by Erin Hayes
Shortly before six o’clock her phone rang. “I have some news on your friend,” said her dad, his tone somber.
Kyra swallowed back her dread. “What did you find out?”
“The shelter reported a Martina Doyle missing last night at eight o’clock. She never showed up for her first day of work and she didn’t return to the shelter.”
“I know all that already. Do they have anything else to go on? Maybe she went to Rick’s?”
“No. He hasn’t had any contact with her since he dropped her off at the shelter. The police checked her last known address. Her husband wasn’t home so they haven’t been able to question him. Jim’s going to keep me apprised, off the record of course.” He paused, and cleared his throat before adding in a subdued tone. “He doesn’t know it was you who asked for the information.”
“Keep me posted,” she said before ending the call. She knew what her dad was alluding to. Jim wouldn’t have given him the information if he’d known who was asking. As far as Jim was concerned, the sooner she was institutionalized, the better.
The blare of a squad car siren reverberated through her head. A sense of foreboding gripped her. Was Martina okay? The sound of the siren had spooked her. A haunting reminder that terrible things happen. She fixed her eyes on a rectangle of tile lit by a shaft of sun breaking through the blinds. Why was Brian taking so long? She really should call Taggert again, at least let him know she was trying.
She froze, her scalp electrified, when her doorbell chimed. Slowly she willed herself to tread down the hall, a dense darkness pressing in on her from both sides with every leaden step.
She yanked the door open and gasped. Jim and a second armed officer stood on her front doorstep, their faces jaundiced in the revolving light of a squad beam bar. Had they found Martina? But why had they come here?
Jim tightened his lips and looked at the ground briefly, as if what he was about to say was momentous enough to bear a reverential moment of silence. Kyra heaved a shaky breath before covering her face with her hands.
No! Martina can’t be dead!
Chapter Forty
Martina gingerly fingered her way around the wound on her left temple. When she moved her head from side to side, a drum roll pounded her skull. Crusty, blood-matted hair clung to her scalp like peeling paint on a weathered door. She poked her elbow into the lumpy mattress beneath her and shifted onto her side. A flurry of dust filled her nostrils. She sneezed several times in quick succession, wincing as the pressure in her head swelled.
Her stomach growled. She must have been unconscious for several hours at least. As groggy as she felt, it was likely Hal had drugged her after he’d knocked her senseless. She snapped her eyes shut and rewound the clip of her car being rear ended as she’d reached for the radio. Hysteria had overtaken her when Hal’s sneering face had appeared at her window.
Gritting her teeth, she eased her head up, slid carefully off the mattress and crawled across the floor. She reached up and rattled the doorknob a few times and then banged weakly on the wood. Leaning her weight against the rough paneling, she listened for any signs of life.
“Help, please. Somebody.” Her voice echoed thinly, and then faded in the tiny space. Frustrated, she slapped the wooden door again, knowing it was pointless. Even if she had the strength to yell, Hal would never lock her up anywhere she could be heard. She turned her back to the door, slid down on her haunches, and surveyed her prison.
Judging by the cobwebs caked across the ceiling and the dank odor in the air, it had been a while since anyone had been in the room. Every inch of the space was buried under a thick layer of dust, and the floor was dotted with rodent droppings. She eyed a sink in the far corner of the room and ran her tongue over her chapped lips.
How long had it been since she’d had anything to drink? She placed her hands on the door behind her and pushed herself up. Pain radiated out from her temple. She closed her eyes and waited until the throbbing subsided before she tried to move again.
Steadying herself against the wall, she shuffled over to the small pedestal sink, rigged with a rusty pair of pliers to crank the faucet. After several attempts to force the pliers to turn, a few drops of brown water sputtered out. The pipes had rusted up. She stared at the grimy basin for a moment, and then pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes to trap her tears. Hal had done a good job of isolating her from any chance of rescue. She could die of thirst in this infested hole.
