Page 58 of I Will Ruin You

I made a loop around the block so I could drive by one more time. I was three houses away when I spotted a woman coming out the front door. I pulled over to the side. There were no sidewalks, so I rolled onto the edge of a front yard and stopped.

The woman was probably about the same age as Finster. Five-three, slender, blond hair down to her shoulders. She walked purposefully to the Kia, got in, and when she backed out of the drive she had the car pointed in my direction. I glanced down, as if dealing with my phone. I raised my head once she’d passed and caught a glimpse of the car in my rearview mirror.

Billy’s wife, I presumed. Maybe the blackmail was all her idea. Anything was possible.

Someone rapped hard on the passenger window. A woman, mid-seventies, glasses, gray hair pulled back, looking very pissed.

I powered down the window.

“You’re parked on my goddamn grass,” she said.

I gave her a nod, edged the car’s right side back onto the asphalt, and that must have satisfied her, because I glanced around and she had disappeared.

There didn’t seem to be much point in hanging around any longer. I now knew where Billy Finster lived.

My phoned dinged. I took it out of my pocket and saw that it was from Bonnie.

Have some good news.

Well, I could use some of that. I was about to reply when I heard the back door on the passenger side open. The car listed slightly as someone dropped into the backseat. As I turned in my seat, the back door slammed shut.

It was him.

And if I hadn’t been so caught off guard I might have had time to react more quickly to the fist heading straight toward my face. I had just enough time to turn so that I took the hit on my temple, immediately to the side of my right eye, instead of my nose.

I let out a yelp of pain and reared back.

“Stalking me?” he asked, and made a sniffing noise.

I put my hand on the side of my head. Christ, it hurt. I glanced in the mirror, its letterboxed shape acting like a mask for my attacker, giving me a view of his eyes and nose, which he wiped with a tissue.

“Billy, listen,” I said, my temple throbbing.

“Our arrangement’s changed,” he said. “I was going to give you more time. But I want the money tonight.”

“Fuck you.”

“I get the money,” he repeated, “or everybody knows. Get ready for some breaking news, asshole. Perv teacher! Film at eleven!”

“I didn’t do it,” I said. “I swear. It had to be somebody else.”

Was it fair to the dead to ask if he remembered Anson Reynolds? I had no proof it was him, but a man who felt badly enough to take his own life might have been wanting to punish himself for something he shouldn’t have done.

“Did you have a teacher named Mr. Reynolds?” I asked.

“What?”

“Anson Reynolds. Taught gym. Coached wrestling.” I had another name in the back of my mind. “Or maybe Mr. Willow.”

He leaned forward so his mouth was close to my ear. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Teacher. It really doesn’t matter whether it was you or not. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. All I care about right now is my ten grand.”

“Christ, Billy, once you expose me with your bullshit,” I said, “you’re exposed. They’ll look into your background. Maybe you’ve pulled this kind of shit before.”

“Not if it’s anonymous,” he whispered.

“I’ll say it was you,” I said.

“And how will you explain that? Only way you could know it was me would be if you did it.”