by Debra Webb
Okay. She stood back and drew in another bolstering breath. So there had been someone in her apartment. She hadn’t been imagining anything. Well, she certainly didn’t have a thing worth stealing.
She didn’t even have a television set. Her intruder had likely been sorely disappointed. Though, admittedly, if he was shopping in this neighborhood his expectations had to be low anyway. On the other hand, why try to get to her through the locked bathroom door? Why would a common thief do that? The answer was likely one she didn’t want to know. She shuddered, thankful for her landlady’s nosiness.
Her attention shifted to the short hallway. All she had to do now was check the bathroom and bedroom, and then she could relax. Firming her resolve, she checked the bathroom first.
Clear. Nothing out of the ordinary except for the vinyl blinds she’d damaged in her haste to get to the window. Covering all the bases, she peeked into the hall closet as she passed. Her relief at finding it empty made her a little lightheaded. Thank God.
The bedroom and then she could relax. The door was closed. She couldn’t remember if she’d left it that way or not. Her hand shaking she reached out, gave the knob a twist, and pushed the door inward.
No sound. No reaction. That had to be good.
She eased into the doorway and felt for the light switch.
Why hadn’t she gotten a weapon? A knife or something?
Because you don’t have one. You don’t have anything.
Okay. She readied to press the final button on the phone.
She could do this.
She shoved the light switch upward with her free hand and the overhead light glowed to life.
Nothing moved.
Relief rocketed through her.
Her gaze landed on the bed and her heart skidded to a near stop.
Austin lay sprawled across the tousled sheets. He still wore the charcoal suit he’d been wearing at the bar tonight.
Only... his crisp white shirt was...
Red... the whole front was... red...
Blood.
A scream rent the air. Not until after the sound faded into nothingness did Julie realize it had come from her.
She rushed toward the bed. Her feet hit something wet and flew out from under her. Her backside hit the floor hard. Julie scrambled up, grabbing the phone that had slipped from her hand. Blood. On her hands. On her legs and feet. The sandals she’d thought would be comfortable in her new job were smeared with...
Blood... so much blood. On the floor and the bed. It was everywhere.
“Austin.” She crawled onto the bed.
How could this be? It didn’t make sense.
“Austin.” She reached out to shake him.
He didn’t respond.
His eyes were open. Glassy. Staring straight up at the ceiling.
She forced in a ragged breath.
Pulse. She had to check his pulse.
She shuddered when her fingers pressed against his neck. He was so cold.
A desperate sound pushed past her lips.
Help.
She needed help.
It took three tries to get the number dialed properly. She couldn’t stop shaking. She somehow pushed the end call button twice. Her hands were sticky with blood.
Austin’s blood.
“9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“My name is Julie Barton. My husband,” she said, her voice shaking so badly she could scarcely speak, “my husband is... I need help.”
“What is the address you’re calling from, Mrs. Barton?”
Julie’s mind went blank. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. Please send help. I think... I think he’s dead.”
She shoved her hair back from her face only then realizing that her cheeks were damp with tears.
Austin was dead.
She kept watching his chest... expecting it to move.
Why didn’t he breathe?
“Ma’am? Ma’am, I need your location.”
The words tumbled past Julie’s lips as if her roiling stomach had hurled them forth.
“I’ve got your location, Mrs. Barton. Help is on the way. The police and the paramedics are en route. I need you to work with me until they arrive.”
“Okay,” she whispered. Julie felt suddenly and utterly numb.
“Mrs. Barton, tell me the nature of your husband’s injuries.”
Julie knelt over his motionless body and stared at his bloody chest. “I... I think he’s been shot.” A wave of dizziness took her breath and she had to brace her free hand against his body. There was an angry hole in the center of his chest. Then another just a little lower. The smell of coagulated blood was suddenly stifling.
“I need you to check for a pulse, Mrs. Barton.”
She shook her head then remembered that the woman couldn’t see her. “There is no pulse. He isn’t breathing. He’s... cold.”
“Where is the bullet wound?”
“His chest... there’s...” Julie swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. “Two of them. There’s a lot of blood.”
“Mrs. Barton, I need you to attempt CPR. Do you know how to perform CPR?”
“Yes,” strangled out of her.
“Listen to me carefully, ma’am. Don’t hang up. Lay the phone down nearby and do what you can until the paramedics arrive. You’re sure you understand the steps?”
“I... I know what to do...”
Julie laid the phone on the bed and hesitated a moment. Should she drag him to the floor? No need. The bed was as hard as a damned rock.
He’s dead! What difference does it make? Just do it!
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and then focused on the steps. She’d taken a CPR course forever ago. Still no pulse. Check the airway. Tilt the head back. Compressions.
No response.
Oh God! He’s dead!
“Don’t think,” she murmured.” She started chest compressions again, counting as she’d been trained.
She repeated the cycle four times.
Nothing.
