she didn’t have the kind of relationship with Luke that I have. She wanted to ruin it for me, to take away my one chance at happiness.”
The significance of her words washes over me like an icy shower. Other facts crash together in my mind, suddenly making a horrifying sense. The blood type found in Shannon’s kitchen was the very rare B negative and I now recall that Jackie’s blood type is the same. We always had to make sure we had it on hand at the hospital whenever she came in for surgery. And I knew Jackie had mental and emotional problems because of all those times I cared for her in the ER during her breakdowns. I also recall Jackie’s incessant questions about how the investigation was going every time I saw her, and how nervously she behaved. I remember the spilt glasses of milk and the slices of cheesecake we found on Shannon’s kitchen table, which I now realize ruled Erik out. Per Jackie’s own words—obviously not realizing she was clearing him in the process—Erik is lactose intolerant.
I’m afraid to ask my next question but have to. “Did you kill Shannon?”
I half expect her to deny it but instead she says, “Of course I did. I had to get rid of her to keep Luke safe. And it would have worked, too, if you hadn’t gone and stuck your nose into things. It’s all your fault that that other woman figured everything out and came here yesterday. She caught me and Luke making love and then she tried to kill him. Darned near did, too. If I hadn’t wrestled the gun from her, she might have shot him a second time.”
“You killed Carla, too?”
“I had to, don’t you see? She came charging in here full of accusations that would have ruined everything. I had to shut her up for good. Luke and I decided we could pass it off as a suicide but you had to come back and keep on snooping. I knew you’d muck it all up. And now Luke is gone.” The tenor of her voice has risen to just shy of hysteria. “Where is he?” she asks shrilly. “Where did you make him go?”
“I have no idea,” I say, backpedaling. “He disappeared yesterday right after we questioned him.”
She moves closer and raises the knife, waving it in front of her like a blind man’s cane. “It’s all your fault,” she says, clearly angry. “Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? Why couldn’t you just leave
I take another step back and feel the chair hit the back of my legs. My mind scrambles, trying to decide what to do next, trying to figure a way out of this mess. I remember the recorder nestled in my bra and decide I need to keep her talking. Junior Feller is parked right out front and if luck is on my side, he might come in to check on things. If not, at least I can record what Jackie says as evidence. Then my mind registers what the evidence will be used for—to help solve my murder—and I shudder.
“I don’t believe you killed Shannon,” I tell Jackie. “I don’t see how you could have.”
She smirks. “It was easy. She told me about the gun; in fact she asked me if I wanted to buy it. She said Erik had given it to her but it made her nervous having it around. At first I told her I wasn’t interested, but when she told me what she’d discovered about Luke, I changed my mind. I went over there under the pretense of looking at the gun to see if I wanted to buy it. And then I shot her.”
The flat tone of her voice as she admits this sends chills down my spine. How could I not have seen how disturbed she was before this?
Jackie says, “Since I knew Erik was the primary suspect, I took the gun with me when I went to the hospital with Mom for one of her radiation treatments. I had scheduled a mammogram for myself at the same time and it was easy to sneak the gun into a linen closet while I was in the X-ray department. I was careful to wipe it down so my fingerprints wouldn’t be on it, and I knew someone would find it eventually and assume the inevitable . . . that Erik had hidden it there.”
“That was very clever,” I say, hoping a little ego stroking might buy me some time.
“Well, it would have been if you’d just minded your own damned
She punctuates the sentence with a downward slash of her knife through the air. And then she starts toward me. Desperate and out of any other ideas, I decide to try a diversion. I purposefully shift my gaze over her shoulder toward the office door and look startled.
It works. Jackie whips around, wielding the knife in front of her, ready to strike at anyone or anything.
And then the most amazing thing happens. Hurley appears in the doorway, right in front of Jackie, right in front of the business end of that knife. Jackie shrieks like a harridan and lunges at him, plunging the knife into his chest.
Chapter 46
Jackie drives the knife home with a bloodcurdling scream and then pulls it out again.
“No!” I yell. “Jackie, for God’s sake, no!”
Hurley lets out a little grunt, his eyes wide with surprise, and then slumps to the floor. I charge at Jackie’s back with a guttural growl and when I’m only a foot or two away, she hears me and starts to turn.
I ram her on her left side and the two of us fall to the floor, landing hard. Her right arm, with the knife in her hand, hits a floor lamp and the knife clatters to the floor, leaving a splatter trail of Hurley’s blood in its wake. I hear the breath leave Jackie’s lungs with a
I look beyond her to the doorway and my heart sinks. Hurley is sprawled in the doorway on his back, the left side of his shirtfront soaked with blood. I get up and hurry over to him, praying he’s still alive. Setting the knife on the floor, I quickly assess him, see that he’s breathing and conscious, and then rip his shirt open. The wound, an incision nearly an inch long and who knows how deep near his left shoulder, is oozing a steady flow of blood.
Hurley looks up at me and manages a weak smile. “I’ve fantasized about you ripping my shirt off, Winston, but I don’t think I’m quite up to it right now.” I smile despite how frightened I am for him. “What the hell happened?” he asks.
“Jackie stabbed you. She killed Shannon, Hurley. She’s crazy and I should have seen it. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
His eyebrows arch. “How is it your fault?”
“She was coming toward me with the knife and I was trying to distract her. I made like there was someone behind her, hoping she would turn to look. And then suddenly you really were behind her. I didn’t know you were here.”
He coughs and the blood flow from his wound surges. I look around frantically for something to dampen it, and when I can’t find anything I take my blouse off and wad it up.
Hurley blinks hard several times and shakes his head. “There you go again . . . taking your clothes off.” He pauses and I notice his breathing is shallower. “Just . . . can’t . . . help . . . yourself . . . with me . . . can you?”
The words come out in weak, gasping breaths, ramping up my panic. I glance back at Jackie and see with relief that she’s still curled up and sobbing a few feet away. I push the wadded blouse harder against Hurley’s chest wound, making him wince and moan.
“I’m sorry, I know it hurts but I have to do it,” I tell him. “You’re bleeding pretty heavily.” He moans again and his eyes roll up in his head.
“Hurley, where is your cell phone?”
He doesn’t answer me and as his head lolls to the side I realize he has passed out. I feel my panic rising and push it back down.
“Damn it, Hurley, don’t you do this to me,” I mutter as I push down harder on the wound with one hand and then start frantically searching his pockets with the other. It’s not in his shirt or his pants. Finally I find it clipped to his belt behind his gun holster. With a shaking hand I manage to unclip it and dial 911.
“911 operator, do you have an emergency?”
“Yes, this is Mattie Winston with the medical examiner’s office. I need police and an ambulance right away. I’m with Detective Steve Hurley and he’s been stabbed.” Hurley’s face looks horribly pale and a lump forms in my throat. “Please hurry,” I plead, my voice cracking.
“Mattie? It’s Jeannie,” the operator says. Jeannie and I have a history; she’s been on duty every time I’ve had to call 911. She didn’t do very well the first time but that’s because she was new to the job and I gave her a challenging case. “Where are you?” Jeannie asks, her voice calm and efficient. She’s definitely gotten better.
