The Heart of A Killer (37 page)

So she was going to go through the entire case tonight, starting from the beginning—the very beginning—until she found something.

She grabbed Tony Maclin’s file, wrinkling her nose as she did. She hated reliving the nightmare, hated Tony Maclin with every fiber in her body, but she had to look over the case again, had to look over everything one more time.

This time she was determined to read every single damn word of this file and study every photograph until she had them committed to memory. She’d lost a best friend and her father, a uniform had died and she’d almost lost Roman. It was time to push her trauma behind her and focus on Maclin’s case with an objective eye.

She opened the autopsy file and read from the beginning, taking her time. She wasn’t squeamish. Hell, she attended plenty of autopsies. She could handle the written word, even if it brought back memories she found unpleasant. He’d shown her no mercy. She’d be equally as merciless as she read his autopsy.

Bruising to his chest and back. Three of his ribs had been broken. His nose had been shattered and two of his teeth had been knocked out. Blunt-force trauma to his head, and pieces of brick found in his scalp.

Wait. She stopped, read that section again.

Brick? What brick?

She flipped through the medical examiner’s notes, read that blunt-force trauma to the head was listed as the cause of death, attributed to being struck by the brick.

Again, what brick?

She’d been dazed and in shock that night, but as she’d lain there against the wall and watched the guys pummel Tony Maclin, she sure as hell never saw any of them pick up a brick and hit him over the head. Sure, they’d struck him with their fists, but no one had used a brick on his head. Not that she remembered.

Maybe Dante or Gabe would, though.

Where had she left her phone? Kitchen, when she went in there to fix a soda. She slid out of bed to go get it, stopping cold when she heard a noise in the backyard. Something had either been bumped into or knocked over.

And it wasn’t windy outside.

Rusty leaped off the bed on alert, the hairs on his back rising. He started to growl.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Rusty, down. Stay.”

Rusty did as ordered. She turned off the light in her bedroom, then reached for her gun. A round was already racked in the chamber, so she crept out of the bedroom, closed the door to keep Rusty in there and headed down the hall toward the back door.

She saw her phone on the kitchen counter, grabbed it and dialed Dante’s number, holding the phone up to her ear.

He answered on the first ring.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, probably, but I heard something in the backyard.”

“Where’s the uniform?”

“I don’t know. Out front, I guess.”

“Go get him. We’ll be right there.”

“Don’t. It’s likely just a cat or the wind. The uniform and I can check it out.”

“There’s no wind and you’re wasting my time talking. Don’t go out there. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

She clicked off and slid her phone in her pocket, went to look out the back door.

But she also wasn’t stupid. She went to the front door and opened it.

No one was there. Uniform was supposed to stay at the front door at all times. She walked outside a few steps and didn’t see him.

She shut the front door in a hurry, locked the dead bolt and pulled the chain across, then turned to face the back door.

Shit.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, trying to calm the pounding of her heart.

Maybe the uniform went to take a leak. It was plausible enough, right?

Yeah, and it was going to snow in July.

She was going to try really hard not to conjure up the boogeyman where there wasn’t one.

But then Rusty started barking in the bedroom, and she saw something move out back.

Dante said to wait for him. But dammit, she was a cop. She wasn’t some untrained bimbo who needed a man to come save her. She was going to check it out.

She unlocked the slider, then pulled it open slow and easy.

It was muggy tonight, the air totally still. She couldn’t hear anything but her own breathing. And Rusty, who was still barking in her bedroom.

She pulled the screen door back and stepped onto the patio. She made a quick glance over to the table and chairs, then over to the barbecue. Nothing looked out of place. She moved farther out into the yard and leaned out toward the back door by her bedroom, saw nothing and decided it had to be some kind of animal, but she’d do a thorough search.

She’d made one step into the grass when a body slammed into her.

Stunned, she was tossed into the grass and she lost her grip on her gun. It went flying a few feet out of her grasp.

