Race Against Time Page 2
Any minute now an ambulance and the sheriff should be here. He’d grabbed a phone from a table in the foyer and hit 911 before proceeding down the hallway.
He gently shook the woman. “Madison? Madison? Can you hear me?”
She moaned.
What exactly had happened in here? Had the woman—who had seemed mild mannered enough—flown into a rage before deciding to end her own life? Could that be what the sounds were that he’d heard? It was the only explanation that made sense.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“Help’s coming,” he whispered, pushing the woman’s hair back from her face. “Help is coming.”
He only hoped they’d get here fast enough.
* * *
Brody paced the hospital hallway, waiting for the doctor to give him the go-ahead to speak with his neighbor about what had happened. The rubber soles of his athletic shoes squeaked against the shiny linoleum floor, the noise offset by the sound of machines beeping and nurses murmuring and a lunch cart rattling.
He couldn’t get the image of Madison hanging by a rope attached to the ceiling fan out of his mind.
It reminded him so much of Lindsey…
He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t go there. He had to ignore the memories that slammed into his mind with enough force that an ache began to throb at the back of his head.
Instead, he replayed the events from today. What would drive a woman with a small son to try and commit suicide? He knew her husband had died in an auto accident a few years ago. His cousin had told him that much. Had Madison, who always seemed so pleasant and warm, decided she couldn’t take it anymore? He would never have guessed her to be the type, but he’d also learned in his years as a detective that you never knew what went on behind closed doors. The most put-together person could in reality be a total mess, just be a master at disguising it.
Something nagged at Brody. Though it appeared his neighbor had tried to commit suicide, something felt wrong. He remembered the noise he’d heard as he jogged outside her home. It almost sounded as if she was being attacked. The noise must have been coming from Madison, though, because there was no evidence to suggest foul play.
“Detective Philips?” The nurse behind the counter called him. He could tell by her gaze that she found him attractive. He knew enough to be able to read that from her wide smile and doelike eyes.
He stepped forward. “Yes?”
She dangled the phone toward him. “The sheriff wants to speak to you.”
He crossed the hall and took the phone, giving the nurse a brief smile. “Detective Philips here.”
“Just wanted to let you know that we found a suicide note. I don’t know what Madison did before hanging herself. The house is a wreck. But it’s definitely an attempted suicide.”
Brody wasn’t sure why he felt disappointed. He’d wanted to believe his neighbor wasn’t capable of wanting to end her own life. He didn’t know her, but perhaps he’d made up his own version of what she’d be like. She seemed to have everything so together, to be such a loving mother. She wouldn’t purposely leave her son an orphan…would she?
“Thanks for letting me know.” He cleared his throat. “What did it say?”
“Basically that she loves her family, but she can’t get over the heartache of losing her husband. Poor girl has had a bad run of luck since Reid died. I’ve known her since she was in diapers. I never thought I’d see this day. Never.”
“No one ever does.”
“Be kind to her, you hear? I’d be there myself, but I’m on my way to a drunk-driving accident. You tell her I’ll be checking on her later.”
“Of course.” He handed the phone back to the nurse, careful not to smile back again and give the woman the wrong idea.
So, it had been a suicide attempt. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He still wore his jogging clothes. He hadn’t had time to go home and change. The sheriff had ordered that he go with the paramedics to the hospital and write up a report. For some strange reason, Brody wanted to hear what she had to say for herself. He’d lost his mom to cancer at fifteen years old, and he couldn’t respect anyone who tried to end their life. It was a cowardly way out.
The door to her room opened and a young doctor with a receding hairline stepped out, clipboard in hand. “You can see her now. She’s still not one hundred percent, so go easy on her. You only have a few minutes. She needs her rest.”
Brody nodded, nausea rising in his gut as he stepped into Madison’s room. His gaze went straight to the woman in the hospital bed, her hair fanned beneath her, an IV in her arm, dullness in her eyes. She didn’t bother to smile as he approached.
As he touched the metal bed railing, he cleared his throat. “Madison.”
She nodded. “Detective Philips.”
“I need to write up a report.”
She touched the sensitive skin around her neck and looked toward the window. Her hand then moved to her temple until finally she looked at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think the drugs have worn off yet. My mind is…not right.”
She’d taken drugs before hanging herself? Had the medication not worked fast enough? He’d never understand some people. He pulled out his notebook and a pen, and tried to keep any judgment out of his voice. It wasn’t like he had any room to judge anyone, not after everything he’d done. “Drugs, you said? What did you take?”
Some of the dullness left her eyes and she straightened slightly. Her gaze fully focused on him now. “What did I take? I didn’t take anything. A man injected me with something.”
Brody rotated his shoulders back. “A man?”
“You thought I was trying to kill myself?”
