From that room came the earsplitting screams of the toddler.
Air clogged in my windpipe, threatening to suck back into my lungs. My eyes followed another sunbeam down to the floor of that room. Something solid lay just within my line of sight. I could not tell what it was. I managed one step forward, hugging the wall to my right, to peer closer.
A sandaled foot. Tilted outward, toes pointing in accusation toward the blood on the door frame.
My fingers loosened on the folder. It slid down the wall and onto the carpet in front of me.
“Mmmaaaaa, mmmaaaaa…aaaahhhh!”
The little boy gasped and choked. Then raised his wails once more.
His screams pulled me forward. I pushed away from the wall, stepping over the folder and down the hallway. My legs moved beneath me through no will of their own. At the entrance to the room, I reached out to steady myself as I peered inside.
The metallic-sweet scent of fresh blood invaded my nostrils.
Crystal Sybee lay on her back, arms extended, fingers curled. Her neck twisted to one side, her eyes staring lifelessly at the bottom drawer of a dresser painted in sky blue and dotted with puffy clouds. Blood saturated the front of her T-shirt, sprayed across her arms, and oozed from self-defense cuts in her hands. She’d been stabbed. Multiple times. A red-glazed kitchen knife lay by her left knee. Her little boy hunched on the floor to her right, vainly smacking his fists into her hip.
Trying, trying to wake his mother. His cheeks flamed red; mucus ran from his nose, over his lips.
With a groan I flung myself into the room, a dozen voices clamoring in my head.
You’re in a crime scene, Annie; don’t touch any more than you have to!
Is the boy hurt? He’s spattered with blood but is it his?
How long has she been dead?
Run, leave! The killer could still be here!
As I sank to my knees beside the boy, he turned to me, bewildered, terrified eyes wide. His cries sputtered, then died in his throat. My purse strap fell off my shoulder and I shoved the bag aside. I reached out, running my hands down the boy’s arms, exploring his head, his legs, his chest. No wounds that I could find. His forehead creased. “No!” He scrabbled backward, his bare heels digging into the carpet. He did not stop until he hit a leg of his wooden crib. “I want my mama!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I soothed ridiculously. “What’s your name?”
“Tommy! Go away!”
“Tommy. Okay.”
Clearly, he’d not been hurt. Ignoring him for the moment, I turned my attention to Crystal. Laying the backs of my fingers against her throat, I felt for a pulse. Nothing. Next I tried her wrist. Still nothing. She was dead. I’d known it the first second I saw her. But she felt so warm. She couldn’t have been gone long. Minutes maybe, no more.
How long had I been there? Time seemed so distant since I drove up, got out of my car, saw no one and heard nothing.
Only when I reached the front door had the toddler begun to cry. Only then.
That couldn’t have been more than five minutes ago.
Where was the killer?
Before I knew it, I’d thrust to my feet, crossed the room, and snatched the boy off the floor. He squirmed in my arms, pulling my hair, kicking my hips. I pressed him tighter against my chest, ignoring his cries, smearing tears and mucus and blood into my shirt. Teeth clenched, I fought my way back over the carpet, around Crystal Sybee’s still form. Somehow I managed to grab my purse. Out the door and into the hall I fled. I had to get myself and the child away from this house of death. I would throw him into my car, lock the doors, screech out the driveway to the Atherton Police Station…
Adrenaline ricocheted through my veins. I overshot the hallway and banged into the opposite wall, turning sideways just in time to save the boy from hitting it. My left hip and shoulder took the blow. I bounced off and staggered, blinking hard, trying to regain my equilibrium. My eyes focused on the floor before me—those ten feet leading to the top of the stairs.
Something had changed.
Deep within my brain the knowledge shouted, struggling to be heard over the pain in my side, the kicking toddler, the terror in my limbs. Something isn’t right! What is it? The question careened against the walls of my mind.
My eyes squeezed shut, then opened to stare again at the carpet near the top of the stairs. The truth hit, cutting through me as keenly as the blade of a knife.
The folder was gone.
My heart turned over in my chest. No…no…the file must have somehow slipped onto the stairs. It lay out of my sight, that was all. I only had to move a few steps and I’d see it. But my denials rang false. That folder had fallen in front of me, in the hall. I’d stepped over it to get to the nursery.
In that instant I knew. The Face was here.
Who else would care about that file? This scene—the blood smeared on the wall, Crystal Sybee’s death—was his doing. Why he had done it, I did not know. But suddenly the hall, the house, reeked with his presence.
“Shhh, shhh.” I tried to silence Tommy, putting a hand over his mouth. But he only cried harder. There would be no silent slinking from this house. Wherever the Face lurked, upstairs or down…he would know our every move.
My mind on hold, my body moving on someone else’s legs, I skulked down the hall, clutching the toddler, my purse, and whatever courage I had left.
I’d nearly reached the stairs when the door twelve feet away opened and a figure materialized before me.
Chapter 42
A gurgle sounded in my throat as needle points pricked down my legs. Weakness washed through me and I almost dropped the little boy.
“Annie Kingston.”
The man spoke my name in sneering disgust.
