The private shifted his attention from filming the kitchen to glance at David. “I told you I was good, Big D. The ladies must have told the Red One just how good I was.”
“You’re confusing the Naughty and Nice lists again.”
Robertson finished panning through the kitchen and headed toward the patio. “You mean they’re not the same thing?”
“I’m going to check out the upstairs before our witnesses arrive.” Crossing the room, he eyed the pictures on the wall. Art mostly. Had the grieving mother purged the family photos as a means to cope? Unlikely, Wheelchair Henry had indicated that she wasn’t coping. So what happened to them?
“Sure thing, Big D.” Robertson untaped a small measuring tape from the side of the camera. “I’ll get the footprint recorded then meet you up there.”
Taking the carpeted stairs two at a time, David quickly reached the loft. Boxes filled the open space. A bunny peeked over the edge of one. He wrinkled his nose. That was a different smell. Not alcohol precisely, but kind of sweeter and fuel related. Perfume, maybe. It wasn’t exactly an appealing scent. But then again, what did he know. The stuff probably sold for hundreds of dollars an ounce at Macy’s.
Crossing the loft, he headed for the double doors of the bedroom. A king-size bed took up most of the space. Blue light flickered from the TV hanging on the wall. His gaze skimmed around the room. Single glass of wine, half full. Nearly empty bottle of wine. Mussed bedcovers. All the weird wood cut signs of encouragement were upright. So, no signs of a struggle.
Did that mean she knew her murderer?
Or had she been too drunk to wake up?
He’d make sure to request blood alcohol levels. Grief drove lots of folks to the bottle. Of course, there weren’t many who had any booze left. He made a mental note to check for a wine cooler.
“Sergeant Major, we’re back.” Wheelchair Henry’s thready baritone entered the room.
“Be right down,” he shouted back. Walking forward, he followed a cable from the wall-mounted flatscreen to a Blu-Ray player sitting on a dresser that had seen better days. He eyed it and the matching nightstand. The things were probably designed to look like they were flea market rejects. With his gloved fingers, he picked up the open DVD case and checked the cover. Joshua’s birthday party. Nothing like a dead kid’s birthday party to lift your spirits. Returning the case to the dresser, he spied the face down picture frame.
Could he get lucky twice in one day?
He turned it over. Man, woman and two kids in a posed portrait. Not from Wally world either. So if Mom and kiddies were dead, where was Dad? He eyed the blond hair, the blue eyes and the smirk. The perfection set David’s teeth on edge. He might be the kind of guy to blame his wife for the death of the kids.
Taking the photo, he headed out of the room. The neighbors would know. Especially if the guy was as big of an ass as he looked. His footsteps echoed on the steps.
“Hey, Big D.” Below, Robertson peeked over the top of his camera. “Can you right the chair for me before I run out of memory.”
“Sure thing.” David angled back toward the front of the house and the hanging body. Only the shadows of his witnesses could be seen through the door. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
He carefully set the chair upright. A good foot and a half gap separated the woman’s feet from the chair seat. “With the casters, she couldn’t have stood on the back rest to slip the noose on.”
Robertson nodded before clicking the camera off. “And let’s not forget that her neck is broken.”
Yeah, there was that. “You begin processing while I do the interviews.”
“Toss the kits inside, will you?” The private ejected the SD card from the camera. “There’s not enough room on this one for the photos.”
David waved with the picture frame on his way out. “Will do.”
Tucking it under his arm, he tugged off his gloves, making sure to tuck one inside the other. Not that he’d touched anything dangerous. He hoped. He just found it hard to write with them on. When he stepped onto the porch, all eyes turned toward him. “Be with you folks in just a minute.”
Wheelchair Henry nodded. The women didn’t move. The boy paled.
Now that was an interesting reaction. Given the state of Stash’s body, David would have thought the kid would be a little more inured to death and violence. Then again, maybe no one should grow accustomed to violent death. There should be some innocence left in the world. Crouching next to the kits, he removed his electronic pad then set the bags inside the door and partially closed it.