No pulse. Skin gray and cold. Sticky blood… everywhere. She grabbed the phone. “It’s no use,” she whimpered, the tears blurring her vision. “He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”
“Ma’am, help should be there--”
The rest of her words were cut off by pounding on the front door. Julie dropped the phone and rushed out of the room, slipping as she went. She braced against the wall in the hall twice to right herself when dizziness overwhelmed her. She had to keep it together. Had to make it to the door. Finally she reached it, disengaged the lock, and jerked the door open.
“Help me!” she cried, her throat closing with the effort.
Two uniformed police officers poured into the room. Two paramedics filed in after them.
“He’s in the bedroom!” Julie grabbed her middle and doubled over, unable to hold herself upright any longer. Nausea gripped her, sent spasms wrenching her throat.
She heard the rush of their steps as help moved down the hall and into the bedroom.
Too late.
He was dead.
She knew it. She knew it.
“Ma’am, come sit down.”
One of the officers had stayed with her. She hadn’t noticed. He led her to the sofa and ushered her down onto it.
“He’s dead,” she murmured over and over. How could he be dead? How could this have happened? Her hands were covered in his blood. Austin’s blood. Her body quaked uncontrollably.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions. Do you think you can answer them for me?
Julie wiped her eyes with the backs of her bloody hands and tried to focus on the officer. He was tall, thin, and young. His crisp blue uniform was reassuring. She was so cold.
“It’s so cold,” she echoed the thought aloud.
Before she knew he’d moved, he had draped the throw lying across the chair around her. “Why don’t we start at the beginning, Mrs. Barton, and you tell me w
hat happened.”
She nodded stiffly.
He asked her so many questions. Sometimes she thought he asked the same ones again and again but she couldn’t remember. She told him about coming home and finding Austin. She told him about the blood. About how she tried to do CPR. She was certified, she added. But he was dead.
“Can you think of anything else, ma’am?” he asked after what felt like an eternity.
The memory of trying to escape through the bathroom window... of the doorknob turning... the floor creaking rammed into her.
“The intruder!” Her gaze collided with the officer’s. “Someone was inside my house when I came home. I had to hide in the bathroom. He tried to get in.” Violent spasms shook through her. Why hadn’t she told him that already? Maybe she had.
“Did you shoot the intruder?”
She frowned. What was he talking about? She didn’t have a gun.
“No! I hid from him. My landlady came to the door and he ran away.”
The officer made some more notes in his pad. “Did you get a look at this intruder?”
She shook her head. Hadn’t he heard her? “I locked myself in the bathroom.” Who would want to kill Austin? Why was he in her bed? Where was his car? She hadn’t seen his car. None of this made sense.
“Mrs. Barton, did you shoot the intruder?”
“What?” She jerked her head up. Hadn’t he asked her that already?
He stood. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
He moved away, leaving her there with her thoughts. She didn’t shoot anyone. She didn’t even have a gun. Why had he asked her that?
Austin was dead.
The reality reverberated through her.
How could that be?
She’d just seen him a few hours ago at the bar. He’d been very much alive then. Barbie. His girlfriend had been with him when he left. Was she dead, too?
Julie’s breath caught. Maybe Barbie had killed Austin. What was her last name? Julie struggled to remember but her mind was a jumble of thoughts and worries and images.
“Ma’am.”
Julie looked up to find the officer back again.
“The homicide detective who’ll be in charge of this case has arrived. He’d like to speak to you now.”
Her frown deepened. Detective?
“Mrs. Barton.”
Julie’s attention jerked toward the familiar voice. The one she’d fantasized about. The one belonging to the detective who had come to her rescue when Austin…
Austin was dead.
Homicide.
Murder.
Ma’am, did you shoot the intruder?
Realization seared through her. He thought she killed Austin. That was why the officer kept repeating the same questions... to see if she was lying.
Julie stared at the drying blood on her hands. She blinked. She was a suspect.
“I didn’t do it,” she murmured more to herself than to the detective staring down at her. She could tell him about the intruder. He would know what to do. But she was the spouse. One on the verge of a nasty divorce. The words she’d flung at Austin in the bar just a few hours ago rang in her ears.
She’d said she would see him in hell... and now he was dead.
In her apartment.
In her bed...
Chapter Six
Mobile Police Department, 6:55 a.m.
Blake paced the floor of the interrogation room. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at Cannon’s blast of fury back at the crime scene. He’d ordered Blake to take the rest of the week off and to steer clear of Randall Barton. The last thing Blake had expected was for the younger of the Barton brothers to get himself murdered while Blake was watching his wife.
He checked his watch again. Five minutes later than the last time he’d taken a look. Blake turned and retraced his path. This was his first time in an interrogation room where he wasn’t the one doing the interrogating. Realistically, he felt confident his actions wouldn’t cost him his shield. There would, however, be a price to pay. He just didn’t know what it would be at this point. Another smudge on his record, for sure.
As if he’d telegraphed the thought to the powers that be, the door opened and Cannon strode in. He still looked as mad as hell.
“Sit,” he commanded as he dragged a chair from the narrow metal table and took a seat himself. He slapped down a manila folder and opened it.
