Текст книги "I'll Never Let You Go"

Автор книги: Mary Burton

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Alex waited until she sat before taking a seat across from her. “Thank you for your time.”

“What’s going on with Deidre?”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

The frown deepened. “It’s been a few months. We went out for drinks. What’s going on?”

He tapped an index finger on the polished wood table. “She was found dead in her apartment this morning.”

Tracy’s mouth dropped open before she raised fingertips to her mouth. “Dead? That doesn’t make any sense at all. What happened?”

“She was murdered.”

Tracy leaned back in her chair and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “You’ve got to have made a mistake. Deidre could take care of herself.”

“I agree. She was a top-notch detective. One of the best.”

“Who would kill her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Can you tell me anything about her? I’ve spoken to people who worked with her over the past few years, but no one knew much about her personal life.”

Tears glistened, and Tracy had to clear her throat a couple of times before she could speak. “We’ve been best friends since first grade. Our mothers were friends.”

“As I understand it, her parents are dead and she has a sister. Is that right?”

“Yeah. Her sister’s name is Joy. Joy Martin.”

“She’s scheduled to arrive in town this evening.”

“Joy and Deidre didn’t get along and hadn’t spoken in a couple of years.”

“Was there bad blood?”

“Joy loved Deidre, but she didn’t like Tyler. They got into a bad fight a few years ago. Deidre took Tyler’s side.” She shoved out a breath. “Lately, Deidre said her work and her friends were her family.”

“Was she having trouble with anyone?”

“Her divorce wasn’t all that smooth. Tyler wanted to save the marriage. She didn’t. We spoke on the phone from time to time but hadn’t seen each other because she was consumed by the divorce.”

“Why didn’t she want to work it out?”

“He resented her work and he wanted kids. Though she’d always said she’d like a couple, she loved her job too much to slow down. He felt cheated when she finally made the decision not to have a baby.”

“Did Radcliff make any threats against Deidre?”

“He would call her cell and leave long ranting messages about why they shouldn’t divorce. He sent her letters. Would leave cards on her windshield. But he never said anything threatening. I really do believe the guy loved her.”

“I didn’t find any messages on her phone or letters in her town house.”

“She deleted or tossed them all. She figured he’d get tired of bothering her and back off.”

“Would you say he was stalking her?”

She considered the question. “He was annoying, but he never threatened her. I heard a couple of the messages and I felt sorry for the guy. He did love Deidre. She loved him but said their priorities shifted.”

Had Tyler’s desperation to save his marriage turned deadly? “He said she was having an affair.”

“Deidre made some unfortunate choices.”

“She was seeing David Westbrook?”

“Yes. They met through their running group.”

He’d seen David at Rudy’s the other night before he’d entered the bar. Deidre had been talking to Leah. David had been hovering. “How long had they been together?”

“Since October. But she was planning to break it off. He’s a lot of fun, but she knew it wasn’t going anywhere long-term.”

“Did David want more of a relationship?”

“No. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t form lasting relationships. She did say he wanted to ask out a friend of hers in the running group.”

“Leah?”

“Yeah, I think. Deidre was fairly certain Leah wouldn’t go out with him.”

“Why?”

“Jumpy. Deidre was sure she had some kind of trauma in her past. And David was too pushy for Leah. You know, she was gun-shy.”

Alex had guessed the same about Leah. And yet she’d gone out with him. “Anyone else who might want to hurt Deidre? What about neighbors?”

She wiped away a tear. “She wouldn’t have known them that well. She told me over the phone she didn’t hang around it much.”

Alex pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else, would you call me?”

She accepted the card, glanced at it, and then met his gaze. “How did she die?”

“She was stabbed.”

Her face paled as she sat back in the chair. “God. Could this be related to the case she was working? I know the case was putting her under a lot of pressure. She wasn’t sleeping well because of it.”

“What did she tell you about the case?”

“Said it was a cold case. Said if she could collar this guy it would ‘close the hymn book.’”

“She said it just like that.”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

“I can contact you if I have more questions?”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

Alex waited until nearly six in the evening before he began knocking on Deidre’s neighbors’ doors. Most would be home from work and, if they weren’t settled down for dinner yet, they’d at least have dragged in the door, poured a drink, or marshalled kids to do homework. One way or another, they’d be home.

He knocked on the first door. Inside, he heard classical music and the bark of a small dog. Seconds later, footsteps and then the rattle of a chain. A tall slim woman with red hair opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“I’m with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. Agent Morgan. I have questions about the woman next door.”

