Her Broken Wings by D.K. Hood
Three
Tuesday morning
Deputy Jake Rowley, had spent all his working life as deputy to Sheriff Alton, she’d trained him well and he enjoyed taking the extra responsibilities. When he’d received the garbled call from a woman, convinced someone was in her house, he’d acted immediately. Although, since the wind had picked up, the calls from people hearing things at night had increased. Of late, if anything happened in the middle of the night, and it was his turn for the callouts, it seemed he found himself in a dark sinister house, in a moonless night. He had to admit driving up the long dark winding driveway to the Robinson’s isolated house, knowing a prowler could be close by had his adrenalin pumping. He aimed his cruiser at the front door and left his lights blazing. Surrounded by pines and leafless blackened trees that spread long shadows and moaned with every puff of wind. The modern style home stood open to the elements. The howling gusts had spread leaves across the front porch and through the open door to litter the polished wooden floor. Jake scanned the area, pulled on surgical gloves, and weapon drawn, approached the silent, dark hallway. “Sheriff’s department. Are you there, Mrs. Robinson?”
His stomach clenched the moment his Maglite picked out blood droplets on the stairs and the red ribbon smeared along the wall as if someone had used it for support. He paused for a beat—if he followed protocol, he should hightail it back to his vehicle to radio for backup. He squared his shoulders. The frantic woman who’d called him for help might be in trouble. He yelled out again but only the whine of the house answered him. Only a fool walked into a dark house alone, and using the beam of his flashlight, he found a panel of switches and flicked them on. The ground floor of the house flooded with light, and only a few dark rooms led off the hallway. Alert and heart pounding, he moved into the room on his right and found the light switch. After clearing the area, he shut the door and then moved on to the next until he arrived in the kitchen. It was empty and led to a mudroom at the back, and from there a door led outside. He checked the back door and found it locked.
The moaning sounds from the house set his attention to high. The trees grew so close, the branches tapped at the windows and scraped the walls with each gust of wind. He moved out of the kitchen. “Mrs. Robinson, are you here?”
Nothing.
He swallowed hard at the implications of his unanswered call and moved back down the hallway. With the ground floor secured, he stared at the blood trail from the top of the staircase. Stepping with care to avoid destroying evidence, he followed a line of crimson droplets to one of the two doors set beneath the stairs. One had an open sliding bolt lock, which he assumed led to the cellar, and the other had blood smeared over the door handle. Not wanting to venture into a cellar without backup, he slid the bolt across. Heart pounding, he moved to the other door; with his back to the wall and weapon aimed, he eased it open.
An anguished sob came from inside, and turkey-peeking around the opening, he came face to face with a blood-soaked woman, hiding in a broom closet and dressed only in her PJs. “Carol Robinson?”
Instead of replying, she lashed out at him, babbling insanely. He kept his distance and tried to calm her. “Carol, I’m Deputy Rowley. You’re safe now.”
The hysterical woman gave a feral cry and, glaring at him, kept on coming, her eyes wild. He had no choice but to spin her around, cuff her, and then drag her screaming into the kitchen. She could be a killer and he wasn’t taking any chances. He scanned the area for a suitable place and used flexicuffs to secure her to a sturdy towel rack attached to a center island. He pushed the trembling but now silent woman into a chair. “Sit there and I’ll go check the rest of the house and find you a blanket.”
He swallowed hard and headed back to the staircase. All above was in darkness, and the constant scraping and whining from the trees outside was distracting. He mounted the stairs and followed the bloody trail, turning on lights as he went, and paused at an open door. The warm stench of blood crawled up his nostrils; whatever was inside the room, it was real bad. He stood to one side. Not a sound came from within and he gathered his nerve to scan the room with his Maglite. The beam moved over a patch of blood on the cream carpet and onto the bed. His stomach lurched as the light flowed over a blood-covered body in pajamas. It was his worst nightmare. Beside the body, a pool of congealing crimson filled the once pristine white bedsheets. He hit the light switch and turned away to lean against the door, panting.
Pushing down the need to puke, he cleared the next three rooms and grabbed a blanket from the closet. He headed back downstairs, but even with the lights blazing in every room, he scanned the area constantly. If the killer had managed to elude him, he could be in danger. He went back inside the kitchen and draped the blanket around Mrs. Robinson. “You’re safe now. There’s nobody here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Apart from the initial 911 call and her cries of fear when he’d restrained her, she was silent, staring unnervingly into space. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for cuffing you but until I know what happened here, you’re the prime suspect. I’m going to get you some help.”
As he walked to the front door, he pulled out his phone and called the sheriff. He turned on the porch lights and returned to his cruiser to speak to the sheriff in private. He was surprised at how fast she picked up. It was way past two in the morning.
“Yeah, Rowley, what’s happened?”
Rowley opened his notebook to relay the information. “Possible home invasion out on Riverside Drive, Majestic Rapids. I’m on scene. One deceased by the name of Lucas Robinson. Gunshot victim. Carol Robinson, his wife, called it in. I have a woman I assume is her but she’s hysterical. I have her waiting in the kitchen.”