Blake did as he was told. This was not the time to test Cannon’s boundaries any further than he already had. All he had to do was stick to his story and play it cool. No matter how it looked, the truth was on his side.
“You arrived at Midtown Marie’s around eight?”
“That’s right.” Blake attempted to relax, didn’t happen.
“Do you frequent this establishment?” Cannon eyed him speculatively.
Chances were Cannon had the answer already. At least a dozen cops were crawling all over this case. “I’ve dropped by from time to time. I wouldn’t say I frequent any one particular establishment.”
Cannon’s gaze narrowed as he weighed the response. “So you just happened to be there tonight when Austin Barton shows up and has a very public confrontation with his estranged wife?”
“Just my luck.” Blake turned his hands up. “It’s a small town.”
Cannon made a sound that wasn’t exactly an agreeable one. “I suppose it was also mere luck,” he said sarcastically, “that you were in her neighborhood at two a.m. this morning.”
“Actually,” Blake confessed, “I hung around the bar after the confrontation. Even followed her home. She was pretty upset by the encounter with Barton.”
Cannon leaned back in his chair and studied Blake for a moment. “Are you having an affair with this woman?”
Blake laughed, the sound a little tighter than he’d intended. Only in his dreams. “Hardly. We’ve barely spoken to each other. She rear-ended me the other day and I’m hoping she’s still going to be able to pay for the damage.” His Mustang was in the shop right now. The black Taurus he was driving was better for surveillance anyway—not that he planned to mention that part to Cannon.
“Yet you stuck your nose into the argument with her estranged husband last night,” Cannon countered.
“I would have done the same thing for any other woman in similar circumstances.” No man should humiliate and intimidate a woman that way.
“You have to know how this looks, Duncan.” Cannon closed the manila folder. “It’s bad enough that I’m catching hell from the captain and the chief about the whole situation, what do you think is going to happen when Randall Barton learns you had words with his brother before he was brutally murdered? Or that you followed his brother’s wife home to make sure she was okay?”
A thread of uneasiness worked its way through Blake. “Are the chief of police and Barton close friends?” Sure sounded that way to Blake. Rather than being focused on who killed Austin Barton, the entire conversation appeared to be geared toward avoiding the fallout related to Randall Barton’s feelings.
Temper flared in Cannon’s eyes. “As of this moment you are on administrative leave—with pay—until we clear up this mess.”
When Blake would have argued, Cannon cut him off, “You’re playing with fire, Duncan.”
“Are you saying I’m a person of interest in this murder investigation?” Blake hadn’t expected the finger to be pointed at him. If he’d wanted either one of the Barton brothers dead, he’d have made that happen a year ago and no one would have found the body.
“I’m working hard to prevent having to go there,” Cannon said with a burdened breath. “It would be very helpful to this investigation as well as to your career if you would cooperate.”
Blake put up his hands. “Fine. Whatever you need me to do.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Detective.” Cannon stood. “The first thing you can do is to go home. The second is to stay there.” He strode to the door, but paused before opening it. “And stay away from anyon
e related to the Barton name.” He sent Blake a final look. “Particularly Austin Barton’s widow.”
Blake stood. “Whatever you say, L.T.”
He gave Cannon time to reach his office before leaving the interrogation room. He’d just as soon miss any of the entourage following his boss around this morning. He reached for the door but it opened first. His partner walked in and closed the door behind him.
“What the hell?” Lutz demanded. “Have you lost your mind?”
Blake should have expected this. “I don’t know anything about who killed Barton.”
Lutz set his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I should have seen it. You’ve asked me a million questions about Randall Barton. Who is he to you? What kind of grudge have you got against the guy?”
“Whoa.” Blake held his hands up surrender style. “You should save that vivid imagination for the book you’re writing.” His partner fancied himself the next Grisham—without the law degree.
“We’re partners,” Lutz argued, “there should be no secrets between us. Trust is far too important for this kind of crap to be happening.”
“Put your money where your mouth is, partner, and trust me. I have no idea how Barton got himself murdered.”
Lutz searched his face. “I do trust you, Duncan, but this is bad business. Barton has deep connections in this town. He will make you wish you’d never heard his name.”
“I already do.”
Lutz stopped Blake before he got out the door. “Does this have something to do with your brother’s murder?”
Anger lit to simmer inside him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Blake couldn’t look at his partner now. The thing he had said about trust was true. Partners shouldn’t have secrets. Yet, Blake couldn’t share this with him.
“You moved down here a few months after his death. His murder case was closed, the killers are awaiting trial. I can’t imagine what you’re after, but I’m guessing his murder is your motive.”
Blake glared at him, frustrated at the situation… at himself. “What the hell, man?”
“That’s right,” Lutz confessed. “I’ve been doing a little research the past couple of days. Randall Barton was on a business trip in New York the week your brother was murdered. Do you really believe he was somehow involved in your brother’s murder? Is that what the last year has been about? All the questions?” He shook his head. “Damn it, I should have figured this out before now.”
