by BJ Bourg
Melvin asked how we were supposed to guard the office while still handling complaints and trying to catch the killer.
“Maybe the sheriff can loan us some bodies.” I studied the windows to my office. “We’ll need to barricade all the windows in the office, and the jurors will have to stay inside until we catch Daniels. If they even peek outside he could get them.”
“What if these people refuse to come with us?” Susan asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t come live in a police station. I’d much rather stay home and take my chances—same as with hurricanes. I’d much rather take my chances at home than stay in a shelter with a bunch of strangers.”
I shrugged. “We can’t force these people to let us protect them, but we can certainly impress upon them how dangerous this Gregg Daniels is.” I handed two of the packets to Susan, two to Melvin, kept two for myself, and dropped one on Lindsey’s desk for William or Amy—in case one of them came out. Lindsey said they had left for home about an hour before I got to the station, so they were probably already sleeping. I told Lindsey not to let their phones ring too long. “If they answer right away and they both come out, tell them to reach me on the radio and I’ll get them another packet.”
Lindsey nodded her understanding, but her face was ashen. I knew she was scared. She loved reading crime novels, but she didn’t like it when things got dangerous around the office. I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Lindsey. Trust me, we’ll catch this guy, and everything will go back to normal.”
She smiled, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced.
Susan and Melvin had already bolted out the door and I followed suit, looking down at my paperwork to see which juror I’d selected for myself.
CHAPTER 38
Sergeant Susan Wilson sat in her police Charger studying the paperwork Chief Clint Wolf had given her. There were worry lines on her forehead, but it had nothing to do with the task at hand—or the possibility that she could be arrested for murder in a few days. No, the concern she felt was for Clint. His eyes were bloodshot that morning and he looked lethargic. She wondered if he’d had too much to drink the night before and if it would adversely affect his ability to concentrate on his job. Gregg Daniels was a brutal killer and definitely not someone to play with. She knew they all had to be at their very best if they were going to survive an encounter with him. Hell, even at their best there was still a good chance they wouldn’t come out the other side in one piece. One-on-one, hand-to-hand, she wasn’t worried about Daniels—or anyone, for that matter. But how do I stop what I can’t see? The very thought made a shiver creep up her spine. She looked up and scanned her surroundings. She knew he could be out there right now, with an arrow aimed in her direction. Of course, she hadn’t served on his jury and he shouldn’t be mad at her. But—she glanced at the driver’s license photo in her lap—Ava Harper had, and she needed Susan’s protection.
Susan fired up the engine and left the police station, careful not to appear in a hurry. She smiled and waved at a reporter on the corner and yawned, trying to appear as casual as possible. Once she was out of sight, she picked up speed and raced toward Coconut Lane to check on Mrs. Harper. According to Harper’s questionnaire from over twenty years ago, she had twin daughters who would be twenty-seven now, and she would be about fifty-two. Clint hadn’t found a work history for her, so Susan hoped she’d be able to find the woman at home.
When Susan turned onto Coconut Lane, hers was the only car in sight. Most people were at work at that hour and the neighborhood looked like a ghost town. She slowed as she passed Mayor Dexter Boudreaux’s house, wondering if he or his wife knew Mrs. Harper. Dexter’s truck was gone and Susan didn’t want to bother his wife when he wasn’t home, so she continued toward the back of the street. She had almost reached the end when she found the address she was looking for printed on a large mailbox wrapped in brick. There was a car in the driveway, which was encouraging.
Mrs. Harper’s house was modest and her yard immaculate. Susan caught a whiff of freshly-cut grass when she opened her car door and she noticed some grass clippings on the sidewalk extending from the driveway to the front porch. Yep, she thought, my girl’s home.
When Susan reached the door she rang the doorbell and then—as was her habit—rapped on the frame in case the bell didn’t work. It had been her experience that only a small fraction of all doorbells were actually operable, and she’d wasted lots of time early in her career waiting for people to respond to broken doorbells.
Susan waited for a minute, or two, and then repeated the ringing and knocking. As sweat formed on her forehead, she wondered when Autumn would arrive. She yearned for a change in the temperature and was ready to put this summer behind her. The thought brought back the memory of the impending grand jury decision. She started humming to block the thought from her mind and knocked on the door a little harder. No answer. She was about to turn away when she heard what sounded like a puppy screech at the back of the house.
“Mrs. Harper?” Susan called, making her way around the right side of the house. She listened closely, but didn’t hear the sound again. She called out to the woman again as she rounded the front corner of the house and made her way along the side toward the back. That side of the house was wrapped in the shade of surrounding trees and was surprisingly cooler. As she made her way closer to the back of the house, where a cyclone fence separated the back yard from the rest of the property, she heard a strange gargling sound that propelled her forward. “Mrs. Harper?” she called again as she reached the fence. “Are you—?”
Her words were lost in her throat and it took a split second for her eyes to process what she was seeing. A lady—it had to be Ava Harper—was writhing on her back in the grass, her hands clutching a large arrow that protruded from her throat.
