first time, tears squirted out of her eyes.
They were all back around the big table again, leaning toward the speakerphone, staring at it as if their eyes would help them hear something other than the deputy's siren. That's all there had been for the past several minutes; the constant wailing of that siren and occasionally in the background, a steady, whispered mumbling, probably coming from Mary.
What's she saying?' Annie asked.
John Smith, who had known his way around a church a million years ago, folded his hands together as if he were in one now. 'She's praying'
They all jumped at Deputy Frank's sudden shout.
In Minneapolis, they heard the siren, still wailing, the release of a seat belt, a car door flung open, and then there was Frank's voice, screaming.
The roar of an engine, the sound of tires screeching on asphalt, and then the gunfire. There were nine shots, and then Mary yelling into the radio.
There wasn't a fraction of a second small enough to measure the time it took for Deputy Frank Goebel to make his choice. Chase the bad guy as he sped out of the parking lot and onto the back roads, or go inside and see to Lisa. No choice at all really. No options.
He found her tied to one of the stools at the counter, clothesline around her neck, pulling her head back, blood seeping from the duct tape across her mouth. One of her eyelids was swollen shut, but the other eye opened when he bent over her and said her name. 'Hey, Lisa.' He tried not to hurt her when he pulled the duct tape from her lips, apologized because he knew it was painful, and then he took his knife to the plastic and rope that bound her, screw whatever evidence he was destroying, and called into his shoulder unit for an ambulance.
'Hi, Mr. Goebel.'
'Hi, Lisa.'
'He didn't cut me. He had a big knife and he said it was going to hurt and then he heard the siren and ran away.' Blood was coming out of her mouth, garbling her voice.
Frank scowled hard and kept working at the ropes around her, trying not to look at her ruined face, trying not to remember that he'd been a second too late – just a second – to save his daughter from bleeding out when a drunk driver had crossed the freeway median and sent a sliver of windshield through her jugular. 'I'm glad, Lisa. Be still now.'
Chapter Twenty
Magozzi still hadn't gotten used to walking into his own house through the front door. Nothing looked right, and he doubted very much that it ever would again. He'd learned that there were a couple of life-changing mistakes it was almost impossible to undo: one was marrying the wrong person; another was – and God help any man who tried it – hiring a decorator.
He stood at the archway to his living room, knowing absolutely that he was not supposed to set foot on that stupid Oriental rug without taking his shoes off. Why the hell would anyone slap down an area rug on top of wall- to-wall carpet? There was no sense to that at all, and some very real dangers. His socks always tangled in the silly fringe around the edges, and you could see every misstep he'd made in shoes on the cream border.
Shoes, or not shoes. Funny how he could make rational snap judgments at a river crime scene, looking at a bloated body, yet found himself paralyzed at the entrance of his own living room.
His old battered recliner was gone; the big-screen TV was hidden behind the massive doors of a piece of furniture he still couldn't pronounce, and funny-colored pillows in weird shapes were scattered all over the place.
When the decorator had finished two months ago, there had been a very specific place for each pillow; something to do with contrasting colors and textures, the cohesiveness of the room design – some bullshit like that. The pillows still pissed him off. It took several to cushion his head when he crashed on the sofa that was a foot too short for his six-plus feet, and they kept sliding off the new leather massage recliner he'd insisted on buying, even when the decorator made a prune face. Someday, when he was retired from the force, he was going to hunt down that woman and slap her silly with those pillows.
The phone rang while his second frozen dinner was still in the microwave. He never looked at the picture on the box when he bought them, never looked before he nuked them, but this one smelled really weird. 'Magozzi here…'
Grace never bothered with hellos before starting a phone conversation, especially if she was tired or stressed, and tonight she sounded both. 'Wisconsin saved the girl, the perp got away. I don't know where you got your information about the location of that diner, but make sure you tell the source they saved a life. Apparently the guy heard the siren coming and bolted before he could do some real damage. He pulled out of the parking lot just as the deputy was pulling in.'
'How is the girl?'
'Pretty banged up, pretty terrified, but she's talking. He tied her up and came at her with a knife, Magozzi, just like the one in Medford last night.'
Magozzi thought about that for a minute. 'Oregon's a long way from Wisconsin.'
'If he flew, it's possible, and, God love airports, they have cameras all over the place. The girl gave a pretty good description; they've got a sketch artist with her now, hoping for some distinguishing characteristics they can start comparing to security footage.'
'Witness sketches suck, Grace, you know that. They all look like celebrities. Did the deputy get a tag on whatever the perp was driving?'
'Better than that. He put nine bullets into it. They found it at a freeway wayside four miles away. Stolen, of course. They're guessing he had his own vehicle parked there and switched them out. He could be anywhere by now.'
'Cameras at the wayside? And how about at the diner?'
'Nothing at the wayside, and get this: he backed into the door at the diner so the camera couldn't pick up his face.'
'Smart. Any more news out of Medford?'
'No. The woman's still unconscious, and the cops and Feds are still processing. Prelim reports by tomorrow morning, they think, but still no leads.'
The microwave pinged and Magozzi popped open the door, releasing an unidentifiable miasma that smelled lethal. He peeled back the film to reveal an unappetizing brown mash.
'Listen, Magozzi, I'm dead on my feet. Anything else you need before I collapse?'
'Yeah. Do you know what Indian food smells like?'
'Doesn't matter what it smells like. It's good for you. Eat it.'
After he hung up, he examined the cardboard box that had contained his latest gift to the microwave, then poked a fork into the mushy brown stuff. It wouldn't win any beauty contests, but surprisingly, it was pretty damn good. Anant would be pleased.
Between mouthfuls, he picked up the phone and dialed Gino.
'This better be good, Leo, because you just woke me out of a sound sleep,' he grumbled.
'How are you already asleep? You just got home.' 'I was already asleep before I walked in the door. What's up?'
Magozzi relayed his conversation with Grace, which seemed to perk up his partner considerably.
'Hell, that's terrific news. Way to go, Judge. Send him a fruit basket.'
