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His weight slammed her forward. Down she went.
Crack!
Her knees slammed into the icy pavement, pain jarring through her body, her purse and keys sailing into the darkness.
No. Oh, God no!
This couldn’t be happening. “Get off me!”
A gloved hand clamped over her mouth and she bit hard, struggling, kicking, fighting the weight upon her back. Oh, Jesus, he’s so heavy! He drove her face into the snow. Pain ripped through her and she had trouble breathing.
No way! No way was she going to let this fucker harm her!
Wrenching her body, she struggled. Where the hell was another pedestrian, or a business owner locking up or a goddamn cop? Her lungs were burning and she thought she might pass out. No no no! Twisting, she tried to get a glimpse of him, but all she saw was a huge figure dressed in black, snow dancing around him, his body pinning her mercilessly. “Bastard!” she tried to scream, but her voice was muffled.
“Let me go!” she yelled. Again her plea was only a muted mumble. Fear spurted through her. This jerk wad wasn’t giving up. Oh, God, is he going to kill me? Shit, no! She struggled, but his thumb pinched her nostrils together, his body pressing her flatter onto the path. Her lungs were beginning to burn. She whipped around, trying to force air through her nasal passage, but it was impossible. No no no!
Panic took over, but she was losing strength, her flailing arms more sluggish. It occurred to her that she might actually perish in this godforsaken town with a psycho squeezing the life out of her.
She fought valiantly until the blackness pulled her deep, her arms and legs becoming sluggish and clumsy, not obeying her mind. Her eyes rolled upward and she was vaguely aware of her body growing limp, her appendages useless. The last thing she remembered was being rolled onto her back and seeing the monster above her. In one hand he held something . . . a knife? Before she could make one last attempt to struggle, he grabbed her by the throat again and slowly, deliberately squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.
Chapter 15
“We might have caught a break,” Alvarez said to Pescoli the minute she walked into her office. Her hair was pulled back into a knot at her nape, gold hoops dangling from her earlobes, and she was carrying two steaming cups. “Decaf.” She set that one on the corner of Pescoli’s desk.
“Thanks. What break?”
“The autopsy report is back. You’ve got a copy in your e-mail. Strangulation. Hyoid bone crushed. Not much water or foam in the airways.” Alvarez took a sip from her cup. “She was definitely killed first, then tossed into the stream.”
Pescoli hung up her jacket and unwound the scarf at her neck. “Not a surprise. And not exactly a ‘break.’ ”
“There’s something else.”
“Yeah?” she picked up her cup, took a sip, found the coffee hot even if it didn’t have a kick.
“Half a mile downstream on the Barstow property, the farmer found a shoe nearly covered by snow. Wedged between some roots.”
“You think it’s our victim’s?”
“Woman’s red heel. Covered with prints.”
Pescoli was interested. “Sheree Cantnor’s?”
“All except one partial which has been run with no hits. But it’s something. There’s a crew out scouring the area, hoping to find the other shoe, her purse, phone.” She rolled a palm upward. “Whatever.”
“Maybe a finger and a ring.”
“Those, I think he kept.”
Pescoli agreed. “Trophies.”
“Uh-huh.”
She took another sip of the decaf and heard Blackwater walk into his office. His office. Not Dan Grayson’s. Funny how she’d started thinking in those terms already, funny and sad. “We got anything else?”
“Not really. I did find out that despite Doug Pollard’s insistence that he and Sheree were high school sweethearts and their life was all hearts, flowers, and romance, there was an instance where she took up with another guy for a while. She and Doug had their one breakup, I guess. Then that guy landed in prison.”
Pescoli looked up sharply, but Alvarez shook her head. “For a B and E. The guy’s still doing time in Utah. I double-checked.”
