The Witness

only a matter of time before he pulled a knife or a gun, picked up a bat, before he did somebody serious harm.”
    “I know.”
    “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
    “Then I won’t.” Leading with emotion, she threw her arms around him, held tight. “I’m very glad you have good reflexes.”
    She slid into the car and drove away.

20
     
    J UST PAST THREE THAT AFTERNOON , A BIGAIL WATCHED ON her monitor as a dark Mercedes sedan cruised toward her house. The look of it sent a quick tingle up her spine. She didn’t recognize the car, the driver—late thirties, early forties, broad shoulders, short, dark hair—or the passenger—fiftyish, dark gray hair, wide face.
    She keyed the license plate into her system, reminding herself she was prepared—for anything. Her quick search through DMV records popped Lincoln Blake as the owner, and her shoulders relaxed.
    An annoying interruption but not a threat.
    Blake looked prosperous, she noted, when he got out of the passenger side. It struck her that he looked
deliberately
prosperous in his perfectly cut suit and city shoes. The second man also wore a suit, and carried a briefcase.
    She believed she saw a slight bulge on his right hip that disturbed the line of his jacket. He carried a weapon.
    Well, she thought, so did she.
    She considered ignoring the knock on her door. She wasn’t under any obligation to answer, to speak with the father of the boy who’d tried tokill Brooks. But she also considered the fact that a man like Blake, from everything she’d heard and intuited about him, wouldn’t simply walk away. In any case, she was a little curious.
    With Bert at her side, she opened the front door.
    “Miss Lowery.” Blake offered a wide smile and his hand. “Forgive the intrusion. I’m Lincoln Blake, one of your neighbors.”
    “Your home is several miles away, in fact, on the other side of Bickford. Therefore, you don’t live close enough to my property to be considered a neighbor.”
    “We’re all neighbors here,” Blake said jovially. “This is my personal assistant, Mark. I’d like to apologize for my son’s inadvertent trespass on your property last night. May we come in, discuss this situation?”
    “No.”
    It always puzzled her why people looked so surprised, even annoyed, when they asked a question and the response was negative.
    “Now, Miss Lowery, I came out here to offer my apologies, as I understand my son caused you some inconvenience, and to sort this all out. It’ll be helpful if we could be comfortable while we talk this out.”
    “I’m comfortable. Thank you for your apology, Mr. Blake, though it hardly applies, as it was your son who came on my property without permission in the middle of the night, and who attempted to stab Chief Gleason. I believe the police are sorting all this out, and we really don’t have anything to discuss at this point.”
    “Now, that’s just why I came by. I dislike trying to have a conversation through a doorway.”
    “I dislike having strangers in my house. I’d like you to go now. You can discuss this with the police.”
    “I’m not finished.” He jabbed out a finger. “I understand you’re
friendly
with Brooks Gleason, and that—”
    “Yes, we are friendly. He wouldn’t have been here at two in the morning when your son and your son’s friend came illegally onto my property with the intent to deface Chief Gleason’s police cruiser if we weren’tfriendly. However, my relationship with Chief Gleason doesn’t alter the facts.”
    “One fact is you haven’t lived here long. You’re not fully aware of my position in this community, or the history behind it.”
    She wondered, sincerely, why he thought any of that was relevant, but didn’t bother to ask.
    “I’m aware, and your position and history don’t alter the facts of what transpired here early this morning. It was very disturbing to be awakened in that manner, and to witness your son attack Chief Gleason with a knife.”
    “Fact.” Blake slapped an index finger on his open palm. “It was the middle of the night, and therefore dark. I have no doubt Brooks Gleason goaded my boy, threatened him. Justin was simply defending himself.”
    “That’s inaccurate,” Abigail said calmly. “My security lights were on. I have excellent vision and was less than ten feet away during the attempted assault. Chief Gleason clearly asked your son to show his hands, and when your son did so it was, first, to puncture