“There was a suicide note.” His gut instinct had been right. There was more to this story. Had her attacker been in the house when he had broken in? He had to tell the sheriff, get the deputies to start a search. Maybe there was some evidence that hadn’t been destroyed by the crew of paramedics, firefighters and sheriff’s deputies roaming her place.
“The man—the monster—forced me to write the note. Had a knife to my throat.” She closed her eyes, as if the memory physically hurt. When she opened them, Brody saw the pain there. “I thought I was going to die. If you hadn’t come when you did…”
He cleared his throat. “Can you tell me anything about the man who did this to you?”
“He wore a black mask. Medium height. Thin, but strong. His shoes were dirty. Dusty almost. I think…I think his eyes were brown. His voice was disguised.”
“Disguised how? By an electronic voice modulator?”
“No, it just sounded like he was trying to make his voice deeper as he spoke.”
“His voice didn’t sound familiar?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Brody sat down in the chair at her bedside. “I know it’s going to be difficult, but I need you to tell me everything that happened. Every detail will be important.”
The door opened and the same young doctor strode inside. “Not right now. She needs to rest. Her body has been through serious trauma and she needs to recover. She can answer your questions later.”
Brody stood. “Time is of the essence here, doc. The more time that passes, the less likely it is that we’ll find this guy.”
“You’ll be the first person we tell when she’s rested up. But now I’ve got to insist that you leave.”
Brody looked back at Madison and saw her eyes were closed. Reluctantly, he nodded and stepped from the room. He’d wait outside the door until she woke. In the meantime, he’d get a crime-scene crew out to her house to look for evidence.
Who would do this to someone like Madison? He didn’t intend to slow down until he found out.
* * *
“Reid,” she whispered. Life had been so much easier when she’d had someone to share her burdens with. It still didn’t seem fair that her husband had been taken from her so early. They’d had so much of life left to share together.
The drugs still made her mind feel sluggish, made her emotions harder to reign in. Her eyelids still drooped. Her limbs felt heavy.
Brody’s face floated into her thoughts. Thank goodness for her neighbor. Though he’d not even given her the time of day since he’d moved in, at least he’d been there when she’d needed him.
Madison had been put off when she’d first introduced herself to him. She’d only wanted to make the newcomer feel welcome in the neighborhood. But the man had acted as if she had made a pass at him and he’d wanted to send a clear “not interested” message. Sure, the man was handsome. Any woman would think so. He had thick, dark brown hair, even features, broad shoulders and towered at least six feet tall. He’d reminded her a bit of a Ken doll, which she didn’t find necessarily complimentary. Brody almost appeared too plastic, his eyes too lifeless.
Besides, Madison hadn’t for a single minute been interested in another man since Reid died. She knew the kind of love they had was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. To find someone else who shared her faith in God, who understood her and respected her the way her late husband had didn’t seem like even a remote possibility. What they’d felt for each other had been beautiful and when Lincoln was born, life had seemed perfect.
Lincoln.
Her gaze darted the room, searching for a clock. Three thirty. Someone needed to pick up Lincoln from preschool. She had to call someone to get him.
She swung her hand toward the phone on her nightstand, but her fingers fumbled. The device crashed to the floor with a loud jangle of metal and plastic.
She threw her feet over the side of the bed. Her IV tugged at her wrist, the medical tape pulling at her skin. Her entire body felt like it might topple out of bed.
Momentum seemed to pull her toward the floor and the room began to spin. Just then the door burst open. Brody rushed toward her. His strong hands caught her shoulders and eased her back into the hospital bed before she hit the floor.
“What are you doing?”
She pushed her head into her pillow, praying the wave of dizziness would pass. “Lincoln. My son. Someone needs to pick him up from preschool. He’s going to be scared, think I forgot him.”
He cleared his throat. “I asked my cousin to pick him up for you.”
Madison’s mind raced. “Kayla?” Kayla was one of Lincoln’s preschool teachers and also went to church with them. The two had recently struck up a friendship, but it was still new, not the kind of friendship where you asked for favors yet.
“I know you two know each other, so I figured you’d trust her. I do.”
Madison did trust Kayla and so did Lincoln. That was the important thing. She didn’t want her son to be freaked out by everything that had happened. “How’d you know someone needed to pick him up?”
“I’m a detective. I’m paid to be observant.”
“He can’t go to our home. Or see me like this. I should call her…” Her thoughts crashed into one another. She again started to reach for the phone, but Brody eased her back toward the bed.
“Don’t worry. I asked her to take him to the park and to get some ice cream. He can stay with her as long as needed. You’ll probably be discharged today. You can both stay with her if you need to. I know she’d be more than happy to help out with Lincoln. Don’t tell her I told you, but I’m pretty sure he’s her favorite student. She talks about him all the time. Those kids are her life.”
