The Eyes Die Last (38 page)

“Come on, love, quit wiggling so much.  You’ll like this.  The other whores did, well except for the part where I killed them.” 

Kennedy heard his zipper slide down and she began bucking.  She kicked back and her foot connected.  She jabbed an elbow into his gut.  She screamed as his hold loosened.  It was the opening she needed.  With all the energy she had left, she pushed him away and ran for her gun, the tips of her fingers getting a loose hold on the barrel. 

The killer cursed and caught his balance.  He went after her.  When he caught up, he hit her hard in the back.  She went down and her gun flew from her hand.  Her palms burned where the skin peeled off as she hit the floor and her jeans slid farther down. 

Before she could roll over, she felt the weight of a knee holding her down. 

A sharp, burning pain hit her, almost paralyzing her.  She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to block the pain, tried to clear her mind.  And she knew what had happened.  Damn the bastard; he stuck a knife in my back. 

“You shouldn’t have made me do that, love.  Now look at you.  You’re going to die a slow, lingering death, lying in a messy pool of blood.  Such a shame.  I’m not going to get to enjoy you after all.” 

She heard scuffing sounds as the killer got to his feet, the whiz of the zipper as he closed his pants.  Out the corner of her eye, she saw his hand as he picked up her gun.  An envelope landed beside her face, and the bright flash of a camera made her blink. 

“Your partner will know who you are without seeing a full face shot.” 

Kennedy could smell the sweet, coppery scent of her own blood.  Her body grew numb and her eyes began to blur, but she could see the killer’s feet as he walked away from her. 

Giving in to the pain, she let the darkness take her under. 

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

GUIDED BY THE FLURRY OF COPS MOVING IN, NICK REACHED THE ALLEY IN RECORD TIME.
  Wilder was bent over a woman and requesting backup and a paramedic.  He was holding a gloved hand over a gaping wound to the woman’s abdomen.  Wilder looked up at Nick, fire in his eyes.  “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Does it really matter?  Where’s Kennedy?  Isn’t she coming?” 

“She’s maintaining.  Not that it’s any of your business, she’s still—”

Wilder went silent and cupped his hand over his earpiece.  Nick wondered how  he could hear anything over the noise and chaos.  The concern etching Wilder’s

face told Nick something was wrong on Kennedy’s end.

Wilder yelled into his mic, “Where the fuck is Kenny’s backup?”  He stood up, pulled off his latex gloves, and tossed them on the ground.  He grabbed a uniform and placed the officer’s hand over the woman’s bloody wound.  “Keep pressure here until the paramedics arrive.”

Wilder pulled his gun from its holster before taking off at a dead run.  Nick followed.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Kenny’s in trouble.  The killer has her.  Damn it, he knew I’d follow the screams.  That’s why he used a knife this time.  You can’t scream if you’re being choked.”  “The son of a bitch has a knife?”

Nick’s heart dropped a few beats.  He sped past Wilder.  I should have stayed put on the roof, should have kept watch over her.

Wilder yelled at him.  “This is cop business.  Back off!”  Nick didn’t look back.  “The hell I will.”

John
wandered the streets of Hooker Haven looking to score some coke.  He needed a hit desperately, couldn’t control the sweating or the tremors in his hands.  He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d begun using again.  Maybe two or three months ago...  right after he’d found out his ex-wife was dead.  Not that he should have cared what’d happened to her, she’d made his life miserable.  But somehow it had.

It didn’t matter now.  All that mattered was getting a hit.  The pain and cravings were too much.  Where were all the dealers when you needed them? 

He had to be careful or he’d lose his job.  Nick was a smart man and his erratic behavior wouldn’t go unnoticed much longer.  Hell, he couldn’t even give the cops a DNA sample, couldn’t take a chance on the coke showing up.  Christ, he needed to get things together, and he would.  He truly loved his job and hated to disappoint his friend.  He’d get it all together as soon as he had time to think.  But he needed some coke first, just enough to take the edge off. 