“I think her name is Deidre.”

“That’s right. Are you aware that she was killed yesterday?”

A barking pug rushed the front door, forcing her to pick the animal up. “Let me put him in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

She returned to the sound of the dog still yapping. “You said Deidre was dead?”

“Yes, ma’am. She was killed in her town house.”

“My God. Do you know who did it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Has she had any visitors lately that would have caught your attention?”

“I work long hours, and I think she did as well. We didn’t see each other a lot and she’s only lived here a couple of weeks. I do remember a tall dark guy ringing her bell a couple of weeks ago, right after she moved into her place. He was on her porch when I came home. He said his name was Philip.”

“Last name?”

“I don’t know. He looked pretty frustrated. Said she had promised to be there. I noticed he waited in his car for at least an hour before he drove off.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No. I honestly forgot about it until this moment.”

“Anyone else?”

“I know she’s dating a guy. Blond. David somebody.”

He showed her a picture of David from the running group. “This him?”

“Yeah. That’s him. Nice guy. Very charming. I came home one night and he was standing on her doorstep with flowers.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I told him she often worked late. He said he knew but was hoping to catch up with her. Knew she’d worked a long day and wanted to cheer her up. So sweet.”

“What did he do?”

“Left the flowers on her porch.”

“Do you remember when she got home?”

“A couple of hours later. I never got to ask her about him.”

Alex handed his card to the neighbor. “If you think of more, you’ll call.”

She glanced at the card. “Yeah, sure.”

The next neighbor was a mother with three bustling teenage boys who were fighting over a remote control. She was a petite woman with short, mousy-brown hair and large eyes that looked a bit harried. She hadn’t met Deidre and hadn’t noticed anyone coming or going. As she spoke, a vase crashed to the floor and the boys went silent. She looked at Alex, asking flatly if he’d arrest all three boys.

He showed her a picture of Deidre.

“Oh, yeah, the lady with the gun. My thirteen-year-old noticed her gun holster one day. He couldn’t stop talking about it. She was dressed in a suit, white shirt, and I figured she was law enforcement. I asked around and found out she was Nashville PD.”

The neighbor across from Deidre’s town house was a man in his midfifties with short-cropped hair and a few gold earrings in his left ear. His T-shirt had a ragged, stonewashed look, but the logo suggested he’d paid up for it. Stonewashed jeans and cowboy boots fit the look of someone wanting to make it in the country music world. Nashville was full of wannabes.

Alex showed him Deidre’s picture. The guy gave it a glancing look. “Don’t know her.”

“Have another look.”

He dropped his gaze. “I’ve never met her.”

“She lives across from you.”

“Okay.”

“You see any detail that caught your attention at her place?”

“No, not really. She was playing loud music a couple of weeks ago. Terrible stuff. This hard rock stuff. I was on my way over to complain, but it stopped before I got to her back door so I let it go.”

“No other issues with her?”

“No.”

“Visitors?”

He frowned. “There was a guy a week or so ago. Standing on the sidewalk, staring.”

“You get a good look?”

“Wore a skullcap, sunglasses, and a heavy coat. I asked if I could help and he said no.”

“You ask for a name?”

“I think it was Phil or Philip. No last name.”

Alex filed the name, thanked the man, and left Deidre’s town house with little more than fragments. He’d skimmed the surface of her recent case files and hadn’t found a Philip. Maybe it was time to dig deeper into her past.

Chapter Nine

Monday, January 16, 7 P.M.

Leah spent the entire afternoon cleaning her house, a ritual to burn energy so sharp her skin felt tight enough to split. By the time she’d finished scouring and scrubbing, her place smelled of pine cleaner and bleach. The floors were vacuumed, the sheets on the bed changed, and the bathrooms glistened. As she put away the last of her cleaning supplies, she moved to the center of her living room and stood, her arms folded. There was no more cleaning to be done. Nothing was out of place or not sparkling. And she wasn’t working tomorrow. Yet the energy still pumped in her veins.

Maybe she could read a book or rent a movie? She considered a trip to the mall; the idea of wandering from shop to shop might pass the time, but it wouldn’t chase away memories of finding Deidre dead.

She shoved out a breath as she sat down and sagged into the overstuffed couch. She reached for the neat stack of magazines on the coffee table and restacked them, lining them up carefully with the edge of the table.