And his gut told him they were innocent.
He prayed it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part, because he was about to break protocol and interview them together instead of separating them. Not that they didn’t already have time to get their stories straight.
A minute passed while he set up the file for Denise Powers. After clicking on the witness icon, he typed in the first name then deleted it. He couldn’t call the ex-Green Beret Wheelchair Henry. Glancing over the pad, he locked gazes with the old man. “Please spell your name for me.”
“H-E-N-R-Y D-O-B-B-I-N-S. Colonel, U.S. Army, Retired.”
David resisted the urge to salute. After entering his name, he waited for the request for a fingerprint. “Just put your thumb here, sir.”
Wheelchair Henry set his thumb on the unit until it beeped. “Things have gotten pretty technical since I mustered out.”
Nodding, he waited for the screen to change. While the system had gotten a bit overwhelmed at the Redaction’s height, the ease of recording deaths had meant families learned the fate of their loved ones at the speed of their internet connection. Too bad it had done nothing to slow the spread of the disease. “You should see the new stuff. It’ll make this look like Fred Flintstone’s car.”
“And the kids operating it won’t even know who Fred Flintstone is.”
“There’s always RetroTV.” When the statement window appeared, David turned on the microphone. The new software was pretty good at transcribing words. He just needed to make sure it picked the right word. Accents had messed up more than one statement. “Please tell me about the events regarding the finding of Denise Powers.”
“After we got our rations, we came straight here.” Henry gestured across the street then swept his hand to Denise’s door. “We knocked; she didn’t answer. So I got the key from under the mat and opened the door.”
Son of a— David’s arm shook to keep himself from bashing the tablet against his forehead. “She kept a key under the mat?”
How could a woman living alone in this day and age be so naive?
“Her kids were always losing their key, so she kept a spare under the mat in case they got home before her.”
David checked the verbiage of the statement before continuing. “Who knew about it?”
Henry rolled back and forth. “Just about everyone in the neighborhood.”
Everyone. Well that only made everyone in front of him suspects. Wasn’t that just fucking great? A low throb built at his temples. “Did she have any enemies?”
Henry stopped. “Enemies?”
David watched the pieces connect in the old man’s eyes. The old woman made the connection first. She hissed through her teeth and dropped her cane. Manny bent over to pick it up. The girl’s forehead furrowed despite the bruises.
“Yes, did anyone want Ms. Powers dead?”
“Her husband.” Henry spat on the gravel. “She got the house, the kids and child support and he begrudged her every bit of it. Not that he was ever around. ‘Working,’ he said. Working.” He snorted. “Missed his own kid’s birthday for work. I went out for ice for the party and spied him coming out of the titty bar up the road. Some work. Denise was well to be rid of the ass.”
Nice to have confirmation of his assessment of the guy. David corrected the spelling of the word ass. “Did he ever threaten her?”
“Plenty.” Henry bounced his front w
heels on the porch. “He even blamed her when the kids died. Like she needed to hear that.”
Motive. The key would be the means. Too bad there wasn’t a camera documenting in and out times through the gates. “Did you see him around lately?”
“Nah. It was a relief to get him out of the neighborhood.” Henry jerked his head toward a pile of garbage. “We have enough trash without adding him to the mix. Always bitching about something, usually about how he’d been wronged. Or bragging about how smart he was. His kind is never happy.”
David would bet money figured in there somewhere. Although for some losers getting the last word would be enough. Pulling the picture out from under his arm, he flashed it at the group. “Can you identify the people in the photo?”
“That’s Trent Powers.” Henry poked the man, blotting out his face. “I shoulda wiped that smirk off his face when I had the chance. The other is Denise, his wife and…”
From the corner of his eye, David watched Manny’s reaction. The blood left the boy’s face just as the cane clattered to the ground. He stumbled back and collided with the truck. The itch between David’s shoulder blades intensified. The kid knew something.
