Dust to Dust

by Beverly Connor

  “Shit,” he hissed. “Hey, you crazy son of a bitch, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Lay down your gun and come out with your hands—”

  His reply was cut short by a hail of bullets.

  Keeping low, Diane climbed into the van through the sliding side door. She crawled to the driver’s seat and cut off the inside lamp and the headlights. As she called for backup on her cell phone, a bullet zinged through the driver’s window and exited on the passenger side. Diane jumped and hit her elbow on the gearshift.

  “Diane, you hurt?” called Neva and Izzy together.

  “Fine. Just startled—and pissed.” Diane crawled out of the van, cursing herself for being in a cocktail dress. What kind of idiot comes to a crime scene in fancy dress?

  Kneeling on the ground, she could see that Detective Hanks was down. Because of the positions of the parked vehicles in the drive, he was open to the woods when he got out of the car.

  “Hanks is down,” Diane said. “Keep the shooter occupied long enough for me to get him to cover.”

  “What?” said Izzy. “Well, hell.”

  He fired in the direction of the shooter. Daughtry fired a couple of shots blindly across the hood of the van in the general direction from which the bullets seemed to be coming.

  Diane dashed out in the open to Hanks, only a few feet away. He was already struggling to his feet just as she reached him. She slipped an arm around his waist and helped him take cover beside the patrol car. A bullet would have to go through the van and the police vehicle to get to him. It was a safe place to wait.

  Diane examined the wound in his thigh by what little illumination his headlights provided to their position. It was bleeding, but blood wasn’t pulsing out, nor was it profuse. The bullet hadn’t hit his femoral artery. It had only nicked him.

  “My leg is fine. It’s my shoulder,” he said. “Damn it. I fell and landed on my bad shoulder. Who the hell is that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Diane. “Is your shoulder out of joint?”

  Hanks rolled his shoulder, stretched his arm across his chest, and rolled the shoulder again, wincing the whole time. “No. Just hurts like hell. I’m fine. What’s this about?” He stood halfway and peered over the hood of the police car.

  “I have no idea. I just got here,” said Diane.

  “How’s Hanks?” shouted Izzy.

  “I’m fine. Just mad as hell,” he shouted back.

  “Backup should be here soon,” said Diane.

  Diane eased the police car door open, intending to turn off the headlights and use the radio as a link to the police who were on their way. As she reached to cut the lights, she thought she saw a shadow cross a window of the house. It was quick, just a roundish shape passing one of the lower windows.

  “That’s why the random shots,” she whispered.

  She cut the lights. Now only light from the first-quarter moon illuminated the area. At least the shooter would have a harder time targeting them.

  “What are you talking about?” said Hanks.

  He was shifting his weight, trying to look around the patrol car toward Neva and Izzy at the van.

  “They’re trying to keep us pinned down. Someone is in the house,” she said. “That’s why they’re just spraying bullets around, not targeting anything in particular.”

  Hanks looked over at her sharply, then turned his head toward the house. “Now? There’s someone in the house now?”

  “I’m not certain, but I thought I saw someone inside the house.” Diane stared at the windows again, squinting, as if that would give her better night vision.

  The shooter fired two more shots that dinged off the detective’s vehicle and a tree beyond the car. Diane listened for the distant sound of sirens. She heard none.

  “I’m going to ease over in the direction of the house,” she said. “Do you have a second gun?”

  Hanks lifted his pant leg and gave her the Chief’s Special he had strapped around his ankle.

  Diane weighed the gun in her hand. It wasn’t a particularly heavy gun, and she was strong, but it felt heavy in her hand, as if its lethal potential had a weight all its own. She didn’t particularly like guns, but it would be foolish to be without one now.

  She put her cell in her shirt pocket and moved a couple of steps in the direction of the house and woods, away from the shooter.

  “I’ll go with you,” Hanks said.

  “I’m just going to watch,” she said. “I have my cell phone to keep in touch. If there’s someone in the house, I can tell backup when they come.”

