Page 75 of One of Us Is Guilty

‘Thank you anyway,’ said Bloch as they left. The heavy door slammed shut behind them and Bloch listened to two separate bolts slotting across the door, and then the rattle of a security chain.

Once safely inside Bloch’s Jeep, Lake asked, ‘What do you think?’

‘I think he may be on to something.’

‘You sure?’

‘Nobody cans a detective with his rep, experience and clearance rate unless you want to cover something up. It’s what happened to him because of the Teresa Chase case that makes me think he’s right. I do know one thing for certain – he’s paranoid.’

As they drove out of the street, they passed a Land Rover Defender with blacked-out windows parked at the curb. It wasparked sufficiently far away from Winchester’s house to be barely visible due to the bend in the road, but it was still in a position to notice everyone coming and going from the property. The Land Rover had not been there when they’d arrived. Bloch would have noticed. She saw Lake checking out the side mirror, keeping the Land Rover in view as they headed out toward the highway.

‘I think you’re right about the cover-up,’ said Lake, ‘but I’m not sure you’re right about Paul. Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.’

30

Paul Winchester

It was always the same dream.

Since he was eight years old.

He was sitting cross-legged on the rug that lay in the center of the floor in his old living room. Barefoot, wearing his Captain Caveman pajamas and watchingSesame Street. It was the summer, but there was nowhere to go. Both his parents were at work, and they didn’t want him wandering. Mom would be back anytime. He just had to wait.

He was feeling hungry. She should have been home by now.

When she got home, she would fix him a PBJ and serve it on a little flowery china plate with a cold glass of milk. He was worried now. She was really late.

He thought about going into the kitchen and making his own PBJ, but he’d tried that a few weeks ago and it didn’t work out. He had torn the slice of Wonderbread to shreds trying to spread the hard peanut butter, just out of the fridge. The strawberry jelly wasn’t a problem, but putting it all together was impossible for him. He thought about just getting a spoon and eating from the jars, but he liked the combination of sweet red jam and salty peanut butter on sugary thick white bread.

He missed his mom.

The credits started to play onSesame Streetas Big Bird and the kids on the street waved goodbye.

That’s when he saw the flashing red and blue lights on top of the police car as it pulled up outside his house.

He saw the big cop, the tallest man he’d ever seen, get out. He had a white uniform and black aviator sunglasses with gold rims. And a hat. A hat kinda like those that cowboys wear except it had a golden-colored cord wrapped around the base of the crown like a band. That hat came off as the cop knocked on Paul’s front door. He could smell the chewing tobacco on the big cop’s breath as he knelt down and told him both his parents had been killed.

And they were never coming home.

That was the point, usually, when Paul would awaken, startled and upset and disturbed, and strangely with the same odor of that chewing tobacco in his nose.

But not lately.

Not for a while.

In the last few years, there had been another part of the dream.

The part he was seeing now.

The part where he lay down on the living room floor and rolled around, crying hysterically. And as he rolled, he suddenly felt something cold against his eight-year-old cheek. When he opened his eyes, he saw the headless, naked corpse of a woman beside him.

She was crying too. Even though she didn’t have a mouth, or eyes, or a head. He could still hear her wailing.

That’s the new part. That’s the part where Paul wakes up.

Like he did tonight.

He was sweating and panting. Sitting upright in bed.