Guarding the Witness
Author
Laura Scott
Reads
16,3K
Chapters
41
ONE
Willow Emery approached her brother and sister-in-law’s two-story home in Brooklyn, New York, with a deep sense of foreboding. The white paint on the front door of the yellow brick building was cracked and peeling, the windows covered with grime. A short decorative black iron fence surrounded the small front yard, revealing empty food wrappers and cigarette butts strewn across the tiny lawn. She swallowed hard, hating that her three-year-old niece, Lucy, lived in such deplorable conditions.
Steeling her resolve, she straightened her shoulders. This time, she wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily. Her older brother, Alex, and his wife, Debra, had to agree that Lucy deserved better.
Squeak. Squeak. The rusty gate moving in the breeze caused a chill to ripple through her. Why was it open? She hurried forward and her stomach knotted when she found the front door hanging ajar. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifted in alarm and a shiver rippled down her spine.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Thunk. The loud sound startled her. Was that a door closing? Or something worse? Her heart pounded in her chest and her mouth went dry. Following her gut instincts, Willow quickly pushed the front door open and crossed the threshold. The assault of sour milk mixed with awful bodily odors hit hard. Bile rose in her throat as she strained to listen. “Alex? Lucy?”
There was no answer, only the echo of soft, hiccuping sobs.
“Lucy!” Hurrying now, she followed the sound through the kitchen, briefly taking note of the dozens of empty liquor bottles and overflowing dirty dishes in the sink. Reaching the living room, she stumbled to an abrupt halt, her feet seemingly glued to the floor. Lucy was kneeling near her mother, crying. Alex and Debra were lying facedown, unmoving and not breathing, blood seeping out from beneath them.
Were those bullet holes between their shoulder blades? Her brother’s head was turned to the side, his eyes vacant and staring. No! Alex! A wave of nausea had her placing a hand over her stomach.
She locked her gaze on her niece. “Lucy?”
The girl lifted her head. Her tearstained face tugged at her heart. “Aunt Willow, Mommy and Daddy won’t wake up,” she sobbed.
“Lucy, sweetie, it’s okay. Come with me, baby.” Hands shaking, Willow stepped carefully, avoiding the large pool of blood, until she was close enough to lift Lucy up and into her arms.
Lucy didn’t stop crying, but curled her arms around her neck, clinging tightly. Willow pressed a hand to her niece’s wavy blond hair, holding her close for a long moment. Then she shifted the girl to her hip, bent down and pressed her fingers against her brother’s neck, searching for a pulse.
Nothing.
A sob rose in her throat, but she fought it back. With trembling fingers, she checked Debra, too. Still nothing. Should she try CPR?
Remembering the thud gave her pause. She glanced furtively over her shoulder toward the single bedroom on the main floor. The door was closed. What if the gunman was still here? Waiting? Hiding?
The terrifying possibility had her spinning away and retracing her steps through the disgusting kitchen and out the front door. She stumbled through the lawn, kicking something that crinkled beneath her foot out of the way, until she reached the sidewalk.
Fumbling for her phone with her right hand, she tried to understand what had just happened. Who had shot Alex and Debra? And why? What caused the thudding noise?
What had her older brother gotten himself into?
She pulled herself together, knowing she needed to call the police, to get help.
She dialed 911 and pressed the phone to her ear, one arm still securely wrapped around Lucy.
“This is the operator. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“My brother and his wife have been shot. Please send the police right away!”
“Are you safe, ma’am?”
Good question. The back of her neck tingled with fear and she whipped around, frantically searching for something, anything, out of place. She wished for a place to hide. There was a small tree nearby, and she instinctively made her way toward it, cowering beneath the branches that were just now budding leaves, pressing her back against the slim trunk. “I—I don’t know.”
“What’s the address?”
She rattled off the number of the house on Thirty-Fifth Street. “It’s off Linden Boulevard in East Flatbush. Please hurry!”
“I’m calling the closest officer to your location. Please stay on the line.”
“Just get here, soon!” Willow didn’t want to stay on the line; she needed both of her arms to hold Lucy. Leaving the phone on speaker, she tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. She held her niece, stroking a soothing hand down Lucy’s back, murmuring reassuringly in her ear. Vehicles moved up and down Linden Boulevard, yet Willow still felt vulnerable. Exposed. What if they were still in danger?
What if the gunman was out there, watching her?