I stood frozen, staring, my suspicions gelling into reality.
This man—with blood on his hands, his shirt, spattered up his bare arms—was not the Face. I had never seen this man before. Brown hair, gaunt cheeks. But the shape of his eyes…
Tommy twisted in my arms, seeking the source of the voice. One look at his mother’s killer and he pitched his screams higher than ever. He pounded my shoulders with both fists, struggling to free himself. Somehow, in sheer desperation I hung on. If he were to slip from my arms and run now, I would not be able to save him.
If I managed to make it out of here alive.
“Kid!” the man blared. “Shut up!”
In two seconds he’d closed the distance between us. His large hand drew back, fingers extended to slap the boy’s head.
With a small cry I swiveled away. The vicious blow landed on my shoulder blade. I flew forward, Crystal Sybee’s terrified son slipping from my arms. As I hit the wall, I felt him scramble across my feet and around my legs. My purse fell to the floor.
“Mama!” He darted back down the hall toward his dead mother.
Stunned, I pushed myself upright. The man grabbed my arm from behind, fingertips sinking into the flesh above my elbow. I jerked around, aiming a fist at his face. He caught that arm at the wrist and yanked it downward, then shoved me into the wall. His leering face thrust within inches of mine.
“Forget the kid. You and I have some talking to do.”
I could do nothing but look into his eyes. They were light gray and ice-cold. I had not seen them before…and yet I had.
He pulled back with a smirk and watched the recognition play across my features. Time uncoiled itself, like a deadly snake, in what would surely be the last few seconds of my life. These were the eyes I had drawn. The eyes that had locked with Erin’s in the desperate second before she fainted.
The eyes that watched as Lisa gasped for breath…died. Tip.
The Face who wasn’t the Face. The killer who had effected such a disguise that all of his features, save for the shape of his eyes, were radically changed.
“Stared at me enough?” He pushed me sideways. “Get moving, we’re going downstairs. That kid’s about to drive me crazy.”
We hit the foyer. Tip pulled me right, into the family room, and shoved me down on the couch. I lay on my spine, breathing up at him, unable to make a sound.
Upstairs Tommy’s cries stopped. Surely he had worn himself out.
Jesus, help me stay alive and save that boy…and I promise I’ll seek you. The plea washed through me like frigid blood.
“W-were you going to kill him, too?” I was amazed I could utter a word.
A slow, almost charming smile spread across Tip’s face.
“You’ll never know, will you.”
I licked my lips. Somehow I had to keep him talking, stall for time. “They’ll find you for sure. You’ve left fingerprints in blood. All kinds of evidence. Not neat like the Draye’s house.”
The smile faded. “I’m in control. I’ll clean the place up. I wasn’t planning on your little interruption.”
Distantly I heard my cell phone ring. It still lay inside my purse, somewhere near the top of the stairs.
Tip’s eyes cut toward the sound. “Too bad you’re busy.”
Was it Chetterling? Jenna? What would she think when I didn’t answer?
It rang a second time.
I pressed back into the couch.”What do you want from me?”
“I’ll ask the questions, hear?” He sat down hard on the massive coffee table and leaned toward me, hairy arms crossed.
“What are you doing here?”
What had he done with the file? I could not deny that I’d brought it to show Crystal Sybee.
A third ring. After five my answering message would click on.
“Talk to me!”
Air caught in my windpipe. “I came to see if Crystal recognized you. N-not you, I mean. Your disguise.”
A satisfied expression narrowed his eyes. “My mask.”
I could only look at him, feeling the questions flicker across my face.
My phone stopped ringing.
He pushed his tongue under his top lip, then pulled it away with a sucking sound. “I used to work in Hollywood.
Know all about making casts of faces. Silicon masks that look so real, nobody can tell they’re not.” His lips stretched into an ugly smile. “Not even a fancy face-artist like you.”
Even as my body shook, I couldn’t help but think of that evidence. Had he been cunning enough to destroy the mask?
Or was it still sitting in his house somewhere, with a blond wig and blue contacts?
None of them are as smart as they think. Sid Haynes’s comment blew through my mind. Smart. The word throbbed in time with my rapid heartbeat. Clearly, Tip liked to think of himself as intelligent. Above the next man. But he was also paranoid and volatile. If I could reach the egotistical part of him, get him to keep talking…without losing his temper…
“I can’t believe you planned all this. You put on that mask just to talk to me on the street that day. You used it when you came to Grove Landing to find the file. Just in case somebody saw you.”
His features darkened. He jumped to his feet, finger pointing inches from my cheek. “It wasn’t my fault it was the wrong house!”
“No, no, of course not. I wasn’t even thinking—”
“I was smart enough to find out the address, wasn’t I? To plan the whole thing, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you w—”
“So many houses in the dark, how could I tell? I wouldn’t have needed to go, anyway, if baby Eddie had been convicted.
If it wasn’t for your father!”
At the last two words his face purpled. A vein on the side of his neck pulsed. He slapped his hands around my arms and yanked me off the couch like a rag doll. My head snapped back, sending pain jolting down my neck.
