I swung the shears as though at batting practice. Linton’s face was red and his breathing was hoarse. The sound of childhood asthma. I pictured him chubby. A white, fleshy boy. A sissy on the playground. I could have beaten him in second grade, but girls didn’t do those things back then. I held the pruning shears low, giving my arms a rest. He struck. I jumped back, angling the shears in front of me. I whacked his left hand full force, hoping his fingers would loosen. He backed up a pace, pausing to catch his breath.

In his hand, the Biter had the look of a claw.

This was the difference between us. He was nuts. I was mad. His thinking was disorganized while I wasn’t thinking at all.

I went after him. My only hope was to wear him down. He was heavier than I by a good seventy pounds. I was light on my feet. I was speedier. I would never give up. I would fight to the death if that’s what it took. He had his hands on his knees. He panted. I moved toward him, pulling the shears back like a baseball bat. I knew the risk. Linton might not be as tired as he looked. I might not be as strong. I drove at him, aiming for his head. His hand came up to protect his face. I struck the Biter on follow-through and watched the scalpel fly off into the dark. When I looked down, Linton was on his back. His coat was caught under him, leaving his belly exposed. I lifted the shears above my head like a sword.

Someone said, “Kinsey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”

Cheney stood in the drive. He hadn’t even drawn his gun. He knew I could do it but trusted that I would not. Anna, white-faced and mute, stood behind him.

EPILOGUE

The district attorney filed first-degree-murder charges against Dr. Linton Reed in the shooting death of Pete Wolinsky. Involuntary manslaughter charges were also brought against Reed for the deaths of R. Terrence Dace, Charles Farmer, and Sebastian Glenn, whose participation in the Glucotace scandal resulted in misdiagnosis and medical mismanagement. The DA theorized that once the first victim died, Reed’s continuation of the suspect drug regimen amounted to criminal negligence.

Dr. Linton Reed, through his attorney, declined all requests to be interviewed by the police. He took a leave of absence from the university, where his research was suspended. His wife’s family is sufficiently wealthy to underwrite his legal expenses, but after an initial outpouring of protests as to his innocence, his wife has begun to disassociate herself from this once well regarded young researcher whose star fell so swiftly to Earth. Better to be married to a bum than a criminal, says she.

Eventually a deal was reached between the DA and Reed’s attorney for a plea to voluntary manslaughter with a gun use for twenty-one years in prison. Part of the plea deal was dismissal of the involuntary manslaughter charges in the deaths of the three homeless men because all three suffered from multiple debilitating diseases that, individually or together, could have proved fatal. Analysis confirmed Dace’s claim that the medication he was taking was indeed Glucotace, which was probably responsible for his failing health and eventual death, as well as that of Charles Farmer and Sebastian Glenn. Nonetheless, the DA’s deal with Dr. Reed was supported by Dace’s three children, who announced at the same time that they’d reached an out-of-court settlement with Reed, the university, and Paxton-Pfeiffer, the pharmaceutical company that had supported his research. Each of the Dace children received $150,000 in compensation for their pain and suffering.

Dace’s will went unchallenged, in part because the legal costs would have been prohibitive, but more importantly, because it would have been inconsistent to claim in a civil suit that their father was of sound mind and body and a victim of premature death at the hands of Reed, thereby justifying a monetary award, and at the same time assert he was so debilitated as a result of drink that he could not competently decide as to the disposition of his assets.

You may wonder (as who has not?) what I did with the half a million dollars that fell into my lap. After less than one minute of consideration, this is the plan I came up with: I made a generous donation to Harbor House and then I put the rest in my retirement account. Do I feel at all apologetic about my good fortune? Of course not. Are you nuts?!

But these are procedural odds and ends, some of them months in the making; dry matters when laid up against the lives of Terrence Dace and Felix Beider. I paid to have their remains cremated with the intention of scattering their ashes at some future date. According to the municipal codes governing this matter, I learned that it is illegal to scatter ashes at a public golf course, a public beach, or a public park. Though it was not specifically spelled out, I was certain that flinging them off a freeway overpass would be frowned upon as well, so I set that decision aside temporarily.