“I … hurt myself. I … slipped on the stairs and took a tumble.”
Tammy sat silently as Annie put her hand under the woman’s chin, tilting her head back. Annie rubbed at a spot, revealing another attempt at hiding a bruise.
Annie sat back down. “Tammy, did your husband do that?”
Tammy’s face took on a look of anger, and then it softened and she dropped her head. She sobbed and wiped away another tear, now making no attempt to hide the marks on her face.
“Tell me, Tammy. It’s important,” Annie said.
The woman kept her head bowed and nodded weakly.
“Does he beat you up?”
She shrugged one shoulder.
Annie stood and approached the woman again. She leaned down, put a hand under Tammy’s chin, and tilted her head up. “Tell me,” Annie said in a soft voice.
Tammy looked Annie in the eye and nodded. “Sometimes,” she said. “But I was ashamed to say anything about it.”
“Why are you defending him?” Jake asked.
Tammy’s nostrils flared and her face reddened. “Because he’s my husband.”
“Is that why you’re willing to help us?” Jake asked. “You’re afraid of him. You want him found, but you still think he’s innocent?”
Tammy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she said, “Yes, I’m afraid of him. He … he’s changed lately.” She narrowed her eyes. “He never used to be like this, but now …”
Annie waved the printout. “Did you know about their relationship?”
Tammy shook her head. “I honestly didn’t.”
“But you think he’s guilty of murder, don’t you?”
The woman’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “No.”
“Other than yourself,” Jake asked. “Has he been violent toward others?”
“Not that I know of.” She paused. “He can get angry easily, but I’ve never seen him get into an altercation with anyone.”
“Just with you?”
Tammy shrugged again. “I seem to irritate him somehow.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jake said gently. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Annie was browsing the police reports. She looked up. “Were you aware he owned a gun?”
The woman shook her head adamantly. “The police said they found bullets in the basement somewhere. I don’t go down there often.”
“And his fingerprint was found on a shell casing at the murder scene,” Annie said.
Tammy’s eyes bulged. “I don’t believe it. He might’ve hit me from time to time, but he would never kill anyone.”
“And a witness saw his car there.”
Tammy was silent.
“Now do you believe it?” Jake asked.
Tammy closed her eyes and took a few quick breaths. “No, I don’t believe it,” she said.
“How can we find him and prove he didn’t do it,” Annie asked.
“I don’t know,” the woman said. “I honestly don’t know.”
Annie put the printout back into the folder, tucked it into her handbag, then looked at Jake and stood.
Jake pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Tammy. “Call us if you think of something that can help us find your husband. Or you can call the police.”
Tammy took the card, stood, and followed them quietly to the door. “Let me know if you find anything,” she said.
Annie promised her they would, and then followed Jake to the car and got in.
“After all that,” Jake said, turning to Annie. “She still defends him.”
Annie sighed. “They almost always do.”
Chapter 16
Tuesday, 2:54 p.m.
THE MAN WAITED patiently, glancing at his watch more than once, spinning the cylinder on his revolver often, humming a nameless tune all the while.
His quarry wasn’t at home and time was wasting, but he was being well paid for this job, so wait he would. As long as it took. He prided himself on getting the job done perfectly every time. And this time would be no different.
From where he sat in the comfortable living room, he could see the driveway and half the street. He would know when they arrived, and would have time to prepare for the ambush that would earn him his pay.
He looked at his watch again. He knew they had a kid, and if he got home from school before the job was finished, that could complicate things somewhat. However, he had no qualms about taking out the boy as well, if necessary. It would be the first time he ever killed a kid, but you have to start sometime.
He smiled grimly as a car roared into the driveway. It was a big, shiny, red Firebird. They were here. He slid from the chair, circled into the kitchen, and waited. He decided the best plan of action would be to sit tight until they were inside, then step into the hallway and nail them both at once before they could react.
He knew how important the element of surprise was.
Then the car roared once more and he frowned. It sounded like they were leaving again. He circled back into the living room and eased to the front window in time to see the Firebird turn from the driveway and head up the street.
Now what?
And then a key rattled in the door and he froze. It must be the woman. The guy probably dropped her off and left again.
He didn’t have time to get back to the kitchen. He would have to wait until she came in, then go into the hallway and take her out from behind. He didn’t often shoot people in the back. He preferred to see their face as they went down, but he would have to make an exception this time. It was either that or risk failing—something he never did.
He ducked behind the chair and peered around. He could barely see into the hallway at the front of the house. He heard the door open, someone step in, and then the sound of the door snapping closed.
It was a woman. He heard her singing softly. Some stupid ’80s song.
He was faced with a minor dilemma. He could kill the woman first, wait for the man to return, and then nail him the same way. The problem was, someone might hear the gunfire, and he didn’t like to hang around for long after the first shot was fired. That could get him caught.