Jesus, Deidre. Who would do that to you?

As she stared at the neat stack, she remembered Philip was a real stickler for a clean house. He liked order, though not enough to do it himself. He liked her to keep their apartment spotless. He always complimented her when she cleaned.

When they’d first married, she’d wanted to please him and so she’d made the effort to clean their apartment often. When her mother had come to visit, she’d joked that she didn’t realize Leah knew how to turn on a vacuum, let alone push one. They’d all had a good laugh at her expense, but Leah remembered feeling pride. She’d considered herself grown-up, and taking care of her grown-up house had felt right.

And then her year of working in the administrative offices of the engineering firm had come to an end and it was time to begin veterinary school. They’d talked about her moving to Knoxville and commuting back when she could, but as the date grew closer, Philip had gotten edgier. He’d become more obsessed with a clean house. Then there’d been snide comments, jokes, jabs and, finally, insults.

Leah had done her best to keep up but found her desire to be around the apartment and Philip dwindling. She could clearly remember the day she’d decided to end her marriage. She’d been up late working on homework for a science class, knowing the extra credit would help her in the fall. She’d overslept that morning and realized she was late for work.

Philip had tried to keep her in bed. “Baby, you still have time.”

She pushed his hands away, impatient and annoyed. “I can’t believe I slept so late. I set two alarms.”

He yawned and laid back on the pillow, not the least bit concerned about her tardiness.

She’d have called him on his callousness if she’d had the time, but she was so focused on pulling on her slacks and sweatshirt and scraping her hair back into a ponytail that she’d swallowed her anger. She’d quickly eaten a bowl of cereal, not thinking about anything other than running to class, left the bowl in the sink, and ran out the door.

Hours later, she’d been pleased with herself when she arrived home. Philip had been waiting for her. He’d been standing by the sink, where the bowl sat filled with warm milk and bits of cereal. “I think you forgot something this morning.”

She took off her jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. Carefully, she lowered her backpack to the floor as she studied his calm, almost smiling face. “Sorry? What would I have forgotten?”

“The bowl in the kitchen sink.” He sounded almost helpful.

“What bowl?” This morning felt like a lifetime ago.

His smile faltered. “You need to clean it up.”

Defiance sparked hot in her gut as she stared at him. “I’ll get to it.”

“Now.”

The heat ignited. “No.”

Philip crossed the room in three quick strides and, before she could react, slapped her hard across the face. She dropped to her knees, her head spinning and her jaw throbbing. Shock, humiliation, and anger collided. She’d never been hit like that. Never. For an instant, she questioned what she’d said to him. Had she somehow made him hit her?

She didn’t look up at him as she made her way to her feet. When she did meet his gaze, she didn’t see anger but sadness. Tears glistened in his eyes.

“I hate hurting you,” he said.

Apart of her wanted him to embrace her, tell her it would be all right. Just tell me we’re fine. But another part yelled for her to run. Get out of there! Grab your bag and go!

She raised her hand to her jaw, which had already swollen.

“Let me get you some ice,” Philip offered. He turned quickly and vanished into the kitchen. “We won’t worry about the bowl for now.”

The bowl. They were back to the bowl?

Now Leah glanced around at her glistening town house. Furious, she reached down and swiped her hand across the coffee table, sending the magazines splaying to the floor.

She would not stay here.

She would not be afraid.

Deidre’s death wasn’t linked to her past. Philip was dead. Leah had talked at length with the Detective Roseanne Jeffers in South Carolina, who returned his belongings to her. When they arrived, she held Philip’s blackened family ring in her hand, finally accepting he was dead before she gave the entire box to his grandmother.

Alex parked at the medical examiner’s office minutes after eight. Deke had stopped at the TBI and promised to meet Alex there within minutes for their scheduled meeting with Miriam Heller to discuss Deidre’s autopsy.

He pushed through the glass door, welcoming the rush of heat from the lobby. He unwound the thick dark scarf from around his neck and unbuttoned his overcoat. At the front window, he showed his badge to the receptionist and told her he was there for Dr. Heller.

He fought the urge to pace the lobby, his body a hive of energy. He’d never been good sitting or waiting, and today was proving to be worse than usual. Just as Dr. Heller appeared at the locked door that led to the exam rooms, the front doors whooshed open to admit Deke.

His brother wore his suit jacket open, clearly unmindful of the cold. He crossed the lobby in long hurried strides.