“Did you check the victim’s life signs?”
“Ah, no need. From the damage, it looks like the gunman used a hollow-point to the head.” Rowley cleared his throat. “I went to the top of the stairs and could see from the door. It’s not pretty.”
“The wife may be the shooter.” The sheriff sounded alarmed. “Don’t turn your back on her.”
“Copy that.” Rowley sighed. As if he’d make that rookie mistake. “As there appears to be no sign of a break-in and nothing appears to be disturbed in the house, I came to the same conclusion and secured Mrs. Robinson. She’s not happy but I’ve made her as comfortable as possible. I’ve cleared the house and all the lights are on, but I haven’t checked out the cellar. I slid the bolt across the door but thought I’d wait for backup before heading down there alone.”
“You followed procedure. Anything else I should know?”
He gave her a rundown of the situation. “This place is remote. The trees come right up to the walls and it’s as if they intended to hide the house here—there’s no lawn or garden just a twisty driveway. With the wind blowing the trees against the house, I’m hearing noises coming from all over.”
“Does the kitchen have one door or does it have another leading out back?”
Rowley looked all around as he spoke. The shadows moving across the porch could conceal a killer. “The kitchen is at the back of the house. It has one door leading to a mudroom that leads outside. I made sure to check the lock on the back door and I’m staring at the front door. The other kitchen door leads to a hallway.”
“Okay, call Wolfe. Go and stay in the kitchen with Mrs. Robinson. Turn on your com and I’ll contact you again when I’m close. I’m on my way.”
“Roger that.”Rowley disconnected and called the ME, Shane Wolfe.
The ME would arrive shortly with the sheriff close behind. He heaved a sigh of relief and headed back to the house. Once inside the kitchen, he set about filling the coffee maker from the fixings on the counter. Carol Robinson was shaking so bad, he feared she might be going into shock. He tried to coax a few words from her and noticed she seemed to be settling a little. Once the coffee was ready, he released one of her hands and then slid her a cup, keeping well away in case she decided to hurl it at him.
Time seemed to move so slowly and every creak of the house had him on alert. He kept one hand on his weapon and sipped a cup of the strong coffee. Ten minutes had passed and at least she was drinking the coffee now and had stopped trembling.
He took a deep breath. “The sheriff is on her way. Is there a family member I can call for you, or your lawyer?”
The woman’s bloodshot eyes lifted slowly to him and she regarded him for long moments as if considering her answer. The look she gave him unnerved him. Without moving her attention from his face, she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. To his relief, he heard a vehicle in the distance. He placed his cup on the counter and hurried to the front door to peer out the window, using the frame as cover. He had no idea if the killer was the woman inside or a maniac running loose in the grounds. When Wolfe’s white van backed into the space beside his cruiser, he scanned the woods behind him, searching for any movement. The wind through the trees made the entire area seem alive. He opened the door as Wolfe ran up the front steps. “Did you see anyone on the way here?”
“Nah. What do we have?” Wolfe walked toward him carrying his forensics kit and tossed him a body bag. “We’ll do a sweep of the crime scene first and then I’ll come get the gurney for the body.” He looked at Rowley’s gloves. “Touch anything without gloves?”
Rowley shook his head. “Nope and I kept away from the blood.” He followed Wolfe up the steps. “The wife, Carol Robinson, is in the kitchen. She’s acting a little wacky, maybe you need to look at her first.”
“If she was in the room when someone shot her husband, I’m not surprised.” Wolfe stopped inside the door, looked at the stairs, and whistled. “Is she injured?”
Rowley followed his gaze to the blood-smeared wall beside the staircase and down the hallway to the bloody handprints on the broom closet door. “Not that I can tell. She’s not saying much at all.”
“Put the body bag down somewhere and I’ll give you some booties to wear. We don’t want to contaminate the scene any more than necessary.” Wolfe placed his bag on a hall table, pulled out booties, and gave Rowley a pair before pulling on his own. “I’ll check on Mrs. Robinson and then we’ll start upstairs.”
“I restrained her.” Rowley led the way into the kitchen. “I believe she’s okay.”
“Carol? My name is Shane Wolfe, I’m the ME. I just want to check you for injuries and take a few swabs.” At her complete lack of response, Wolfe exchanged a glance with Rowley. “Catatonic state after a shock is possible.”
Rowley waited for Wolfe to check her over. As she still refused to speak, Wolfe sighed. “I’ll call the paramedics; she needs to be assessed in a mental health facility.”
“Is he dead? Lucas, my husband—is he dead?” Mrs. Robinson’s voice came out in a soft quiver.
“I’m afraid so.” Wolfe patted her on the back. “I’m sorry for your loss. Can you tell me what happened?”
“A man… with a gun.” Her hands shook and she looked around wildly. “He’s still here. I can feel him looking at me.”
Rowley looked over his shoulder, checking the hallway again. The next moment, a loud bang came from the direction of the cellar, followed by a piercing howl.