Pulse Points. Mary Baxter Lynn
stand like she was encased in a huge block of ice. Then she heard another strange sound. Finally she realized it was coming from her. A whimpering erupted from her throat. She felt helpless and vulnerable in the midst of an oncoming bout of hysteria.
She shut her eyes, clinging to the remnant of hope that this was nothing but a contorted, macabre nightmare from which she would soon awaken. But when she opened her eyes, the woman remained crumpled and lifeless.
And the man had disappeared.
Do something, Kasey mouthed silently, making an effort to fight through the fog that dulled her mind, but it was impossible.
She had no idea where she found the courage to move her paralyzed limbs. Later, she credited the force of adrenaline that kicked in, giving her the strength to run to the victim and drop to her knees.
“Oh, my God,” she cried when she recognized the ashen-faced woman with the blood-splattered chest.
Her stomach churning and her vision blurring, Kasey lifted her head and took several deep, shuddering breaths, praying again that this was indeed a dream. But when she peered down once more, nothing had changed.
Her business partner, Shirley Parker, remained splayed on the pavement. Dead. Kasey lifted her head high again as the stench of fresh, oozing blood filled her nostrils making her dizzy.
Her stomach pitched and heaved, and for a moment, she feared she might faint. Instead she sucked in her breath, and without touching her partner, fumbled for her cell phone, then dialed 911.
“Please, hurry.” She didn’t even recognize her own voice. It was squeaky and faint. “There’s…there’s been a murder.”
The police station was frigid, though Kasey suspected it was her fractured nerves rather than the temperature that made her teeth clack together. Despite a valiant effort to get her emotions under control, she couldn’t seem to do so. She continued to reel from the fact that her world had just splintered into a million jagged pieces.
“Would you care for a cup of hot coffee?”
How else would coffee be? That unasked, but inane, question made Kasey realize that hysteria was once more bubbling close to the surface. Clasping her hands together in her lap and squeezing them seemed to temper that hysteria. But for how long was anyone’s guess.
Nothing was able to remove the imprint of Shirley’s bullet-riddled, blood-splattered body from her mind.
Kasey shivered again. While waiting for the police to arrive on the scene, she had stayed with Shirley. Her initial reaction, however, had been to jump in her car and drive straight home, lock her doors and crawl into bed. And pretend the nightmare never happened.
She couldn’t say what had kept her at the grisly scene. Perhaps she hadn’t been able to leave her friend alone even in death. Better yet, remaining had been the right thing to do. The police had been on their way, and she was the only witness to the crime.
Through it all, she had kept waiting for the killer to return and deliver her the same fate, though she didn’t think he’d seen her.
But what if he had?
“Here, drink this. Maybe it’ll help.”
Kasey flinched, then nodded her thanks at the man who handed her the cup. His name was Detective Richard Gallain. Even though a shroud of fog still swirled around her brain, she couldn’t help but take note of him. Physically, Gallain reminded her of a bulldog with his slightly bugged eyes, wide full mouth, and heavy jowls. Not a handsome man by any stretch of the imagination, but then he didn’t need to be. Putting murderers behind bars didn’t require good looks, just a skilled mind.
When he had arrived on the scene, Gallain had asked her if she was all right and what had happened. Somehow she’d managed to make enough sense to tell him what she’d witnessed.
Once the crime lab boys had arrived, Gallain suggested she accompany him to the police department for further questioning.
Now, as she waited for that to happen, Kasey sipped on the dark liquid, but it did nothing to soothe her shattered nerves. The coffee barely hit her stomach before it pitched in rejection. Shaking noticeably, she placed the cup on the desk and folded her hands in her lap.
“Relax, Mrs. Ellis. You’re safe here. We’re here to help you not hurt you.”
Gallain’s voice was as strong as his features. And confident. But not abrasive. Impatient was the word. She suspected he was ready to hit her with a barrage of questions, yet he seemed to sense how emotionally fragile she was and was trying to take it easy, something that apparently wasn’t easy for him.
“Are you up to talking?” Gallain paused, sweeping a hand though his crew cut. “I don’t want to rush you.” He let the rest of his sentence trail off but she got the message.
His impatience was no longer veiled, though his voice remained even. Of course, he wanted to rush her. Who was he kidding? She expected him to bark at her any minute, a thought that at one time might have drawn a smile. Not today. Not after she’d just witnessed a murder. And not just a random murder, either but that of her friend and partner.
Kasey took a deep, shuddering breath in hopes of blotting out that painful image, at least for the moment. It didn’t work. When she stared into Gallain’s sharp green eyes, it was Shirley’s white face and lifeless body that she saw.
She blinked when another detective entered the cubicle. A tall man with a kind face, he folded his arms, leaned against the door, then merely nodded at her.
“Mrs. Ellis.”
As though being chastised for removing her gaze, Kasey swung her eyes back to Gallain. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—” Her words faded into the tomblike silence of the small cubicle, though she was aware that on the other side people were scurrying about and telephones were ringing.
“So you still don’t think the killer saw you?”
“Like I told you at the scene, I don’t think so, but again I can’t be one hundred percent sure.” Kasey noticed her voice trembled. She bit down on her lower lip to control it.
“Okay, did you see him?” The detective’s eyes pinned her with intensity.
“No. I mean I did, but I didn’t.”
Gallain didn’t so much as twitch a muscle at her contradictory response. “You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely. The man who fired the shots was a blur then and still is.”
“How ’bout what he was wearing?”
When she didn’t answer, Gallain went on, “His clothes. You must’ve noticed something. His shirt. The color of it, perhaps. Something.”
“Not…really.” She felt her own frustration building. “Everything happened so fast.”
For a second, Gallain stared at her as if he didn’t believe a word she’d said. Maybe that was what suddenly roused her out of her traumatized state and forced her upright. She stared back.
He rubbed his chin, then the base of his neck. When he spoke again, his demeanor had softened somewhat. “Look, I don’t like this any better than you, but without you, we have nothing.”
“Don’t you think I want to help?” Kasey rubbed her pounding forehead. “That I’m trying hard to remember? My God, I saw this sicko kill someone.” Her tone had risen to a shrill ring.
“Maybe if we gave her some time, Gallain, eased up a bit, she would be of more help.”
Both Kasey and the detective cast their eyes in the direction of the other officer who had pushed away from the wall and was ambling toward them.
Before Gallain could take umbrage to another opinion, the man eased down on the edge of the