The dispatcher was still on the phone. I tried to keep her up to date with what was going on, so she could relay it to the police en route. “There must have been some sort of fight because one man has a gun and he’s shooting at the other man. The one who just showed up is chasing the other one up the street.”
The terrified man reached the end of our street, stopped, went down on one knee and pulled the trigger one last time. Dave grabbed his arm, hesitated for a half-second, then launched himself at the man running away again. It was tough to see what was going on because they were at the far end of the street, so I repositioned myself to try to get a better view. I caught just a glimpse of the man Dave was pursuing jumping over a privacy fence as Dave stopped short at the fence. He put one hand on his knee as if trying to catch his breath, while his other wrapped itself around his bicep.
Dave stood up, holding his hand over his arm, but started walking backward down the street toward my house, keeping his eyes fixed on the place where the fleeing shooter had gone. It was as if he didn’t want to turn his back on where the man had fled. Halfway down the street, he must have decided it was safe because he turned around and began loping back toward my house. I expected Dave to slither back into his waiting car and hightail it out of there, but he didn’t.
Before he even reached the bottom step in front of my house, I heard his cry, “Candy!! Candy!!” He stood waiting for some sort of a response, but when he didn’t hear any, he ran back into my house, his hand still cradling his bicep.
None of this made any sense to me. What was he doing? His partner had just shot at him. The same guy who tried to kill me last night was waiting for me to get home. Dave knew him: the man had let him into the house. What was Dave doing?
Two police cruisers pulled up in front of my house, both blocking any potential traffic that wanted to pass on the street. The dispatcher knew which house I was hiding in, so the investigating police had to know I was safe, but both of them approached my house with guns drawn.
One officer had gone around to the back of my house while the other stood directly in front of it. They would catch him if he tried to sneak away. Even with this knowledge, my heart refused to slow down; blood pumped so vigorously I could hear my heartbeat in my ear. My face was flushed and my palms were sweating as I stayed riveted to the floor in front of Mrs. Bavcock’s window.
Several minutes elapsed as other familiar faces began emerging from houses along the street. Curiosity was now getting the better of people. The commotion that had initially kept everyone safely tucked inside had quieted, and now interested bystanders were wanting to know what had happened to disrupt their previously muted morning. One neighbor was inspecting a bullet hole in his white Camry.
I watched as Dave walked through my front door, both his hands clasped on top of his head. When he was completely out of the house and standing on the porch, he knelt down as instructed. The policeman who had been around the back of the house put handcuffs on Dave while the first police officer kept his gun trained directly on him.
It was over. The man who had tried to kill me last night was long gone. Dave was in custody. Mrs. Bavcock was the first to respond: she grabbed an end table for stability and pulled herself back up to stand. I knew it was safe to get up, to walk outside again, but my body didn’t want to move. I stayed crouched down, still processing everything that had happened.
More neighbors stood along the street, watching as Dave was caged in the back of one of the cruisers. The neighbors were probably speculating on what had happened. Had they all been woken up last night when the emergency vehicles took Libby away? Even those who had been able to sleep through it were surely being filled in now.
I overheard an old man from the corner lot say, “The block went to hell when the Kane’s left town without taking that youngest daughter with them. It was bad enough she didn’t mow the lawn. Now she has drug dealers shooting up the neighborhood.”
Mrs. Bavcock gently squeezed my shoulder. Until she did it, I was too focused on the people outside to realize my whole body was shaking. She had heard him, too. “Don’t mind him. You’re in shock, Candy. You need to lie down. Come here.”
The lady gently guided me toward her sofa. It was one of those old time sofas with the hideous chintz pattern, built to last fifty years. As offensive as it was to look at, I didn’t argue as she instructed me to lie down. She tucked a throw pillow under my head, a second under my feet, and I grabbed a third one, hugging it tightly to my body.
I closed my eyes, my mind remembering the easy breezy days of high school. The most difficult part of my life had been trying to fit studying in around my social schedule. A few years later and I had almost gotten Libby and me both killed because I was hungry. I needed a change of scenery. There was no reason for me to stay here. My parents had left the cold winters and months of gray skies behind them for New Mexico. I could run away, make it to a warm beach before anyone even noticed I was gone.
Libby and I had always talked about taking off, but neither of us had a good reason to vanish – at least not until last night. I may never be anyone important, I won’t change the world, but my life was worth more than a few hundred bucks.
A soft knock at the door sounded, and Mrs. Bavcock, who I hadn’t noticed had been sitting beside me, whispered, “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”
How did this crazy old woman know the words that I needed to hear? I’m safe. Am I? Would I ever be again?
Heavy footsteps came back into the living room. A deep voice, tentative and kind asked, “Miss Kane, we have apprehended one of the two men who broke into your home.”
I swung my legs onto the floor, embarrassed that the policeman had seen me not just hiding at a neighbor’s house but probably looking like I was taking a nap. “Um, thanks. Do you have to dust for prints or anything, or can I go home now?”
“Actually, there was a mix-up at the station last night. A forensics team was to have been at your house first thing this morning to collect evidence from last night. That didn’t happen. Now we have two crime scenes at the same place. Is there somewhere you can stay for a couple days while we try to sort this out?”
