“Micah,” his voice was thin with fatigue. “What can I do for you?”
“How are you?” Micah asked. “You sound terrible.”
He chuckled. “Well, that wouldn’t be an inaccurate statement. It’s been a bear of a day. I’m about done in. How about you?”
“I didn’t have to run an investigation and deal with the public and human remains, but I finally gave up,” Micah admitted. “I’m on my way home.”
“Yep. Sounds good. A hot shower and a beer would be awfully nice about now.”
“I can imagine. You didn’t find anything else out, did you? The medical examiner won’t have had a chance to process the remains yet, but I wondered if there was anything else at the scene that might have helped…”
“Not much, unfortunately. Her clothing was pretty torn up, but that could easily happen with a fall down into a ravine. And there was some evidence that might or might not have had anything to do with Trisha’s death. Litter. Don’t know how long anything has been sitting there.”
“Right. Okay. I just wondered. Thought I would touch base.”
“Have a nice night. Take it easy.”
“You too, Frank. Have that shower and beer.”
“Hot shower and cold beer,” he said longingly. “I think I will.”
❋
Micah got out of her car slowly, lost in thought. It was over. They knew now what had happened to Sweetie’s mother. They might never know why, but they knew what had happened. She had abandoned the baby, and then she had walked off the edge of the earth. Literally.
As much as she didn’t want to, Micah couldn’t help thinking of her own biological mother. What had happened to her? Had she, like Trisha, met with oblivion? Or was she still out there somewhere, living her own life, not even thinking of the baby she had abandoned?
If she was alive, did she wonder where Micah was? How she had turned out? Would she have been proud of Micah, or disappointed with her personal or professional choices? Micah always sensed that Marianna and Cole were somehow disappointed in her, even if they said that they were proud of her successful career and the way that she helped to put killers behind bars. Would Cole have preferred a cop? A real role in law enforcement instead of just drawing pictures of people? What about Marianna? She didn’t seem to mind Micah drawing pictures, but she didn’t like her exposure to the underlying crime. Thinking that she was too close to the criminal element. Marianna probably would have preferred it if Micah painted portraits or did caricatures. More of a conventional artist.
Micah looked at the house. Nothing appeared to be out of place. No footprints this time, but there was also no fresh snow to aid her. No sign of whether someone was in the house.
Just to be sure, she decided to check the back as well. Look for any forced doors or windows. She knew there wouldn’t be. There hadn’t been any forced windows or doors the day before.
Micah walked quietly around the side of the house, her boots clomping too loudly on the sidewalk. She tried not to make any noise, while at the same time pretending to herself that it didn’t matter if she did.
She looked around the back yard for anything suspicious or out of place. There was a movement in her peripheral vision, and she turned her head to see what it was. Probably a branch blowing in the wind or being shaken by a bird or squirrel.
A dark shape rushed at her. Micah didn’t have any time to focus on it and evaluate whether there was any danger. The blow hit her with the force of a freight train. She felt like she was flipped end over end before she hit the cold, rough ground. The wind was knocked out of her. There was no way she could scream or say anything to stop her attacker.
He was a black shape in the darkness. In the flashes of clarity that interspersed the blur of motion, she tried to understand what was going on. To take a picture with her mind and analyze the man attacking her. He was dressed all in black, including a black knit balaclava that completely obscured his face.
She fought back, kicking and scratching desperately, trying to keep him away from her.
Did he want her purse? To break into her house again? What was in her house that he would care about? It wasn’t like she had a collection of precious jewels—she didn’t even have a high-def TV.
He kept hitting her. At first, she thought that he had a baseball bat or some kind of truncheon but, as the attack progressed, she realized all he had were his fists. Tight, hard fists that felt like bricks when he hit her. She couldn’t imagine anything harder.
She was crying, sounds coming out of her as she got her breath back again. But not calling for help, not saying anything to him that was coherent. She just grunted and cried. What had she done? She didn’t understand what the punishment was for, why he was hurting her over and over.
There was a shout, a man’s voice, and then suddenly her attacker was gone, running away. A flurry of feet, and he had disappeared into the night. Someone else ran past Micah, in pursuit, then he too was gone.
Micah lay there, panting, trying to process what had just happened. She looked for something familiar to hold on to. Where was she? What had hit her? Her head whirled, a dizzying fast carnival ride, and Micah thought she was a child again, throwing up after riding a carousel.
“Are you okay, ma’am? Just be still. An ambulance is on its way. You’ll be alright.”
“What happened?” Micah demanded, her tongue thick in her mouth. She could taste blood and wondered whether she had bitten her tongue.
“I’m not sure. Just lay here. We’ll take care of everything.”
The world tilted and spun. Micah tried to hold on to him to keep from sliding into the darkness.
“It’s so… dizzy,” she tried to tell him.
“I know. Hang in there. We’ll get you help and you’ll be as good as new.”
