The shooter fired two more shots that dinged off the detective’s vehicle and a tree beyond the car. Diane listened for the distant sound of sirens. She heard none.
“I’m going to ease over in the direction of the house,” she said. “Do you have a second gun?”
Hanks lifted his pant leg and gave her the Chief’s Special he had strapped around his ankle.
Diane weighed the gun in her hand. It wasn’t a particularly heavy gun, and she was strong, but it felt heavy in her hand, as if its lethal potential had a weight all its own. She didn’t particularly like guns, but it would be foolish to be without one now.
She put her cell in her shirt pocket and moved a couple of steps in the direction of the house and woods, away from the shooter.
“I’ll go with you,” Hanks said.
“I’m just going to watch,” she said. “I have my cell phone to keep in touch. If there’s someone in the house, I can tell backup when they come.”
“Fine. I’m still going with you.”
Hanks stood halfway, keeping the vehicle between him and the shooter. He leaned with his good side against the car.
“Are you sure you can walk?” asked Diane.
“My leg was just grazed and my shoulder’s been worse. I’m fine,” he said. “I’m thinking I’d like to get inside the house and see if I can spot the shooter from the second-floor windows.”
Diane didn’t think that was such a good idea, but she didn’t say anything immediately. She called Neva on her cell and, speaking in a whisper, told her what she and Hanks were going to do.
“Gotcha,” said Neva. “We’ll be here at the OK Corral hanging out.”
“Backup will be here soon,” said Diane. She listened again for distant sirens, but still heard none.
“If we stay near the trees and outbuildings,” said Diane, “I don’t think the shooter will be able to see us.”
She hesitated a moment. She had been trying to make nice with the detectives ever since Izzy told her they thought she interfered in their investigations a bit too often. But Hanks was about to interfere with her crime scene.
“Detective Hanks,” she whispered, hoping a soft voice would make her words sound soft as well, “if you go into the house, you will contaminate the crime scene.”
“That’s not the priority right now. We have a shooter and maybe someone in the house,” he said.
Diane stared at him a moment, weighing how to respond. Hanks was maybe in his late thirties, she guessed. His sandy hair was roughed up by his fall. She couldn’t read his expression in the dark and she didn’t know very much about him. He was new to the department. And he wasn’t making a good impression on her.
“Backup will be here any moment,” she said. “You’re bleeding, your arm’s hurt, and there may be someone on the second floor-who is armed.”
“And if there is, I’ll nail his butt to the wall. Come on, if you’re coming.” Hanks rose to his feet, keeping his head down.
Diane’s plan of simple reconnaissance had turned into something that she really thought was a bad idea. But even in the dark she could see the tight set of his face.
“If you are determined to go in,” she said, “take Officer Daughtry inside with you. He has more police training than I have for that kind of thing. I’ll watch your backs from outside the house. We don’t know how many may be in the house and we don’t know whether they have more friends than just the shooter out in the woods. Izzy and Neva can keep an eye on the front door from where they are.”
She glanced at the house. It looked more foreboding than it had just five minutes ago. In the darkness without the headlights shining on it, she could barely make it out. It was a shadowy giant looming in the night and Diane didn’t really want to approach it.
Hanks stared at Diane a moment, nodded, and called for Daughtry to come over. Diane watched the patrolman race the few feet between them in a half-crouched position and dive next to them beside his car. Diane thought he was a little too dramatic. Daughtry looked wide-eyed and just a little scared-and he seemed very young. Diane called Neva again and updated her on the plan as Hanks gave the policeman a quick briefing.
Diane was satisfied to let the two of them take the lead. With Hanks wounded and Daughtry looking rather green behind the ears, she didn’t want them behind her with guns. As they crept among the large grove of ancient pecan trees, Diane heard Izzy trying to talk the shooter down, and getting only gunfire for his trouble. From the direction of the shots, the shooter seemed to be moving about.
Her foot hit something hard at the base of a tree. In the dark, its shape looked much like a gargoyle leaning against the trunk, nestled between roots.
It didn’t take long for the three of them to reach the first outbuilding-a one-room shack.
Hanks stopped under its eaves, massaging his shoulder. “Daughtry and I’ll go from here to the back door,” he whispered.
“And if it’s locked?” asked Diane.
Hanks studied her for a moment. “Then we’ll check the windows,” he said. “They got in some way.”
“It’s a big house,” said Diane, looking at the structure looming in the darkness. “It probably has a side door too, maybe a cellar door.”
“We’ll look. You stay close to the house and watch,” Hanks added.
Though his features were in darkness, Diane thought he was trying to stare her down. Was that what this was about, Hanks controlling the investigation? wondered Diane. Standing out in the chilly wind, she was growing increasingly irritated.
“Please remember that the house is a crime scene and take as much care as you can not to touch anything, and remember where you walked,” she said.
Hanks nodded. Diane thought the movement looked rather noncommittal.
“Keep a line open with me,” he said. “And try not to shoot us.”
Diane took her phone out of her pocket and keyed in the number he gave her. She heard his phone vibrate in his hand and put hers back in her pocket when he answered. With that, Hanks turned and made his way to the house with the patrolman close behind.
Diane followed but walked more slowly, carefully picking her way through underbrush to the backyard. Ahead, she heard someone stumble and curse. She thought it was the patrolman. She stopped a moment and watched their dark figures making slow progress toward the house. Hanks hadn’t wanted to use a flashlight. No sense in making yourself a target. But it was dark and the thin layer of clouds that drifted past the quarter moon only deepened the darkness, making Marcella’s backyard look like a piece of grisaille artwork. The trees were deep black silhouettes against a black background. Diane made out a willow tree near the edge of the yard, its vinelike, black leaf-covered branches moving in the wind.
From what she could see in the dim moonlight, the yard had the familiar patchwork of the rock-bordered flower beds she had seen in the front. At the edge of the yard the trees became more numerous and gradually became a forest.
Diane waited near a stand of box hedges. She didn’t have the automatic fear response to darkness that many people had. She was a caver and she enjoyed the dark. Sometimes in a deep cave she liked to sit down and turn off her lamps and let the absolute blackness surround her. Perfect darkness had a kind of beauty to her, so she didn’t mind the darkly waving trees or the black forms that dotted the yard. Her gaze shifted from what looked like a birdbath to a bench, to a planter, and to several things she couldn’t identify.
She lost sight of Hanks and Daughtry. They’d gone around to the opposite side of the house looking for entry. It grew quiet. The only sound was the breeze. She stood staring at the house, watching. She became aware of the sound of breathing.
