Mountain Witness

Chapter Four

A hollow sound echoed outside. Julie jerked around to see the sexy guy from next door stomping up the front porch steps.

“Who is that?” Alan snarled, closing the distance between them.

She swallowed, watching the knife in his hand. “My neighbor. I don’t know his name.”

“Get rid of him.”

He edged halfway behind her, his left hand—the one holding the knife—hidden from view. Its sharp tip pressed lightly between her shoulder blades, just piercing her skin. She gasped and arched away, but the threat was still there. Her only chance was to try to appease him. If she didn’t, he’d kill her, and try to kill a stranger whose only crime was that he lived next door.

A knock sounded. The tall, broad-shouldered man who’d given her so many unreturned smiles and friendly waves peered through the screen door, grinning when he saw her standing in the middle of the great room.

“Hello, there,” he drawled. “I’m Chris Downing, from the house next door. Hope you don’t mind me coming over. I figured it was high time I introduced myself.”

“Um, actually, I don’t—”

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his white teeth gleaming in a smile that would have been charming if she wasn’t so scared.

She shot a pleading look over her shoulder, then glanced back at her neighbor. “Mr. Downing, this really isn’t a good—”

“Chris,” he corrected, striding toward her. “No point in formalities between neighbors.”

The knife pressed against her spine, a warning that she needed to do something. Fast.

“You sure are pretty, ma’am.” His grin widened. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” He took one of her hands in his. “And what lovely name did your mama gift you with?” He waited expectantly, his green eyes capturing hers, looking oddly serious in spite of his silly grin.

She could almost taste Alan’s simmering anger, his impatience.

“I’m...ah...Julie. Julie Webb. I’m sorry but you really need to—”

“Can’t remember the last time I met a Julie. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” His head bobbed up and down while he vigorously shook her hand, pulling her off balance. She was forced to step toward him to keep from falling over.

Alan made a menacing sound in his throat and plopped his right hand on her shoulder, anchoring her and keeping her from moving farther away from him. But her neighbor misinterpreted the gesture. He let go of Julie’s hand and offered his hand to Alan, instead.

“Didn’t mean to ignore you back there,” he said. “Where are my manners? Are you my new neighbor, too, or just visiting?”

The pressure on her shoulder tightened painfully, making her wince. She tensed, fully expecting to feel the bite of the knife sliding between her ribs at any moment. Most people would have read the tension between her and Alan and realized they were intruding. But her neighbor seemed oblivious, his hand still in the air, waiting for Alan to take it.

She could have sworn Alan said “stupid redneck” beneath his breath before he released her shoulder and reached around her to shake the other man’s hand.

As soon as Chris’s much larger hand closed around Alan’s, he gave a mighty, sideways yank, ripping Alan away from Julie. Alan roared with rage and slashed at Chris with the knife. Chris twisted sideways, the blade narrowly missing his stomach. He grabbed Alan’s left wrist, both men twisting and grunting with their hands joined crosswise in front of them.

“Get back,” Chris yelled at Julie, twisting sideways again.

She jumped out of the way, pressing her hand against her throat. The two men grappled like a couple of grizzly bears. Alan was shorter, but both men rippled with muscles, their biceps bulging as they strained against each other. Chris’s extra height seemed to be a handicap, though. He was bent over at an impossible angle. And his hold on Alan’s knife hand appeared to be slipping.

“Julie, run!”

Chris yanked Alan again. Alan countered by ducking down, trying to pull Chris off balance.

Julie couldn’t seem to make her feet move. She was frozen, her throat so tight no sound would come out.

“I’m a cop,” Chris bit out as he and Alan jerked and shoved at each other. “Drop the knife and we can work this out. No one needs to get hurt.”

“Work it out?” Alan spit between clenched teeth. “You’re the intruder. I can kill you and no one will even question me.”

Chris risked a quick glance at Julie. “Go. Get out of here!”

She stepped back, ready to do what he’d said. But then she stopped. The room seemed to shimmer in front of her, and she was back in her bedroom five months ago. All she could see was blood, its coppery scent filling the air. It was everywhere. The floors were slippery with it. Her hands, sticky.

No. Don’t think about the past. Stay in the present.

She blinked and brought the room back into focus.

“Please.” She stepped forward. “Please.” Another step. She stared at Alan, willing him to look at her. “Don’t do this.”

Something in her voice must have captured Alan’s attention. His head swiveled toward her. Bloodlust shone in his eyes. Julie knew the exact moment when he took the bait.