Dr. Heller made a shivering motion as she looked at him. “How can you stand the cold?”

Deke grinned. “Ice in the blood.”

Alex slid off his overcoat and neatly draped it over his arm. He found the exchange frustrating but had learned the value of small talk. It broke the ice, allowed everyone to get their minds around the grim task to come.

Dr. Heller shook her head. “The warm weather is why I moved here. I grew up in Maine, but I never liked the cold. If I ever pick up stakes and move, it’ll be farther south.” Reading the impatience on Alex’s face, she said, “Come on back, gentlemen, to my office. I’m running a little behind today. We had an infant brought in today. I put all work aside when that happens.”

Alex couldn’t help but ask, “What happened to the baby?”

“SIDS,” Dr. Heller said. “She stopped breathing. A tragedy that befell a very nice set of parents.”

He’d never imagined himself with children. In fact, none of the Morgan offspring spoke about having children. He wasn’t sure if they were late bloomers or simply not destined to be parents.

“You’re sure you want to be present?” Dr. Heller asked.

“It’s not about what I want,” Alex said. He turned to Deke. “But you don’t need to be here.”

Deke grimaced. “I said I would be, and I will.”

“But you worked with her.”

“And I’ll handle this.”

Be careful, Alex wanted to warn. Click off the emotions once too often and they might not return. “Okay.”

The trio made their way to the entrance of Exam Room Two. Her hand on the door, Dr. Heller paused. “Give me about five minutes. Gown up and meet me inside.”

“Sure,” Alex said.

Dr. Heller vanished behind the swinging door and both agents donned gowns, gloves, and eye protection.

Deke tugged on the cuff of his surgical gown. “Have you ever attended the autopsy of a fellow officer?”

“No,” Alex said.

“Only once before for me. It can’t be explained.”

“I would imagine you’re right.” A part of him moved to a deeper corner of his soul. Dangerous to live life at a distance, but it was the only way to do this job. Even if Deidre had been dirty, she’d done good work, and that mattered.

The brothers entered the exam room. Directly in their line of sight was the sheet-draped body of Deidre Jones. A ripple of tension washed over them both. Deke cracked his knuckles and flexed. Alex sunk even deeper into the shadowed places in his mind.

Dr. Heller stood at the head of the stainless-steel table. She wore a gown, gloves, a cap, and clear goggles. Normally, she exposed the entire body so the agents or detectives could view all the injuries. This time, she kept Deidre’s face and slashed throat covered and exposed the right arm, marred with five gashes, bloodless and gaping. “She sustained injuries on her right side, as you can see, and her palm has a slice down the center. That’s a defensive wound.”

Alex pictured Leah’s scar. Who the hell had stabbed her? What had begun as mild curiosity grew stronger each time he saw her or she crossed his mind.

Dr. Heller rolled back the sheet a little farther and then moved the body—not Deidre—to its left side. A deep gash marred the flesh above the kidney. “This was the killing cut. It lacerated her kidney and the inferior vena cava, a major blood vein. She would have bled out in a matter of minutes.”

“The cut to her throat wasn’t enough to kill her?” Alex asked.

“It was nasty but no; she might have survived that wound.”

“How many wounds were there in total?”

“Twenty-three.” She laid the body back on its side. “This first blow would have brought her to her knees, then I’m guessing she fell to the floor and rolled on her back. All the remaining cuts came at her from above.”

That fit the crime scene.

She covered the arm with the sheet and glanced at an open file on the worktable. “Deidre Jones, age forty-two, appeared to have been in excellent health. Cause of death, as I just showed you, was a knife thrust into her kidneys and through the inferior vena cava. Even if rescue crews had been on hand, there’d have been no saving her.”

Alex shifted his stance. “So why the extra wounds?”

She shrugged. “Several of the wounds on her arms and legs don’t appear to have bled much, which leads me to believe her heart had already stopped pumping.” She pulled off her glasses. “The killer overkilled, for lack of a better word.”

“Anger, rage, drugs could all be factors,” Deke said.

She moved her magnifying glass closer to the body and, with tweezers, plucked several blond hairs from one of the wounds. She dropped the hair in a bag and handed it to Alex. He held it up to the light, examining the strands of hair. “Get these to Forensics.”

“Maybe you got lucky.”

“Maybe.”

The external exam and mapping of the wounds continued as both officers stood back and observed. Several times Deke looked away, his frown deepening, though he was still listening.