She swept her gaze over the area again, but still didn’t see anything suspicious. Yet she couldn’t shake the itchy feeling of being watched. The narrow tree offered little protection. Where should she go? What should she do? She momentarily closed her eyes, fighting panic.
Dear Lord, keep us safe in Your care!
The whispered prayer helped to calm her irrational need to run far, far away. Her apartment was in Bay Ridge, too far to walk, let alone run. Not to mention the bloodstains on Lucy’s clothes would draw attention to them. Willow took several deep breaths, knowing she needed to relax so Lucy wouldn’t pick up on her fear.
“It’s okay, Lucy. We’re fine. We’re going to be just fine.”
Lucy’s crying slowly quieted, but the little girl didn’t release her deathlike grip, as if afraid of being left behind.
A white SUV with the blue NYPD K-9 logo along the side and a red flashing light on its dashboard came barreling down the street toward them, abruptly pulling over to the curb. A tall, lean blond officer dressed in a black uniform came out from behind the wheel, weapon held ready. Moving quickly, he opened his hatch, letting a beautiful yellow Lab wearing a K9 vest out of the back.
“Stay where you are,” the officer said when she moved from the relative safety of the tree to head toward him. His gaze raked the area as he hurried over. His name tag identified his last name as Detective Slater. “What happened? Are you both okay?”
“Yes. But I found my brother and his wife d—” She glanced at Lucy and amended what she’d been about to say. “Um, hurt. Both the gate and the front door were hanging ajar when I arrived.” She shivered, the reality of it all just starting to sink in. “The bedroom door was closed. I’m afraid someone is still inside.”
He nodded but didn’t move away. He spoke into his radio, asking for an ETA of his backup. She couldn’t deny the overwhelming relief she and Lucy were no longer alone.
“I need you to both wait inside my SUV.” He took her elbow and urged her toward the police vehicle just as his backup arrived. “Stay inside. I’ll be back soon.”
She didn’t argue, feeling much safer inside the car. She continued to hold Lucy on her lap as she watched Detective Slater and two uniformed cops go inside the house with their weapons up in a two-handed grip.
The seconds went by with excruciating slowness and she buried her face against Lucy’s hair, still grappling with what had happened.
A sharp rap against the window startled her. She relaxed when she saw Detective Slater standing there. He opened the door and she slid out, standing to face him. She had to look up at him, which was unusual as she was taller than most women. His expression was kind, but grim. “I’m sorry for your loss. The house is clear. There’s no one inside.”
Sorry for your loss. She momentarily closed her eyes and rested her cheek on Lucy’s head. She’d known her brother and his wife were dead.
Murdered.
Why? She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kill her brother and his wife. And what about Lucy?
Was the little girl in danger, too?
Nate Slater kept his gaze on the tall, pretty woman holding the cute little girl, fearing she might collapse under the weight of the bad news.
He tucked a hand beneath her elbow to hold her steady. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She shook her head, but then nodded. Shrugged. “I have to be.”
He understood where she was coming from. The poor woman and the little girl had witnessed the result of violence that most only read about. Going through an ordeal like this couldn’t be easy for either of them.
As part of the newly established Brooklyn K-9 Unit, an offshoot of the original NYC K-9 Command Unit that was still located in Queens, he and his four-legged partner, Murphy, had been dealing with another issue close by when he’d gotten the call to come to this location. The Brooklyn K-9 Unit responded to calls across all five boroughs of New York City, the canine partners’ specializations aiding the officers in investigating crimes and tracking down perpetrators. Nate’s dog was cross-trained in a variety of skills. “I need to ask a few questions, Ms....”
“Willow. Willow Emery. This is my niece, Lucy Emery.” She raised her chin and the stubborn flash in her light brown eyes was surprisingly reassuring. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”
“You mentioned the front door wasn’t closed all the way. Did your brother normally keep the place locked up?”
“Yes. Always. That’s why the noise was so jarring.”
“Noise?” His interest was piqued.
She nodded. “A thud, like a door banging closed.”
“Or the sound of gunfire?”
Her eyes rounded in horror. “No!”
The timing seemed off, but he continued. “Okay, and normally the back door would also be locked?” He’d noticed the back door had been closed, but not locked. It appeared the intruder may have been let in from the front, maybe someone the victims had known. Something must have gone wrong, and they’d been shot in the back, the killer escaping out the back door.
“I think so, yes. Unless they were outside. The back patio has a little fence around it, similar to the one in the front.”
Yeah, he’d noticed the fence, more for decoration than anything else, and not very high, so any able-bodied person could easily climb over.