“Hang on, ma’am!” Susan sprang into action, jumping over the cyclone fence with the ease of a cat burglar while snatching the police radio from her belt. As she reported her location to Lindsey and requested an ambulance ASAP, she quickly covered the distance between herself and the woman and dropped to her knees. She placed the radio on the ground beside her and studied the injury, unsure of how she could help. The woman’s eyes darted from side to side wildly, but the light was slowly fading from them. She tried to speak, but only air spilled from the bloody hole in her throat. “Don’t talk, ma’am,” Susan said. “Just hang on. Help is on the way.”
A chill suddenly reverberated up and down Susan’s spine as she realized the attack had just taken place. The killer was still in the area! Careful not to move her head, she turned only her eyes and scanned the area beyond the rear fence that enclosed the back yard. Her heart began beating against her sternum like a jackhammer when she saw the bush standing all alone about thirty feet from the cyclone fence. It looked oddly out of place. She sucked in her breath. It’s him!
The killer moved ever so slightly. To the untrained eye, it could’ve simply been the wind rustling the leaves of a lone bush, but Susan knew the object was no bush and she knew he probably moved to draw back his bow. Sunlight glinting off of something shiny confirmed her fear—that was a three-blade mechanical broad-head…and it was most likely pointing directly at her, ready to rip through her flesh.
Susan thought quickly. Even if she was fast enough to get off a shot, she would have to do it while moving, because killing Gregg Daniels would release the arrow, and she had to get out of its path. Trying to move so slow that it would go undetected, Susan continued speaking to the victim while easing her right hand toward her pistol. When her hand was wrapped around the grip and her index finger poised near the release button, she stole another discreet glance in the killer’s direction. He was still there, and so was the sparkle of light.
But then a sliver of doubt started to creep in. What if she took a shot and missed, hitting a nearby house and injuring or—worse—killing someone inside? That would surely give Bill Hedd all the ammunition he needed to lock her up. What if it wasn’t the killer and she
shot the wrong person?
Susan pushed the doubts from her head and readied herself. She took a few deep breaths, exhaling forcefully each time, and braced herself for what might come. This was it. Her whole life came down to this one moment. What she did next—and how well she did it—would determine if she lived or died. “God help me,” she whispered, and exploded to her feet, simultaneously drawing her gun and whirling toward the threat. She was surprisingly calm. Everything around her seemed to slow down and her senses were heightened. The sound of her pistol dragging against the inside of the holster was loud in her ears. She felt the front of her chest move with each beat of her heart. She was very aware of the tickling of her skin as a single drop of sweat tumbled down her temple and all the way to her neck. The trigger felt hard against her index finger and she hoped she’d have enough strength to pull it. Just a little higher, she thought, as the front sight started to rise toward the bush. I’m going to make it! I’ve got—
There was a quick flash of sunlight against metal, but this time it was very close and approaching at an unnaturally rapid speed—much faster than her gun hand was moving. In a blinding instant, the object collided violently with the left side of her chest. Her breath was suddenly ripped from her lungs. The pain in her chest was excruciating and crushing. As a cage fighter, she’d been kicked in the chest by powerful fighters many times, but she’d never felt anything like this. Her head swam and her knees grew instantly weak as the impact of the arrow sent shockwaves throughout her torso. She clutched at her chest, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. She couldn’t hold herself up anymore and dropped to ground, her bottom hitting first with a violent thud, and then she rolled to her left shoulder. Her chest felt tight and the lack of oxygen was causing her vision to blur and her head to spin. This is it, she thought, I’m done.
Panic began to set in as she realized she was dying and she struggled to get some air into her lungs. It felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest, smothering her. She groaned and strained, but it was no use. She didn’t have the strength to force the air to come. After a moment of feeble struggling, a deep peace slowly enveloped her entire being, and she stared unseeing at the bright sky. To hell with your grand jury investigation, Bill Hedd, she thought. You’ll never get me now.
The pain was more than she could bear and her body shut down, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
CHAPTER 39
I snatched my radio from my belt and called Lindsey. “Did I just hear Susan call for an ambulance?”
“Ten-four, Chief—there’s been another attack.”
I didn’t need to ask where it had happened, because I knew exactly where she was—I had sent her. As I turned my Tahoe around and raced across town toward Coconut Lane, I began calling for her on my radio. When she didn’t answer, I radioed Lindsey and asked if she’d heard back from Susan.
“Negative, Chief. Nothing.”
Driving with one hand, I fished my phone out of my shirt pocket and called Susan’s cell. It went straight to voicemail. Cursing, I picked up the radio again and called for Melvin Saltzman to see how close he was to Susan’s location, but he was on the opposite side of town. I heard his sirens in the background when he keyed up his mic, so I knew he was barreling toward the scene. The radio came to life as Amy Cooke and William Tucker radioed that they were in service and heading to the scene.