Shit! Whoever knocked into her was big, heavy and definitely male, from the size of muscle mass and how hard he hit her. She tried to fight him off, but he was too big for her. He was a blur dressed all in black and she couldn’t even see skin. He pinned her to the ground with the sheer size of his body, and memories of that night twelve years ago came flooding back.

“No!” she shouted. This wasn’t twelve years ago, and she wasn’t a scared sixteen-year-old anymore. He lay on top of her and she raised a leg up, effectively jamming it into his balls. She heard him grunt, and she used the advantage of his temporary pain to throw him off, then scramble away for her gun. But he grabbed her leg and jerked her back just before she could get her fingers on her gun, dragging her into the grass.

Then he slapped her across the face. He wore gloves, making the smack more painful.

Stunned at the impact, she lay there for a few seconds, trying to get the ringing out of her head as sharp pain sheared through her senses. He rose up and she saw the glint of a knife.

Oh, no. Not again. As he came for her she figured he probably thought she was scared and wouldn’t move.

But this time she wasn’t scared. She was angry.

That gave her the element of surprise this time. She bent her knees and shot them out, jamming her feet into his stomach and sending him flying backward. She scrambled and grabbed her gun, but by then he was on the run. She fired off a shot as he flew through the gate.

“Anna!”

She swiveled to see Dante and Gabe tear through the doorway, both of them with guns in their hands. She aimed the gun barrel toward the ground. “He just left through the gate,” she said, panting and out of breath.

“Stay with her,” Dante said, then tore out of the yard.

“You okay, honey?” Gabe asked, hooking one arm around her and holding his gun in his other hand. He pointed it toward the gate, but backed them toward the house so they’d have a position of safety.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He knocked me around a little, but I’m okay. Where’s the uniform?”

“In the bushes outside.”

Dread made her stomach drop. “Is he dead?”

“No. Looks like someone slammed his head good into the side of your house. He’s out cold. We already called for an ambulance and the cops.”

She blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

She followed him out front and they saw to the uniform, who was coming around. He had a bad gash on his forehead, but she was so damn happy he was conscious. When the ambulance and police cars screamed into her driveway, they stepped out of the way to let the paramedics deal with him.

“Let’s go inside.”

Gabe sat her down on one of the kitchen chairs, then turned on the light.

“You need some ice on your face. He walloped you,” Gabe said, giving her a once-over and frowning.

She put her hand to her swelling cheek. “Yeah, the bastard slapped me a good one. I saw stars for a few seconds.”

“What the fuck happened?”

“Hang on.” She got up, winced a little as she limped down the hallway to let Rusty out, praising him for being such a good dog. He wagged his tail, went over to warily sniff Gabe, then laid his head in her lap when she sat again.

Gabe was already crushing ice and putting it in a bag.

“I heard a noise outside. So I went to investigate. The asshole football tackled me as soon as I cleared the patio.”

“No sign of him,” Dante said as he came through the slider and closed it.

He came over to her, lifted the ice pack away and winced. “Damn.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t do more damage. Why didn’t you stay in the house and wait for us, or call the cops?”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a “duh” look. “I
am
the cops. I went out front to get the uniform but didn’t see him.”

Dante dragged his hand through his hair and paced. “So you go outside in the dark by yourself when you know a killer is after you? What the hell are you thinking, Anna?”

She shrugged and put the ice pack back on her cheek. “I’m thinking I was lucky you two showed up when you did, though he seemed to be on his way out of here as soon as I got hold of my gun and aimed it in his direction.”

Dante kneeled in front of her. “Did he have a gun?”

“Not that I could tell. He had a knife, though. When he stood over me he pointed it at me.”

Dante swept her hair away from her face. “That’s not good.”

“No, but the odd thing is, he had me at an advantage and didn’t use it. He slapped me so hard I was dazed, and when I shook it off he was hovering over me with the knife. He could have stabbed me right then, or even when I was temporarily out of it, but he didn’t.”

Dante stood and pulled up a chair. Gabe handed him a beer and pulled out another chair. “Hesitation?” Gabe asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe he wanted to threaten me. I got the idea I wasn’t really a target.”

