Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

I roll, blink to clear my vision, bring up the .38.
    The second blow comes down on the crown of my head. The impact snaps my teeth together. I hear my scalp tear. My vision dims. The next thing I know I’m laid out on the floor, looking up at the rafters. I don’t know how much time has passed. I have no idea if I’m injured. The one thing I do know is that I screwed up and it’s probably going to cost me my life.
    Dr. Michael Armitage stands over me, my .38 in his right hand, my flashlight in his left. He’s red-faced and sweating profusely. His hair is mussed and pasted to his forehead. But a cold calm resides in his eyes. The transformation from mild-mannered doctor to violent thug stands in such stark contrast that I almost can’t believe my eyes.
    I taste blood, feel it pooling in the back of my throat, and turn my head to spit. I start to sit up, but he jabs the gun at me. “Stay down. Don’t get up.”
    I lie on my back, look up at him. “What the hell are you doing?”
    “Everything I swore I wouldn’t.” He uses the muzzle of the gun to tap on his temple, one side of his mouth curving into a smile. “That happens when we don’t exercise our best judgment, doesn’t it?”
    “I’m a cop.” I intended the words as a reminder that he can’t do this to a police officer and get away with it. But my voice is little more than the chirp of a baby bird.
    “I know what you are.”
    “You can’t do this. You won’t get away with it.”
    “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?”
    I can tell by the way he’s holding my weapon that he’s not proficient with a firearm. He’s high on adrenaline. His hands are shaking. But his finger is inside the guard, snug against the trigger. That’s the thing about revolvers; they’re idiot proof. Proficient or not, he’s close enough so that he could easily get off a lucky shot.
    There’s still a chance I can regain control of the situation and end it before anyone gets hurt. But it’s not going to be easy.
    “It’s not too late to stop this right now,” I say quietly.
    “So if I let you up, we can just shake hands and forget about all of this and be best friends again?” He barks out a laugh. “Please. You insult my intelligence.”
    “A good lawyer could get this knocked down to a lesser charge. You could get off with probation. You can afford the best.”
    “Here’s a news flash for you, Chief Burkholder: I’m not going to prison because of you.”
    I fall silent, use the time to take a quick inventory of my injuries. My left ear is ringing. Pain thuds at the top of my head. Something warm runs down my cheek. I touch my temple with my fingertips and they come away red.
    “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you know,” he says.
    When I look at him, he’s frowning at me. “Come on, Mike. This isn’t you. You’re a doctor, for God’s sake. Look at all the good you’ve done. For the kids. Don’t throw it away.”
    “Word of this gets out and I’ll never practice medicine again,” he tells me.
    “Probably not.” I glance down at my belt, but my phone and radio are gone. “There are other things you can do. Research, like what you’re doing here. Come on. Let’s go inside. Talk things over. You haven’t done anything that can’t be undone.”
    His mouth twists into a parody of a smile. “You can’t undo murder.”
    Images of Paul Borntrager’s bloody and broken body flash in my mind’s eye. I see the dead children, their pale and tender faces upturned to me. They’d wanted to live; they’d deserved the opportunity to live their lives. This man took that away from them.
    I envision myself rushing him, grabbing my weapon from his shaking, sweating hands, jamming the muzzle against his chest, and putting a bullet through his heart. If anyone deserves to die, it’s this man. This chameleon. This child-killing son of a bitch.
    “Did you kill them?” I hear the words as if someone else spoke them. Someone whose hands aren’t shaking, whose heart isn’t beating out of control. All the things I am not at this moment.
    “Perhaps we’ll save this discussion for another day. Unfortunately for you, we’ve run out of time here.” He gives me that strange half smile again. “Roll over for me.”
    I barely hear the command over the thunder beat of my heart. “How could you?” I ask. “How could you murder those innocent children?”
    “Shut up and turn over. Facedown. Now.”
    When I don’t obey, he kneels beside