Ben placed two fingers against Mike’s throat and felt for a pulse. It was faint and irregular but, by God, it was there. He was still alive. Ben saw a pool of blood on the floor where Mike’s head had fallen. Damn, damn, damn—he might have a concussion or skull fracture, on top of being nearly asphyxiated. If Mike didn’t get some help fast, his chances were slim to none.
Ben ran down the stairs, planning to call an ambulance. To his surprise, he saw a white and blue EMSA ambulance pull up in the driveway. The siren they heard hadn’t been the police after all. Ben ran out on the porch to meet them. His amazement doubled when the passenger door flung open…and Christina jumped out.
“Christina! You’re all right!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and hugged her tight.
“I was worried about you, too, Ben. What happened?”
The paramedics ran up to the front doorstep. “He’s at the top of the stairs,” Ben said, pointing. “He’s banged his head and may be suffering from oxygen deprivation.” The paramedics clambered up the stairs.
“Who? Mike?” Christina asked.
“Yes. The murderer got him. And he almost got me.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you see who he was?”
“No, damn it. I never got a look at his face, and I think he was wearing a stocking or mask anyway. I never even got a good look at his body. Christina, where have you been?”
“I got a phone call about half an hour ago saying you had been brought to St. Francis’s emergency room. I tried to get Trixie to come with me, but she refused—said she had to wait for Buddy. When I arrived at the hospital, and no one there had even heard of you, I became suspicious. I ran down to the ambulance bay, told them I had an emergency situation, and rode back here with them.”
“You probably saved Mike’s life. I think he needs immediate attention.” He looked up the stairs and saw that the paramedics had applied an oxygen mask to Mike’s face.
“If you’re not in the hospital, Ben, who called me?”
“Must’ve been the killer.”
“How did he get the number?”
“I don’t know. Has Buddy come home yet?”
Christina shook her head.
“That may answer that question.”
“But why would he make a false phone call?”
“To lure you away—” Ben suddenly turned white as a sheet. “Oh, my God! Trixie!”
Ben flew into the house and bolted up the stairs, avoiding the paramedics hovering over Mike. He could see into the two upstairs rooms with open doors. One was a bedroom, the other a bathroom. No one was in either one.
Ben approached the third door, the closed one. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open.
There she was.
48
TRIXIE’S BODY HUNG LIMPLY over the edge of the bed. Her head nearly touched the carpet; her face was a ghastly blue. Her neck was lacerated with deep, bloody abrasions.
This time, Ben didn’t bother searching for a pulse. Her condition was obvious.
Ben crumpled against the wall. His legs were like jelly, useless appendages. He pressed his hand against his face, still staring at her lifeless body. He felt sick.
He stiffened his legs and forced himself to stand. Then, after a long pause, he stumbled through the connecting door into the bath and lowered himself over the toilet.
After he was done, he wiped his face and tried to speak. “In there,” he shouted hoarsely.
One of the paramedics looked up.
“There’s another one.” He pointed into the bedroom.
The paramedic peered through the door, then grabbed his bag and ran inside. Ben braced himself against the porcelain and waited for the confirmation.
A few moments later, the paramedic feeding oxygen to Mike shouted, “You need any help in there?”
“No,” the man in the bedroom replied. “Stay with him. This one’s already gone.”
Ben slumped onto the bathroom tile and cried.
Ben didn’t remember anything else until he felt Christina’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she said firmly.
Ben stared up at her but didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“Look, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I’m the one who left her.”
“If it hadn’t been for me,” Ben said hoarsely, “you never would’ve been involved.”
He pushed past her and walked as best he could back into the bedroom. The paramedic was tending to the body; Ben tried not to look. He focused on the walls, the desk, the clothes closet. There had to be a clue, damn it! There had to be something, some trivial detail that would give him the information he needed to stop this fiend before he killed anyone else.
Ben searched through her clothes, but saw no clues to anything other than Trixie’s obvious occupation. He searched the desk; it was practically empty. On the bookshelf, he found a small blue plastic recipe box. He popped it open.
The first thing he saw was a glittering gold half-heart necklace: the other half of Trixie’s birthday present to Angel. He also found a strip of four photos of her and Buddy, probably taken at a carnival or fair.
He withdrew a large green document and unfolded it. He saw the notary seal at the bottom, but it took him a moment to realize what it was. Ben bit down on his lower lip; the tears began to flow once more from his eyes.
It was Trixie’s birth certificate, the one Buddy had obtained so she could get her medical examination.
She was thirteen.
49
BEN TOOK CHRISTINA’S HAND and let her lead him out of me bedroom and downstairs. He didn’t want to go; it seemed like one more betrayal, one more desertion. But he also knew the room was now a crime scene, and disturbing it wouldn’t help anyone.
“I repeat,” Christina said, as they walked downstairs, “it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could.”
“It wasn’t enough,” he replied bitterly. “It never is.”
“What difference would it have made if you were here? I’ll tell you—the only difference would have been that your corpse would be strewn on the floor, too.”
“Maybe it should be.”
“You had your shot at him, Ben, and he flung you around like a rag doll. If you and Mike couldn’t take this butcher, there’s no way you and Trixie could have. The only one who was deprived by your absence was the killer.”
She turned to face him. “Ben, you need to be careful. This killer, whoever he is, is a desperate man, or a raving lunatic, or both. He may have seen you. He may know who you are.”
“He does,” Ben said flatly. “He’s been in my apartment. Tore it upside down. Scared poor Giselle out of three of her lives.” He touched Christina’s arm. “And if he knows about me, he may know about you, too.”
“Ben, I think we should both consider hiring some protection. Professionals.”
“For this maniac, we’d better hire a frigging battalion.”
“Where am I? Where is he?”
They both heard the weak but familiar voice from the landing at the top of the stairs. “Mike!”
Ben bounded up the stairs, Christina close behind.
Mike was still lying in the hallway, his head raised onto a pillow. One of the paramedics was monitoring his vital signs.
Mike focused on Ben’s face and frowned. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be guarding the kitchen door.”
“Go to hell,” Ben replied.
“A fine way to talk, you AWOL ass.” Mike smacked his lips. “I’m parched. Can you get me something to drink?”
The paramedic shook his head. “Sorry. We have to avoid any chance of you aspirating on your own vomit. Besides, with a head wound, you may require surgery.”