  “Fine. I’m still going with you.”

  Hanks stood halfway, keeping the vehicle between him and the shooter. He leaned with his good side against the car.

  “Are you sure you can walk?” asked Diane.

  “My leg was just grazed and my shoulder’s been worse. I’m fine,” he said. “I’m thinking I’d like to get inside the house and see if I can spot the shooter from the second-floor windows.”

  Diane didn’t think that was such a good idea, but she didn’t say anything immediately. She called Neva on her cell and, speaking in a whisper, told her what she and Hanks were going to do.

  “Gotcha,” said Neva. “We’ll be here at the OK Corral hanging out.”

  “Backup will be here soon,” said Diane. She listened again for distant sirens, but still heard none.

  “If we stay near the trees and outbuildings,” said Diane, “I don’t think the shooter will be able to see us.”

  She hesitated a moment. She had been trying to make nice with the detectives ever since Izzy told her they thought she interfered in their investigations a bit too often. But Hanks was about to interfere with her crime scene.

  “Detective Hanks,” she whispered, hoping a soft voice would make her words sound soft as well, “if you go into the house, you will contaminate the crime scene.”

  “That’s not the priority right now. We have a shooter and maybe someone in the house,” he said.

  Diane stared at him a moment, weighing how to respond. Hanks was maybe in his late thirties, she guessed. His sandy hair was roughed up by his fall. She couldn’t read his expression in the dark and she didn’t know very much about him. He was new to the department. And he wasn’t making a good impression on her.

  “Backup will be here any moment,” she said. “You’re bleeding, your arm’s hurt, and there may be someone on the second floor—who is armed.”

  “And if there is, I’ll nail his butt to the wall. Come on, if you’re coming.” Hanks rose to his feet, keeping his head down.

  Diane’s plan of simple reconnaissance had turned into something that she really thought was a bad idea. But even in the dark she could see the tight set of his face.

  Well, damn.

  “If you are determined to go in,” she said, “take Officer Daughtry inside with you. He has more police training than I have for that kind of thing. I’ll watch your backs from outside the house. We don’t know how many may be in the house and we don’t know whether they have more friends than just the shooter out in the woods. Izzy and Neva can keep an eye on the front door from where they are.”

  She glanced at the house. It looked more foreboding than it had just five minutes ago. In the darkness without the headlights shining on it, she could barely make it out. It was a shadowy giant looming in the night and Diane didn’t really want to approach it.

  Hanks stared at Diane a moment, nodded, and called for Daughtry to come over. Diane watched the patrolman race the few feet between them in a half-crouched position and dive next to them beside his car. Diane thought he was a little too dramatic. Daughtry looked wide-eyed and just a little scared—and he seemed very young. Diane called Neva again and updated her on the plan as Hanks gave the policeman a quick briefing.

  Diane was satisfied to let the two of them take the lead. With Hanks wounded and Daughtry looking rather green behind the ears, she didn’t want them behind her with guns. As they crept among the large
grove of ancient pecan trees, Diane heard Izzy trying to talk the shooter down, and getting only gunfire for his trouble. From the direction of the shots, the shooter seemed to be moving about.

  This was not a good idea, Diane thought. The sound of pecan shells crackling underfoot was too loud. She slowed her pace, being careful where she put her feet, careful of tripping over unseen objects that might be on the ground. Weeds scratched at her legs and briars grabbed at her dress. She should have taken the time to change into jeans.

  Her foot hit something hard at the base of a tree. In the dark, its shape looked much like a gargoyle leaning against the trunk, nestled between roots. Guarding the pecan trees from evil spirits, no doubt, she thought. The wind picked up and blew open her shirt, bringing in chilly air. She pulled it close around her.

  It didn’t take long for the three of them to reach the first outbuilding—a one-room shack.

  Hanks stopped under its eaves, massaging his shoulder. “Daughtry and I’ll go from here to the back door,” he whispered.

  “And if it’s locked?” asked Diane.

