There was blood on her hands. Lots of it.
The shock was enormous, more than she could bear, more than her brain could catalog. The intruder released her and she crumpled to the floor.
“Who … are …” She pulled her hands away from her abdomen. They felt warm and sticky. Even in this darkness, she knew she was losing blood, lots of it, fast. She heard footsteps on the carpet and realized with some relief that the intruder must be leaving.
“Who … why …?” The blood was forming a large puddle all around her crumpled body. She tried to cry for help, but found she had no strength for it. All she could do was lie there, helpless, gushing blood.
And then, all at once, the pain kicked in. She felt the full force of what had happened to her, her gut ripped open, her insides torn apart.
She clenched her teeth together, trying to block out the pain. She had never felt anything like this, never in her entire life. It was as if she had been broken, eviscerated, as if she had been violated in some permanent, elemental way.
Her head throbbed. She imagined she could feel her blood flowing through her heart, pumping past her temples and oozing out onto the floor. She felt her strength flowing with it. Sleep was coming on, or something like it. She told herself to fight it. Don’t give in, she said to herself. If you sleep now, you’ll never wake.
Another flash of pain coursed through her body. What did that person do to her? She couldn’t conceive of anything that would hurt like this. Her eyes watered from the anguish but there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Was this what it was like to die? she wondered. Was this how it felt?
“Please … help …” she said, but she knew there was no chance that anyone would hear. Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Her eyes closed and she was glad. She didn’t know whether she would ever wake again, but at this point, any kind of sleep seemed like a blissful retreat.
Her head fell back and she was gone. Blood continued to ooze out of her wound, spreading all around her, swirling and flowing until at last it soaked her dress and her hose and her name tag, the standard Tulsa City-County Library identifier, and the five letters of her first name.
Two
The Strong Right Arm of Justice
26
“PAULA!”
Jones raced down the hospital corridor, his overcoat flapping behind him. He rounded a corner, skidded, reoriented himself, then peeled off in the next direction.
“Sir!” The nurse behind the receiving desk shot out of her chair, but she was much too slow to stop him. Jones was halfway down the corridor before she felt the breeze of his passing.
Jones kept racing, tracing the numbers posted by each door. 510, 512, 514 … There it was. 522.
He practically dove toward the door, but a uniformed security officer interceded before he had quite reached the threshold. “Excuse me, sir. That’s a private room.”
Jones tried to push past him, but the officer wouldn’t budge. “Is Paula Connelly in there?”
The officer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “May I see some identification, sir?”
“I don’t have time for this! I need to see her!”
The officer raised a firm hand, restraining. “I have instructions to prevent any unauthorized persons from entering the room.”
“I’m not unauthorized. I’m Jones!”
The officer pulled a list from his shirt pocket and scanned it. “First name?”
“Jones. Just Jones.”
“And your relationship with Ms. Connelly?”
“I’m her, er, boyfriend. I guess. Look, I’ve got to get in there!” The hospital room door opened slightly and a familiar face emerged. “Ben! Tell this lug to let me in.”
Ben gave the officer a nod. “He’s okay.” The officer relaxed and stepped away from the door.
Jones surged forward. “What’s his deal, anyway? Why the guard?”
“You’ll understand in a minute.”
Jones entered the room. Christina was seated next to the bed. And in the bed …
Her face was a ghastly white; even her lips seemed colorless. Her face was marred by blue-black bruises in several places. An IV was connected to her wrist; an emergency respirator covered her mouth.
Jones broke down on the spot. He crumbled beside the bed, his eyes wide and watery. “What happened?”
“We don’t know exactly,” Ben answered, in a quiet, solemn voice. “Someone attacked her when she came back to the office. Left her for dead. We don’t know how long she lay bleeding. No one found her till Christina came in this morning. Fortunately, she came in about four-thirty.”
Jones gently tugged back the edge of the sheet covering Paula’s pale fragile body. “What did they do to her?”
“She was stabbed. At least twice.”
Jones clenched his eyes shut. “With what?”
“We don’t know exactly. A knife, probably.” Ben turned his head. “A big one.”
“Is she … is she …?”
“We just don’t know, Jones,” Christina said softly. “The doctors haven’t told us anything. The wounds themselves were serious enough. She was barely breathing, and probably wouldn’t be now without the respirator. And she’d lost so much blood by the time I found her …” She shook her head, not finishing the sentence. Not that it was necessary.
Tears tumbled out of Jones’s eyes, one after the other, like a waterfall. “This is all my fault.”
“What?”
“She wanted to get married. I knew she did. She never said as much, but … I knew. And the crazy thing is—I wanted to get married, too. I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words. And now … now …”
Ben placed his hand on Jones’s shoulder. “Jones, don’t torture yourself. You couldn’t have known.”
“I should’ve known. I should’ve known that life is precious. And short. I shouldn’t’ve wasted so much time.”
Christina walked to the opposite side of the bed and wrapped her arms around him.
Ben stood silently by his friend. Which at a time like this, was about all he could do. Certainly words were useless.
After a long spate, Jones lifted his head and wiped the grief from his eyes. “Ben … I won’t be in the courtroom today.”
“Understood.”
“All your trial materials are ready and waiting for you. You shouldn’t have any problems …”
“Don’t even think about it, Jones.”
“I have to stay with her. I have to. Just in case. If there’s even a chance.”
“I know. I took that for granted.” Which was true. He had known Jones would want to remain here, even if the trial started without him, and even if Paula’s chances were … remote at best.
“Why?” Jones said, as if that single syllable spoke volumes. His fist clenched the bed sheet. “Why would anyone do this?”
“We don’t know,” Ben answered. “But she was attacked in the office. There was no sign of forced entry.”
“She was a librarian, for God’s sake!” Jones cried out. “She never did anything to anyone. She’d die before she’d hurt someone. How could anyone possibly be so cruel?”
“I don’t have the answers, Jones—”
“Do you think it has something to do with your damned Dalcanton case?”
Ben hesitated before answering. Hard words to say, but he couldn’t lie to Jones at a time like this. “I have to assume her attacker thought she was a member of my staff. Or Keri. Or me.”
Jones’s voice flattened. “That’s what I thought.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
Ben turned slowly and found, standing behind him, to his horror and disgust, Detective Sergeant Matthews.
“What in the name of God are you doing here?”
“I’m a detective, remember? I’ve been assigned to this case.”