Some of the tension left Madison’s shoulders. Kayla’s bubbly personality connected with the preschoolers in her class, and since she was single and had no children of her own, her students did seem to be her life. “Wow. You thought of everything. Thank you.”
He shrugged. “I just tried to put myself in your shoes.”
“I appreciate it.”
He glanced toward the door before looking back at her, a professional uptightness replacing his earlier sympathy. “Listen, I know the doctor hasn’t freed you to talk with me, but do you feel up to going over what happened?”
She pushed herself up, trying to ignore her aching body as she gathered her wits. Did she really want to relive what had happened? “I just want to forget.”
“Forgetting won’t get this man behind bars.”
She touched the tender area around her neck, remembered the feeling of the rope there. Was it even possible to forget? Probably not. She was going to have to face this head-on if she ever hoped to move past it. Her hands trembled as she placed them in her lap.
She glanced at the detective and nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”
THREE
Madison’s fingers twisted the white blanket covering her. Her nails dug into the threads with enough force that the fabric separated and her fingertips scraped her legs. She twisted the blanket over and over as she tried to get a handle on her thoughts.
The detective stood at her bedside, his green eyes, framed with thick lashes, looking at her intently. Each muscle in his body looked rigid as he stood poised to take notes on what she told him. If not for the flash of compassion she saw in the depths of his gaze every once in a while, she might feel intimidated.
She had to get this over with. Share her story, do her part, then pick up her son and try to resume normal life.
She’d learned how to make a new “normal” after her husband had died. She knew she could do it again. She had to. With Lincoln, she didn’t have much choice. Sitting around and feeling sorry for herself wasn’t an option if she wanted her son to have a happy childhood.
“Ma’am?” The detective’s voice sounded soft but urgent.
Her gaze met the detective’s again. She licked her lips and nodded, forcing herself to relax her hand against the blanket. “Sorry. I don’t know where to start.”
“Not to sound like I’m speaking in clichés, but just start at the beginning.”
“The beginning.” She sucked in a deep breath and noted that even her lungs ached for some reason. “I guess it all started when I walked in from dropping my son off at preschool. As soon as I stepped inside my house I heard something ticking.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Like a bomb?”
She shook her head and immediately regretted it as the room began spinning again. She closed her eyes until regaining her equilibrium. “It was one of those little plastic timers people use in the kitchen. Not the digital kind…the old-fashioned kind. I thought my son had left it on. I found the timer in the bathroom, turned it off and tossed it in a drawer. After my shower, I heard it ticking again. When I went into the bathroom to turn it off, I spotted a man waiting for me.” She pulled in a shaky breath, but the air didn’t fill her lungs. She sucked in more breaths as fear threatened to overtake her.
“You okay?”
The image of the man hiding in her shower flashed into her mind and her body began trembling uncontrollably. Trying to stop the tremors was useless, so she pushed forward, knowing she had no other choice. “He put a knife to my throat. Before I could even react, he injected something into my arm. I got drowsy right away.” She rubbed her arm, her fingers still shaking. She could still feel the sting of the needle and the burn of the injection.
Detective Philips placed his hand over hers, bringing her back to reality. The jolt of electricity she felt at his touch sho
cked her, and she drew back.
His hand moved to the bed railing. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can get the doctor in here.”
“I’m fine. It…it just seems surreal.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “He told me to go into my office. I did. At my desk, he dictated a note to me. Said he’d kill me and my son if I didn’t write it. So I did.”
“Did he recite the note as if he’d rehearsed it? Or did he wing it?”
She closed her eyes, everything still so vivid. “He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and read it to me. He was very precise on what I should say. I couldn’t miss a word.”
“What happened next?”
“As soon as I signed my name to the note, he dragged me into my bedroom, reached under my bed and pulled out a rope. He must have planted the noose there when I was out.” She shuddered at the thought of someone watching her house, knowing her routine and using it to plan his crime.
“You’re doing great, Madison.”
His encouragement gave her the strength to keep going when she’d like nothing more than to stop. The next few minutes had been horrific. She’d been certain her life would end. “He made me tie the rope to the fan. He already had it looped up. Everything was planned and ready…” Her voiced cracked.
“Do you need to take a break?”
“No. I just want to finish.” Her throat suddenly felt dry. The emotions from the event rushed back to her, but she fought them. “I realized he was going to kill me,” she croaked out. “Whatever he injected into me made me feel like with each movement I made I was swimming through gelatin. I kept thinking of Lincoln.” Her voice caught and she grabbed a tissue to dab her eyes.
“He seems like a great boy.”
She nodded. “Yes, he is. I knew I had to fight this man, that once I had that rope around my neck my chances of surviving would diminish. I elbowed the man in the nose. He threw me into my dresser. I hit my head and everything really started to spin.”
“It was obvious you put up a good fight. You probably didn’t stand a chance since he drugged you.”