No Rest for the Dead by Jeffery Deaver (ed)

Author:Jeffery Deaver (ed) [Deaver, Jeffery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, serial novel, suspense, thriller
ISBN: 9781451607390
Google: aZl-KmZNXwgC
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2011-07-05T06:51:33+00:00

Diary of Jon Nunn

J.A. JANCE

After Chinatown, I went to a meeting, and when one didn’t work, I went to a second one. The idea of seeing Sarah at the memorial, now that it was drawing closer, made my guts roil. I wanted to see her. I didn’t want to see her. I wanted to smack Stan Ballard in the face. No, that’s not true. I wanted to put a bullet through his heart. That way we’d match. We’d both have holes there.

I knew those scumbags would all come out to mark the occasion. They’d have to. Snakes can’t hide under rocks all their lives. To give the appearance of having nothing to hide, they’d all be there; that’s what I was counting on. Rosemary’s good-for-nothing brother would come for sure. How could he stay away? He was in the witness room that night, and I noticed one thing about him that no one else seemed to catch. The other people there had the good grace to shed a tear or two, or at least they pretended to look sad. Not Peter Heusen. He had watched, grim faced and dry eyed, as they put the needle into his sister’s arm. Maybe it was the drink. I don’t know. He followed me out to the parking lot that warm, dark night. We had a few words. Rather, he did. Then I watched him drive away from his sister’s execution in an older-model Lincoln. And after he left, I drove away too, fully intending to get drunk. Evidently I did that in spades. By the time I finally sobered up, well, Sarah was gone for good and my job was history. And Peter Heusen? As the legal guardian for both his niece and nephew and as the conservator of the Thomas estate, he had come up in the world. Way up. As far as Sarah and her new husband, Stan, were concerned, they seemed to be living in much improved circumstances as well. They had all moved on in Rosemary’s unlamented absence, and as far as I could see, they had all prospered.

When the second AA meeting was over, I went to a third. It wasn’t all about drinking either. I had managed to keep my craving for liquor in check. Nowadays my drug of choice was guilt—the hard stuff, pure and unadulterated. To quit that addiction, I’d need far more than ninety meetings in ninety days. There was only one cure and it hadn’t changed: I needed to find the person who was really responsible for Rosemary’s death. To do that, I had to find Christopher’s killer, his real killer. And that’s what I was doing. The ball had started rolling and there was no way to stop it now.

I thought about Rosemary and Christopher Thomas. How they had lived and died in a marriage of convenience. That was their hell, at least Rosemary’s hell. But somehow I’d gotten sucked into it, had inadvertently become another one of Christopher Thomas’s victims, right along with so many others.

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