No, there wasn’t. I had a few friends sprinkled around town, but none I knew well enough to intrude on their lives. When I didn’t answer, the officer suggested, “Maybe a hotel?”
I nodded, knowing full well I couldn’t afford more than Motel 6, and even that was only an option for a night or two. Mrs. Bavcock must have been partly psychic, “You can stay in my guest room, Candy. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”
Her eyes were full of compassion. All those times I’d begrudged her good nature and went out of my way to avoid her – she had never let it color her opinion of me. Now, my heart swelled at her offer, and I would never forget I owed her my life. Even if I had the money to afford a week’s stay at the Hilton, I would never turn this lady down for anything again. I owed her and would owe her for the rest of my life. I gladly accepted, “If it’s not too much trouble?”
Her sympathetic smile was all the answer I needed, but she affirmed, “No trouble at all. We would love to have you.”
I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t speaking about her late husband and her; the “we” who would be glad to have me stay were the four-legged furry creatures who consumed so much of her life. I was grateful, and I would find a way to be extra nice to all of her roommates, too.
The officer seemed pleased with this arrangement, but added, “There is one more thing, Miss Kane. The man we took into custody says he’s a friend of yours.”
“I saw him through the window. It’s Dave Brewer.”
“He says you stopped by to see him this morning, and he was worried about you. He says he was only here to make sure you were okay.”
“I don’t believe it. The guy who was in my house when I got home is the same guy who tried to kill me last night at the gas station and beat my roommate into the ICU. He knew Dave.
He let Dave into my house. We both saw it.” Mrs. Bavcock nodded her head vigorously in agreement.
The policeman’s eyebrows rose, “He must have left that part out. Sorry to bother you, Miss.” He handed me a business card with his name and phone number on it. “Do you need to get anything out of the house before we seal it up?”
“Will Dave be able to see me?”
“We’ve got to take him to get his arm stitched up. I’ll have my partner take him before I take you back through your house.”
I shouldn’t have cared, but the words were out before I could stifle them. “He was shot, wasn’t he?”
Offering no concern at all, “The bullet grazed him. He’ll be fine.” He reached down and stroked the head of an orange tabby who was trying to leave her fur on his dark blue uniform. “It wasn’t much worse than a cat’s scratch.”
The officer excused himself and left me with too many unanswered questions. Why would the man have shot at Dave? For that matter, why was Dave chasing him to begin with? Had my visit to Dave screwed up their plans? Had I thrown a wrench into everything by living last night? Dave had seemed genuinely happy to see me this morning: was he a great actor, or could that have been for real? Maybe he knew I was supposed to be killed last night, and after seeing me this morning, he had had second thoughts, and that was what the two had quarreled about.
Chapter 10
I watched the squad car pull away while I stood in the relative safety of Mrs. Bavcock’s house. The police officer who had stopped by a few minutes before returned to walk me into my house to watch me collect the things I would need. He didn’t try to make light of the situation, nor did he speak to me much at all. From the entryway, I went straight upstairs to my room, the second door on the left.
My room was exactly as I had left it last night. My covers were strewn in a large wad at the foot of my bed from my abrupt departure. A pile of clean clothes that Libby must have folded yesterday was perched on my dresser. I hadn’t noticed them last night. I stared at the clothes, knowing the last person to have touched them was Libby. It didn’t feel right to disturb them. Instead I reached into my drawers and pulled out four outfits. If I couldn’t come back in the next few days, I’m sure Mrs. Bavcock would let me use her laundry.
The clothes I was wearing were the same ones I had thrown on in the dark. I had half a mind to ask the officer to excuse me so I could put on fresh, but I would wait to do that until I could grab a shower. When I had pulled up in front of the house, a hot shower was all I could think of. I had never considered more danger awaited me in my own safe haven. In addition to the danger waiting, more danger pursued me. I shivered at the thought of what might have happened if Mrs. Bavcock hadn’t been watching out for me.
My hands shook as I looked around the room. My whole life was tied up in this house, but if anything happened to Libby, I knew I would never want to return. She had been attacked, right here, while I slept. When we were younger, how many times had she spent the night, and we stayed up giggling until the sun came up? How many times had I been stressed out about school or a guy, and it was Libby who picked up the pieces and told me everything would be fine. Too many to count.
An image of her hooked up to tubes, fighting for her life in a lonely hospital room, brought the reality of the situation in living color. I grabbed a backpack from my closet, stuffed it with clothes, and threw it over my shoulder.
The officer who had stood by the door cleared his throat, “Does anything look out of place?”
My eyes darted around the room. My desk looked just as I had left it: school papers strewn in an outrageously high pile, books from last semester piled up beside it on the floor with gnarled up notebooks piled underneath. The dresser, too, looked untouched, save for the neatly folded clothes that I hadn’t noticed last night. I recognized them as Libby’s handiwork – she folded t-shirts in this four-fold way that made them practically wrinkle-free.
Beside my bed was a small table where I charged my phone, with an alarm clock I never used other than to see what time it was. A picture of my two sisters and I set behind it – wait, the picture was missing. The frame was exactly where I had left it, but it stood empty. The freak wouldn’t go after Carly and Kim, would he?
