Part 16 (1/2)

He reached the pad on the wall at the exit from the corridor and briefly wondered why it was illuminated when the electricity was off, then remembered that the alarm system had a battery that supplied backup power. He pressed numbers and felt his shoulders sag in relief when the alarm stopped.

”Thank G.o.d,” he murmured, having to contend now only with the ringing in his ears. He was still holding Beth up. In dismay, he felt her vomit. ”She needs an ambulance.”

”Where's a phone?” the policeman shouted.

”They aren't working! The power's off! The phones are down!” Decker's ears felt less tortured. He was hearing slightly better.

”What happened here?”

Dismayingly, Beth slumped.

Decker held her, lowering her to the brick floor in the vestibule. He felt a cool breeze from the open front door. ”Get help! I'll stay with her!”

”I'll use the radio in my patrol car!” The policeman rushed from the house.

Glancing in that direction, Decker saw two stationary headlights gleaming beyond the courtyard gate. The policeman disappeared behind them. Then all Decker paid attention to was Beth.

He knelt beside her, stroking her forehead. ”Hang on. You'll be all right. We're getting an ambulance.”

The next thing he knew, the policeman had returned and was stooping beside him, saying something that Decker couldn't hear.

”The ambulance will come in no time,” Decker told Beth. Her forehead felt clammy, chilled. ”You're going to be fine.” I need to cover her, Decker was thinking. I need to get her warm. He yanked open a closet behind him, grabbed an overcoat, and spread it over her.

The policeman leaned closer to him, speaking louder. Now Decker could hear. ”The front door was open when I arrived! What happened? You said someone broke in?”

”Yes.” Decker kept stroking Beth's hair, wis.h.i.+ng the policeman would leave him alone. ”They must have broken in the front as well as the back.”

”They?”

”The man in the hallway. Others.”

”Others?”

”In my bedroom.”

”What?”

”Three. Maybe four. I shot them all.”

”Jesus,” the policeman said.

FIVE.

1.

A chaos of crisscrossing headlights gleamed in the s.p.a.cious pebbled driveway outside Decker's house. Engines rumbled. Radios crackled. The eerily illuminated silhouettes of vehicles seemed everywhere, patrol cars, vans, a huge utility truck from Public Service of New Mexico, an ambulance speeding away.

Naked beneath an overcoat that didn't cover his bare knees, Decker leaned, s.h.i.+vering, against the stucco wall next to the open courtyard gate, staring frantically toward the receding lights of the ambulance speeding into the night. He ignored the policemen searching the area around the house, their flashlights wavering, while a forensics crew carried their equipment past him.

”I'm sorry,” one of the policemen said, the stocky Hispanic who had been the first to arrive and who had eventually introduced himself as Officer Sanchez. ”I know how much you want to go with your friend to the hospital, but we need you here to answer more questions.”

Decker didn't reply, just kept staring toward the lights of the ambulance, which kept getting smaller in the darkness.

”The ambulance attendants said they thought she'd be okay,” Sanchez continued. ”The bullet went through her right arm. It didn't seem to hit bone. They've stopped the bleeding.”

”Shock,” Decker said. ”My friend's in shock.”

The policeman looked uncomfortable, not sure what to say. ”That's right. Shock.”

”And shock can kill.”

The ambulance lights disappeared. As Decker turned, he noticed confused movement between the headlights of a van and the hulking Public Service of New Mexico utility truck. He tensed, seeing two harried civilians caught between policemen, the indistinct group coming swiftly in his direction. Had the police captured someone a.s.sociated with the attack? Angry, Decker stepped closer to the open gate, ignoring Sanchez, focusing his attention on the figures being brought toward him.

A man and a woman, Decker saw as the nearest headlights starkly revealed their faces, and immediately his anger lessened.

The two policemen flanking them had a look of determination as they reached the gate. ”We found them on the road. They claim they're neighbors.”

”Yes. They live across the street.” The harsh ringing persisted in Decker's ears, although not as severely. ”These people are Mr. and Mrs. Hanson.”

”We heard shots,” Hanson, a short, bearded man, said.

”And your alarm,” Hanson's gray-haired wife said. She and her husband wore rumpled casual clothes and looked as if they had dressed quickly. ”At first, we thought we had to be wrong. There couldn't be shots at your house. We couldn't believe it.”

”But we couldn't stop worrying,” Hanson said. ”We phoned the police.”

”A d.a.m.ned good thing you did,” Decker said. ”Thank you.”

”Are you all right?”

”I think so.” Decker's body ached from tension. ”I'm not sure.”

”What happened?”

”That's exactly the question I want to ask,” a voice intruded.

Bewildered, Decker looked beyond the gate, toward where a man had appeared, approaching between headlights. He was tall, sinewy, wearing a leather cowboy hat, a denim s.h.i.+rt, faded blue jeans, and dusty cowboy boots. As Officer Sanchez shone his flashlight toward the man, Decker was able to tell that the man was Hispanic. He had a narrow, handsome face, brooding eyes, and dark hair that hung to his shoulders. He seemed to be in his middle thirties.

”Luis.” The man nodded in greeting to Officer Sanchez.

”Frederico.” Sanchez nodded back.