Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

Nothing.

I pressed the bell and hammered on the door. A squad car came wailing into the street and stopped outside the house. I hammered again. Car doors slammed and the two patrolmen were running up to join us.

A door slammed inside the house. Then there were running feet clattering down the stairs. I stood back and pulled my piece. Dehan did the same. The patrolmen covered us.

The door was wrenched open and a woman stood there, a look of absolute horror on her face, her hair disheveled and a bath towel wrapped around her. She stared at us and said, “What the hell is going on?”

Sixteen

Her name was Nancy Pierce. We sat with her in her living room. She had put a bathrobe on and now had a towel wound around her head. Dehan was sitting next to her, and I was opposite. The patrol car was outside awaiting instructions. Nancy Pierce looked like she had just discovered that for the past thirty years she’d been living on the Truman Show. Everything had changed and nothing would ever be quite the same again.

She kept asking, “Why…?”

I kept wanting to tell her that wasn’t a helpful question, but I knew that wouldn’t have been a helpful answer, either. Finally, Dehan said to her, “Nancy, you have to stop asking yourself that. The whole point is that there is no motive. He is crazy. If you try to understand him, you’ll drive yourself crazy, too.”

Nancy looked at Dehan as though she was crazy. I asked her, “Have you got anybody you can stay with?”

She stared at me a moment, then said, “No…” like now I was crazy too. “I mean, I have a sister, but she has kids… How could I…?”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. I nodded that I understood. “We’ll leave a patrol car outside. You want a policewoman to stay here tonight?” She nodded. “Okay, we’ll arrange that.”

I made the call, and while Dehan sat with Nancy, I went around the house, checking the windows and the access points to see if there was any way he could get in. By the time I was finished, I was satisfied that, unless he was Spider-Man, the only way in for him was past the patrol car and the policewoman who was going to be sitting downstairs with her service .38, watching TV all night.

Sergeant Maria Fernadez, who had identified the shopping mall back at the station, volunteered and turned up within about fifteen minutes. When she and Nancy had settled in, I stepped outside into the drizzle with Dehan. I studied her face a moment. She looked exhausted.

“Stone, pull David in before he kills somebody.”

“The smallest miscalculation now and we could blow the whole thing, and that could cost many more lives, Dehan.”

“He is going to kill, just to show you he can.”

“On what grounds do we arrest him? And on what grounds do we hold him?” She looked away from me. Her jaw muscle was bouncing. “The closest thing we have to actual evidence points to Peter, not to Dave.”

She sighed and rubbed her face. “I know. What do you want me to do?”

“Go home. I want you to go home, disconnect, and rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“What about you?”

“I’m okay for the moment. I’ve got a couple of things I want to look into. Then I’ll get some sleep, too.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “But anything, and I mean anything, you call me. You understand?”

I smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

It was a short drive, and we made it in silence, with only the slow, steady squeak of the windshield wipers and the wet hiss of the traffic outside. Inside the cocoon of the cab, the silence was almost comforting. Almost safe.

I pulled up in front of the big red stone building, and we sat a moment looking at each other.

“Call me, okay?”

I smiled. “I’m never sure how long to leave it. Two days seems a long time, but a day can seem needy.”

“Dork.”

“Hey, that was my nickname at school.”

“Good night, Stone.”

“Good night, Dehan.”

I watched her climb the five steps and let herself in. The door closed behind her, and I sat for five minutes wondering what to do.

I drove first to Revere Avenue and cruised slowly past the Smiths’ house. Then I drove up past Dave’s house. I don’t know what I expected to see, but whatever it was, I didn’t see it. Then I drove back to Nancy Pierce’s house and parked. I was about to get out and ask the patrolmen if there was anything to report when my phone rang. The number was withheld. I answered.

“Stone.”

There was a stifled giggle.

“Who is this?”

Then a voice that was mainly breath said, “Tick… tock… tick… tock…”

There was a moment’s silence, and the line went dead.

I called the precinct and told them to trace the last call to my number, but I knew it would be a disposable cell.

I got out and walked to the squad car. There was a hollow crunch to my steps. The wet road looked like polished bronze. The street was empty and cold. I leaned on the car. The patrolman had the window open and was looking up at me.

“Jones, right?”

“Yes, Detective.”

“He just called me. Stay alert. He could be nearby.”

He nodded.

I walked around the side of the house and into the back garden. It was very dark. The fence and the shed at the end were blacker shapes against the blackness. I took my time exploring every corner. The shed was locked. The garden was empty, and there was nobody on the other side of the fences. I went back around to the front and rang the