John caught a glimpse of someone ducking into a building on his left.  “Finally.”  He eagerly followed, his heart already racing with anticipation and relief. 

Through
his earpiece Wilder heard the killer attacking Kennedy.  From the sound of the battle, she was fighting back.  Thank God for that.  If she could just hang on a little longer he’d find her. 

Wilder yelled into his mic as he ran, “Officer needs assistance.  All available officers, find Detective O’Brien.  Kenny, hang on.  We’re coming.”  Damn, I hope you’re still able to hear me. 

“Metro PD!”  He shouted at the people in his way.  “Move.”  He pushed anyone blocking him, and ran over them if they didn’t move fast enough. 

Wilder wanted to be mad at Campenelli for interfering, but right now all he could think of was getting to Kennedy and the younger man was faster.  Soon he found himself whispering, “Hurry, Campenelli,” as he ran. 

John
held his breath as he stepped inside the building.  The smell of decay and trash was a full blown assault on his senses.  It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the mostly dark room.  When he could see again, his eyes settled on the lady cop who’d been dogging Campenelli.  She was lying face down, bucking against the man sitting on her. 

Shit. 

John started to approach, but paused when he saw the man draw back his hand and plunge a knife into her back.  He was close enough to hear the sucking sound of the knife as it broke through her skin and was pulled back out.  She let out a loud moan and fell silent. 

There was enough light coming through the boarded up windows for John to make out the assailant’s features.  Frozen in place by shock or fear—maybe both— he watched in horror.  Light glinted off the bloody knife the killer held in one hand.  He stood and tossed a piece of paper down next to the cop’s body as bright, rapid bursts of a camera’s flash startled John from his daze. 

Jolted back to reality by the flashing light, John ran at the man with his head down, head butting him.  Instead of going down, the killer pushed past John and ran, dropping the knife.  John picked up the bloody knife, ready to defend himself and the fallen cop if the man came back. 

Elvis
was taking a short break, sitting on a stack of discarded wooden crates outside a tattoo parlor when he heard the scream.  The hairs on his arms stood on end.  When he heard the second scream, he started toward it.  A man, hunched over, dashed by barely missing him.  He looked vaguely familiar.  Curious, Elvis turned away from the scream to get a closer look at the man running
pa
st
.
He followed, losing sight of him two blocks over. 

Determined to find the man, Elvis searched nearby alleys and buildings.  A door banged open and he caught a glimpse of a different man rushing from an empty building. 

Where in the heck have I seen that guy’s face before? 

Elvis hesitantly entered the abandoned building. 

Through the dust rich swirls of light coming from the open door, he saw the first man hunched over a still body, holding a knife.  It was the guy in the yellow polo shirt from the wig shop. 

Elvis screamed.  The body lying on the ground was Detective O’Brien.  Detective Gorgeous Eyes. 

Elvis dove on the man with the knife.  “Killer!”  “Get off of me, you idiot.  He’s getting away.”  “No way.  You killed my Priscilla.” 

Elvis and John struggled for control of the knife.  Kennedy’s eyes opened. 

“Oh-My-God.  Some people go to Heaven when they die, some go to Hell.  I go to fucking Graceland?” 

She passed out cold again. 

The officer Wilder had assigned to back up Kennedy arrived to find two men struggling over a knife, and Detective O’Brien down.  He approached the men carefully, his gun drawn. 

“Metro PD.  Drop your weapons and step apart.” 

Startled, the men looked up at him.  The fighting stopped and they both held out their hands.  One of them held a blood soaked knife. 

Nick
, following the sound of raised voices, entered the abandoned building.  Kennedy was lying on a filthy floor in a pool of blood.  When he saw her, it felt like a fist had a tight hold on his heart. 

“My God, Irish.  What have they done to you?” 

He ran to her and stripped off his shirt, and was kneeling to press it to the ugly hole in her back as Wilder arrived. 

Nick heard Kennedy’s partner shouting into his mic, “Officer down, officer

down.” 