Turning back to the bed, she noticed a tiny dormer window in the wall behind the headboard. She climbed back onto the bed and peered over the headboard through the filthy glass, half green with mold. Her breath caught in her throat. Dusk was falling, but she could make out water. A lake maybe? A few fingers of moonlight poked their way through the thick forest of pines and brushed the restless surface. Several old shacks, scattered between grassy lots, were dotted around the edge. Her heart raced. If this was the lake where Hal went fishing, she was only a couple of hours north of Dearborn. Close enough to hitchhike home if she could figure out how to get out of here.
Should she break the window and climb down? Maybe she could wrap her fist in a blanket and punch it out like they did in the movies. But, how would she reach the ground? She pressed her aching forehead against the cold pane and tried to angle her head to gauge the best way down from the roof.
Not a hope.
The steep pitch under the dormer window was designed so that snow would slide off it. As weak and lightheaded as she was now, she’d likely slip and roll right off it, even if she could knock out the glass.
She flattened her nose against the windowpane, hoping to see another human being at one of the shacks. Anyone other than Hal. There was no telling where he was, or when he would be back, or what he was planning to do with her. Knowing him, she feared the worst. He could have easily finished her off already, but killing her would never put out the hellish rage that fueled him. She’d defied him, and he’d make her scream for mercy before he’d be satisfied she’d paid for what she’d done.
She sank back on the filthy mattress and leaned her head into her knees. She only hoped Taggert was still at the shelter and out of Hal’s clutches. She’d always lived in fear of Hal hurting him. And now, she was powerless to protect him.
The rev of a vehicle’s engine startled her. Her heart strained in her chest as she scrambled to her feet.
She dragged herself across the room and pressed her face against the window. A few hundred feet from the dark asphalt road winding along the lake, a vehicle pulled over at the edge of the water. Her stomach twisted. It could be Hal out looking for the perfect place to drown her. She’d always feared her grave would be a patch of dirt in her junk-filled backyard. Maybe it would be a watery one instead.
Chapter Forty-One
Kyra stared at the two uniformed deputies on her front porch, searching for a glimmer of hope in their masked expressions. Martina was supposed to be safe at the shelter. Starting a new life. Out of Hal’s reach.
“Can we come in?” asked Jim, his static eyes chilling the space between them.
Dread spiked in Kyra’s chest. Not trusting herself to speak, she stumbled backward and gestured for the officers to step inside. Her head swam with emotion as her conversation with Taggert came rushing back to her. I swear to you, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find your mom.
She’d failed him. Just like everyone else in his miserable life. A jolt of nausea went through her gut. Hal must have sent that text message from Martina’s phone to cover his tracks. If only she’d notified the police hours ago.
“This is Officer Romero.” Jim jerked his head sideways at the thickset sheriff on his left. Kyra nodded numbly and led the deputies into the family room. Officer Romero positioned himself in the doorway and stared fixedly ahead. Jim perched on the edge of an armchair opposite Kyra and pulled out a notebook. He flipped it open and dangled it in front of her. “This your license plate number?”
Bewildered, she shook
her head. “I ... don’t understand. What’s that got to do with anything?”
Jim’s face registered nothing. “Can you answer the question, please?”
“I don’t know. I’m driving a rental.”
“According to Hertz, the contract for this license plate is in your name.”
Kyra hesitated. What was he getting at? Maybe one of the neighbors had seen her rental car at Martina’s house and reported it. She took a deep breath. “Just tell me what’s going on, Jim. Did you find Martina?”
He stopped scribbling and straightened his shoulders. “Our officers responded to a shooting in a downtown parking garage at four thirty-five this afternoon. The victim was fatally shot in the head—in your rental vehicle.”
Kyra shrank back in her chair and stared at Jim, her vision blurring. It was almost as if she was high on something, not really hearing what she was hearing. As if Jim were a mirage floating in front of her. Not making any sense.