“By the time I got home, I wanted to kill somebody. I needed that file.” He dragged me across the family room, spewing venomous, crazy stuff about wanting to kick his cat to death, and all I could think was, You did kill somebody; you killed Lisa, just like you’re going to kill me now. He slammed me against a door frame, pinning me with an arm across my throat. “Then you and that detective start nosing around, trying to get Sybee to talk. And now you’re here, in this house.”
He leaned into me, pushing his arm against my throat. I could smell Crystal’s blood on his hands. My mouth fell open as I began choking. Black spots danced before my eyes. In desperation I pummeled him with both fists, struggling to push him away. My knees weakened. I slid a few inches down the wall. The projector in my mind ground into gear, flashing scenes of Lisa’s death mixed with images of my own.
Abruptly Tip pulled away.
I slumped over, gasping. My fingers splayed across my throat as if to stretch it wide, pull in oxygen. I felt spittle run down my chin.
“No, no, you’re not dead yet.” His voice turned to hard-edged steel. “Not until I find out what I need from you.” He forced my head up. “Look at me.”
I turned bleary eyes upon him. His face swam before me.
“What did Sybee tell that detective?”
I fought to answer, but the only sound was air raking down my windpipe.
“What did he say!”
I shook my head, swallowing hard, trying to form the words.
Tip erupted in curses and wrenched me away from the wall. He hauled me across the room, then turned and dragged me back. Around the couch we went, my feet nearly slipping as he forced me between it and the coffee table. Tip raved and cussed in wild streams of consciousness, ranting about how he’d read all the Redding newspaper articles, and about some snitch at the jail with Sybee, and his sick sister, and how he’d never, ever, ever go to prison. The more he vented, the more agitated he became. When he tired of the family room, he shoved me into the kitchen, into a chair at the table. A second later he jerked me out of it, ramming me against the counter, my head bouncing back into an upper cabinet.
“We’re gonna try this one more time. What did Sybee tell you?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Nothing, really! He wouldn’t say anything.”
He tore himself away from me and backed up to lean against the stove island, glaring. His arms crossed and I could see his biceps pumping. For the first time I noticed a bulge underneath his T-shirt, at the waistband of his jeans.
He had a gun.
Yet he’d cruelly chosen to stab Crystal with her own kitchen knife.
Wildly I wished for Jenna’s gun. Why hadn’t we brought it to the Bay Area? Why didn’t I have my own—and know how to use it?
“Where’s the original file?” he demanded. “That thing you brought looks like a copy.”
I hesitated, my legs trembling. If I told him the truth, no telling what he would do.
“You gave it to that detective, didn’t you?”
My head moved in the slightest of nods.
A black cloud formed over Tip’s face. He slammed a palm on the cabinet next to my ear. Terror surged and I jumped, falling away from him. My hand flung out, catching the handle of a drawer and pulling it open. My fingers twisted in the handle and I cried out in pain.
Tip jerked forward, ramming into the side of the drawer.
I fell to one knee, then shoved to my feet. The drawer crashed shut behind me. A voice rang in my head, telling me this would be my only chance. I had to move.
In one Herculean motion I sprang forward, grabbed a kitchen chair, and spun it around. Its legs whooshed through the air, catching Tip full in the face with a resounding smack.
He staggered back with a cry, one hand covering his crushed cheekbone. I hoisted the chair and launched it again. The edge of its seat crunched into Tip’s right temple. He didn’t even have time to scream. His cold gra
y eyes bulged, then rolled back into his head.
With a loud thud he dropped to the tile floor.
The chair slipped in my sweaty palms. Tip’s arms trembled, his hands clawing the tile as he struggled to rise. “No!”
I summoned the strength from I knew not where to raise the chair a third time. It smashed into the back of his head. His chin cracked against the floor, bounced up, then hit again.
He lay silent, unmoving.
I threw the chair aside, stumbled to the table, and leaned into it. Every muscle in my body shook. Sweat and tears trickled down my cheeks. I wiped them away with the back of a hand.
The phone—where was it? I should call 911. The police could be here in minutes. I saw the empty base of a cordless phone on the counter and swung my head back and forth, seeking the receiver. There it lay, on the other side of the sink.
I lunged for it, hit the power button, and listened for the dial tone, keeping my eyes on Tip. Come on, come on.
No tone sounded. I smacked the phone off, then on again.
Waited.
Nothing.
I jabbed the power button so hard, it sent jolts up my hand. Off, on. Off, on. Listened once more for that sound I needed so badly.
Silence.
Tip lay still. My eyes cut from him back to the phone. He may be unconscious but the damage was already done. He’d made sure Crystal couldn’t call for help.
I set the receiver back down on the counter.
My purse lay upstairs with my cell phone and Jenna’s car keys inside. And Tommy was up there, too. I could not hear him but I knew he was still there, hunched by his mother’s bloodied body. I had to rescue him. If Tip woke before I could bring help, surely he’d kill the toddler in sheer rage.
I aimed a piercing stare at Tip, watching for the slightest movement. Nothing, save for his breathing. He was alive but out cold. Who knew how long I would have? A minute, maybe two.
That was enough.
Brink of Death Page 22