Detective Daddy. Mallory Kane
Читать онлайн книгу.
me from behind and hit me on the head.”
“When you say grabbed—”
She closed her eyes, trying to relive the terrifying feeling of his hand stopping her. “I think he caught the back of my shirt.”
“Where’s the wound? Can I look at it?”
“Sure.” She turned her head and pulled the hair away so he could see the cut.
“It’s on the left side.” Neil sat back down and wrote some more. “He must have grabbed you with his right hand and swung the weapon with his left.” Neil acted out his theory. “Maybe a lefty. Then what?”
“I guess it stunned me. I fell. I remember hearing him throwing things around and cursing.”
“Are you sure it was a man?”
She nodded. “I could tell by his voice, and—and aftershave or cologne. He smelled like a man.”
“Good. Could you identify the aftershave?”
“No.”
“Did he—touch you again, or talk to you?”
Rachel shuddered at the implications of Neil’s words. “I was afraid to move. I wanted him to think I was still unconscious. He threw something—or kicked something, cursed loudly and slammed the front door.” She took a breath. “I didn’t know whether he’d left or not, so I still didn’t move.”
“Okay. When did you move?”
“I heard someone come in. I could hear their footsteps. Then I heard—I heard Ash’s voice.” Rachel’s eyes filled with tears and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. “I’m sorry, Neil. I was just so scared. I thought the man had come back.”
Neil nodded.
“But it was Ash—” She sniffed.
Neil dug in his pocket and handed her a neatly folded handkerchief. “Have you had a chance to look around? Is anything missing?”
She shook her head and handed back his handkerchief. “I haven’t looked.”
“Why don’t we look now?”
Rachel let Neil take her hand and help her up. They went through the rooms. The man had trashed each one, but for all the disarray, Rachel couldn’t tell that anything was missing. Not even her jewelry, which was scattered across the top of her dresser.
“What about papers, case files, anything to do with a case you’re working on?”
“I don’t bring anything home that has to do with a specific case,” she muttered, grimacing at the stinging pain from the head wound.
“Nothing?” Neil asked. “Not even a laptop or PDA?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. We have to sign out case files. I’ve never signed one out. If I have to work late, I stay at the office.”
“Does everyone know that? Is it possible that someone might break in here thinking you’ve got files at home?”
“I’m sure it’s possible. You think that’s why he broke in? Why he didn’t steal anything? I thought he was just a burglar who probably didn’t know anyone was home.”
Rachel didn’t want to think about the possibility that the intruder might have targeted her. She worked on sensitive cases, identified dangerous criminals. So she was very happy that her job was insulated from direct contact with criminals and victims.
She knew a lot about police procedure and handling dangerous situations from her dad. He’d taught her how to shoot and clean a gun. She even had a carry permit. Then her dad had been killed when he’d answered a call about a domestic dispute.
After he had died, Rachel, who’d almost let him talk her into going to the police academy despite her mother’s opposition, went back to graduate school and got her Ph.D. in Molecular Biology.
“Could be.”
“What?” Rachel blinked. She’d drifted off into thought. She pressed her fingers against the skin near the cut.
Neil was still talking. “I’ll need a list of your current cases. Is there one that stands out? That might be particularly controversial?”
Rachel bit her lip. Of course there was. The Christmas Eve Murders. Could the man who had assaulted her have been looking for information about Rick Campbell’s DNA? She glanced over at Ash, who was talking to one of the EMTs. She wasn’t supposed to know whose DNA it was. And neither was Ash. She tried to corral her thoughts so she could answer Neil.
“I work a lot with cold cases, where DNA is analyzed or reanalyzed. Those files are usually sanitized.” That was true, as far as it went. She hoped Neil would take the cue and request those official files rather than asking her anything else about them. She knew Neil would find the Christmas Eve Murders in with the rest of her recent cases, but she didn’t want to call attention to it. Let him be the one to bring it up.
“Okay.” Neil pocketed his notebook and stood. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions later, but that’s it for now.” He smiled and shook her hand. “Have you got someplace to go? Need a ride anywhere?”
She shook her head as Ash came over to join them.
“Anything?” he asked Neil.
“Not much. Rachel can’t identify anything that’s missing. I think we’re going to have to assume the break-in was connected with one of her cases until we can prove otherwise.”
“One of her cases? Which one?” Ash glanced at her sidelong.
Neil shook his head. “I’m going to have to get a list of all her recent files—see what turns up.”
Rachel saw Ash’s shoulders visibly relax. He’d been worried she’d tell Neil about Campbell.
“How’s your head?” Ash asked her.
Before she could answer, Neil spoke again.
“There is one more thing,” he said.
Rachel looked at him.
“How did you happen to find her?” This was directed at Ash.
Rachel realized she hadn’t even thought about why Ash had come to her rescue. She’d just been thankful that he was there.
Ash frowned at Neil, then shrugged. “I had something I needed to talk to her about. I got here a little after six, because I figured she’d be home from work by then.”
“You missed her at work?”
Ash’s lips thinned. “This wasn’t work-related,” he said shortly.
Chapter Five
It was nearly midnight before they made it back to Ash’s house. The crime scene guys had cut Rachel a break and allowed her to pack a small bag.
A very small bag, she thought, looking at the change of underwear and the work outfit she’d grabbed. The pants and sweater were a dark chocolate brown. She hadn’t remembered to get shoes, so she’d wear the black pumps she had on with the brown outfit.
Not only would she have the St. Louis police hovering over her, she’d have the fashion police on her tail. She giggled and then winced as the throbbing in her head increased.
She’d seen Ash’s guest bedroom before. It was small and furnished with period pieces that she knew came from his aunt Angela’s attic. As had the comforter—a flowered print with ruffled pillow shams.
Smiling, she turned back the comforter, expecting to find that the bed was bare, but no, it was made—with pink sheets. This had to be the work of his aunt.
A rap on the open door behind her made her jump.
“What’s