When A Heart Stops Part 7

Mature trees lined the streets, some grouped in cl.u.s.ters for maximum shade and privacy, others were spread out.

She drew in a deep breath, the peaceful ambiance striking a chord within her. Dealing with what she did every day, she'd gladly take a measure of peace wherever she could find it.

Dominic knocked on the front door.

It swung inward and a man in his late sixties with bushy gray brows and sharp blue eyes greeted them. "See you found it okay."

"Yes. Thanks for seeing us." Dominic shook hands with him, then Serena had her turn.

With a look up the street, then back down, keeping the door between him and the outside world, he waved them in. "This is a first."

Seated on the love seat next to Dominic, Serena s.h.i.+fted and tried not to be distracted by his nearness. Pretty soon the clutter in the room took her attention away from Dominic's cologne.

The word "h.o.a.rder" came to mind. But just on every available surface. At least she could see the blue s.h.a.g carpet under her feet. And the place smelled musty and probably dusty, but nothing that indicated anything was dead underneath the piles of . . . stuff.

Dominic handed Howard the file he'd compiled on the current killing. "Leslie Stanton. Can you tell us what you think about this?"

The killer hunkered down on the roof of the empty house. Not exactly the prime spot for a clear shot, but it would do. Fury burned at the realization that everyone was already inside. Too late. "Well, make the best of it and get this over with."

The killer looked through the scope of the McMillan Long Range G-30 hunting rifle. The 7mm bullet would do the trick as soon as the target stepped into view.

Howard took his time looking through the folder. As he read, his face paled and Serena saw him swallow at least three times. When he finished, he broke the silence. "It's not Lindell."

"We know that, sir," Dominic said. "Lindell's still in prison."

Howard still seemed to be engrossed in the file in his lap. He didn't respond to Dominic's statement. Instead, he muttered unintelligibly under his breath and Dominic shot Serena a questioning look. She shrugged her own confusion.

Then Howard said in a louder voice, "It's got to be a copycat."

"Yes sir." Dominic nodded. "We realize that. Any idea who would want to do that?"

Howard shook his head and visibly gathered his thoughts. "No. But you know there are the crazies out there. People who are fascinated with serial killers. Women fall in love with them and marry them even though the killers will never get out of prison. Men want the fame of being the copycat. Of garnering national attention. They study the transcripts of trial cases, get all the details just right, and then they strike." Howard grunted. "But you know all that. So what do you need from me?"

"I guess we need to know about Lindell's family. Only his daughter sat in on the trial. Apparently she's had nothing to do with him since. Changed her name, her address. So far, we haven't been able to pin down her location."

A gray brow rose. "Yes. Gwendolyn. His daughter. I remember her well." Howard rubbed his chin, got up and paced to the window. He pushed the curtain to the side and looked out, keeping his body well away from exposure. Serena realized he was a prisoner in his own home.

Which was probably why the yard looked like it did. Howard looked at the floor, then back up as he returned to his seat. "Do you blame her for wanting to disappear?"

"Not at all."

Howard settled back against the antique armchair. "As for the sons, they're mostly a greasy lot. Only one of them turned out decent if I remember correctly."

Dominic nodded. "Nate Lindell. He's a lawyer here in town. We plan to speak to him too."

"Nate. Right. Kind of a quiet fellow. I think I remember him. He didn't come around much. Avoided the media and tried to stay hidden." Tapping the folder against his palm, Howard said, "This guy, Drake, he owned a janitorial business, made good money and lived in a nice neighborhood." He pursed his lips. "He was crazy. Certifiable. But you'd never know it looking in from the outside. He came from a good home as a kid, was a great dad from all that we could tell. His kids were crazy about him. Had a wife that doted on him." Shaking his head, he raised a hand to rub his chin. "Nothing about his behavior made sense. Why start killing people all of a sudden? It just didn't add up." He met their eyes. "His wife killed herself the day they found him guilty."

Serena felt a chill wrap around her.

Dominic lifted a brow. "That wasn't in the report."

Howard shrugged. "I read about it in the paper the day after it happened. By then the case was closed and we'd all moved on to other ones. You know how it is. When it came time to testify, I had to study my notes for days to make sure I had all the details straight in my head again."

"I know."

Serena watched as Howard stood and paced from one end of the room to the next. He never stopped in front of a window. And he kept his back to the wall. Or he walked between the stacks of . . . stuff . . . papers, newspapers, furniture.

She felt sure her initial observations about Howard being trapped in the home were accurate. She'd been hanging around cops too long to think she was imagining things. Her father, a former cop turned lawyer, had trained her well, and she found she enjoyed the company of those in law enforcement over "the normals," as her dad used to call those not in law enforcement.

She and her cop friends shared the same weird sense of humor.

And Howard was a retired cop. Old habits died hard, she supposed. And yet . . . it seemed to be more for Howard. "Are you afraid of something, Howard?"

He jerked, sighed, and looked toward the kitchen, then back at them. "There's a lot about this case that just . . ." He shook his head.

"Just what, Howard," Dominic pressed.

"Still bothers me."

"Like what?"

Another shake of the gray head. "They said he killed nine."

"Yeah."

"But in that shed, there were unaccounted-for hair fibers, trace evidence that didn't link to any of the known victims."

"And you think it came from some of his other victims?"