He had wanted to get both at once. It was always easier that way. Taking out only one would put the other on his guard—never a good thing. But half a job done was better than nothing, and anyhow, there was no other choice.
Though he’d done his fair share of hits in the past, he wasn’t a professional. It was something he aspired to, but hadn’t made the move yet. There was a lot of money to be had in that vocation, but he was still practicing for that big day. He vowed to invest in a good silencer. It would come in handy right now.
He heard another footstep and peered around the back of the chair again. She was still not in sight. Probably putting her key away or taking her shoes off or some such thing.
Then he saw a pair of eyes on the far wall of the foyer. They grew wide and he heard a gasp.
She had seen him in a mirror on the entryway wall. He cursed his stupidity as he sprang to his feet. He raised the revolver and aimed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Too late. She had scurried up the hallway toward the kitchen. Fortunately, she never tried to run back outside. That was a good thing, and should work in his favor.
He knew the layout of the house. He’d arrived early, let himself in the back door, and spent a few minutes becoming familiar with the main floor of the dwelling. The hallway led into the kitchen and she was probably going for the back door. But he knew he could also circle into the kitchen from the living room, and that’s where he headed.
He needed to get to her before she reached the back door or he would fail completely. That would be a first for him, and his employer would be none too pleased.
He couldn’t let that happen, no matter what.
He leapt across the living room and into the kitchen. He raised the gun. She wasn’t there and he frowned.
She must still be
in the hallway. She hadn’t gone upstairs or he would’ve known.
He eased across the room, both hands on his weapon, his eye sighting down the barrel, ready to finish the job that had started so poorly.
She wasn’t in the hallway. Did she turn around and circle back? He spun, ready to fire, and moved to the living room door. She wasn’t there.
He went back to the kitchen, stood still, and dropped his gun hand to his side. Listening. Listening for any telltale sound. All he heard was his own breathing and the beating of his heart.
He’d never been outsmarted before and wasn’t about to let this one be the first to get the better of him. Especially not a woman. How humiliating.
Raising the weapon again, he tiptoed silently down the hallway, into the living room, then back to the kitchen.
That’s when he saw the doorway, just inside the kitchen, near the entrance to the hall. It likely led to the basement. He crouched down. A small amount of light seeped out from underneath.
He sprang across the room and whipped the door open. The basement light was on.
He had guessed correctly. He heard a rustling, scrambling sound. She was down there somewhere. He hoped she wasn’t armed. He would need to be careful.
He took the first step and crouched. He couldn’t see her but his ears told him she was definitely down there somewhere. He took another step, then another, stopping briefly each time, his revolver ready to bring her down at a split-second notice. All he would need was one shot—he was that good.
He leaped down the last two steps and crouched on the concrete floor. Nothing. He swung around, the weapon and his body moving as one entity. One deadly killing machine.
Where was she? He frowned.
Across the room. Just behind a large treadmill. A door. It was closed, and he sprang toward it, hitting it fully with his shoulder. The door held. He tried again, and it crashed open, the frame shattered. The door bounced off the inner wall and sprang back. He stopped it with his hand and stepped inside, the revolver ready.
He had her now. There was no doubt.
His finger tightened on the trigger as he spun the weapon around the room. He stopped and pulled the trigger.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He cursed as the feet he had seen disappearing out the window were now out of sight.
He dashed forward and stepped onto the wooden box she used to reach the opening. He hefted himself up, pulled his torso outside, and there she was, to his left, racing across the back lawn. He would never be able to get to her now.
He had failed.
Chapter 17
Tuesday, 4:05 p.m.
IT TOOK LESS THAN five minutes for first responders to appear on the scene and secure the building after Annie called 9-1-1 from Chrissy’s house next door. Officers searched the Lincoln house thoroughly before they declared it clear. The would-be murderer had fled.
Jake had returned home while the search was underway and Hank arrived shortly thereafter.
Annie looked at her husband, sitting on the edge of the couch, his face still showing the horror he felt at the sudden discovery of his home surrounded by cops.
“I had no idea what was going on,” he said. “Naturally, I feared the worst.” He turned to Hank, standing in the doorway. “I went to fill up with gas, and when I got back …”
“I think you should get a better lock for the back door, Jake,” Hank said. “It looks like the guy was a pro.”
Annie tried to control her trembling body. When she had first seen the killer in the mirror, she reacted almost without thought. Her first instinct was to get out of the house. As she dashed down the hallway, she saw him standing, a gun in his hand, and knew he meant business. She didn’t have time to be afraid, but now, thinking back on her close call, she was terrified, and she still shivered all over.
“What confuses me the most, is why,” she said. “Is this related to the Shaft case, or something else?”
“What concerns me more is, the guy might be back,” Jake said.
“We have to stop him before he does.” Hank sat on the couch and looked at Annie. “Did you see his face?”
“Just briefly.”
“Do you think you could recognize him again?”
