Time of Death (38 page)

Armed and leaning hard on the broomstick, she swung the door open, careful not to make noise with it. That’s when it hit her. She was going after a vicious killer with rusty carpenter’s tools, a household cleaning item, a broken ankle, and a likely concussion. Fear and anger vied for control of her emotions. She shoved the fear down into a little corner where giant spiders, child abductors, and all of Dean Koontz’s books lived.

PJ limped out to find that she wasn’t far from the front door. She could see Mary Beth’s body lying in the entry foyer. To her right was the dramatic marble staircase she’d never climbed. When Mary Beth took her on tour, they’d used the staffs rear stairs. It was up that staircase she needed to go now.

PJ made her way there and sat on a step. She went up the stairs backward, lifting her rear one riser at a time, trying to keep her ankle from impacting the stair. Near the top, the hammer in her waistband worked itself loose and clattered down a couple of steps. The noise reverberated in the two-story stairwell. She felt very exposed. If attacked on the stairs, she was at a terrible disadvantage. The only thing to do was keep moving and hope the hammer’s noise sounded louder to her because of her proximity than it did to someone up on the second floor.

She made it to the top and stood up, with the aid of the massive stair rail and her broomstick. She entered into a lengthy hallway that had several doors. PJ was looking for the kids, for May, for April, and for a phone. She made a right turn, went down a short distance, and tried the first door on her right. It opened to reveal a small room with a nightlight burning. The light was enough for her to see boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. She checked the contents of one that was open, and found it packed to overflowing with children’s clothes. May said that Frank worked with children’s charities, and here was the proof of a dead man’s philanthropy.

She spotted a wall phone. Eagerly she made her way over to it and picked up the receiver. There was no dial tone.

April has been a busy little bee here since killing Mary Beth.

PJ had been so close when that happened that she heard the impact of the bullets tearing into Mary Beth, or imagined that she did. Either way, she’d be hearing that sound for the rest of her life. Mary Beth had lost her daughter to leukemia, Schultz said, and now she’d died a violent death. There was no trace of her left on earth, nothing to connect her to the future, no one to remember her.

Mom always said you weren’t dead as long as a living person remembered you. Maybe I can do that for Mary Beth.

She heard a noise, and froze in place. There was a sound of scuffling on a wooden floor, and something falling with a thud. The source was close. Her breath barely whispering in and out of her lungs, she moved to the door as quietly as she could. Halfway there, the room started reeling. Closing her eyes, she waited it out, willed the nausea down, and floated in the pain coming from her head and her ankle. Time passed before she could move again, and then she made it to the door.

She listened with full concentration, then put her face out in the hall for a quick look. The hall was empty.

PJ eased into the hallway and moved down, listening for more noises. The next door down had children’s drawings stuck up on it, and just as she got there, there was a scraping sound coming from behind the door. Her heart plummeted all the way to her feet. It had to be the children’s suite. She had a sickening feeling that April was in there.

Too late, too late.

She put her hand on the doorknob and turned it.

“SHIT, WHERE IS THAT
woman?” Schultz said.

“Are you referring to your boss?” Anita gave him a hard glare.

“I know she wants in here,” he said. “Probably thought she was going to bust the door down herself. So she goes off and takes a nap or something?”

“The officer will find her.”

Just then, the man Schultz had sent in search of PJ came back onto the front porch and stuck his head in the door. “No luck,” he said. “Are you sure she’s here?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Schultz said. He thought of their parting. “You need to find Officer Daniels, a woman; I don’t know her first name. She parked the car we arrived in. She’ll at least know what direction the doctor took off in.”

I can’t believe she could get lost at a crime scene.

Dave came up and told him about a locked storage area he’d found in the basement, and thought Schultz should be there when the door was forced. Schultz trotted off after him.

It turned out to be the place that solved the time of death puzzle. Arlan Merrett was kept captive in a four by six closet for four days. There were manacles bolted high on the wall. Schultz stood in place and stretched his arms up. He was a big man, over six feet like Arlan, but Schultz wouldn’t have been able to keep his feet on the floor while fastened in the manacles. That was all he needed to know about the conditions of Arlan’s captivity. Others would fill in the details for him later.