He felt certain the perp had escaped that way and itched to begin searching. But he needed more information, something to go on.
“Lucy?” He waited for the little girl to look up at him. “Did you see anything?”
She didn’t answer, and Willow lightly stroked her hair.
“It’s okay, tell the policeman what you saw.”
“Bad clown.”
Lucy’s whisper gave him pause. Nate leaned closer, trying to appear nonthreatening. “What did you say?”
Lucy immediately ducked her head, hiding her face against Willow’s neck.
He caught Willow’s gaze, silently pleading. He needed to question the little girl further.
“Lucy, you’re safe here with me and Detective Slater. But we really need to know, did you see someone hurt your mommy and daddy?” Willow’s tone was soft, gentle.
There was a momentary hesitation, then the little girl gave a tentative nod.
Nate’s pulse spiked with adrenaline. A possible witness, albeit a very young one. But maybe old enough to provide something for them to go on. “Can you tell me what you saw?”
Lucy hunched her shoulders without responding. Long seconds ticked by before the child finally said, “The bad clown weared black.”
Bad clown wearing black? Nate still didn’t quite get it, but now they had a description to go on. The two uniformed officers who’d helped him clear the house crossed over to join him, as another K-9 officer from his unit, Vivienne Armstrong, and her black-and-white border collie partner, Hank, arrived. Hank’s specialty was search and rescue, and Nate was glad to have the excellent tracker on the hunt.
“Nate? What’s going on?” Vivienne asked.
He stepped back from Willow and Lucy, instinctively taking charge of the scene. “Two DOAs inside, house has been cleared but it’s possible the perp went out the back. I need one NYPD officer to stay here with Willow and Lucy. The rest of us need to fan out and search for the killer, likely dressed in black and possibly wearing a mask.” He couldn’t be certain what Lucy meant by clown and thought the perp could be wearing something plastic over his or her face.
“I’ll stay,” Officer Klein volunteered.
“Good. Murphy and I will go south. Vivienne, you and Hank head east. I need you, Officer Talbot, to head west,” he directed. He didn’t think anyone would have come north toward the front of the house. “Keep your radio frequency open and if you find someone suspicious, proceed with caution. Perp is likely armed with a gun.”
“Got it,” Vivienne said as the rest nodded in agreement.
The three of them split up, he and Murphy taking the path he thought was more likely the one the killer used as an escape route. The Holy Saints Cemetery was located a few blocks to the south of the Emery property, and he thought there was a good chance the “bad clown wearing black” had gone that way.
A quick glance at the crime scene hadn’t revealed anything left behind by the perp. He wanted to stay to search more closely but couldn’t deny a keen sense of urgency. How much time had passed since the emergency call Willow had made? Five minutes? Seven?
Too long.
He and Murphy reached the twin dark gray stone arches of the cemetery entrance in less than two minutes. Entering the cemetery grounds, he examined the soft earth around the tombstones searching for signs of footprints. After the April rainstorm late yesterday afternoon, which had softened the ground and eliminated most of the leftover remnants of winter snow, he was hopeful no one could cut through without leaving evidence behind.
A partial footprint in the mud caught his gaze. It was wide on top and deep, making him think it was made by a man, maybe even someone running. Expanding his search, he tried to find another one that looked similar, in an effort to provide a direction the perp may have taken. He wanted to use the footprint as a scent source for Murphy to follow, but knew that without a second footprint indicating evidence of running away, he couldn’t be sure it was left by the killer. He didn’t want Murphy to search for the wrong person.
He searched for another fifteen minutes but came up empty.
Either the guy had stayed to the paved walkway snaking around the grounds or he hadn’t come this way at all.
Nate didn’t want to give up, but after more fruitless searching, he cued his radio. “Any sign of the perp?”
A chorus of negatives echoed from the other officers.
“Let’s call it off.” He didn’t want to but didn’t see the point of continuing a random search. In his gut he felt the killer was long gone, but he’d hoped for something, anything, to go on. “Thanks for your help.”
Several ten-fours echoed from the radio.
Nate and Murphy double-timed it back to the scene of the murders. He slowed to a walk when he came around the Emery house.
Willow was sitting crossways on the passenger seat of his SUV with the door open, still holding Lucy on her lap. He noticed she was wearing soft blue jeans and a thin pink hoodie in deference to the sixty-degree spring day. There were many vehicles parked on the street, so he wasn’t sure if she’d driven over or if she’d arrived via subway or bus. The little girl was wearing a cheerful yellow top with a flared hem over yellow bloodstained leggings. Officer Klein, the uniform who’d stayed behind, remained standing nearby.
