driving around. The date didn’t go so well.”
The trooper turned his flashlight back on and used the beam to point toward the glove compartment. “Check the glove box. I bet the registration’s in there. Usually is.”
Cindy nodded and unclipped her seat belt. She leaned over to open the glove compartment.
“Ma’am,” the trooper said suddenly. “Stop what you’re doing.”
Cindy froze.
“I’m going to need you to sit back and put your hands on the steering wheel.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Put your hands on the steering wheel.”
The trooper’s tone had changed. He was serious now. Anxious. Cindy had done the one thing she’d told herself not to do. For whatever reason, she’d drawn suspicion.
Don’t panic.
She slowly placed her hands on the wheel and looked straight ahead.
“Why do you have blood on your hands and pants?”
Tears started to well in Cindy’s eyes. The silence stretched between them, raw and unsteady. Nothing had worked like they’d thought it would, and now she was sitting on the side of the road with a cop who was asking about blood on her hands. In a matter of hours, months of meticulous planning had gone to shit.
Don’t panic.
She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. Her hands gripped the wheel tighter as her breath came in short bursts.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the car.”
Trooper Kincaid opened Cindy’s door and backed away. He kept his flashlight on her until she was out and leaning against the back quarter panel by the gas tank.
“I’m going to ask you again,” the trooper said. His voice was stern now. “Why is there blood on your hands and clothes?”
“I—I—”
“Where were you tonight?”
“I told you. On a date. In Peekskill.”
“What was your date’s name?”
“I don’t—”
“Tell me what happened. Was there an accident? Is someone hurt? Did someone try to hurt you?”
Don’t panic.
The questions were coming too quickly. Cindy held on to the one she thought she might be able to play with. Did someone try to hurt you? Yes, she could tell a convincing story about that. She could blame her date. She could get the trooper on her side and maybe get out of this. She’d fill out a form and leave a fake number and get back on the road. Did someone try to hurt you? Why, yes. Yes, they did.
The trooper shined his flashlight down the rear of the car toward the bumper. “Ma’am, you have more spatter on the back of this car. Tell me what’s going on right now.”
And just like that, her story was useless. There was blood on her hands, on her clothes, and now he’d found some on the car. Too much blood to explain away. It wouldn’t be long before he’d discover the body in the trunk, and that would be it. The truth that she’d sought for so long and was so close to obtaining would stay hidden forever.
Don’t panic.
The trooper brought his flashlight around and shined it in her face. He grabbed the radio that was fastened to his shoulder. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one last time. I need you to focus. What is—”
There was movement in the darkness, away from the flashlight and the pulsing red and white. Before Cindy could register what it was, the flashlight left her face, and the trooper fell to the ground.
He’d caught up to her.
The wet thump of crunching bone and blood echoed in the night as he hunched above the trooper, beating him with something she couldn’t make out. The sound made her want to vomit. She watched his arm come up once, twice, three times, then a sickening fourth. It was over in a matter of seconds, and the roadway was, once again, brought to a deafening silence.