The Abduction of Mary Rose (29 page)

But she did outsmart me, dammit. She did.
And knowing this enraged him all the more. The sirens were silent now. The cops were at her house. She would give them his name. But it was only her word against his. Mistaken identity. He continued to run, gasping, panting, groaning with the stabbing pain in his ankle, as his thoughts chased themselves like rats on a treadmill. With everything that was hurting, it was the sliver of glass under his eye that made his stop long enough to draw it out. Blood flowed down his cheek; he wiped at it with the back of his hand. His heart pounded with exertion.

At the sight of a black and white slowly cruising by, his anger turned to icy fear and he shrank against the side of a building. They drove on past, their lights missing him. His heart pulsed in his throat.

They would be circling the block, cruising every street he might have taken in his getaway.

Suddenly hearing footsteps running across the field toward him, he took off. He thought about the whore he had killed. He'd made sure he didn't leave any DNA behind, he wasn't a fool.

No. She wasn't his problem. The half-breed was his fucking problem.

Chapter Forty-Five

The siren was cut off mid-wail amidst the squeal of brakes. Within minutes two more cruisers pulled up behind the first one, all parked at odd angles out on the street, policeman pouring out with guns drawn like cops in a TV crime show. Naomi ran down to meet them, fully aware now of the throbbing of her elbow where she'd knocked it against the door frame.

"He jumped out the studio window." She gestured to the smashed window, the shutters that hung broken and splintered against the house. A tall, mustached policeman aimed his flashlight where she was pointing. "I saw him go around the back," she said, "I'm almost sure he took off across the back field."

Second later, flashlights in hand, half a dozen cops took off in pursuit. "We'll get him, Ma'am," the mustached policeman said. "You go on back inside now and lock your doors. Detective Henderson will stay with you." With that, he took off in a run after the others.

A stocky red-head with a sympathetic smile came forward and shook her hand. "Hi, Naomi. I'm Karen Henderson. We talked on the phone. 911 gave us a brief rundown on how he happened to be locked in your room, but she was a little rattled in her explanation, to put it mildly. You can fill me in a little more inside."

"What happened, Miss Waters?" an elderly voice called out from at the back of a gathering crowd. "Are you all right?

Naomi turned, and spotted the petite woman wearing a coat over her robe. A neighbour who knew her name. She looked vaguely familiar. "I'm fine, thanks," Naomi said. "An intruder. He broke into my house."

"Don't worry, Miss Waters," a man called to her. "The cops'll get 'em." Mr. Burgess, she remembered. A retired bookkeeper.

Good, caring people. The concern she heard in their voices made her feel cared for. Not everyone was here out of morbid curiosity. She'd lived here all her life, and only now did it occur to her that she knew very few of her neighbours. A few names came to mind, but she knew little about them. Mom knew them all. They'd sent food and flowers and come to her funeral. Most, if not all, had read Naomi's story in the paper.

Detective Henderson was putting on a pot of coffee. She seemed comfortable in the kitchen, even one not her own. Naomi went to the window and opened it a crack, watching the circles of light darting across the field like giant fireflies, away from her. It was too dark to see what was happening, but she could hear the excited shouts of men as they closed in on their quarry. And she heard when they took him down. The shouts grew louder, threatening. Then quieted.

"Standing in an open window isn't the best idea in the world," Detective Henderson said behind her. The coffee had started to perk, filling the kitchen with its normal, comforting aroma. "But it sounds like they've got their man, so you're probably safe."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Naomi closed the window. Tears spilled down her face. They had him.
Thank you.
Her purse was still sitting on the kitchen table, with Lisa's phone inside. She stuffed the purse in a cabinet, behind a box of bran flakes, for something to do. She was shaking, trying not to.

Both women went into the living room to await the detective's knock on the door. While they waited, Detective Henderson told her that a police cruiser had been a block away when she made the 911 call, which was why they were so quick getting here.

Even from here, Naomi could still hear the excited murmur of the crowd outside. Looking out the front window, she glimpsed the cuffed man being put into the back of the cruiser. Marcus Leeland was a big man and looked even bigger from here. He must have discarded the trench coat.

The dome lights pulsed rhythmically, splashing the crowd and the street in bloody colour before it pulled away.

Even though she'd been expecting the knock at the door, she jumped when she heard it. "Police. Detective Mott." Calm now, no urgency in his voice.

Officer Henderson opened the door to him. His face was flushed with the recent excitement. "You're safe now, Miss Waters, the detective said, "He won't be bothering you or anyone else for awhile."

Relieved beyond measure, she thanked the officers profusely. She was still thanking them when a wave of weakness swept over her, turning her legs to water. "I'm sorry," she said, sagging into a chair by the fireplace. "I'm feeling a little dizzy."

"Here, this'll help," Detective Henderson said seconds later, handing her a steaming mug of coffee. "You've had quite an ordeal."

She gave one to Detective Mott, and sipped her own as the two began to ask more questions. Detective Glen Mott took notes.