She pressed her temples, struggling to comprehend. Fatally shot. Tears slid through her lashes. Jim bobbed and wove in slow motion in front of her. His hands shifted in slow and meaningless gestures, supporting the mysterious shapes his mouth was forming, but the sound was muted.
Her mind raced in helpless circles. Why was Martina in my car? Blinking, Kyra tried to focus. What was it Hal had said when she’d slipped past him on his front porch? I’m not done with you yet. Her lips trembled as a terrible thought took shape. Had Hal framed her for Martina’s murder? Was that why Jim was here?
“Kyra.” Jim cleared his throat. “I asked you what he was doing in your vehicle.”
She tried to process his words. It was impossible to think straight with her stomach dry-heaving. The room was closing in on her. She was only getting bits of what Jim was saying. She must have misheard him. Her mouth felt clammy when she finally responded.
“He?” The question lodged in the air between them like a high speed bullet in slow motion. Jim’s flinty stare indicated she was missing something obvious, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Her eyes settled on the semi-automatic weapon wedged in the leather holster swinging from Officer Romero’s hip as he leaned against the doorframe, arms folded and bulging against his shirtsleeves.
Jim tightened his jaw. “We’ve just gone through this, Kyra. Your vehicle was seen exiting the parking garage at Fifth and Main Street right before shots were fired. The homicide victim was identified as Brian Ferguson. Do you know him?”
Brian! Shock crushed Kyra’s lungs, slicing through her air supply. Her body convulsed in tiny spastic jerks. This is a nightmare. Any minute now Jim’s face would fade to gray and she would wake up. This was all a terrible mistake.
She squeezed her face in the palms of her hands and shook her head. “That can’t be true. I just talked to him.”
“We have a positive ID on the body.” Jim leaned forward. “Was he a friend of yours?”
Her heart thrashed in her chest. “He is ... was my boyfriend.”
“Was?”
“We broke up a few days ago.” She watched the two officers exchange a look. Romero straightened up, his expression hardening.
“Did you authorize Brian Ferguson to drive your rental vehicle?” Jim continued.
“No. I mean, yes.” Kyra twisted her hands in her lap. “I asked him to drop it off at my house.”
Jim twisted his lips and tapped his pen on his notebook. He sniffed loudly before jotting something down.
“Do you know if Brian had received any threats?”
Kyra shook her head, her pulse beating rapidly.
“Was it a mutual decision to end the relationship between you and Mr. Ferguson?”
“What?”
“You heard the question.”
Kyra hesitated. The room spun at dizzying speeds. “We had an argument last Friday. I was uptight after losing my job. We both agreed it was time to part ways.”
She locked eyes with Jim, hoping her tone would convey what she thought of his line of questioning. Her teeth chattered. Shock was taking over her body. Brian was dead! Jim was here to interrogate her about murder. Did he really think she had something to do with this?
She studied the abstract weave in her wool carpet, her rib cage pulling up and down. The end is coming. Her head swam, black circles darting in front of her line of vision. Soul Stalkers were behind this. They had come for her. Only this time someone else had died in her place.
Jim squared his shoulders and straightened up in his seat. He made a fist and thumped his hand on his knee. “I’d like you to come down to the station to assist us with our inquiries.”
Kyra stared at him, her jaw tingling. “Why? I already told you everything I know.”
“It’s purely a voluntary interview, to aid the investigation.”
She looked from Jim to the poker-faced Officer Romero busy adjusting his radio in the doorway. “You’re acting like I’m a suspect.” Her voice trembled. “Don’t you understand? Someone tried to kill me. It was my car they shot at. It wasn’t Brian they were after.”
Jim flipped his notebook shut. “We’re simply following standard homicide investigation procedures. I’d appreciate your cooperation.” He gave her a curt nod and stood to leave. “We’ll expect you at the station this evening.”