“Why did he hit me? Who was that?” Micah tried to sort it all out.
“I can’t answer your questions right now. We’ll look into it. It’s going to take some time.”
“I didn’t do anything. Why would he hit me?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured her.
“Then why did he hit me?”
“It’s okay,” he soothed, holding her hand firmly.
Micah closed her eyes, hoping the spinning sensation would ease. Then there were more people there. Asking her questions. Touching her.
“Stop it!” Micah protested. “Get off of me! All of you! Go away!”
The hands stilled and withdrew.
“It’s okay, Miss Miller,” one voice told her. “We’re here to help you. We are going to take care of you.”
“No. Don’t touch me.”
They waited, not touching, looking for instructions from the ones who were in charge. But Micah was in charge. It was her house. Her yard. Her body.
“We’re here to help, ma’am. We’re just going to evaluate you, make sure it’s safe to move you. We’ll get you to the hospital and they’ll set everything right.”
“No.”
“What do you want me to do, then?”
Micah couldn’t stand the feeling of their hands, dirty and gritty, on her body. “Nothing. Don’t touch me.”
“No one is going to do anything you don’t want.”
Micah realized she was shivering. She tried to curl up inside her coat.
“Ma’am, you can’t go to sleep out here. You’re getting hypothermic. Going into shock.”
Micah clenched her fists. She couldn’t feel her fingers. She tried to focus on one thing at a time.
“I want to go inside.”
“We’ll take you to the hospital. They can evaluate you there.”
“No. In the house.”
“You need to be examined. You took quite a beating. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you if you have internal bleeding or damage to your spine. We need to be sure you’re okay.”
“Help me in the house.”
“I can’t move you without a proper examination. We should be putting
you into a collar and on a backboard.”
Micah shuddered at the thought of being tied down, unable to move at all.
“I can move,” she told them.
“Then you’ll need to get up and get inside by yourself. If we move you, we could be liable.”
Micah pushed herself up with her hands. She felt so heavy. Her head especially felt much too heavy for her body. She felt like she’d been dropped on another planet, where the gravity pulled her down much more than she was used to.
She managed to get up to a sitting position and looked around at them. They were not familiar faces. Everyone stared at her, eyes big, waiting for her to collapse back to the ground. Micah grasped the railing for the back porch area and used it to pull herself to her feet. She hung on to it, her head pounding, stomach heaving, and all of her skin damp and clammy. But she had made it that far on her own. They watched as she started to shuffle toward the back door, leaning on the railing for support. Micah got to the back door and tried the handle, but the door was locked. Micah stared at the handle, unable to juggle her keys out and find the right one.
“Can you help with this?” she demanded. “I think I proved I can get around on my own.”
One of the cops stepped forward. “I can help you, ma’am. Do you have your keys?”
She tried to remember if she’d had them in her hand when she went around to the back yard. Or had she already put them into her pocket or purse? Had the intruder stolen her purse? Was that what it had been all about?
“Where’s my purse?”
“It’s right here, ma’am.” Another offered. “Do you want me to see if your keys are inside?”
“In my wallet,” Micah told him, “there’s a spare key.”
The young man checked for her. “Yes, here it is.” He held it out to her, then realized he was supposed to be helping her and inserted it into the lock. He opened the door for her.
She had still not purchased a burglar alarm. It was embarrassingly easy to get into her house. No way to alert anyone if there was a problem.
“How did you know?”
“You told me where it was, ma’am. You really do need to get to the hospital. You need to be evaluated.”
Micah shook her head, which filled it full of sparklers that popped in front of her eyes in an amazing variety of colors. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.
“No, I mean, how did you know I was in trouble?”
“We had increased patrols after your burglary. A car happened to be going by when you walked around the back, and when your lights didn’t come on right away…”
Micah groped for the light switch. It had been pure luck that they’d been able to stop the attack. Just luck that they’d had any clue that anything was wrong. Thank goodness for police officers with some common sense.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Light filled the room. While it was way brighter than usual, hurting Micah’s eyes and making her wince, it felt good to be in familiar surroundings. She was grounded.
There was a small meow and the kitten wandered into the room, looking at her curiously and stopping to stretch out her front legs, to arch her back, and to stretch out her back legs one at a time.
“Don’t let her out,” Micah murmured. “It’s cold out.”
There was some discussion about who was going into the house and who was staying out, and after some shuffling, they closed the door to make sure that the kitten could not get out.
“You need to see a doctor,” a paramedic with a serious expression and a small black mustache told her. “At least let one of us examine you. And promise that you’ll go to a clinic or see a doctor tomorrow. You took a pretty bad beating. I don’t think you realize how badly you’re hurt. You’re still high on adrenaline, and when you come down, you’re going to realize how bad it is.”
Micah hung on to the counter and tried to make a decision. There were too many people, and she wanted them to all go away. There was no way she wanted all of them touching her and trying to talk to her at the same time. But on the other hand, she didn’t exactly want to die in her sleep from a brain hemorrhage, either.