The words shot out of me like rapid-fire, “There on my nightstand, that frame had a picture of me with my two sisters.” I went to reach for it, but the officer stopped my hand in mid-air.
“He might have left prints. I’ll make sure it gets dusted.” From his pocket he produced a large plastic bag, put a glove on his hand, and gingerly placed the frame in the bag. Looking around the room, he asked, “Anything else?”
I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t see anything else.”
The bathroom was at the end of the hall. I grabbed my overnight make-up bag, toothbrush, toothpaste and took a quick look in the mirror. The events of the last day were wearing on me. I looked like I felt – like I’d been to hell and back. Absently running fingers through my hair rather than using a hairbrush did little to make me any more presentable.
The policeman stood in the doorway, “Anything here?”
Nothing looked out of place. I had cleaned the bathroom yesterday morning, and it still smelled faintly of bleach. “No. Nothing looks out of place in here.”
I thought of something, “Hey, can I go into Libby’s room to get something? I want to take it to her at the hospital.”
He nodded and allowed me to lead the way. I hesitated before turning her door handle. When her door opened, the cologne she wore still hung in the air. The skimpy outfit she had worn to the bar was on the floor beside her bed. I tried to ignore it as I reached for the first thing I wanted her to see when she woke up – the stuffed turtle I had given her for graduation.
We walked slowly down the hall back toward the stairs. I gave no explanation of why I wanted the toy, and thankfully, the officer didn’t ask me. When she woke up, if I wasn’t there when her eyes opened, her turtle would be there for her – reminding her that she was tough, that no one could break her.
“Can I see where she was attacked?”
His expression told me he wanted to deny this request, but he reluctantly nodded. Both of us walked slowly down the steps. In the daylight, the kitchen looked much as I had remembered from yesterday. Dirty pans were still on the stove from the manicotti she had prepared when she got back from the grocery store while I was sound asleep upstairs.
Someone had turned off the television that was on last night. I took a step toward the living room, but the police officer stopped me. “Don’t go in. The forensic team doesn’t want anything touched.”
Standing in the doorway, the evidence of the brutality was everywhere. Blood splatter was on the walls and pooled on the carpet. A lamp was on the floor, the glass smashed and the metal base bloody. The tan sofa was soaked in blood where she had been lying as I left for work. My stomach turned at the scene. I ran for the front door, grabbed hold of the railing and retched off the porch. The officer grabbed hold of me, holding me in place as a second wave of dizziness and nausea consumed me. After my body settled down and the frigid air cooled my burning face, he helped me back into the house and ushered me to a kitchen chair. The officer placed a cool glass of water in front of me. As I took a sip, his cell phone rang.
He pursed his lips as he looked at the display and answered, “Officer Bivens.” His brows furrowed as he listened to who had called him. He looked back toward the front door, then answered, “Understood. I’ll make sure she is aware.”
He took a seat beside me at the kitchen table. “That was Dave Brewer’s escort. He escaped custody. It’ll only be a matter of time before we apprehend him, but I think it’s time you get back to your neighbor’s house. We’ll post a patrolman outside until the two men are in custody.”
Adrenalin pulsed through my body. Dave was loose? Without finishing my water, I stood up, gathered my backpack and my overnight bag, and hurried to the front door, worried I might lose it again. Of
ficer Bivens walked me all the way to Mrs. Bavcock’s house. He stayed at Mrs. Bavcock’s house until another squad car pulled up. His eyes were kind as he said, “We’ll keep an officer posted on the street. Stay inside. I promise I’ll call you with developments.”
I should have been dead on my feet, but I wasn’t. Mrs. Bavcock had made chicken soup while I was gathering my things, but I wasn’t hungry. I was restless. I lay down in Mrs. Bavcock’s guest room, counting the faded yellow flowers on her wallpaper, but sleep refused to find me. Grizzly images of my living room haunted me. I glanced at the happy turtle on top of my backpack. I wanted to go see Libby, to be there if she woke up.
After over an hour my body was more frazzled than when I had arrived. I excused myself and promised I’d be back later this afternoon. Mrs. Bavcock didn’t try to dissuade me when I told her I was going to the hospital. I took my backpack with me. She eyed it hung over my shoulder, but ignoring her eyes, I didn’t offer any explanation. Somewhere deep down I knew I wouldn’t skip town without Libby, but if the worst happened and she didn’t wake up, I would never return to my house or this street.
Images of the blood in the living room were waiting for me each time my eyes closed. Libby had to be okay. She had to pull through. I delayed long enough to let the police officer parked outside know where I was going and to ask him to keep an eye on Mrs. Bavcock. He told me he had been assigned to keep watch on the neighborhood but would be watching her house closely. I tossed my backpack in the backseat of my car and ignored Dave’s car still parked right behind mine.
When I arrived, a different nurse was at the station for ICU, but the doctor had put me on Libby’s visitor list, so I had no problem getting inside. A second nurse gave me a set of scrubs and walked me through the procedures for visiting someone in ICU. I was told my visit would be limited to ten minutes.
His Frozen Heart Page 11