Naomi explained her plan to them, showed them how it had worked. They went into the studio, looked at the broken window, Detective Henderson grinning. "Like a rat in a trap," she laughed.

The two women returned to the living room, leaving the lead detective still checking things out.

"Damn dangerous, what you did, Naomi, but ballsy, I gotta admit, "Detective Henderson said. "Very cool." She laughed.

From the studio, Glen Mott called out that she was lucky; she should have let the police handle it.

"I tried," she called back. "No one would take me seriously." That wasn't entirely true. Sergeant Nelson had believed her.

The redhead nodded. "You want to phone someone to come and stay with you tonight?"

"No, I'll be fine now."

Detective Mott called out, "You'll need to board up this window until you can get it repaired. "Hey, we've got some blood here, on the sill. I'll call forensics to collect a sample. Can't hurt to have hard evidence."

Better than saliva off a coffee cup, she thought. It didn't matter. Her plan had worked. Maybe not exactly according to plan, but well enough. Marcus Leeland was in custody. It was over. The tears had dried, and she'd stopped trembling. Detective Mott was right: she'd been lucky. It could have turned out a lot differently.

Standing in the open doorway, she watched as the last cruiser pulled away, taking the detectives with them. No pulsing lights now, no squeal of tires.

The crowd had pretty much dispersed. The excitement, the threat, was over. She tacked cardboard over the broken window and re-bolted the door; it would do until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. The neighbours would talk about this over breakfast, at work. They would read about a killer's capture in the paper, watch it on TV. Eric Grant might even write a follow up story. His piece in the Tribune had begun all this; why not?

She stood in the doorway for another few seconds. The last of the stragglers had gone, leaving the street dark and silent. Naomi went inside and locked the door. Now that she was alone, she sank down on the sofa and dissolved into a fresh bucket of tears.

When she was cried out, she went into the kitchen and drained the last of the coffee Karen Henderson had made into her cup and heated it up in the microwave. Not much chance she'd be sleeping tonight. She thought about phoning Lisa with the good news, but decided it could wait until morning. She wondered if Debbie Banks was back home. It would be a small bit of closure for her. And maybe for Marie Davis' family, too. She hoped so.

Naomi turned around and saw a skittish Molly standing near the door leading into the kitchen, hackles slightly raised, wary. "It's over, Molly. He's behind bars."

Naomi scooped her up in her arms and stroked her soft, silky fur until she settled down. But she didn't purr and her ears twitched nervously, the end of her tail flicking back and forth. It had been a traumatic night for both of them.

As if to punctuate the thought, the phone rang, and Molly sprang from her arms, landing the full length of the floor, leaving a deep scratch on the back of her hand in the process. Beads of blood bubbled up as Naomi picked up the receiver, the scratch just now beginning to sting in earnest. She blew on it. "Hello."

Molly's nerves were as raw as her own. Reporters already? she thought. But it was Frank calling her. "Naomi, I just heard. Are you okay?" She was glad to hear from him. But rather than feeling jubilant, she felt only relief.

"I am now. Now that they've got him in custody."

"That's why I'm calling. They don't have him. There's been a terrible mistake."

She heard her own nervous laugh. "No, no you're wrong, Frank. I saw them take him away in handcuffs. He…."

"That wasn't Leeland."

She felt the blood drain from her body, as if someone had actually attached a hose to her and siphoned it out. "What?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry. I was worried about you and I hired a friend of mine to keep an eye on the house."

The dark blue car she passed, parked across the street flashed in her mind. She'd thought it might be Leeland.

"He saw the guy come crashing through your window and took off after him through the back lot."

"You hired someone?" she said stupidly, as the full implication of what he was telling her began to sink in.

"He a bouncer and sometime bodyguard, name of Eldon Carpenter. Good guy. I knew you'd resent the interference, but Lili would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. I'd never forgive myself. Naomi…."

"How do you know this, Frank? That the man they caught is this Eldon Carpenter?" Her mind was spinning. How could this be? Please let Frank be wrong.

"He just phoned me from the jail. I'm on my way there now to get him released. I wanted to call you first. Lock your doors, honey. He's still out there."

Chapter Forty-Six

A numbing coldness spread through her as if she'd just been plunged into ice water. Stunned, she could only stand there, unable to think clearly. Then, as the full impact of his words hit, she dropped the receiver into the cradle and bolted for the kitchen to wedge the chair back under the doorknob as she'd done in those first days.

But it was too late. She hadn't quite reached the door when she saw the knob turn.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Lisa sat up late, drinking coffee and thinking about Naomi, and wondering why she'd not heard from Eric Grant. And then she turned on the local news and saw that a man had broken into a house on Elizabeth Avenue and was in police custody.

Marcus Leeland, she thought. Thank God. Naomi's plan had worked. She smiled to herself, teary with relief. She wanted to call her but she was probably sleeping by now, exhausted. She'd call in the morning.