And it scared the shit out of him.
So he’d have to take it easy and get the boy alone. David waited until the old man finished speaking. “Did you hear anything unusual last night?”
“Hell yeah!” Henry chuckled. “The damn Marines were fighting. Lit up the sky too. Did they get the bastards?”
“The Aspero won’t be bothering anyone for a while.” David kept an eye on Manny. He flinched at the mention of the gang but didn’t blanch. Definitely something to do with the guy, Trent Powers. Wimpy name, Trent. Probably had the crap knocked out of him a time or two. “Anything else?”
“Nah, although Belinda might have. She had a hot date last night.” Henry adjusted his gloves on his hands. “Came home with someone, but I didn’t see who. She lives that way.” He jerked his thumb to the east. “We live that way.”
Sweat glistened on Manny’s upper lip, and he scratched absently on his arm.
Hell, maybe the kid didn’t know anything. Maybe he was getting sick. “Can you give me her address?”
Numbers popped up on the screen as he spoke the address. “She wasn’t home from work yet.” He frowned at the setting sun. “Although maybe she came back while we were delivering to the Wilsons. They’re across the neighborhood, so we wouldn’t have heard.”
“Does she have a key under the mat, too?”
“Nah.” Rising up in his wheelchair, he fished keys out of his pocket. “Because she works at the hospital, she kept working through the Redaction and gave us the key to deliver her share.”
Trusting sort. Then again, who wouldn’t trust a man in a wheelchair and a blind woman?
As if reading his thoughts, Henry shook his head. “She only just gave the key to us a month ago. Not that I blame her, she moved in the week the Public Gathering Ban went into effect. She didn’t know us from Adam. But we can grow on you like a fungus.”
“Fungi can be good. It gives us penicillin.” David double-checked the statement then gave it to the old man to verify. Once done, the old man used the stylus to sign his name. One-by-one, he collected the statements. The kids knew the least; they hadn’t even met the woman. And his gut told him they spoke the truth.
But his gut also screamed that the boy knew something relevant.
Something about the ex-husband, Trent Powers.
Once everyone had finished their statements, he began to shut down the tablet. “Okay, you’re free to go.”
Henry and Connie turned to leave. Irina followed. Manny hesitated. It seemed the kid wanted to talk. That would make his job easier.
Hunched deep in his hoodie, Manny cleared his throat. “You don’t think the murderer will be back, do you?”
David looked him in the eyes. Fear dilated the kid’s pupils until they eclipsed his brown eyes. Fear could be a great motivator and the boy seemed to need just a nudge to do the right thing. “If he’s the ex-husband, he will be moving right in. And without a witness, we probably won’t get a conviction.”
The others turned, staring at Manny. The boy glanced at him then them and back.
David felt the tug of war inside him. “You guys don’t mind if Manny sticks around, with just the two of us, we could use the extra hand getting the gear stowed.”
“Just get him home in an hour for dinner. The boy has skipped enough meals.” Connie wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulder.
If David was a betting man, he would wage a month’s salary the old woman had some sort of sonar going the way she unerringly found people and things. “You have my word.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Don’t be late. You don’t want those young ‘uns to worry, Manny.”
David pushed open the truck gate and climbed aboard. The chill sowed goose bumps across his wrists as he retrieved a body bag from the stack then exited the truck. “So what did you see, Manny?”
The kid’s mouth opened and closed but no word came out.
“Look, this man is a cold-blooded killer. He planned this murder. Down to the last detail, I’m betting. Forget CSI and those crime shows. He’s gonna get away with killing his wife—a woman he’d sworn before God and all his angels that he’d love forever. She bore him two children and still he killed her, leaving her body there for the rats.”
Manny shivered, wrapped his arms around his waist and rocked slightly back and forth.
David squelched the burst of guilt. He couldn’t give up; the kid was close to speaking. He played his last card. “A man like that wouldn’t hesitate to kill a blind woman, a cripple or kids to protect himself.”
