Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

at the Martins’. There are two units on their way. There was an intruder in the house. It’s not clear if anyone was hurt. Sylvie and Mary were apparently both pretty incoherent. Bogart is just a block and a half on the left.”

I took the corner at fifty, which the old Jag did with cool elegance, and hammered the big four liter engine down another block and a half to Sylvie’s house. There I skidded to a halt. As we got out, I could hear the sirens of the approaching patrol cars. Dehan ran up the five stairs of the stoop as the door opened. Warm light flooded out and Mary stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“Thank God you’re here! Mom is in the living room.”

I ran up the stairs and followed Dehan in. Sylvie was sitting on the sofa. She was bent forward, sobbing into her hands and occasionally wailing with grief. The French doors were open onto the garden. At a glance, I could see one of the panes of glass was broken. I turned to Mary. She was trembling.

“What happened?”

“There was a man in the house.”

“He escaped?”

She nodded and pointed at the French doors.

“How long ago?”

“Five, ten minutes.”

I could hear the sirens of the patrol cars pulling up outside. I turned to Dehan. “Go out. Organize a search of the area. I’ll get the statements.”

She left to meet the cars. I pointed to the sofa. “Sit down, Mary. Are either of you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“Tell me what happened.”

“We’d been at Paul’s… at Reverend Truelove’s. Mom had been cleaning in the church and I was helping at the rectory. I guess we’d been there an hour or so when Mom came in. She didn’t look well. She’s been real stressed lately. She asked the reverend if he had an aspirin, because she had a bad headache. He fetched her one himself and told her she should go home and lie down. They argued for a bit, but he insisted, and finally she left.”

“Who else was there while all this was happening, Mary?”

“Just the police sergeant you left there.”

“Where was Humberto?”

“Well, he was around. He’s always around somewhere. But I couldn’t tell you exactly where.”

“So what happened next?”

“Well, I finished up a couple of chores, and then the reverend told me I should leave the rest and go home to look after Mom.”

“So you went home.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Mary, do you and your mom always use the gap in the hedge in the garden?”

She smiled. “Why, yes. We all do…”

Sylvie slowly raised her tear-drenched face and looked at me.

I met her gaze and after a moment I asked her, “How are you feeling?”

Her face was bitter. “How do you think? I told you to leave it alone.”

“I can’t do that, Sylvie. You know I can’t.” I smiled at Mary. “Why don’t you make your mom some tea, Mary?”

She nodded and went out to the kitchen. Sylvie watched her leave, then said, “You are going to bring disaster on us all.”

“That’s not my purpose, Sylvie. My purpose is to find the truth and, if necessary, bring the killers to justice. But if you and Paul keep getting in the way, maybe there will be a disaster.”

“God has his own justice.”

“Maybe so. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

She sighed and closed her eyes, then flopped back on the sofa. “I went upstairs to lie down in the dark. I started drifting off to sleep. I don’t know how long I was like that. Next thing, I heard a noise. I’m not sure what it was. Like a bang or something. Then the French windows opened and closed. I assumed it was Mary come home from Paul’s. Shortly after that, I heard feet climbing the stairs…”

Her face started to contort and tears spilled from her eyes again. She raised her fingers to her mouth. When she spoke, her voice was high pitched, almost strangled.

“Oh God, help me! I thought the steps sounded heavy. It wasn’t like Mary. I thought maybe Paul…” She sat forward again, convulsing. Her eyes were wide and staring. “The door opened and he just stood there, staring at me.”

“Who did? Did you recognize him?”

She stared at me like I had asked some insane question. “No. The lights were off. And he had a kind of hood over his face.” She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. I thought she was going to turn hysterical, but she said, “He just rushed at me, without a word. He just rushed, and I saw he had a huge knife in his hand. I screamed.”

She looked at me suddenly, as though I might disapprove of her screaming.

I said, “Okay, you’re doing great, Sylvie. This is really helpful. Now I need you to think carefully before you answer. Did he say anything, anything at all?”

She shook her head. “No. He just made a horrible noise, like an animal. And when I saw the knife, I started screaming.” She shuddered again. “I must have jumped off the bed. I saw his knife rip at the quilt where I’d been lying.”

“What kind of knife was it, Sylvie?”

She froze and her eyes locked onto mine. She took a long moment to answer. “The same. The same kind of knife.”

“The same as…?”

“The same as the one he used to kill Simon.”

“Was it the same man?”

She covered her mouth and spoke through sobs. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I was so scared. I thought…”

Mary came in with a cup of tea. Sylvie reached for it with trembling hands. Mary glanced at me. “Detective, can I get you some tea or coffee?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks, Mary. Sit down, would you. Tell me what you remember.