“Like he wanted to scare you more than hurt you?” Dante asked.

“Something like that. I could be wrong, though.”

It took a couple hours to take statements and for Forensics to sweep her backyard. As Anna suspected, they didn’t find much. With the battle between her and the assailant, and Gabe and Dante back there running after the suspect, the grass was a wreck and they couldn’t get decent footprints.

Gabe called Roman, who rushed over. His arm was in a sling and he still had a limp and was bruised up, but he was starting to look a little better. He frowned when he saw her.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, leaning over to brush her hair aside. “He hit you?”

“Yeah.”

Roman sat next to her in the kitchen. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here.”

She smiled. “I don’t need a babysitter, Roman.”

He lifted his arm and winced a little. “I doubt I could have offered much help anyway, goddammit.”

“You could have shot the bastard.”

Roman laughed. “I would have, too. I want him dead.”

“We all want him dead.” She filled him in on what happened while Gabe and Dante worked with the CSU team and the uniforms.

“Units have already been sent to find Sam Maclin. He’s not at home.” Dante said. “And his mother doesn’t know where he is. He left the house about seven tonight, said he was going out, but didn’t say where he was going.”

“That makes him a viable suspect,” she said. “What about Crey Robinson?”

“On duty, as usual. Which doesn’t mean anything.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She was wiped out by the time the CSU team left. Dante was about to shuffle Roman and Gabe out the door when she remembered.

“Oh, wait. Maclin’s file.”

Roman and Gabe stopped at the front door. “What?” Gabe asked.

“I found something in Maclin’s file.”

They were in the living room now. Anna had drunk a couple beers, so she felt a lot better. Dante insisted she curl up with Rusty and rest. He sat next to her—really close. She couldn’t say she minded all that much.

Roman slid into the recliner. “What about Maclin’s file?”

“I finally read his autopsy report, front to back. I’d read it before, several times, but admittedly I skimmed because it was so unpleasant to relive the ordeal of that night. This time it finally sunk in. I think the connection wasn’t there for me because it had been so long since I was in that alley.”

“What?” Dante asked.

“Tony Maclin died of blunt-force trauma to the head. From a brick.”

Dante frowned, then looked at Gabe and Roman. “A brick? Nobody hit him with a brick.”

“I don’t remember a brick,” Roman said.

Gabe sat on the edge of the recliner and shook his head. “No, there wasn’t a brick.”

Anna nodded. “That’s what I thought I remembered, too. I know you guys punched him, but there was no brick. But do you understand what I said? Cause of death was blunt-force trauma to his head—from the brick.”

“Wait.” Dante looked at the others, then switched back to Anna. “We didn’t kill him?”

She smiled. “No. You didn’t kill him. I think you all hit him until he passed out, then when you helped me inside, someone else picked up a brick and hit him over the head. That’s what killed him.”

“Son of a bitch.” Gabe sat there with an incredulous look on his face.

“Huh.” Dante stared at her. “All these years, we thought we’d beat him to death.”

“We didn’t kill him.” Roman looked at Dante and Gabe, then turned his attention to Anna. “Which means the suspect must have done the deed.”

“That’s a powerful secret. One he’s been holding on to for years,” Gabe said.

“But is it a good enough secret to want us all dead?” Anna asked. “Especially now, after all this time.”

Dante nodded. “People have killed for way less than that. If he has something to lose, and he thinks we might know the truth about what happened that night, then yeah, I’d say he’d want to eliminate all of us.”

Gabe stood. “Well, I’ll leave the crime solving to all of you. All I know is that’s one less death I’m responsible for.”

Dante stood and slapped him on the back. “Makes you feel all good about yourself now, doesn’t it?”

Gabe laughed. “Yeah. I might even go to church this weekend.”

Roman stood, too, slowly made his way over to Anna. “This doesn’t mean we’re out of the woods yet.” He kissed her cheek. “But it’s good to know we didn’t kill him. I’ve carried a lot of guilt over that all these years.”