Blood of Cain

61

I found Kim lying on her stomach in an alcove off from the kitchen, blood oozing near her right ear and pooling on the white tile. Her hair was matted with blood. I dropped down beside her and gently touched her. She shuddered. “Kim, it’s me, Sean.” I checked her wounds, making sure there were no obvious neck or spinal cord injuries. Her mouth had been sealed with duct tape. She looked at me, her eyes blinking tears, pleading, nostrils flared, inhaling in fast heaves — so very frightened.

I grabbed a clean towel folded on the counter and pressed it against the open gash on her head. “You’re going to be okay,” I whispered, gingerly pulling the tape off her mouth.

She gasped, “Sean!”

“It’s all right now. Take a deep breath and slowly release it.” I used my phone to dial 911, gave the dispatcher the address and told her to send paramedics. Then I turned back to Kim. “Help’s coming. We have to get you to the ER.”

Kim looked at the roaring blue flames coming from the burner, eyes tearing. “They came out of nowhere as I was making a cup of tea. One man pushed me against the wall and screamed for me to tell him the name of the woman who lent Courtney Burke her phone. When I told him I didn’t know, he started beating me. He kicked me in my side, and he wore those military boots. He knocked my breath out. He said he was going to hold my hand over the burner until my memory returned. Sean, if you hadn’t arrived, I’d be dead. They weren’t going to let me live. I know what one man looks like. The other kept watch at the front door.”

“Describe him.”

“He’s about your height, but stocky. His hair is blond … cut short. His ears stuck out just a little. He had cleft chin and hateful green eyes. He smelled of that body spray I’ve smelled before. One of the deck hands uses it. I can smell it when he sits at the bar. He told me it was Axe body spray. Sean my hands are tingling. I feel like I might pass out.”

“Stay where you are — don’t move until we can stabilize you.” I turned off the gas to the burner and knelt down beside Kim. I took the towel from her head and examined the gash. I could see the white bone of her skull. “You’re going to need some stitches.” I dampened a fresh towel and cleaned her wound, stopping the flow of blood. I used the thumb of my left hand to push a bloodied strand of hair from her face. She looked at me, eyes welling, biting her lower lip. “I hear the siren. Paramedics will be here in a minute.”

“Thank God you were here, Sean.”

I said nothing.

She inhaled deeply. “What do I do if he comes back?”

“One of my bullets hit him. They might not come back.”

“There might be others.”

“I know, but I’m going to send them a message. It’ll be one that they can’t ignore, and it should toss a safety net over you. It’s Courtney they want.”

She looked at the stove for a moment. “Dear God … does that poor girl have a prayer?” Her eyes opened wider. “Where’s Thor? My dog … is he … okay?”

There was a whine and scratching at a door. I stood and walked to a closed bedroom door, opened it, and a German Shepherd darted around me, heading into the kitchen.

A barrage of sirens came around the block. I stood and looked through the front window to see six squad cars pull in a semi-circle around the perimeter of the property.

A neighbor must have heard the gunshots.

The ambulance and paramedics were kept at bay until officers and a SWAT team were in position. There was only one thing I could do. I left my Glock on the table, walked to the front door, raised my hands and stepped out onto the porch. I could count no less than twenty gun barrels pointed at my chest. I yelled, “It’s clear. I’m the one who called nine-one-one. We have an injured woman inside. The perps have fled.”

“Keep your hands up! On your stomach! Face down!”

I complied. A half dozen police officers ran over to me, guns drawn. I was patted down, cuffed.

“He’s clean,” said one taller officer.

I said, “The victim’s female. She’s lying on the kitchen floor, bleeding from a head wound. She may have a fracture to her neck or back.”

The SWAT guys ran past me, ballistics armor rattling, and assault rifles readied. I heard the sound of shoes on the sidewalk very close to me. I lifted my head and turned. The brown wingtips were less than three feet from my face. He was a silhouette in the sun over his shoulders, but his voice was no stranger. Detective Dan Grant said, “Sean O’Brien, lying on his belly, hogtied … my, my, what’s this world coming to?”