slipped her hand into her shoulder bag, her fingers curling around the can of Mace there. The open gate was right in front of her. She slowed her footsteps.
She was holding her breath she realized.
“Mee-oow!”
April let out something between a gasp and a scream as a cat suddenly shot out from the garden. She was shaking, relieved. A cat. A damned black cat. She looked through the silver mist filling the garden beyond the gate. A child’s swing set stood by a bird fountain. A tricycle was rolled against the fountain; a water gun lay against the tricycle. April inhaled deeply, laughing at her fears.
Then she froze once again. Chills seemed to sweep up her spine, paralyzing her momentarily.
Because she wasn’t moving, yet she could still hear footsteps. Coming from behind her.
She spun around. There was no one there.
No one. The street was silent again. Quaint old houses on quaint narrow streets, shrouded in a blanket of mist and fog.
She turned to hurry home.
Step, step...
Extra steps. They were back. The footsteps.
Someone else’s footsteps.
Following her. Furtively.
She started to run.
And behind her...
Her pursuer began to run as well.
By the afternoon, Mark felt as if he’d been at the office for two days running. He couldn’t seem to catch up on his sleep.
God, he was tired.
It was this case.
It was Gina.
And it was Ann Marcel.
Stop, he warned himself. He was becoming obsessed with the woman. Because she was lying. Marcel had said something to her.
What?
Damn, he just felt too tired to think straight.
Maybe Brit was right. Maybe his soap was just wrong, he thought.
He stared at his desk. It was piled high with papers to be studied, reports to fill out for the D.A.’s office. He tapped his pencil against the wood, watching the papers blur as he did so.
Jimmy came by, perching on the edge of his desk. “You with us, Mark?”
Mark glanced up at him. He nodded.
“I heard Lee Minh sent in his completed report.”
“Yeah. Apparently the FBI gave him some computer help, and the DNA testing is in.”
“And?”
Mark shrugged. “Jon Marcel was indisputably with Gina L’Aveau on the day she was killed.”
“With her?” Jimmy said. “He had sexual intercourse with her.”
“Yeah, he had sexual intercourse with her. We knew that.”
“Now we know it for a certainty. Looks cut and dried. We just need to finish up the paperwork, and the D.A.’s office can charge him.”
“Can’t charge a guy in a coma,” Mark reminded him.
“But the legal process can be prepared to snap him up the minute he comes out of that coma.”
Mark frowned at him.
“Well, come on, you think he’s guilty, right? Mark, he was covered in her blood.”
Mark pointed the pencil at Jimmy. “No murder weapon,” he reminded him.
“We should have gotten a search warrant for the wife’s place.”
Mark shook his head determinedly. “No.”
“Hell, Mark—”
“The guy was dying; Ann Marcel didn’t know that there was anything to cover up. Cops were immediately all over her living room. I can guarantee you, she didn’t make any decisions about whether to dial 911 or hide a knife first. She tried to save his life.”
“So where’s the knife?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ve searched all over.”
“Right. So that means—”
“It means Marcel was smart enough to figure out a way to get rid of the knife in a manner in which we could never find it.”
“As he was bleeding nearly to death,” Mark commented.
Jimmy frowned. “Mark, with all the evidence we’ve got, you can’t mean that you’re starting to believe that Ann Marcel could be right? Mark, smell the coffee, Marcel and L’Aveau were wearing each other’s blood—”
“Jimmy, a good defense attorney could fight that all the way. Truthfully, I think that Jon Marcel is guilty. I think he got jealous—maybe she got jealous. Maybe they threatened each other, and things got carried away. But everything I’m saying right now is
She was holding her breath she realized.
“Mee-oow!”
April let out something between a gasp and a scream as a cat suddenly shot out from the garden. She was shaking, relieved. A cat. A damned black cat. She looked through the silver mist filling the garden beyond the gate. A child’s swing set stood by a bird fountain. A tricycle was rolled against the fountain; a water gun lay against the tricycle. April inhaled deeply, laughing at her fears.
Then she froze once again. Chills seemed to sweep up her spine, paralyzing her momentarily.
Because she wasn’t moving, yet she could still hear footsteps. Coming from behind her.
She spun around. There was no one there.
No one. The street was silent again. Quaint old houses on quaint narrow streets, shrouded in a blanket of mist and fog.
She turned to hurry home.
Step, step...
Extra steps. They were back. The footsteps.
Someone else’s footsteps.
Following her. Furtively.
She started to run.
And behind her...
Her pursuer began to run as well.
By the afternoon, Mark felt as if he’d been at the office for two days running. He couldn’t seem to catch up on his sleep.
God, he was tired.
It was this case.
It was Gina.
And it was Ann Marcel.
Stop, he warned himself. He was becoming obsessed with the woman. Because she was lying. Marcel had said something to her.
What?
Damn, he just felt too tired to think straight.
Maybe Brit was right. Maybe his soap was just wrong, he thought.
He stared at his desk. It was piled high with papers to be studied, reports to fill out for the D.A.’s office. He tapped his pencil against the wood, watching the papers blur as he did so.
Jimmy came by, perching on the edge of his desk. “You with us, Mark?”
Mark glanced up at him. He nodded.
“I heard Lee Minh sent in his completed report.”
“Yeah. Apparently the FBI gave him some computer help, and the DNA testing is in.”
“And?”
Mark shrugged. “Jon Marcel was indisputably with Gina L’Aveau on the day she was killed.”
“With her?” Jimmy said. “He had sexual intercourse with her.”
“Yeah, he had sexual intercourse with her. We knew that.”
“Now we know it for a certainty. Looks cut and dried. We just need to finish up the paperwork, and the D.A.’s office can charge him.”
“Can’t charge a guy in a coma,” Mark reminded him.
“But the legal process can be prepared to snap him up the minute he comes out of that coma.”
Mark frowned at him.
“Well, come on, you think he’s guilty, right? Mark, he was covered in her blood.”
Mark pointed the pencil at Jimmy. “No murder weapon,” he reminded him.
“We should have gotten a search warrant for the wife’s place.”
Mark shook his head determinedly. “No.”
“Hell, Mark—”
“The guy was dying; Ann Marcel didn’t know that there was anything to cover up. Cops were immediately all over her living room. I can guarantee you, she didn’t make any decisions about whether to dial 911 or hide a knife first. She tried to save his life.”
“So where’s the knife?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ve searched all over.”
“Right. So that means—”
“It means Marcel was smart enough to figure out a way to get rid of the knife in a manner in which we could never find it.”
“As he was bleeding nearly to death,” Mark commented.
Jimmy frowned. “Mark, with all the evidence we’ve got, you can’t mean that you’re starting to believe that Ann Marcel could be right? Mark, smell the coffee, Marcel and L’Aveau were wearing each other’s blood—”
“Jimmy, a good defense attorney could fight that all the way. Truthfully, I think that Jon Marcel is guilty. I think he got jealous—maybe she got jealous. Maybe they threatened each other, and things got carried away. But everything I’m saying right now is
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