“One person,” she said thickly. “Just one, and don’t touch me.”
He consulted with his partner, murmuring in confidential tones, and then another figure came forward. The paramedic was wrapped up in a thick, dark coat, and Micah didn’t realize at first that it was a woman rather than a man.
“I would like to help you,” she said in a soft voice. “Now why don’t we go to your bedroom, away from the rest of this circus, and I can help you to take off your coat and winter gear and have a closer look at your injuries. How does that sound?”
“Yes,” Micah agreed. “Okay.”
“Do you want to take my arm?” The woman offered it to Micah.
Micah didn’t nod, worried about it aggravating her head more, but she took the proffered arm and let the woman guide her to the bedroom, providing stability and direction.
She sat down on the bed and the paramedic guided her hands to remove her hat, gloves, and bulky winter coat.
“That’s right,” the woman murmured. “My goodness, you’re going to have one heck of a shiner. You should put some ice on that tonight, no matter what else you do or don’t go ahead with. You’re going to need painkillers, lots of rest, and ice. I’d like you to see someone tomorrow for x-rays. Sometimes people don’t realize when they’ve broken a bone, and you need to get them set in order to heal properly.”
“I don’t want to go out.”
“I understand. But tomorrow. You need to do it.”
The paramedic finished getting Micah’s winter clothes off and folded them neatly, making a pile on the bed. She had Micah follow her finger, count backward by sevens, and answer various questions to demonstrate her cognitive abilities.
“Do you want me to help you to undress and get into the bath? A nice hot bath might be a good idea, keep you from stiffening up too badly, get rid of those shakes.”
“No.” Micah was repelled by the idea of someone intruding on her privacy that way. It was as bad as being assaulted in the first place.
“Are you sure? Is there anything else I can do for you? Get you a hot drink? A blanket?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Are you ready to talk to the police? Give them a statement about what happened?”
“I don’t know what happened. They know as well as I do.”
“I’ll send someone in. You’ll be okay?”
“Could you… feed the kitten? There’s an open can in the fridge. She’ll be hungry.”
“I would be happy to. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks.”
The paramedic left, replaced by a policeman. Micah didn’t know whether it was the one who had chased her assailant, the one who had stayed and held her hand, or someone who had arrived since.
“I’m sorry to have to bother you tonight, ma’am. But if you can tell me anything about the assailant, that would be extremely helpful.”
“I don’t know.”
“You hadn’t seen him before?”
“He had a mask. I couldn’t see his face.”
“A mask?”
Micah made a motion over her face. “A balaclava. All black.”
“How about his voice? His height and build?”
“He didn’t say anything. And I don’t know. He just hit me, and kept beating on me. I never got a good look.”
“I’m sorry. This must all be very frustrating to you. Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt you?” He looked around the room. “You’re recently divorced?”
Micah saw the room through his eyes and was embarrassed. He thought that the sparse furnishings and decorations meant that her husband had taken half of the household items when he had left.
“No, no. No ex. I just don’t like… clutter.”
“No relationships? Any problems at work? Family problems? Gambling?”
“No. Nothing like that.
I can’t think of anyone who wanted to hurt me. It must just be random.”
“I would agree,” he said slowly, “if not for the burglary. To have both a burglary and an assault within days of each other… that’s not a coincidence. They are connected somehow.”
Micah shook her head slowly, trying not to aggravate her vertigo further. “No. It doesn’t make sense. There isn’t anyone.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I draw,” Micah said. She didn’t want to tell him that she drew composites, he would automatically think that meant that she was being attacked because of some picture she had drawn for work. “I draw portraits.”
“Oh.” Clearly, he didn’t see how that could have anything to do with a burglary and assault. Just like Micah didn’t see how they could be connected.
“I don’t have any enemies, deputy. I don’t know of anyone who wants to hurt me. I think… this must just have been a random thing. Maybe a misunderstanding or misidentification.”
She wondered fleetingly if it could have something to do with her biological heritage. Maybe she looked so much like her birth mother that someone had mistaken her.
But that didn’t make any sense either. She had never been mistaken for someone else. If her biological mother had ever lived in town, she was long gone now. The assault had nothing to do with her.
“I’m just tired,” she told the officer. “I’d like to go to bed.”
“I’d like you to come into the station to make a statement tomorrow.”
“I don’t have anything else to say. I don’t know who this guy was or why he was here. You already know everything I know.”
“Still, it would be helpful…”
“I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere tomorrow. I’ll probably work from here until… I’m feeling a bit better.”
“I wouldn’t recommend doing too much,” he admitted. “But I would like you to make an official statement at the police station. Sometimes people have a better recollection, once they start getting things written down. There might be some detail that you remember once you get going.”
“We’ll see,” Micah said, tiring of his persistence. But she had no intention of following through.
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