Jim glanced at his partner and then leaned down and whispered into her ear, his stale breath hot on her clammy skin. “As a friend of your father’s, I’m gonna recommend you bring your lawyer.”
Chapter Forty-Two
When the front door closed behind the deputies, Kyra collapsed onto the couch. Brian’s dead. I’m a suspect. They think I’m a killer.
A cold sweat broke out along her hairline as the shock registered. She’d just been interviewed as a person of interest in her ex-boyfriend’s murder. Jim had kept his neutral cop mask in place, body language under control, but she’d read the suspicion in his eyes. He was already convinced she was unstable. And everything that had happened to her lately could be construed to support that in court.
She had to figure out exactly what had happened. Hal might have shot Brian by mistake, thinking it was her pulling out of the garage. Or, he could have killed Brian on purpose to frame her. She moaned softly and buried her face in her hands. She was the perfect scapegoat to enter an insanity plea for murder, especially if Dr. Brenner testified.
It was all too preposterous to wrap her head around. She’d never fired a gun in her life. Would anyone believe she’d hired a hit man to kill Brian? She didn’t have a record, a motive, or a weapon …
A flash of panic exploded in her brain. The gun license! She clutched a cushion to her thumping chest. But, she hadn’t done anything illegal, right? Hal had physically threatened her. Rick could testify to that. It made sense to protect herself. Surely Jim wouldn’t twist that around on her. She was just as much an innocent victim of this crime as Brian. There was nothing they could pin on her.
Nothing, except for the fact that it was her rental car Brian died in.
The cushion slid from Kyra’s grasp and fell to the floor. A dull ache spread across her belly. She could be indicted for murder. Blood pounded in her head as she seesawed back and forth between despair and hope. A good lawyer could dismiss the evidence as circumstantial. It was too early to panic. She was making too many premature assumptions. The police didn’t have enough for a case against her. Maybe Jim only wanted her to come down to the station as a witness. Confused and trembling, Kyra picked up the phone and dialed the wrong number three times before reaching her dad.
She was still slumped on the couch, too dazed to function, when he walked in an hour later with a tall, bespectacled man in a gray suit. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, sinking down beside her. “This is unbelievable.”
Kyra breathed in deeply. “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”
“This is Jackson Meier.” Her dad gestured toward the stranger. “He’s a criminal defense lawyer, the best.”
“Ms. Williams
.” Jackson extended a hand toward her. “Your father contacted me as soon as he got off the phone with you.”
“Jackson knows exactly how to handle this kind of thing. No one’s assuming you were involved just because you were dating Brian.”
Kyra shook her head. “Jim is.”
“He’s only doing his job. You were Brian’s girlfriend. He has no choice but to interview you. It doesn’t mean he suspects you’re a killer. You don’t even own a gun.”
“No.” She let out a long breath. “But, I applied for a weapons license last week.”
Jackson looked up from his briefcase. “May I ask why?”
“I was threatened recently. I thought it would make me feel more secure if I owned a gun.”
Jackson snapped his briefcase closed. “It’s circumstantial evidence we can dismantle and dispose of. Who threatened you?”
“I helped a friend leave her abusive husband. He swore he would come after me.”
“I’ll need a name and contact info.”
Kyra pulled out her phone and read off Martina’s address and phone number.
“We’ll pursue that angle. Now let’s run through everything from the beginning. If I’m going to help you, there can be no surprises down at the station.”
Twenty minutes later, Jackson looked over the copious notes he’d taken and glanced at his watch. “If you’re ready we can head down to the station now and get this over with.”
Kyra smoothed her hands over her hair, and stood. “I’m as ready as I can be.”
“I’ll advise you during the course of the interview if it’s best not to answer a question. If you say something incriminating, it increases the probability of moving the case to trial, and right now you’re not on trial. So don’t let them intimidate you.”
“My friend, Jim, can help us clear this mess up,” said her dad. “He’s the cop who interviewed Kyra earlier.”