Woman with a Gun: A Novel by Margolin Phillip

Author:Margolin, Phillip [Margolin, Phillip]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

When Jack woke up a few hours later he felt like he had not slept at all. He took a cold shower, packed for the trip back to Salem, and drove to Ellen Devereaux’s house to say good-bye to Kathy Moran.

The art gallery owner lived in a bungalow on a narrow lane a block from the beach. A low picket fence surrounded a sandy yard. Jack knocked and Devereaux opened the door. The gallery owner was in her early forties. She had curly brown hair and skin with the hard, tanned look of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun and wind, and she appraised Jack with sharp blue eyes.

“I’m Jack Booth, an assistant attorney general working on the Cahill murder,” he told her. “I wanted to see how Kathy is doing.”

“She just got up. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

Devereaux ushered Jack into a living room cluttered with art. Every inch of wall space was covered by photographs and paintings. Sculptures in an array of mediums and handblown glass bowls and vases stood on bookshelves and end tables.

Devereaux walked into the kitchen, which was close enough to the living room so Jack could hear her announce his presence. A minute later, Kathy appeared. Jack was holding several copies of the Oregonian featuring Kathy’s photograph of Megan Cahill on the front page. He held them out to her.

“With all the excitement, I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten any of these.”

Kathy smiled. “Thanks, Jack. This is really nice of you.”

“I’m on my way back to Salem but I wanted to see how you’re doing before I left.”

“Do you have time for a walk on the beach? I was just going to go outside and try to clear my head.”

Kathy was wearing jeans and a sweater and she grabbed a windbreaker that was hanging on a hook next to the door. A cold wind was whipping inland from the Pacific, and Jack turned up the collar of his coat, hunched his shoulders, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Did you get any sleep?” Jack asked.

“Not really.”

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked.

“Besides exhausted?”

Jack nodded.

Kathy stopped and looked directly at Jack. “I’ve read articles about policemen who suffer psychologically even when a shooting is justified, but I don’t feel the least bit guilty.” She paused. “I know this is going to sound cold but I feel great. Gary was a horrible person, and the world is better off with him out of it.”

“Amen,” Jack said.

Kathy expelled a deep breath. “Thank you for that, Jack. I was afraid you’d think less of me.”

Jack put a hand on her shoulder. “When I heard that Kilbride was dead I felt euphoric.”

“I’m so glad you understand,” Kathy said.

Jack studied her for some sign that would tell him whether Kathy had lured Gary Kilbride to her house and executed him, but he didn’t see any evidence of guilt or dissembling.

Kathy reached up and squeezed Jack’s hand. Then she started walking toward the water’s edge. Storm

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