Alex understood. He didn’t like standing there witnessing this final indignity either.

Dr. Heller quietly made the Y incision into the victim’s chest, working steadily and professionally as she catalogued her findings. An hour later, as her assistant stitched up the incision, the doctor faced the men. “Before you arrived, I did a preliminary exam and can tell you there were no signs of sexual assault. No vaginal bruising. No tearing. She’d had sex in the last forty-eight hours of her life, but that appears to have been consensual.”

“You’ll get me a DNA sample?” Alex asked.

“Of course.”

“By the way, gentlemen, I have an update on the John Doe.”

She turned toward a computer screen and, pulling off her gloves, punched a few keys. “After some of my magic tricks, I discovered that one of his tattoos was an eagle and the other was a woman’s face, though that part of the body was so badly burned I could only make out an outline.” She scrolled down the page. “There were needle marks on the arms. I’ve run toxicology screens, but they won’t be back for a couple of weeks. I’ve also pulled DNA and have plugged it into the system. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a hit.”

The men thanked the doctor and walked out into the hallway, where they stripped off the disposable gowns and gloves and dumped them in a bin.

“One stab to the back is effective, even lethal, but not very dramatic,” Deke said. “Twenty-three cuts would be unforgettable. What the hell do the two victims have in common?”

“It will come together soon. Just let it play out.”

He sat in the coffee shop in front of a steaming cup of coffee and a half-eaten Danish on a paper plate. Flecks of white powdered sugar dusted the faux wood tabletop and his jeans. He took a sip, savoring the heat as he leaned back in his chair. It felt good to be off his feet and out of the cold morning.

He tapped his toe on the brown tile floor as he reached in his pocket for his phone. He typed in the four-digit security code and chose the photo app. He took another bite of the Danish and scrolled through the images until he found the ones of his wife. He smiled. She was such a pretty woman. How had a guy like him ended up with such a lovely, smart woman? Going places, his old man had said. From the moment she’d first kissed him, he’d known he’d be devastated if she’d walked out of his life.

He scrolled through more pictures of her. Running. Shopping for shoes. Laughing with a friend over coffee. Cooking in the kitchen.

He couldn’t get enough of her. He thought about her every waking moment and dreamed about her in his sleep.

His little bird had balked at his endless attention, and the harder he squeezed, the farther and farther from him she’d grown. She’d tried to tell him he was too much. That he needed to relax. But he couldn’t.

He traced her face with the tip of a callused finger. Tears welled in his eyes. She’d betrayed him, left him, and God help him, he still loved her. Why do you make me hurt you? You know how much I hate to hurt you.

The thin sliver of moon did little to cut the night’s inky black that shrouded Leah as she arrived at the old Victorian-style home. It had been hard finding street parking, and she’d been forced to circle the block a few times before she’d found a spot across the street. By the time she climbed the wide brick front steps, the cold air stung her lungs and nipped at her face.

She reached for the brass doorknob and pushed open the heavy door. Warm air greeted her, and she allowed its embrace to envelope her as she shrugged off her jacket. She smiled to the receptionist, a redhead in her late forties with ruddy cheeks and freckles.

“Hi, Frances,” Leah said.

Frances stood, hands on her wide hips. “It’s been a few weeks.”

“I was busy at work. I kept meaning to come, but I could never get my act together.”

“Hey, no worries. We’re here all the time, ready to help whether you need us or not.”

Leah had joined a support group days after moving back to Nashville. The people in this group had survived an attack from a loved one. When she’d been here last, she’d spoken with such confidence to her counselor. “I’ve finally taken a giant step toward getting on with my life.” But since finding Deidre, all the hard-won territory had surrendered to fear. “Group still tonight?”

“Six P.M. like always. Go on in; they haven’t started yet.”

Leah slid open the pocket doors that led to what must have been a formal parlor when this house had originally been built as a private home. A circle of chairs, half full, were in the center of what was now a meeting room. A coffeepot on a side table gurgled beside a plate of chocolate chip cookies. There were a few cooks in the group who brought baked goods when they’d had a bad week. Many apologized for the confections, saying cooking was preferable to sitting and worrying. Judging by the spread, it had been a rough week.

She draped her coat over an empty chair and set her purse on it before moving to the refreshment table. She filled a cup with coffee and took a seat nearby. She always chose a chair that faced the back wall and gave her a clear view of the door. Nervous habit.

