Death Comes Silently (32 page)

He pounded down the stairs.

Annie veered away from the car, fled into the fog. She fell and scrambled up, hands and knees scratched, terrified, heart thudding. Over the ragged whistle of her breathing, she listened for his running steps.

Nothing. Only the sound of her frantic breaths.

A screech. Was the rending sound the rasp of metal scraping against concrete?

Silence.

Terror plucked at her mind. Silence. That’s how death came.

She shuddered. She’d told Max she would be at the store. Instead, she was within yards of a murderer who did not intend that she should live to tell what she knew. She listened with every fiber of her being. He was listening, too. That’s why there was no movement. He was waiting for her to reveal her presence.

Annie strained to see through the fog. Was he coming near? She had to move. But she was disoriented. She had no sense of where he was. The fog was opaque, wrapping her in a heavy grayness. If she could reach the woods, maybe she could hide. But if she moved, he would hear. Yet at this moment he might be edging silently toward her, one long softly placed step after another. Perhaps he had figured out how far she might have gone when she ran from the electric car.

His voice came eerily through the fog with a horrible attempt at geniality. “What’s going on? Something scare you? Sometimes I see a cougar. Look, come on out, I’ll see you safely to your car.”

He sounded so reasonable, so measured.

Annie bent down. Her hand swept the ground. She found a knob of wood. Not heavy enough. Gently, she placed the piece on the ground and again spread her fingers, seeking, seeking. Her fingertips touched a rough remnant of brick half buried in the sandy soil. She scratched and scraped with her nails until the piece came free.

“Annie, I’ll bet you’re lost. Give a call. I’ll try to find you.” A grotesque attempt at normalcy.

Annie held the portion of brick tightly. Slowly she stood and cautiously turned. She thought she faced the area where she’d parked. Her hands shook. She had to do something, find out where he was. Maybe this was a mistake. But she couldn’t bear to wait and wait and wait and have him creep toward her out of the fog, big and powerful and deadly.

Using all her strength, Annie threw the clump of brick as hard as she could. She felt a flash of triumph at a loud metallic clatter.

The shots came swiftly, one, two, three, flashes of brightness no more than twenty feet away.

H
yla Harrison held her cell close to her lips. “Ten thirty. Milton Construction. Ten seventy-five. Ten eighty-four. Ten forty-three.” She moved silent as a wraith through the swirling fog, repeating her call. She’d left her shoes near her scooter. Her feet were wet and cold, but she stepped quietly, lightly as a feather falls. “Ten thirty. Milton Construction. Ten seventy-five. Ten eighty-four. Ten forty-three.” The warnings were explicit: danger/caution, location, shooting, crime in progress, urgent/use lights and sirens. It was only when she was sure the message had been received loud and clear, Lou Pirelli barking, “Ten ninety-three, ten ninety-three,” that she added, “Assailant armed and dangerous. Shots at Annie Darling. Stalking Annie Darling with gun. Officer off-duty, unarmed.”

Lou’s voice was shocked. “Unarmed? Wait for us.”

Hyla didn’t answer. She couldn’t be sure of the location of the shots, but she felt if she kept going slightly to her left, she would find him. How many bullets did he have left? Did he have an extended magazine? Or a supply in his pocket? One step, two, three…

“Hey, Annie. I got a deal for you.” There was a burble of panic in Brad Milton’s deep voice.

Hyla stiffened. Over there. She moved cautiously from behind a tree.

The fog shifted. Brad Milton stood hunched in a tight posture only a few feet from Annie’s Thunderbird, his head swiveling back and forth, back and forth. Perhaps he heard the crackle of a twig near him. He turned, saw her.

Hyla lunged for cover, shouted, “Police. Hands up. You’re surrounded. Police. Throw down your weapon.”

He raised his arm. Rapid gunshots, harsh, cracking like a whip.

