“Are you serious, Kevin? Do you really think that? The cop came here looking for an old man, not to check in on a criminal enterprise,” Laskey said. “I admit, though, it is a strange coincidence that Barrett knew the Charbonneaus.”

Brubaker shrugged. “I was just thinking aloud, Newt. It’s been a long day. My brain is tired. Ignore my last comment.”

The sound of a siren approaching stopped their conversation. Another cruiser pulled into the long driveway and headed their way, traveling at a rapid clip. The sheriff cruiser skidded to a halt near the other squad cars. Laskey watched a deputy hop out and trot up to Sheriff Tubbs.

“Do you have the warrants?” Tubbs asked.

The deputy nodded. “It took some doing to find a judge not out of town and at home, but I have one search warrant for 149 Levee Road and one arrest warrant for Jon M. Rafter, M as in Mark.” The deputy started to hand the warrants to the sheriff, but Tubbs shook his pumpkin-sized head. “Give the warrants to the Lieutenant, here.”

The deputy handed the warrants over to the SWAT team leader. “I guess we have what we need now, Sheriff,” the lieutenant said.

Tubbs nodded. “Any time you boys want to rush the house, feel free. It’s your call. But just remember that Jon Rafter used to be a hostage negotiator. He knows exactly what you will do and plan accordingly. He may have even booby-trapped the house.”

Laskey stepped forward. “Sheriff, you might want to hold up. I have some information on the Charbonneaus you should consider.” Laskey was about to elaborate when another deputy jogged up to the sheriff, interrupting him.

“The landline is back on,” the deputy blurted out. “Someone inside just turned the phone back on.”

Chapter 42

Arcadias strode toward the ringing phone sitting on the fireplace mantle. He’d put the cordless handset there after plugging the base back in. He grabbed the phone and left the parlor. He hit the talk button once he reached the foyer. “Hello?” he said.

“Hello, I’m Roy Nixon. I’m calling from outside the house. I’m a negotiator with the Bedford Police Department, and I am your friend. Can I ask who I’m speaking with?”

Arcadias gripped the handset with a shaky hand. He almost said his name, but his brain stopped the signal to his vocal cords at the last moment. “You’re speaking to Jon Rafter. I’m the homeowner.”

“Is everything okay in there? Does anyone need medical attention?”

“Everyone is alive; if that’s want you want to know, Mr. Nixon.”

“But do they need medical attention? And please call me Roy.”

“I think they’ll survive this night okay.”

“Can you please tell me the names of everyone in the house?”

Arcadias searched for a reply, an answer that wouldn’t give away too much. His brain acted sluggish all at once. After a moment’s hesitation he decided the truth wouldn’t hurt in this instance. “Arcadias and Damien Charbonneau, Ned Hoxley, Keith Jepson, Colette Williams, Iris Landry and my wife, Annie.”

“You sound anxious, Jon. Are you having a bad night?”

“I’ve had better ones.”

“Talking it over might help. I’m all ears, Jon. And I want you to know, I have no hidden agenda. You can trust me. Think of me as a friend.”

Arcadias began to pace. He walked back and forth in front of a mural on the foyer wall. He occasionally glanced at it. Like Rafter’s other works, it was brilliant. But for some reason the mural irked him. His hatred for Rafter continued to grow. And he couldn’t put his finger on why.

In the mural David played his harp for the mentally unstable King Saul, using music to soothe the king’s tormented soul. “It’s personal, Roy. It has to do with Annie and me.”

“Did you have an argument with Annie?”

“How did you know?”

“A lucky guess, I suppose. What was the argument about?”

“I found out Annie is having an affair. The worst part is we’re getting ready to adopt a newborn baby. That’s why Keith Jepson is here. He’s our attorney and is helping us through the adoption process.”

“That’s a tough thing to find out, Jon. I guess the argument became pretty ugly, huh?”

Arcadias sighed dramatically into the phone. “I kind of snapped, Roy. I struck Annie. And then Damien Charbonneau’s girlfriend tried to intervene. I shot Colette in the arm with a longbow.”

“Is Colette okay?”

“She’s resting comfortably.”

“Is Colette bleeding?”

“Not at the moment.”

“How about Annie, is she okay. You said you hit her.”

“She’s fine. We’ve even made up.”

“Tell me about Officer Barrett. What was your conversation about?”

“I don’t like cops, Roy.”

“But you used to be a cop. Once you’re a policeman you’re part of a brotherhood, Jon.”

“I know. But I thought Officer Barrett saw Colette lying on the floor with the arrow sticking out of her arm. I was afraid to let him go.”

“I have to be up front and honest with you, Jon. There is a SWAT team out here that’s just itching to break down the door. But sometimes I can convince them to stand down. But you need to first do me a favor, Jon, for that to happen.”

Arcadias stopped pacing. He leaned against the foyer wall, against King Saul. “I’m listening.”

“Release the hostages. You’ll buy yourself some time. And I’ll be able to talk with you some more.”

Arcadias glanced back toward the parlor. Time was running out on him. “I would be willing to release two of them. But a condition has to be met first.”

“I can’t guarantee your condition will be met, but if it’s reasonable, why not? In fact, I encourage you to come up with a list of demands.”

“I want all law enforcement, along with their cars, to move to the end of the driveway near the road. And move the portable light towers back too.”

“Emergency vehicles have to have access, Jon. We can’t block the drive.”

“Then leave a space for them to get through. If you want me to release hostages, then back everyone up. And I don’t want any law enforcement behind the house either. Everyone must be in the front near the road where I can see them.”

“I’ll talk it over with the sheriff, Jon. I don’t have much authority.”

Arcadias grinned. His hands no longer shook. His voice no longer quavered. “As soon as I see everyone backed up I’ll let Colette and the old man go. Goodbye, Roy. It’s been nice talking to you,” he said, and hung up.

Arcadias reentered the parlor. He looked at Ned Hoxley. The old man slumped in his chair, but his dark eyes still flashed with life. “I’m going to release you, Ned, you and Colette.”

Ned shook his head defiantly. “Let Annie take my place. I want to stay here and see you get your comeuppance. One of those SWAT boys is going to come in here and put a bullet in your pea-sized brain.”

Arcadias grinned smugly. “They won’t shoot me. They’ll shoot Jon. They think he’s the hostage taker.”

Ned burst out laughing. Belly laughs shook his skinny frame. “Oh, that’s rich, Arcadias. Do you really think that? You’re the one holding a gun. And Jon here, he’s all tied up to the sofa. I think those SWAT boys are going to know exactly who to aim their guns at.”

“Ned is right, Arcadias. It didn’t do you any good to hide your identity. If you want to ensure your safety, lay down your gun and trade places with me,” Rafter said gently.

Arcadias glared at Rafter. “You are staying right where you’re at, Jon. I’ll take my chances with the SWAT team.”

Chapter 43

With several sets of eyes locked onto him, Roy Nixon killed the connection on his negotiating phone. He turned and looked at Sheriff Tubbs and Lieutenant Kyle Brock—his commanding officer. “You were right, Sheriff, this is a domestic violence case that has taken a bizarre turn. Jon Rafter is the hostage taker, and Josiah Barrett isn’t the only victim.