Schultz tried PJ’s cellphone again. He wanted to make sure she knew that the woman who’d been arrested was most likely not April. Her phone was turned off, and that alarmed him. He sent word that he wanted to talk to Officer Daniels—now. He went up to the porch to wait for her, and it didn’t take long.

“Daniels, what’s going on with Dr. Gray? Have you seen her since we arrived?”

“I got your question twenty minutes ago and I sent back an answer. I guess I should have come in person.”

Damn straight.

“She left about an hour ago.”

“Left? To do what?” A chill started walking up Schultz’s spine.

“She didn’t say.”

“Was she alone?”
April could be anywhere.

“As far as I know, yes,” Daniels said. “The windows were covered with snow. I couldn’t see inside very well. I spoke to her. Come to think of it, she seemed to be choking on her words a little. Said she was catching a cold.”

“Jesus,” Schultz said. He whipped out his phone and called June’s house. She answered, nervous from his last call, and tried to ask a lot of questions that he didn’t have time for. He cut her off and called May. He got an out-of-service message, and knew immediately where PJ was, and where April was. An overwhelming sense of dread hit him.

Dave was nearby. Schultz yelled to him, “Send backup to May’s house, secure that area. Nobody leaves. Extreme caution. Stealth approach until I get there.” Then he was charging down the steps, running flat out through the snow. He stopped at the first cruiser he came across, hopped in, and told the startled officer to take him to Lindell and Kingshighway.

T
HE DOORKNOB TURNED AND
PJ eased the door open a crack. What she saw was nearly enough to stop her heart.

There was a young boy tied to a chair, his mouth covered with duct tape, blood on his cheek and nose.
Brian.

He turned in her direction and she was afraid the boy would give her away, but his eyes were wide, vacant with fear.

Hoping the door wouldn’t squeak, PJ pushed in a little further. There was the girl, Amelia, tied and taped. A scratch on her arm bled freely. Tears ran down her face. Her eyes were very aware, and locked on something low in front of her.

There was an odd singsong voice in the room, like a tape of children’s songs.

The fear that permeated the room washed over her and left an unclean feeling behind. Unclean or evil. There was a large mirror set low on the opposite wall, at the height a child would need to get a full-body view. Reflected in it PJ saw April, and it was a horrifying sight.

April was sitting on the floor, a teddy bear in her lap. She was rocking back and forth, and with each forward motion, she plunged a knife into the teddy bear.

Amelia whimpered, and that made PJ realize what her heart had already decided: she was going into that room to put a stop to whatever deranged plan April had. The only things left to decide, where when, and how.

Dizziness struck again, and PJ leaned against the wall until it passed.

The door was open about an inch. The girl’s eyes pulled away from watching April stab her teddy bear and suddenly spotted PJ. Amelia stiffened and stared. PJ quickly put a finger to her lips and made sure Amelia could see it through the narrow opening of the door. The girl caught on immediately, and shifted her eyes away from the door. She whined louder and rocked her chair onto its back legs and then let it thud down on the floor. She was drawing April’s attention to her.

“Stop that, girl,” April said, not taking a break from stabbing the bear. “Wouldn’t want to wake your mommy, would we? That’ll come later. I’ve got her this time. ‘Woman goes berserk, kills own children.’ Too bad you kids won’t be around to see your pictures in the paper.”

May’s still alive, then.

April dropped the bear and stood up with the knife. Amelia started to thrash around in her chair.

PJ pulled the screwdriver from her waistband. It was time to make a stand for the kids. She pushed hard on the door, sending it crashing into the wall, and charged into the room, moving as fast as she could, leaning on the broomstick. Startled, April turned in her direction, but PJ was already on her, slamming into her bodily, slashing with the screwdriver at April’s eyes. The screwdriver raked across April’s face and across one eye. April screamed. Knocked off balance, she still managed to grab PJ, so they both fell to the floor. Grappling with each other on the floor, April kicked PJ’s ankle, then did it again. Blackness edged PJ’s vision, and the room began to swirl and fade. She was sinking into unconsciousness.

