It was the first time I'd ever seen Silas lose control. He swung again and again, fists raining down, his eyes burning red—like a man hellbent on avenging his wife with his bare hands.
Captain Finch rushed in and hauled him back.
But Silas kept thrashing, kept straining forward, screaming at the Limping Man:
"You monster! What did Julia ever do to you? Why would you do this to her?"
The Limping Man said nothing in his own defense. He simply looked at me—a long, deep look.
Then, in a voice light as air:
"I confess. Take me away."
Captain Finch's brow furrowed. He waved his hand. "Take him."
Two officers stepped forward, cuffed him, and moved to escort him out.
He still didn't resist.
In fact, he walked faster than the officers, as though he couldn't wait to be taken in.
I didn't understand why, but watching him limp away, something gnawed at me. Too many things didn't add up.
Who was he? Why had he been secretly photographing my daughter since she was a child?
Why stalk her for over twenty years, only to strike when she was pregnant—in the most brutal way imaginable?