Nick saw, and he was sure Wilder did too, a disheveled Elvis and John with their hands outstretched in surrender.  John’s hands were covered in blood and he held a knife in one.  My God.  What have you done, John? 

To the left of the door, legs spread apart and using both hands, a Metro officer held a gun on the two men.  Shaking uncontrollably, John lifted the hand holding the bloody knife. 

Nick saw the look on the officer’s face and knew what was about to happen, but it was too late to stop him. 

The officer fired. 

John’s face flushed, and then paled.  Nick couldn’t look away from the circle of crimson spreading over John’s
che
st
.
He watched his friend fall to his knees in agonizingly slow motion before toppling over onto his side. 

Wilder knocked the cop’s arm down.  “Shit.  Why’d you do that?”  “He was going to stab the Elvis.” 

Wilder grunted.  “You’re gonna need to give me your gun.  He tipped his head in John’s direction.  “See what you can do for him.  I’ll deal with you later.” 

Wilder took the officer’s gun, put it in his back waistband and dropped to his knees beside Nick.  He yelled into his mic, “Get me medics now.  Oh, Christ.” 

Nick held pressure on the wound while Wilder checked Kennedy’s pulse.  “It’s weak, but it’s there.  Keep pressure on that wound while I check on the killer.” 

“She’s in shock.” 

“She’s strong.  She’ll pull through.” 

Nick nodded.  He dearly hoped Detective James was right. 

Wilder picked up the envelope lying beside her by a single corner and put it in an evidence bag. 

Nick focused on keeping pressure on the knife wound. 

Elvis followed Wilder to have a look at the man the cop had shot.  “That dude is definitely down for the count.” 

“I believe that’s a safe assumption.”  Wilder replied. 

Elvis wandered back toward Nick.  “How’s she doing?” 

“I don’t know yet.  There’s a lot of bleeding, but I’ve been able to slow it down somewhat.”  Nick took a deep breath.  “Did you get a look at who did this to her?” 

“I’m not sure if the guy that ran away did it or the one over there in the yellow shirt.”  He pointed to John.  “That’s the same dude we chased away from the wig shop”. 

“Did you recognize the man who ran away?” 

“No, but there was something familiar about him.  I can’t put my finger on it just yet, but it’ll come to me.” 

Nick shouted to Wilder.  “Did you hear Elvis?  There was another man here.”  “I’ll get someone on it.” 

He turned back and asked the younger man, “How’s John?”  Elvis stared at him blankly. 

Nick explained, “The man the officer shot.” 

“Oh.  Detective James said he doesn’t look too good.  He said the paramedics will be here shortly.”  He paused.  “I hope Detective O’Brien will be all right.  I really like her.” 

“I do too, Elvis.  I do too.” 

Except for Wilder giving an occasional order into his radio, a nerve-racking quiet lingered in the room. 

Nick let out a sigh of relief when the first paramedic finally came through the door. 

John was loaded into an ambulance and taken away as more paramedics started an IV on Kennedy and loaded her into a separate ambulance. 

Wilder looked up at Nick, sitting beside her in the back of the EMT rig.  “Campenelli, you look almost as pale as Kennedy.” 

Nick straightened his back, ready to argue.  “I’m going with her.” 

“I’ve got to stay on scene a while longer.  As soon as the Lieutenant and IA arrive, I’ll get to the hospital.  You stay with my girl in the meantime.” 

“You couldn’t drag me away.”  Nick had a tight grip on Kennedy’s hand. 

“Good.  I need you to call her grandfather.  His name is Tommy O’Brien and he’s at the Shady Arms Adult Living Community.  Before you tell him what happened to her, tell him she’s going to be fine so he doesn’t panic when he hears she’s hurt.” 

“I understand.” 

“Campenelli, if she wakes up on the way, tell her...  tell her I said...”  ”I’ll tell her, Detective.” 

The
ride to the hospital seemed to take forever, and Kennedy didn’t wake up.  On arrival, she was taken to a trauma room and one of the ER nurses brought him a blue scrub shirt to wear.  Funny, he hadn’t even remembered taking his off.