As Leah sipped her coffee, she scanned the group and realized she didn’t recognize the women. They ranged in age from late teens to early sixties. A couple of the older women looked as if they had money. A few others looked middle income. They came from all walks of life.

The facilitator, Sierra, was a short woman in her early thirties. She had a round face, olive skin, and salt-and-pepper hair that brushed her shoulders. She carried a mug that read Number One Mom. Sierra had a master’s in psychology and had opened her counseling center, Homestead, ten years before, after she’d nearly died in a car accident caused by her ex-husband.

“Welcome, Leah,” Sierra said as she sat down next to her. “How’s it been going?”

“Crazy at work. But all good.” She’d uttered the last statement from reflex. It hadn’t been all good. In fact, not good one bit.

Sierra nodded, sipping her own coffee. She recognized the not-ready-to-talk smile but let it pass. “Cold night.”

“I can’t wait for spring.”

Sierra’s gaze roamed the room. “I see familiar faces and some new ones. We always begin the meeting with introductions.” She nodded to a slim woman who wore an expensive dark sweater, jeans, and her thick silver hair twisted into a chignon.

The woman grinned. “My name is Ester. I joined the group seven years ago. I haven’t been here in a while, but I joined because I was in a plane crash eight years ago. My husband and son were killed. My husband was the pilot, and he intentionally crashed the plane because he knew I wanted a divorce.”

Heads nodded before Sierra turned to the next woman. In all, there were six, a few joining after the meeting started. All had different experiences. One woman had been beaten nearly to death by a boyfriend. Another had survived a car accident caused by a lover. Another a near drowning.

“Want to finish up the introductions, Leah?” Sierra asked.

Leah glanced at Sierra, knowing the counselor had called her out on purpose. Leah had a bad habit of hiding, allowing the conversations to swirl around her. “My name is Leah. I was nearly stabbed to death by my ex-husband four years ago.”

A hush ran through the room. They’d all suffered violence at the hand of a loved one.

“Leah, you also have an anniversary coming up, correct?”

Leah had only shared her details once, a few months earlier. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision that had left her feeling stripped bare and vulnerable. Since then, when she came, she spoke little, but it seemed tonight Sierra wasn’t going to let her ride for free.

“I used to be very outgoing and happy,” Leah said. “Now, I’m a bit of a mess. Especially this time of year. January twenty-fifth was our wedding anniversary, and I always get extra nervous this time of year.” She wasn’t sure if she could talk about finding Deidre this morning without crying so she opted to keep that information to herself. Maybe one day she would talk about it, but she didn’t think she could do it today.

“Why?” Sierra asked.

“My ex-husband attacked me on our anniversary.”

Since the attack, Leah had felt isolated from most people who’d never endured what she had. Hearing about evil versus experiencing it were very different things. Theirs was a sisterhood of the broken. Here, she didn’t feel so alone.

A young woman with dark brown hair shared the story of a boyfriend who’d nearly strangled her to death. He was in jail now, awaiting his trial. “So, what’s it like knowing he died and you never got justice?”

Leah dug her fingernail into the side of her cup. “I can’t think about that. It would eat me alive.”

“Are you still journaling?” Sierra asked.

“Yes.” She glanced into the black depths of her coffee, knowing the caffeine would ensure she wouldn’t sleep well tonight. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m a little obsessive about the journaling. I sit down each night and make detailed notes on my day. It goes back to when my husband was stalking me. The police said they could prove the case if they had evidence of a pattern.”

“But he’s dead,” the young woman said.

Leah nodded. “I know. It’s a little OCD on my part. But I can’t seem to stop. Perhaps it’s therapeutic.”

“So what happened to bring you here tonight?” Sierra asked.

A knot in Leah’s chest wouldn’t let her draw in a full breath. “A friend of mine was killed last night. I found her this morning. She’d been murdered.”

A gasp swept the room. All eyes focused on Leah, and she knew there was no going back. “She was stabbed. Like me.”

The silver-haired woman rose and came up behind Leah. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and hugged her close. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Leah closed her eyes and allowed the embrace. “Thanks.”

The woman patted Leah on the shoulder and returned to her seat.

“Finding your friend made you relive your attack?” Sierra asked.

“Made me wonder if I’d been earlier, could I have helped her. The cop who arrived in time to stop my attack had been a military paramedic. He stopped some of the bleeding or I’m not sure I’d have made it. If he hadn’t been there, I’d have been Deidre.”