Annie shook her head. “I don’t think so. All I know is, it was a man, and he wore dark clothes.”
“Hair color?”
“Not sure. I think he wore a cap. He wasn’t especially big or small. That’s about all I can tell you. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.”
An investigator appeared in the doorway. “No unknown prints on the back door or the basement door, Hank. In fact, we checked the whole main floor and nothing.”
Hank bobbed his head up and down. “I expected as much. This guy might be a pro. He likely wore gloves.”
“Do you think it might be Norton?” Jake asked.
Hank pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling a moment. “Perhaps. But for what reason?”
“Maybe he thinks Annie knows something?”
Hank looked at Annie. “Do you?”
Annie shrugged. “Not that I can think of.” She paused. “I think he might have been after both of us, and thought Jake would be here as well.”
“If it was Norton, how would he know we were looking into the case?” Jake asked.
“Lisa Krunk,” Hank said.
Jake looked confused. “Lisa Krunk?”
“From the interview she did with Maria Shaft. They’ve been running teasers all day. The complete story is scheduled for six, and your names were mentioned.”
Annie’s brow wrinkled in disgust. “That woman is always sticking her beak in where she’s not wanted.”
Hank nodded. “And a murder always catches everyone’s attention.” He looked at Annie. “Lisa might be a royal pain, but she’s only doing her job as a reporter.”
“So the whole city knows about this case now,” Jake said.
“Afraid so,” Hank said. “And if it was Norton, we have no way to connect the dots. Annie said he fired two, maybe three shots through the window, but no bullets were recovered. Assuming they didn’t hit anything, they’re probably halfway across the city. So with no bullets, no fingerprints, and since Annie didn’t see his face.” He shrugged. “We don’t have much.”
Annie glanced over as she heard footsteps on the stairs. In a moment, Matty poked his head into the living room. “Can I come out of my room now?”
Annie looked at Jake, then back at Matty. “Yes, but stay in the house.”
Matty leaped onto the couch between Hank and Jake. “What’s going on here, anyway?”
Everyone sat back and looked at Matty, unsure how to answer. Finally, Jake said, “Someone was in the house while we were away, but he’s gone now, and everything’s okay.”
“How did he get in?” Matty asked.
“The back door.”
Matty’s face brightened. “Did you check for fingerprints?”
Hank grinned. “We checked. No prints.”
Matty frowned. “What about the neighbors? Maybe somebody saw him.”
“You might be right. We have officers checking up and down the street.” Hank paused and looked intently at Matty. “Do you have any more ideas?”
“Not right now.”
Hank looked at Annie. “I’ll make sure officers watch the house at all times until we catch him.”
“I hope it won’t be long,” Annie said.
“I suppose you have no new leads on the Shaft case?” Jake asked.
“Not yet. We’re still hoping to find Norton’s car. It has to be somewhere.”
Annie turned to Hank. “It skipped my mind with all this going on and I forgot to mention it. We went to see Tammy Norton. It turns out she and her husband don’t get along as well as she let on. We finally got her to admit …” She paused and glanced at Matty. “Her husband … doesn’t treat her too well.”
“Are you saying what I think you
’re saying?”
Annie nodded. “We saw some … evidence on her face, and she admitted it.”
Matty slid off the couch and wandered toward the kitchen.
Annie watched him leave, and then leaned toward Hank and whispered. “She had a black eye and a bruise on her chin.”
Hank sat back and crossed his arms, the fingers of one hand tickling his chin. “So, he’s violent.”
“At least, toward her,” Jake said. “But she still covers up for him.”
Hank looked at the floor, shaking his head slowly. “This case is getting more confusing all the time. I’m trying to piece everything together into some plausible scenario, but nothing fits. And I can’t find anything that even remotely looks like a motive.”
“What about that 9-ball tournament that shows Shaft and Norton had a relationship?” Annie asked. “Anything on that yet?”
“I have plans to go to the pub where the tournament was held. Talk to the organizer and any other people either one of them might’ve come into contact with.”
“That should keep you busy for a while,” Jake said.
Hank shrugged and stood. “I’m a detective and that’s what detectives do. I have to take the boring jobs along with the rest.” He grinned. “Besides, I have King to help me.” He paused. “I haven’t heard back from him yet, so I assume he doesn’t have any earth-shattering news, but as soon as he returns, I’ll set him to work again.”
“And I plan on going over everything we know,” Annie said, as she stood and followed Hank to the door. “Maybe I’ll come up with a new approach.”
She had no idea what that approach would be, but there had to be an answer somewhere.
Chapter 18
Tuesday, 5:59 p.m.
JAKE SWITCHED on the television and stretched out on the couch, his back against the armrest. The story by Lisa Krunk was scheduled for 6:00, and though he was disgusted at the way she sensationalized every news report, it pertained to the case they were working on and he didn’t want to miss it.
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