M
ax hummed as he placed the ball behind an especially challenging curl in the indoor carpet, worthy of a Pete Dye course. His cell rang. He tapped the ball, which promptly veered off onto the floor. That was probably about as well as he would do on an actual Pete Dye course. He leaned over his desk and retrieved the phone. He noted the caller ID. “Hey, Mari—”

The reporter’s raspy voice was an octave high. “Scanner. Shots. Brad Milton Construction. Annie’s there. Oh, God, Max, he’s shooting at her.”

S
hots. Hyla’s shouts. Thrashing in the underbrush.

Annie knelt behind a wheelbarrow. Hyla was off duty. Annie felt a welter of conflicting emotion, gratitude that Hyla was there, guilt that she was in danger. Annie understood what must have happened. Hyla had followed Annie, dogged her path from the Hathaway house to the agency to this isolated place of terror. How like Hyla, so stiff and serious, wanting to help Billy, trying to think how, offering what she knew to Annie. Hyla pondering that decision in her careful way and deciding she might have set more in motion than she had intended. Hyla out of uniform. Unarmed. Trying now to save Annie.

The fog seemed to press down on Annie, a living entity, heavy, dark, unrelenting.

Annie blinked back tears. Hyla had done her best, yelling that
the police were here. But they weren’t. In this mist-heavy, forsaken place, three of them were frozen in time, Hyla and Annie and Death.

M
ax gunned the Maserati, his hands clenched on the wheel. Despite the fog, he careened around curves, picked up speed on straight stretches, plummeted through the swath of gray, watching, ready to brake, willing anything and everything out of his way. Annie. He had to get to Annie. Brad Milton. That out-of-the-way, remote clearing. Max felt numb. He should have known. Brad had been glib, quick to claim that he and Everett had ironed everything out. Why would Everett have backed off? Everett was small natured, petty. There had been no agreement. Brad faced financial devastation. So he killed Everett and then Gretchen and Maggie, and now Annie was in dreadful danger. The police were on their way. But Brad had a gun. The Maserati jolted in the ruts leading to Brad’s buildings. Ahead of him, Max heard the wail of sirens. He ached inside.

S
hots rattled. Annie covered her ears. She trembled. She wanted to run for the woods, plunge into the trees, slam to earth behind a fat-trunked live oak, escape from a man who was ready to blindly kill and kill again. He must be hoping that Hyla lied, that once again he would be safe if only he killed some more. There was no sound from Hyla. Had bullets ripped into her flesh, stained the plaid shirt?

A branch crackled nearby.

Annie’s heart lurched. He must be very near. If she could find anything to serve as a weapon… She swept her hands inside the rough interior of the wheelbarrow. Nothing. She hated to leave the spurious sense of safety from the wheelbarrow, but she had to find a weapon.
She moved in a crouch, one step after another. There—straight ahead—a greater darkness in the fog, the waist-high stack of used bricks. She reached out, hefted a brick. She was not strong enough to throw the five-pound weight very far. Perhaps ten or twelve feet. That might bring Brad close enough to see her.

Hyla had called and shouted to help Annie. Then the terrible crack of gunfire and awful silence.

Annie took a deep breath, whirled like a shot putter. The brick arced away toward the woods, opposite where she’d last heard Hyla, and thudded heavily to the ground.

Heavy running steps sounded near, so near.

Annie grabbed another brick.

Here he came. Breathing heavily, Brad pounded out of the fog only a foot or so away.

Brush crashed off to one side. Hyla’s voice rose in a brusque commanding shout. “Police. Drop your weapon. Police.”

Brad swung toward the sound of Hyla’s voice. He looked huge, head butted forward, big shoulders hunched. His hand rose, lifting the gun, pointing the barrel toward Hyla.

Annie scrambled toward him. He was too big, too strong for her to bring down, but she had to stop him from firing. Hyla had come after her…

His breath came in huge rasps, masking her approach.

Desperately, she lifted the brick, crashed it down on his right hand.

The gun spun from his hand as he grunted in pain.

Hyla exploded out of the mist, running toward them, her feet pounding on the hard ground.

Brad flung a long arm toward Annie, knocking her away. She fell backward, rolled to one side, tried to get up.