Manny squeezed his eyes closed. “I saw him. This morning. Over at the other woman’s house. She was dead, too. He’d…” He bit his lip. Blood pooled in the cut before he licked it off. “He’d beat her up then tossed her off the balcony.”
“Shit.” David’s breath lodged in his throat. Another body. Another fucking murder. “You’d swear to this?”
“Yes.” Manny took a ragged breath. Tears glistened down his cheeks. “But it won’t do much good. I—I have a record. Manslaughter. Irina’s brother and I…”
“That won’t matter.” Wheelchair Henry rolled around the truck bed. “Connie and I know enough dirt on that scumbag to fill the Grand Canyon. By the time, we’re through with his character, no one on the jury would believe him if he said the sky was blue.”
David nodded. The case would never go to trial if the influenza returned. “I’m not saying your past won’t matter, but I know that what you’ve done during the Redaction will show the jury the true measure of your character. And that will speak volumes.”
“That’s right,” Wheelchair Henry growled. “And we’ll make sure it happens just that way.”
“But he might have seen me, too.” Manny ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “We have to leave. It’s too dangerous to stay.”
“Nonsense—”
“I agree.” David closed the gate on the truck. He might have put the fear of God into the kid a little too well. “When we deliver the rations next week, we’ll pick you guys up. All of you. Consider it temporary witness relocation.”
“Where will we go?” Manny wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“I know a place.” He just hoped Mavis didn’t mind the extra eleven people in her neighborhood.
“We’ll be ready.” Wheelchair Henry agreed, staring at the paper in his hands.
David recognized it as the flyer on the plague and Hanta virus. He just hoped none of them were already infected.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Day 3
Kicking off her sheet, Sunnie rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her partially open blinds allowed blades of the streetlight to cut up her room. Sweat glued her pajama top to her torso. She swallowed, momentarily relieving the scratchiness of her throat. Oh God.
She was sick.
With the Redaction.
Tears pricked her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She wasn’t going to make it to her twentieth birthday. She’d never graduate college, never have children, and never fall in love. Never. Never. Never. She pounded her fists against the pillowtop mattress. Why did this happen to her? After learning the Redaction was about to return, she hadn’t gone out in public without a mask.
Not once.
She’d even worn it while they burned the garbage and been nearly suffocated by the fabric while raking leaves, cutting branches and pulling weeds.
After the trip to Burgers in a Basket, she’d worn a mask more than carried her cell phone.
Fear misted her skin, momentarily calming the inferno raging inside her. She’d gone outside then. Breathed the air. The very air that carried the Ash Pneumonia.
And now she was going to die.
She sucked on her bottom lip to keep from wailing. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live, to grow old. Old… She swallowed despite her dry mouth. Oh God, Aunt Mavis! Was she sick, too? She needed to check. But what if her aunt was healthy? Sunnie could infect her. Muscles spasmed with the conflicting thoughts. Check. Stay. Check. Stay.
Stay.
She fidgeted in bed; her ears strained to decipher the sounds. The plop of pellets in the heating stove. The hum of the refrigerator. No moaning or thrashing in bed. Could her aunt be healthy? Slapping the pillow over her face, Sunnie coughed to ease the itchiness in her throat. Warm air and stale breath rushed back at her.
It was possible that Aunt Mavis wasn’t sick yet. After all, they hadn’t caught the first Redaction at the same time. Her aunt had attributed part of their recovery to the fact that they could nurse each other through the worst of it. Maybe it would help them survive this time. The soldier’s words swam through the fog in her mind.
Seventy percent mortality.
Seven in ten dead.
Three in ten would survive. Just three. Who was to say she wouldn’t be one of them? Flattening her palms against the mattress, she pushed herself to a sitting position. Sunnie labored to draw air into her lungs. God, it felt like she wore a metal bustier. Just like the first time. She gulped more air. No, this was worse than before.
Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) Page 26