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

She pointed at the French doors. “I was coming across the garden, and I saw the French windows were open. So I went toward them, thinking I could come in that way, and close them from the inside. But as I got closer, I realized the glass was broken. So I hurried over to see what had happened. And as I opened them wide, that’s when I heard the screaming upstairs.” She looked at her mother, as though seeking confirmation. “I could hear her screaming for help. She just kept screaming ‘help, somebody help me.’”

I turned to Sylvie. “Did he hurt you with the knife?”

The question seemed to confuse her for a moment. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m bleeding.”

“What happened next, Sylvie?”

Her face contracted at the memory and she hunched her shoulders. “He jumped on the bed. I thought he was going to kill me. I ran. I don’t know where. I just ran, screaming. I think he grabbed me and threw me. I thought I was going to die. I kept feeling the knife about to stab me, all over my body.”

“What did you do, Mary?”

Now she looked scared. “I don’t know if I did wrong, Detective. But I heard mom screaming for help, and all the crashing and tramping around upstairs. So I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and ran to help her. I didn’t think. I just acted from instinct.”

“That’s fine. So you ran up the stairs…?”

“I ran up the stairs. Mom’s door was open. I rushed in and I saw Mom on the floor by the bed and this man bending over her, and he had a big knife raised up in his hand, like he was about to stab her with it.”

“What kind of knife was it?”

“It was like one of those big hunting knives.”

“What happened next?”

Mary’s eyes flooded, but she kept her composure. She put her arms around her mother and held her. “I don’t know if I did the wrong thing, but I rushed at him and I slashed at him with the kitchen knife, screaming at him to leave my momma alone.”

“You were defending your home and your family. You were perfectly entitled to do what you did. But I need to know, did you injure him? Did you stab him? It could really help us identify the man.”

She thought about it. “Yeah. I am pretty sure I did. Maybe on his shoulder or his right arm.”

Sudden shouts and the sound of scrambling made me turn and stand and go to the French doors. Evening was turning to night and there were flashlights dancing at the end of the garden. A voice shouted, “Don’t move!”

There was the sound of scuffling and scrambling. Then Dehan’s voice, authoritative and calming.

“Okay! Take it easy! I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a pause. Then her voice again. “Stone? Is that you?”

“Yeah.”

I could make out a small group of people walking toward me. Dehan’s voice spoke again. “It is Humberto. He was hiding in the bushes. He seems to be hurt.”

Twenty Two

It was an odd tableau. Sylvie and Mary sitting, holding each other on the sofa, staring at Humberto, looking huge and miserable between two uniformed cops, with Dehan standing beside him, rubbing her hand like it hurt. I went over to him. As I approached, he seemed to cower and wince.

I smiled. “Amigo.”

He smiled back, but uncertainly. “Meu amigo.”

“Are you hurt, Humberto?” I struggled to remember my schoolboy Latin. “Injuria, Doleo, malum?”

He nodded his massive head and looked at Sylvie. “Diavolo malefico feto injuria mina Donna.”

I turned to Dehan. “You okay?” She nodded. “Call Paul, will you? Get him over here.”

She pulled out her phone and stepped into the hall. I reached over and turned Humberto gently around. “Where are you hurt, Humberto?”

I took hold of his hands and saw his right one was thick with blood. I pointed to it and looked into his face. “Injuria.”

He pouted. “Diavolo malefico.”

I examined the sleeve and found the slash on his lower arm, just below his elbow. I turned and called, “Dehan. We need an ambulance too.”

She stepped back into the room. “I already called them. Paul is on his way.”

“Did you find a weapon?”

“Not yet. Jones and Hanson are looking.”

“Sylvie, is this the man who attacked you?”

Mary was frowning at her. Sylvie bit her lip and the tears started to spill again. “It might be. I am not sure.”

“Mary? Is this the man who was attacking your mother?”

Humberto was looking confused, from Sylvie to me. He said, “None feto malo. None feto malo.”

“Mary?”

“I don’t think so…” She turned to her mother, but her mother had her eyes closed and was sobbing again. Mary looked back at me. “I’m not sure.”

“Where is the knife you used?”

She half stood. “Oh, it’s on the floor in Mom’s room. Should I go and…?”

“No. Just leave it where it is. Dehan, we’d better get a CSI team here.”

“On their way, Sensei.”

There was a footfall at the French windows and Paul stepped in. He scowled around the room. “What in the name of God is going on?”

“Sit down, Paul. That is what we are here to find out. Please, none of you leave this room. We’ll be back in a moment. Dehan, let’s take a look upstairs.”

I put one of the officers on the front door and left the other to stand watch over Sylvie and Paul, and Dehan and I climbed the stairs to the bedroom. The bed was rumpled, as you’d expect after somebody had slept on it and then jumped on it. The lamp on the near bedside table was knocked over, presumably from where Sylvie had been thrown against