If she blacked out now, she was signing her death warrant and perhaps three others. She fought back the pain and the encroaching blackness. PJ still held the screwdriver, and she plunged it upward blindly, hoping to hit a belly or chest. She didn’t make contact with flesh. April had rolled away, but was coming back on hands and knees. The side of April’s face was bloodied, one eye bulging and torn. PJ’s first jab had done its work.

Fighting the urge to close her eyes and give up, PJ lashed out with the broomstick and was rewarded with a solid crack on April’s arm. April backed up out of reach of the broomstick. Then she did what PJ was desperately hoping she wouldn’t. April turned her back on the adult attacker and went for the girl, knife ready to flick away a life.

PJ straightened out her body as well as she could, tucked the stick in close, and rolled, spinning on an axis from head to toe. As soon as she was close enough, she uncoiled and used all of her strength to swing the stick into April’s back. Howling, April fell forward. The broomstick broke with a resounding crack, leaving PJ with a short, sharply pointed wooden stake. She stabbed it into April’s calf, deeply penetrating the muscle. April screamed and scrambled away. When she got near the door, April pulled herself up on it and limped out to the hall, leaning on the wall as much as she could.

PJ reassured herself that the children were okay, if frightened, and then crawled over to the door. April could return, and with a gun. All PJ had left was the screwdriver, and she didn’t think she could throw it with any accuracy. She was near the bottom of her reserves of strength, but knew she had to hold on.

April was at the top of the stairs. The woman gave her a look of wild, venomous hatred, pulled the stake out of her leg, and threw it at PJ. Then April started down the stairs, clinging to the rail for support.

A scream, a horrible scream, the sound of the hammer bouncing from step to step, the sound of someone tumbling, followed by a sickening crack.

By the time PJ got to the top of the stairs, April was twisted and broken at the bottom of the stairs, but alive. The hammer lay next to her. April’s feet must have tangled with the hammer PJ had dropped, causing both person and tool to roll down the steps.

April’s uninjured eye locked on PJ and pleaded mutely for help. PJ bumped carefully down the stairs, then was past the urge of wanting to move at all once she reached the bottom. If she was going anywhere else, it would be on a stretcher. She noticed that her cellphone had fallen out of April’s pocket and was lying near the woman’s head. Cautiously, she reached for the phone, nearly blacking out as she stretched to pick it up. April, unable to move, couldn’t stop her.

She opened her phone to call 911. Then she closed it, deciding that there was no rush. PJ sat there on the steps and watched April’s life slowly slip away.

“I WANT THAT DOOR
open now,” Schultz said. “Lives are in imminent danger.”

“You got it, Detective. Stand back.”

Shotgun blasts dug into the beautiful oak door at May’s house. In about thirty seconds, the scarred, ten-foot door hung by one hinge at the top. Officers from the backup cruisers poured into the opening, weapons drawn, looking for the woman Schultz described as “armed and very dangerous, take no chances.”

They nearly tripped over a body in the foyer. Heart in his throat, Schultz saw that it wasn’t PJ, but was bad anyway. It was Mary Beth, a woman whose strength he admired. He felt for a pulse and found none. Sure that the next body was going to be PJ’s, he charged after the officers, who’d gotten ahead of him when he stopped to check for a pulse.

There was another body at the base of the sweeping, marble staircase, broken, blood pooled on the shiny floor.

But it wasn’t her. He caught sight of PJ sitting on the stairs, her leg bloody and stretched out in front of her, her eyes fastened on the corpse.

Weapons were trained on PJ, who wasn’t responding to orders to lie on the floor.

“Don’t shoot! One of ours!” Schultz came hurrying up. Her appearance was shocking. There was blood in her hair, a fragment of bone jutted from her leg at the ankle, and she looked as though she’d lost a fight with a bulldog. He took her pulse with one hand and lifted her chin with the other. The gesture reminded him of PJ lifting Shower Woman’s head, and bile rose in his throat. That woman was irretrievably gone. His woman still had a pulse.

Thank God.