Speaking in Tongues

stepped closer.
    Now!
    She pulled the rope.
    The denim snapped neatly in half. The cinder blocks shifted slightly but stayed where they were.
    Oh, no. Oh, Christ, no! That’s it, Crazy Megan cries. It’s over with.
    He moved forward another two steps.
    She swept the knife from her pocket, looked at his shadowy form.
    I’m going to die. This is it. I’m dead. He’ll break my arm, take the knife away from me and fuck me till I die . . . Megan’s by herself now—Crazy Megan has gone away, Crazy Megan is dead already.
    He stepped forward one more foot. The dim light from outside fell on his face.
    No . . .
    She was hallucinating.
    Megan gasped. “Josh!”
    “Megan,” he mumbled again. Joshua LeFevre’s face and neck were bloody messes, his hands, arms and legs too. Large patches of skin were missing from his arms and legs. He dropped to his knees.
    Just as the cinder blocks started to tumble toward him. He glanced hopelessly at the hundreds of pounds of concrete and didn’t even try to get out of the way.
    “No!” Megan cried.
    She leapt forward and pushed him aside. The blocks just missed them both and crashed into the floor, firing splinters of stone through the air.
    “Megan,” he said, the name stuttering out from his torn throat. Blood sprayed her face as he spoke. Then he passed out.
    •   •   •
    Tate Collier’s Lexus skidded up to the pay phone on Route 29.
    He leapt out, looking around desperately.
    He saw no one.
    “Hello?” he called in a harsh whisper. “Hello!”
    He glanced at the old diner—or what was left of itafter an arson fire some years ago—and piles of trash. Deserted.
    Then he heard a moan, followed by some violent retching.
    Tate ran into the bushes. There Konnie sat, bloody and drenched in sweat, vomit on his chin, eyes unfocused. He’d been crying.
    “Jesus. What happened?” Tate bent down, put his arm around the man. When Konnie’d called him twenty minutes ago he’d said only to meet him here as soon as possible. Tate knew he was drunk, only half conscious, but had no other clue as to what was going on.
    “I’m going down, Tate. I fucked up bad. Oh, Christ . . .”
    Bett . . . now Konnie . . . What a day, Tate thought. What a day.
    “You’re hurt.”
    “I’m okay. But I may’ve killed people, Tate. There was an accident. I left the scene.” He gasped and retched for a minute. “They’re looking for me, my own people’re looking for me.” He coughed violently.
    “I’ll call an ambulance.”
    “No, I’m turning myself in. But—”
    He rolled over on his side and retched for a few minutes. Then caught his breath and sat up.
    A squad car with flashing lights cruised past slowly. The searchlight came on but it missed the bushes where Tate crouched beside the detective.
    “Listen to me,” Konnie said. “You have to get to the office. You need to look at the receipts.”
    “Receipts.”
    “For the tires. Go to the office, Tate. Genieshould’ve made a copy of them. I’m praying she did. Ask her for them. But move fast ’cause they’re going to impound my desk.”
    “Genie? That’s your assistant?”
    “You remember her. The list of receipts, okay?”
    “All right.”
    “Then look for whoever paid cash for the tires.”
    “Cash for the tires. All right.”
    “She ran warrants but that’s not . . . that’s not what I shoulda been looking for. Tate, you listening?”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Good. Look for the receipts where the customers paid cash. Then run the tag numbers of their cars. If the registered owner doesn’t match the name on the receipt that’s our boy. The one took your daughter. I got a look at . . .” He caught his breath. “I got a look at him.”
    “You saw him?”
    “Oh, yeah. The prick suckered me good. He’s white, forties, dark hair. Six feet. About one seventy. Said he . . . Claimed he was Bureau. He suckered me just like my daddy suckered people. Shit. God, I’m sick.”
    “Okay, Konnie. I’ll do it. But now I’m getting you to the hospital.”
    “No, you’re not. You’re not wasting another fucking minute. You’re going do what the hell I told you. And be there for my arraignment. I can’t believe what I did. I can’t believe it.” His voice disappeared in a cascade of retching.
    •   •   •
    Tate found his old commonwealth’s attorney ID badge at home and ran back to his car, hanging the beaded chain around his neck.
    The date was four years old but