“Doggy,” Lucy said, pointing at Murphy. “Big doggy.”
He crossed over to where Willow and Lucy were, dropping to his knees so he was eye level with both Murphy and the little girl. He wondered why the child had been spared. Because she was in another room? Or because the perp drew some invisible line at shooting an innocent child?
“This is Murphy.” He introduced the K-9 again. “Friend, Murphy.” He touched both Willow and Lucy, while repeating, “Friend.”
“Hold out your hand for the doggy to sniff,” Willow encouraged.
Lucy held out her hand, smiling a bit when Murphy’s nose touched her skin. “Nice doggy.”
“Yes, Murphy is a nice dog. He won’t hurt you.”
Willow searched his gaze. “Find anything?”
He shook his head. “I’d like to ask Lucy a few more questions if that’s okay.”
Willow’s light brown eyes looked concerned, but she nodded. “Can’t hurt to try.”
Nate waited until Lucy looked at him, with eyes that were mirror images of Willow’s. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were mother and daughter instead of aunt and niece. “Lucy, can you tell me more about the bad clown that wore black?”
Her tiny brow puckered with fear. “Scary,” she whispered.
“I know it was scary,” he agreed with a gentle smile. “But you’re a brave girl, aren’t you? I need you to tell me what the bad clown looked like.”
“Big. Mean.” Lucy scrunched up her face. “Clown face with blue hair on top.” She lifted a hand to her own hair as if to describe what she meant.
Blue hair? His chest tightened at her description. Twenty years ago—today—there had been a double murder in Brooklyn. Two of his colleagues, a brother and a sister, Bradley and Penelope McGregor, then just kids, had lost their parents. Bradley, fourteen, had been at a friend’s house, and four-year-old Penelope, left unharmed like Lucy, had been the only witness. She’d described the killer as a clown—with blue hair. He’d been thinking about the cold case today, as he knew the entire unit was, because of the anniversary. Twenty years unsolved. “You’re sure the hair was blue?”
She bobbed her head. “Blue like my dolly.”
Her dolly? He lifted a brow and glanced up at Willow, who nodded.
“Yes, she has a doll with bright blue hair.”
“Okay, blue hair on the top of the clown face,” he repeated. “Did you notice anything else about him?”
She shook her head. “Too scary.”
He imagined she’d hid her face and hoped that she hadn’t seen her parents being murdered in cold blood. He thought again how odd it was they’d both been shot in the back. As if they’d been heading out of the kitchen, toward the living room. Is that where Lucy had been? Or were they going there for some other reason?
No way to know for sure. The place was a mess, but it was difficult to tell if it had been searched by the killer. After making a mental note to tell the crime scene techs to make the living room a priority when looking for evidence, he turned his attention to the little girl. “What else, Lucy? Were you in the house when he came inside?”
Lucy shook her head, reaching out to pet Murphy’s sleek fur.
“No? Where were you?” Willow asked.
“Outside playing.” Lucy looked over toward the front of the house. “Mommy and Daddy were inside.”
Nate’s gaze sharpened. “He came up the sidewalk and into the fenced-in front yard?”
“Yes. He gived me a toy and told me to stay outside.” Her lower lip trembled, and Nate was concerned she might cry.
“It’s okay, Lucy, you’re safe with us,” Willow said, gently hugging her. “What kind of toy?”
“A monkey.” Lucy’s face crumpled. “I don’t want it anymore.”
A monkey? He sucked in a breath. The McGregors’ killer had also given Penelope a stuffed monkey. What was going on here?
“Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely. “Was it a stuffed monkey?”
Lucy bobbed her head up and down. “I left it outside when I heard the loud noise, but I don’t want it anymore. I want my mommy!”
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here, Lucy.” Willow cuddled her close.
Nate rocked back on his heels, stunned speechless. The clown face with blue hair on top, two bullet holes in Lucy’s parents and a stuffed monkey.
The exact same MO as the twenty-year-old unsolved McGregor murders. The brutal slaying of the parents of fellow Brooklyn K-9 detective Bradley McGregor and his sister, desk clerk Penelope McGregor.
Down to the very last detail.
The idea that a killer from twenty years ago was still out there concerned him.
They needed to get this guy, and soon. Before anyone else ended up hurt, or worse, dead.