Shouting, Brad started for her, then stopped, chest heaving. He swung away in search of the gun, swearing in a harsh monotone.

Red lights whirling, cars squealed into the clearing, men erupted, lights shone. “Police. Hands up. Police. Drop your weapons. Police.”

Brad was down on one knee, reaching for the gun.

Without hesitation, Hyla propelled herself forward, dropped a thick strand of vine around his neck, and yanked as she slammed a knee into his back.

Maddened as a pricked bull, he twisted and bucked, heaving Hyla to one side.

Lou Pirelli, stocky and strong, and Coley Benson, young and tough, slammed Brad to the ground and held him until he was shackled.

“I’ll sue the police.” Brad’s voice was hoarse and his eyes wild. “I try to deal with a trespasser and I get attacked. I don’t know what’s going on…”

M
ilton can play any tune he wants to, but we got him for attempted murder and that’s enough until we prove the rest of the case. But”—a sigh—“I have to get the so-call chief involved.” He clicked the phone. “Mr. Farrell.” Lou Pirelli was polite even though his face registered disgust. “We’ve solved a triple murder case and now must arrange for the release of a man arrested in error.”

“Listen, I got busted pipes to deal with.” Farrell’s querulous voice blasted over the speaker phone in the station break room. “If you got questions, ask the mayor. He said there wasn’t nothing for me to do. Or handle it yourself.”

Lou’s face brightened. “Sure thing, sir. We have everything under control.” He was crisp, forceful. “With your approval, we’ll provide the mayor with an update at the appropriate time.”

“Yeah. That’s the way to handle it. Thanks.” The call ended.

Lou clicked off the phone. His look of satisfaction slowly seeped away. “Okay, we charge Milton, start rounding up evidence, enough that even the circuit solicitor will agree. But Billy’s still out in the cold. You know what will happen”—he looked at Annie and Max on the other side of the long green table—“the mayor will take credit and conveniently forget he insisted on charging Jeremiah. He won’t reinstate Billy.”

Annie finished a last bite of a golden hot glazed donut, welcomed a pulse of energy and, yes, the lift might be a temporary sugar high, but she needed all the bolstering she could get. It would be a long time before she forgot the fog and the fear. She would never forget the debt she owed to Sgt. Hyla Harrison, one arm now in a sling to ease the discomfort of the shoulder bruised when Brad shook her off. And, of course, there was Max. She slid a tentative glance toward him. He was pale, his face set in tight lines, his dark blue eyes haunted. As soon as they left the station, he would be very explicit about the foolishness of walking into a lion’s den.

She reached out, touched his arm. “I was sure it was Leslie.”

His gaze was grim. “You should have called me.”

“I would have called, I swear, if I’d had any idea I’d stumbled close to the truth. Honestly, it never occurred to me that Brad was the murderer.” She took a deep breath. “I know I’m lucky.” Her voice was small.

His face softened. “It wasn’t just luck. If Hyla didn’t respect you, she would never have told you about the boat. And, being Hyla, she realized she had to be sure you didn’t do something dumb.”

Annie didn’t think Max was excelling at tact. But whatever Hyla’s motivation, Annie was grateful. However, she knew that Hyla would simply shake her head and mutter that she’d just been doing her duty.

Annie was quite willing to pay respect where respect was due.
“Thanks to Hyla, Brad Milton’s under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon. I’ll bet they find tire prints from his electric car at Better Tomorrow and at Henny’s and Maggie’s and somewhere near the Hathaway house. His fingerprints may be on the green bike he used the night he killed Everett. If the bullets that killed Maggie match the gun he shot at Hyla and me, that’s all the proof anyone needs.”

“Yeah, we got him.” Lou sounded confident. “We’ll fill in the chinks. But that won’t get Billy his job back.” He heaved a sigh. “Now I got to call the mayor and tell him what’s happened. He’ll prance like a peacock.”

Annie sat up straight, her expression eager. It might be the sugar but she had an idea. “That’s the answer. Achilles’ heel.”

Lou looked worried. “You feeling okay? Maybe you should go home and rest.”