I was flying blindly down the highway, my surroundings moving faster than my sleepy eyes could process, and I nearly collided with a car that pulled out in front of me. Luckily, there was no oncoming traffic and I was able to swerve around it and continue onward. I shook my head, gripped the steering wheel with both hands. I needed coffee and considered stopping for some before continuing to the scene. After all, Susan was there and she would control the scene until I arrived. M & P Grill was approaching to my right and I started to slow down. It would take but a second to run in and grab a cup of hot java. That’s when I heard a message over the radio that chilled me to the core. I could tell it was William’s voice, but I’d never heard him talk like that. His voice was a mixture or shock and pain, of panic and horror.
“Help! Help!” he screamed over the radio. “Susan’s down! Oh, God, she’s down! Get me a medic…I need an ambulance! Hurry up! She’s dying!”
I was suddenly wide awake. My stomach churned and bile rose to my throat, burning like a swig of whiskey. Questions swirled through my mind. What had happened? How bad was she? My chest ached and I pulled at my collar with one hand as I tried to keep control of the Tahoe with the other. Coconut Lane loomed ahead and I smashed the brake pedal, swerved onto the street with no regard for my safety or my surroundings. I raced to the back of the street—hands trembling and head spinning—and jumped from the vehicle when I pulled to a stop behind William’s Charger. My legs were weaker than I realized and I spilled forward, throwing my hands out to keep from biting the concrete. My palms burned and my right knee hurt, but I ignored the pain and sprinted around the house and toward the back yard, from where I could hear William screaming and wailing.
When the scene came into view, it was almost more than I could handle. William was on his knees cradling Susan’s limp head against his chest. He was crying and rocking back and forth, blood on his face and arms. I started to yell at him to start CPR, but I crashed into a four-foot cyclone fence and flipped over it, landing on my head on the other side. I scrambled to my hands and knees, scurrying forward until I was beside William.
I grabbed at his arms and pulled him away, just as Amy ran up from the opposite side of the house. She helped me pull William away and then she yelled right in his face, telling him to get his shit together.
“She’s not wearing her vest!” William yelled back at Amy. “We need an ambulance ASAP! She’s going to die if we don’t get help here now!”
Amy turned away from William and helped me position Susan flat on her back. Blood covered the front of her uniform shirt and a red arrow was resting across her torso. Her holster was empty and, as we were moving her body, I’d caught a glimpse of her pistol in the grass a few feet from her body.
Trying to keep my own shit together, I pushed my index and middle fingers to Susan’s throat, searching for a pulse. There was none. Amy had dropped an ear to Susan’s mouth and came up shaking her head. “She’s not breathing!”
I figured we’d have to stop the bleeding while also giving her CPR, so I ripped open the front of her uniform shirt to expose the wound. I felt something hard and twisted as I did so, and realized her cell phone was in her shirt pocket and had taken the full force of the arrow’s energy. While the phone hadn’t stopped the arrow completely, it slowed it enough to keep it from penetrating her chest too deeply, but I knew it didn’t take much to reach the heart.
William had settled down a bit and shoved a white T-shirt over my shoulder. I took it and pressed it against Susan’s upper left chest, motioning for William to go around to the other side and hold the shirt in place while Amy and I performed CPR. I don’t know how long we worked together, fighting to keep Susan alive, but it seemed like days. My arms ached, but I wouldn’t let them stop. I felt like crying, but I bit back the tears and focused on the task at hand. I wanted to kill Gregg Daniels, but I didn’t know where to find him.
Finally, sirens blew loud at the front of the house and several volunteer firemen rushed to our sides and took over. One of them yelled that Susan was in cardiac arrest and called for a defibrillator. I stood weakly to my feet and looked around. I was at a loss, not really knowing what to do next. I felt helpless. I glanced to my right and saw William standing there crying, staring down at Susan’s lifeless body. He didn’t even try to push away the rivulets of tears that flowed down his red face. Although Susan was young, she was mature beyond her years and was like a mother figure to William and Melvin. I walked up to William and took him in my arms and hugged him, telling him she would be okay, that she couldn’t die. Although I was saying it to him, I was saying it more for me.
“Chief, is Susan going to be okay?” Melvin asked, his eyes flooding with tears.
I let William go and wiped a tear that had escaped from one of my own eyes. “Pray for her, Melvin. Pray like you’ve never prayed before.”
We all stood in a semi-circle around the medics—William in street clothes and covered in Susan’s blood, Amy also in street clothes and a shotgun cradled in her arms, Melvin with his hands on his head, and me just standing there lost—and watched as they administered a shock from the defibrillator. There was a moment of silent hope, as they waited and then checked her vitals again. One of the medics shook his head and they began preparing to shock her again. I was praying out loud, not caring who heard it. I begged God to spare her life and take mine. It was more than Melvin could take and he turned and sank to his knees, face buried in his hands, bawling hysterically. I stepped closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder, watching Susan’s face intently. There was no movement whatsoever. Not a twitch of a muscle, not a flutter of an eyelid. She was graveyard still and deathly pale.
CHAPTER 40
When Susan didn’t respond to the next shock, one of the medics hollered, “We’ve got to get her to the hospital now!” He emphasized the last word and they all sprang into action.