A shrug. "Who else would it come from?" He rubbed a hand down his face and shuddered. "All I can tell you is that if you have a copycat, you'd better find him fast. He'll keep killing until you put him away."

"That's the goal. Is there anything else you can tell us to help us figure this out?"

Howard Bell stood to the side of the door, his expression thoughtful, troubled, as Dominic led the way back to the car. Something about the man's expression made him want to turn and force him to say what he was thinking. Instead, Dominic opened the door for Serena and she slid into the pa.s.senger seat.

Without looking toward the house, he said, "He's thinking hard about something."

"What do you mean?"

"He talked a lot and told us very little. He left something out. Something that could be important but he was reluctant to share for some reason," Dominic said as he shut her door.

When he'd climbed in and buckled his seatbelt, she looked at him. "Why didn't you confront him?"

"He's the kind of guy that has to chew on something before he spits it out."

She nodded. "You think he'll come around and call you with whatever it is?"

Dominic quirked a smile at her. "Exactly."

Serena tapped her lip. "I think we need to talk to Drake Lindell."

Dominic started the engine, then looked at her. "I can talk to him. I don't want you anywhere near that psycho."

Her right brow lifted and she simply stared at him.

Dominic cleared his throat. "Not that I have any right to tell you who you can talk to, but . . ."

She laid a hand on his arm. "Don't apologize. I know why you said that, but it's really my decision. I can't say I'm crazy about the idea of talking to him face-to-face, but maybe he could give you a name or an idea of who might be behind Leslie's murder."

"I've already asked for copies of every letter he's ever received and a list of all visitors since he's been incarcerated."

"Really?"

"I'm on this, I promise."

She flushed. "Now I need to apologize. Of course you are. Sorry, I didn't mean to try and tell you how to do your job."

He shook his head and offered a smile. "Hey, brainstorming is a great thing. I don't always think of everything, so it's nice to have input."

Dominic started to pull away from the curb, then stopped as Howard came rus.h.i.+ng toward them, hand held high, motioning for them to stop.

Dominic put the car back in park and rolled down Serena's window.

"Wait a minute," Howard said. His eyes darted left, then right. He stopped his forward momentum now that he had their attention and backpedaled toward the open front door. "Come back inside. It's time I told someone-"

Howard Bell jerked and fell to the ground, his chest pumping bright red blood.

9.

TUESDAY, 10:45 A.M.

Serena let out a scream as time fell into slow motion. She felt Dominic push her down into the seat, then slam his body over hers.

No more shots followed in the next few seconds. Serena pushed out from under Dominic and her hand groped for the door handle.

She had to help Howard.

Shoving the car door open, she noticed Dominic's weapon in his right hand and his gaze scanning the street through the winds.h.i.+eld.

She tumbled from the vehicle, Dominic right behind her screaming, "Shots fired! Man down. I need an a.s.sist!"

The car was parked at the bottom of the front walk so that the walk and the car formed a T. Scrambling, heart thudding, fear shaking her, she started toward Howard.

And felt a hard hand yank her back even while his voice barked their location and that of the gunman.

Then Dominic's voice echoed in her ear. "I know you want to check on him, but I can't let you get in the way of a bullet."

"But I might be able to help him!" She jerked on her wrist, but Dominic held tight.

"Or he might already be dead and you could be next if you expose yourself."

She looked at Howard, the blood covering his chest. And saw no movement. She tried to see his face, but it was turned away from her.

Dominic gripped her arm. "Stay put. I think I know where he was shooting from."

"There he goes," she said as she pointed. A flash of white blinked at her as something moved through the trees to her right. "Dominic, look."

He turned. "It's him. Stay here, I'm going after him."

"But-"

He took off before she could voice her protest. Serena offered up a quick prayer for his safety, then moved toward Howard. If Dominic was chasing the shooter, surely she'd be safe enough to check Howard.

Sirens reached her ears. Help was on the way.

Even so, she couldn't help feeling like she had a big red target on her back. She reached Howard and his eyes blinked, his chest gave a sudden heave as his mouth moved.

Knowledge hit her. There was nothing she could do for him. Even if he were seconds away from a hospital, he would die. Grief slammed her. She whispered, "I'm sorry, Howard."

His mouth moved again. He was trying to tell her something. She leaned over. "What did you say?"

"File . . . Look . . ."

And then he was gone. That vacant stare of death that Serena was so familiar with looked back at her. With a sob in her throat, she whispered again, "I'm so sorry."

And closed his eyes.

Dominic followed the rustling trees. Soon the guy would have to come out into the open and he'd get a shot. "Freeze! FBI!"

The figure kept moving. Dominic couldn't get a good look at him but thought he had a ball cap and a white T-s.h.i.+rt on.

Where was he headed? Had he had this all planned out? But how? It had to be a spur-of-the-moment thing.

But why? Why now? Why Howard? Why today?

The questions tumbled through his mind as he moved, ever watching. One comforting thought. If Dominic was chasing the shooter, the shooter wasn't shooting anyone else. But if a neighbor was out in the yard, the fleeing person could take someone hostage.

The shooter was almost to the tree line. He'd have to expose himself to continue running and there was nowhere else to go except straight ahead.

"FBI! Stop! Now!" he called again.

Dominic waited, his weapon ready.