Deadly Justice

46

MIKE PACED HIMSELF AS he did a clean sweep of the downstairs. He moved cautiously, step by step. It took him about thirty seconds to circle through the living room and dining room; it seemed like ten years.

Damn it, get a hold of yourself, Morelli! You’re a police officer! It isn’t supposed to get to you like this.

Mike wiped his brow and clenched the gun all the tighter. The sorry truth was that he was scared to death.

The killer was in the house. He was certain of it. The same sick bastard who nearly killed Tomlinson and did kill all those girls was in this house. He had seen the black van with the smoked windows on the street as he came around the corner, but it wasn’t just that. It was more a matter of instinct than detection; he knew the man was here, he could feel it. He would never admit to anyone that he was proceeding on such a wild hunch. But he was certain, nonetheless.

That’s why he’d gotten rid of Ben. If Tomlinson couldn’t take this creep, Ben didn’t have a chance. He would just be in the way. No, this was going to be between Mike and the bastard who’d tried to kill his sergeant.

Mike mounted the stairs, taking them slowly. The air conditioner cut on and he jumped, startled. Jesus, he was keyed up. If he didn’t get killed by the murderer, he would probably die of a heart attack.

Mike stood at the top of the stairs, trying not to look back. It had not escaped his memory that the killer had tossed Tomlinson down a flight of stairs, almost breaking his neck in the process. Mike wasn’t going to give him a chance to try it again with a different victim.

There were three doors in the hallway, all of them shut. Two bedrooms and a bath, most likely. Well, if Muhammad wouldn’t come to the mountain…

Mike said a silent prayer to the guiding spirit of William Faulkner and stepped into the hallway. He decided to try the doors in order. He crept across the hardwood floor to the door on the far left. He pressed himself against the wall, then swung around and kicked the door in.

“Freeze!” Mike crouched in the doorway, scanning the room as quickly as possible. No one was visible.

He inched forward, checking every nook and cranny. The room was very orderly; the bed had not been slept in. If anyone used this room, it must be someone extremely fastidious. He looked under the bed, then opened the clothes closet. No skeletons, no killers. And no clues.

Mike stepped out of the room and into the hallway. He approached and entered the bathroom in the same manner. The door thudded back and forth between the wall and his foot. Well, if the killer didn’t know he was there before, he certainly knew now.

Mike scanned the small bathroom. No one was there, unless they were hiding in the medicine cabinet. What the hell! He checked the medicine cabinet. Nothing. He pulled back the shower curtain; no one was lurking within.

Mike returned to the hallway. Only one room left. If his instincts weren’t completely off base, the man he wanted was behind that last closed door.

Mike pressed himself against the wall, then swung forward. Just before his foot connected with the door, he felt something wrap around his throat and jerk him backwards.

He stumbled, lost his balance and dropped his gun. Only the grip around his neck kept him from falling. He reached up and grabbed the thin—cord?—wrapped around his throat. He tried to pull it away, but he wasn’t strong enough. It was already wound twice around. The cord was pressing into his neck, cutting as well as choking. He gritted his teeth and pulled with all his might, but he couldn’t even budge it.

The lack of oxygen was already affecting him. He needed air and he needed it fast. He reached behind his head and grabbed his assailant’s arms. He tried to heave him over his shoulders. No luck—he just couldn’t get enough leverage. The killer must be made of concrete; Mike couldn’t move him an inch.

He began to feel lightheaded. He didn’t think it would happen this fast, but it did. He fell to his knees, no longer able to stand. He looked into the bathroom and saw an inner door standing open. Of course—an adjoining door connected the bedroom to the bath; that’s how the killer got behind him. Stupid fool—he deserved to be strangled.

His strength was fading fast. Mike knew he only had time for one last gambit. He suddenly threw his entire weight to one side. It caught his attacker off guard; he lurched forward. Mike saw his opportunity. He slammed his elbow back, catching the killer in the stomach. He heard a satisfying oof! then grabbed the cord and tried to pry it loose.

The attacker recovered quickly. Much too quickly. He slapped Mike’s hands away and pulled the cord even tighter around Mike’s neck. Mike fell forward, the air drained from his lungs. His lips parted; his tongue fell out of his mouth. He could barely think, barely see. He had tried everything he had and come up short. It was over. Worst of all, he knew Ben would be next and…he didn’t even want to think about it.

Fortunately, a few seconds later, he wasn’t able to think about anything at all.