  Hanks studied her for a moment. “Then we’ll check the windows,” he said. “They got in some way.”

  “It’s a big house,” said Diane, looking at the structure looming in the darkness. “It probably has a side door too, maybe a cellar door.”

  “We’ll look. You stay close to the house and watch,” Hanks added.

  Though his features were in darkness, Diane thought he was trying to stare her down. Was that what this was about, Hanks controlling the investigation? wondered Diane. Standing out in the chilly wind, she was growing increasingly irritated.

  “Please remember that the house is a crime scene and take as much care as you can not to touch anything, and remember where you walked,” she said.

  Hanks nodded. Diane thought the movement looked rather noncommittal.

  “Keep a line open with me,” he said. “And try not to shoot us.”

  Diane took her phone out of her pocket and keyed in the number he gave her. She heard his phone vibrate in his hand and put hers back in her pocket when he answered. With that, Hanks turned and made his way to the house with the patrolman close behind.

  Diane followed but walked more slowly, carefully picking her way through underbrush to the backyard. Ahead, she heard someone stumble and curse. She thought it was the patrolman. She stopped a moment and watched their dark figures making slow progress toward the house. Hanks hadn’t wanted to use a flashlight. No sense in making yourself a target. But it was dark and the thin layer of clouds that drifted past the quarter moon only deepened the darkness, making Marcella’s backyard look like a piece of grisaille artwork. The trees were deep black silhouettes against a black background. Diane made out a willow tree near the edge of the yard, its vinelike, black leaf-covered branches moving in the wind.

  From what she could see in the dim moonlight, the yard had the familiar patchwork of the rock-bordered flower beds she had seen in the front. At the edge of the yard the trees became more numerous and gradually became a forest.

  Diane waited near a stand of box hedges. She didn’t have the automatic fear response to darkness that many people had. She was a caver and she enjoyed the dark. Sometimes in a deep cave she liked to sit down and turn off her lamps and let the absolute blackness surround her. Perfect darkness had a kind of beauty to her, so she didn’t mind the darkly waving trees or the black forms that dotted the yard. Her gaze shifted from what looked like a birdbath to a bench, to a planter, and to several things she couldn’t identify.

  She lost sight of Hanks and Daughtry. They’d gone around to the opposite side of the house looking for entry. It grew quiet. The only sound was the breeze. She stood staring at the house, watching. She became aware of the sound of breathing.

  Chapter 3

  Diane wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of people lurking in the dark. A chill went down her spine with the realization that the steady, faint whisper easing into her awareness was the sound of someone breathing. She gripped the gun firmly as she reached with her other hand for the phone in her pocket. Trying not to look like she was fleeing, she started walking toward the house.

  She had taken only a few steps when she heard the sound of footfalls behind her crunching on the forest detritus. The sound was too close. Some unexpected instinct rose in her and instead of running, she dropped low to the ground and sprang back hard with her shoulder into the knees of the approaching figure, knocking his legs from under him. He fell forward across her and landed hard with a loud groan as Diane rolled away. The voice sounded male.

  Being tripped over didn’t hurt as much as Diane had feared. She didn’t get kicked in the side or flattened and was on her feet quickly. As she stared at the prone figure on the ground, she heard someone calling her name. The phone. She’d dropped it and it lay a couple feet away, too far to pick up. It was Hanks’ voice shouting through the receiver.

  “Hanks,” Diane yelled as she brought up her gun and pointed it at the figure rising slowly to his feet.

  He was taller than she—about six feet in height, she guessed. He was dressed in black and wore a ski mask. He stood frozen in front of Diane’s gun. It was too dark to make out any details at first, but a sudden shift of the clouds away from the moon illuminated him enough that she saw his gaze move to the right and behind her.

