Dust to Dust (3 page)

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.

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.

“They’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.

“I don’t know why the damn backup took so long,” said Hanks.

Diane noticed that Hanks’ breathing was off—more labored than it should have been, even considering the exertion—and it obviously hurt him to turn his head.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“I fell on my damn shoulder again,” he said. “It’s kind of hard to move and hurts like hell.”

Diane shined the beam from the flashlight on Hanks’ shoulder. His clothes were covered with leaves and dirt from the tumble he took. She moved the collar of his shirt aside and shined the light on his throat and collarbone area. As she suspected, there was a lump under his skin on the clavicle.

“Your collarbone is broken,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes and forehead with his good hand.

“Look,” said Diane, “both of you stay—”

The three of them jumped when a beam of light flashed in their direction. Daughtry put a hand on his gun.

“It’s me—Izzy,” said the voice behind the light. “Neva’s waiting out front for backup. We heard the shooting back here. Is everyone all right?”

“More or less,” said Hanks.

“The shooter in the woods seems to have got away,” said Izzy. “He hasn’t fired any more rounds at us.” Izzy stopped in front of them, letting his light play from one to the other. “The three of you look terrible. What the hell happened?” he said.

Hanks gave him a brief version of events. “We lost them,” he finished. Hanks looked at Diane for a moment. “What happened to you? I heard some commotion right before we went in after the intruder.”

“There were lookouts in the woods. I happened upon them,” she said. “At least two that I saw. We had a little scuffle.”

“Are you all right?” asked Izzy.

“Fine. Tore my dress,” she said.

“Great,” said Daughtry. “You tore your dress and we get maimed for life.”

Diane smiled. “I knocked one down and got the drop on him. The other one tried to brain me with a club. I very cleverly fell down an embankment to get away from them. I feel your pain.”

“So that means there are between five and three people,” said Izzy, counting on his fingers.

“Probably four,” said Diane. “The shooter in the woods who ambushed us, the one carrying the box, and the two I met near the box hedges. They left when the shooting started. They may have been the same ones who attacked the two of you.”

“Could be three,” added Izzy. “The shooter in the woods could’ve left his post and come back here. That might be why he stopped shooting at us.”

“So, no less than three,” said Hanks. “What is this? Some kind of gang robbing houses when the owners are out?”

“How would they know that the owner of the house wasn’t here?” asked Diane. “It was early evening when Marcella Payden was attacked, wasn’t it? It’s almost sunrise now.” She could see the sky had gone from black to dark blue. Dawn was coming. “Unless they were the ones who attacked Marcella, how would they know?”

“I don’t know,” said Hanks. “But why would they wait hours before coming back?”

Diane was relieved to hear police cars come to a stop in the driveway and the sirens die down. She, Hanks, and Daughtry had botched it, she felt. The two of them were hurt. It was just dumb luck that she wasn’t. She wanted to leave the whole mess to Neva and Izzy—as she should have in the first place—go home, and get some sleep.

“The two of you need to get to the hospital,” she said.

“I won’t argue,” said Hanks.

Diane sensed that he was embarrassed. She understood. So was she—standing in a ruined cocktail dress at a compromised crime scene where she had let at least three perps get away.

“I can take you in my car,” she said. “Neva and Izzy can work the crime scenes.”

As she spoke she looked around the yard. She could see more of it now in the approaching dawn. Some of the shapes decorating the yard that she couldn’t identify earlier were evident now—a boulder carved into a bench, a galvanized metal tub containing a dead plant, and . . . there at the end of the yard near the trees . . . a body.