  What came next was a blur of dark shapes and sounds. She spun around in time to see a clublike weapon swinging toward her. She jumped out of the way and was only nicked by the tip. But it was enough, along with her own sudden movement, to propel her down an embankment that bordered the box hedges. It was not steep and she almost didn’t fall. Her first few steps were a forced run down the slope before she tripped and rolled to the bottom. She’d held on to the gun for those first few steps, but dropped it when she fell. Diane glanced up the embankment and saw a figure at the top. He reached out his hand to hold on to one of the slim tree trunks, preparing to climb down toward her.

  Damn.

  Diane searched the ground for her gun. She saw a glint in the moonlight about halfway up the slope. Not good. If she went for it, she’d meet the intruder halfway. She picked up a nearby thick piece of limb to use as a club. Not nearly good enough. She’d go for the gun.

  Just as she started to move, she heard shouts and a gunshot. The gunfire was very close, just a few yards from her. The figure at the top of the bank turned and disappeared from her sight. Diane lunged for her gun and picked it up. As she ran her shaking hands over it, she discovered the safety was on. Good thing the first guy hadn’t been able to see in the dark either. She felt for dirt or debris and tapped the side of the gun against her hand, hoping nothing had lodged in the barrel.

  Diane scrambled up the embankment, her heart beating hard in her chest. At the top she heard two more gunshots and more shouts. She crouched to catch her breath and pick up her phone. It was no longer connected to Hanks. Her thumb started keying in his number, then stopped. No use distracting him. Diane scanned the backyard from her vantage point, hidden in the box hedges. It was now strangely quiet except for rustling in the woods and distant sirens. The sirens were the backup finally on its way. But the sounds in the woods, the rustling and crunching of leaves—Are the intruders retreating?

  Diane was hesitant to step out into the open. She clicked the safety off with her thumb.

  “Diane,” Hanks’ voice shouted from across the yard.

  She saw a flashlight come from somewhere.

  “Here,” she shouted, and cautiously started for the house, scanning the area as she walked, watching for movement.

  As she neared the house, she saw Hanks and Patrolman Daughtry both limping to the steps. Daughtry sat down and was holding his leg, whimpering. Hanks, holding his arm, sat down beside him. Both seemed to be in considerable pain.

  The three of them automatically turned their heads toward the sound of a distant car engine starting up. Hanks groaned.

  “Th
ey’re getting away,” he said. “Hell.”

  “What happened?” asked Diane. She clicked on the safety and gave Hanks back his gun, relieved to be rid of it—though having it probably saved her.

  “What didn’t happen?” Hanks took the gun from her and put it in his ankle holster. He turned his head to look at the back door and winced again in pain. “Damn it, I’ve got to quit doing that.”

  He took a deep breath. “We found a side door that was open and we went in. Some kind of mudroom, I suppose. We heard someone moving in the next room and saw his shadow pass by the door. Daughtry clicked on his flashlight, identified himself, and called out for the perp to stop. The bastard bolted before we even got a good look at him. It looked like he was carrying a box or something. When Daughtry ran after him, his leg went through the boards on the porch and he broke his flashlight. But he kept on after him and managed to get off a shot. I followed and almost caught up with the perp, when someone blindsided the two of us, knocked us down, ran, and shot at us. To tell you the truth, it got kind of confusing.” He tried to shrug and winced in pain. “Daughtry’s leg is skinned up pretty bad.”

  “Skinned?” said Daughtry. “It hurts like hell. I’m going to sue that damn woman. Why didn’t she fix her damn porch?”

  Diane frowned at him. “Marcella just bought the house. She was in the process of fixing it up,” she muttered, and almost added her thought, Let’s not forget that she is the victim here.

  “The son of a bitch hit me in the leg with a bat or something,” Daughtry said. “He just about killed me.”

  Diane took Hanks’ flashlight and examined Daughtry’s leg.

  “Oh jeez,” he said, “holy shit . . . my leg . . . oh God.” He looked away and groaned.

  The broken boards had torn a deep gash in the side of his left leg from his ankle to midcalf.

  “It looks worse than it is,” said Diane. Lame, she thought, but she wanted to give him some comfort. It looked terrible. She diverted the flashlight beam from the wound.