He gave Chris a mighty shove backward, catching him off guard. Chris stumbled, his hold on Alan broken. Julie tried to scramble back, but Alan was already lunging at her with the knife. She brought her arms up and turned her head, bracing herself.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Alan dropped to the floor, inches away from her, unmoving. She stared at him in shock, not quite sure what had happened. Then blood began running in rivulets across the worn, uneven floor, reaching out from beneath his body like accusing fingers, pointing at her. She stumbled backward, a sob catching in her throat.

A piercing scream echoed through the room. And suddenly she was clasped tightly against Chris’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her. He turned, blocking her view of the body lying on the floor. The screaming stopped, and she was mortified to realize that she was the one who’d been screaming.

“It’s okay.” One of his hands gently rubbed her back as the other cradled her against him. “He can’t hurt you now.”

He can’t hurt me now. He can’t hurt me now. She drew in a shaky breath.

Sirens wailed in the distance. How could there be sirens? She hadn’t called anyone, never had a chance to call when Alan had burst into the house. But her neighbor had come inside. Chris? And he’d...shot... Alan? Yes. Those had been gunshots she’d heard. She shivered again.

“The police are on their way,” he continued, speaking in a low, soothing tone. “I called them when I saw him through the window holding the knife.”

The police. He’d seen Alan threatening her. Wait, wasn’t he the police?

“I don’t... I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What happened? Who are you?”

He gently pushed her back, his hands holding her upper arms. “I’m Christopher Downing, a detective and SWAT officer from the Destiny Police Department. I called for backup before I came in here.” He scanned her from head to toe, as if searching for injuries. “Are you okay? Did he cut you?”

She blinked, her jumbled thoughts starting to come together again. “N-no. I mean, yes, he did. My back. But it’s not—”

He carefully turned her around.

His fingers touched her cuts through her shirt, making them sting. She sucked in a breath.

“Sorry.” He turned her to face him again. “There isn’t much blood. You probably won’t need stitches. Did he hurt you, in any other way?”

She frowned, trying to understand what he meant. Then she got it. He was asking whether she’d been sexually assaulted. Heat crept up her neck.

“No, he didn’t...ah...do...anything else.” She pulled away, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

The sirens had stopped. Red-and-blue lights flashed through the front windows. She was vaguely aware of a door opening, footsteps echoing on the hardwood. Chris guided her to the couch and she sat down, her gaze automatically going to the body on the floor. Deep voices spoke in quiet tones. Another voice, a woman’s, said something in reply.

Blood. There was so much blood. How could one person bleed that much?

She wrapped her arms around her middle.

The couch dipped beside her. A policewoman. She was dressed in black body armor. Bright white letters across the front of her vest read SWAT.

“Hello, Ms. Webb.” The woman’s voice was kind, gentle. “I’m Officer Donna Waters.” She waved her hands at her uniform, the gun strapped at her waist. “Don’t let this gear bother you. We came prepared for a possible hostage situation.” She patted Julie’s hand. “An ambulance is on the way to take you to the hospital to get checked out. But you’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”

The woman’s words seeped slowly into her brain as if through a thick fog. “Hospital? No. No, no, no. I’m not hurt. I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“Ms. Webb?”

The now-familiar masculine voice had her turning her head. Chris Downing, the man who’d risked his own life for her, knelt on the floor, his expression full of compassion and concern.

“We’ll take your statement after you’ve seen a doctor. Is there anyone I can call—”

“Is he dead?”

Her question seemed to startle him, but he quickly smoothed out his expression. “I’m afraid so, yes. Do you want me to—”

She grabbed his hands in hers and stared into his eyes. Could she trust him? Would he tell her the truth?

He frowned. “Ms. Webb—”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive that he’s dead?”

He had to think she was crazy. But she’d been here before. She’d been the woman sitting on the couch while the policeman told her that he was dead. And then he...wasn’t. And then...and then. She shuddered.

“Is he dead?” She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

He exchanged a look with the female officer before answering. “Yes. I’m sorry. Yes, he’s dead.”

She covered her mouth with her hands, desperately trying to keep from falling apart.

He’s dead. Oh, my God. He’s dead.

“Someone will take your official statement after you’ve been checked out at the hospital. But can you tell us anything right now about the man who attacked you? Did you know him?”

“Know him?” A bubble of hysterical laughter burst between her lips. “I married him.”

Chapter Five

Chris exchanged a startled look with Donna as he knelt in front of the couch. His neighbor, Julie Webb, had just announced that the intruder Chris had killed was her husband. And, instead of being angry or crying or...something that made sense, she was rocking back and forth with her arms around her middle, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The rocking wasn’t the part that was odd. What had the hairs standing up on his neck were the words that she kept whispering over and over in response to him telling her that her husband was dead.

“Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Her callous words didn’t seem to match the fragile, lost look in her deep blue eyes, as if she were caught in a nightmare and couldn’t find her way out. He instinctively wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, tell her that everything would be okay. But the words she kept chanting sent a chill up his spine and started alarm bells going off in his suspicious detective’s brain.

If she’d been abused by her husband, which seemed likely given that he’d held a knife on her, Chris could understand her relief that her husband couldn’t hurt her anymore. And he’d seen the fear in her eyes earlier today, which lent more evidence to the abuse theory. But he’d also seen many domestic violence cases, and almost without fail, the abused party would defend her abuser. If a cop tried to arrest the husband, or hurt him while trying to protect the wife, nine times out of ten that wife would immediately leap to the husband’s defense. Julie’s actions were nothing like what he was used to seeing in those cases. The whole situation just seemed...off.

“The chief’s motioning for you.” Donna kept her voice low. “Go on. I’ll sit with her until the ambulance arrives.”

He hesitated, feeling guilty for wanting to jump at her offer. He’d created this mess. He should have to stay and deal with the fallout, including whatever was going on with Julie Webb.

“It’s okay. I’ve got this,” she reassured him. “Go.” She put her hand on Julie’s back, lightly patting it like she would a child. Julie didn’t even seem to notice. She just kept rocking and repeating her obscene prayer.

As if drawn by some invisible force, Chris’s gaze slid to the body of the man who was dead because of him. This wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone in the line of duty. Being on the only SWAT team within a hundred miles of Destiny meant he was often called out to help other small towns or unincorporated areas when violence landed on their doorstep. But every time he’d had to use lethal force, the what-ifs and second-guessing haunted him for a long time afterward. He didn’t expect this one would be any different.

He wished he could put a sheet over the man, afford him some kind of dignity in death. But the uniformed officer standing near the body was his reminder that the scene had to be preserved until the Blount County coroner arrived. And since Destiny shared their coroner with a handful of other rural counties, that could be a while from now. Two more uniformed officers stood near a stack of boxes on the left side of the room, probably to keep Julie and others from contaminating the scene.

“Downing.”

Chief Thornton’s gruff voice had Chris finally standing and turning around. His boss stood just inside the front door, still wearing the khaki shorts and polo shirt that he’d worn to the cookout a few hours earlier.

“Powwow, front lawn. Now.” The chief headed outside.

Chris followed the chief down the porch steps to where three members of the SWAT team who’d also been at the cookout stood waiting. Max, Randy and Colby were dressed in full body armor just like Donna, back inside the house. It occurred to him that they must have raced like a mama sow protecting her piglets to have gotten here so fast. None of them lived close by, except for Dillon, and he was noticeably absent.

“Is Ashley okay?” he asked no one in particular, assuming the worst. He couldn’t imagine his best friend not responding to a call for aid from Chris or any of their fellow officers unless something had happened to Ashley.

“She’s at Blount Memorial in Maryville.” Max held up his hands to stop the anticipated flood of questions. “When your 911 call came in, Dillon and Ashley were halfway to the hospital because she’d started having contractions. I assured him we could handle—”

“It’s too soon,” Chris interrupted, worry making his voice thick. “She’s only seven months along.”

“I know that,” Max said. “Like I was saying, I told Dillon not to worry about you, that we had your back. And, before you ask, I spoke to him a few minutes ago. They were able to stop her labor, but they’ll keep her there for observation overnight, maybe even a few days. But she and the baby are both fine.”

Chris nodded, blowing out a relieved breath.

“You okay?” Max put his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “You look greener than Dillon did when you mentioned fried gizzards.”

“I killed a man. No. I’m not okay.”

Max winced and dropped his hand, immediately making Chris regret his curt reply.

“Tell us what happened,” the chief said, impatience etched on his features. “Take it from the top and don’t leave anything out.”

Chris began reciting the events that had led to the shooting, being as detailed as he could. Since everyone on the SWAT team performed dual roles as detectives in the fifteen-officer police force, they all listened intently, taking notes on their phones or the little pads of paper most of them kept handy.

Dillon was normally lead detective, with Chris as backup. But obviously Chris couldn’t investigate a case where he was a primary participant. He wasn’t sure who would run with this one.

After Chris finished his statement, the chief motioned to Max.

Max pulled a brown paper evidence bag from his rear pocket and awkwardly cleared his throat as he held it open. “Sorry, man. Standard operating procedure. Gotta take your sidearm as evidence.”

Chris knew the drill and had been vaguely surprised that no one had taken his gun the moment they’d arrived. But even after putting his pistol in the bag, the weight of his now-empty holster seemed heavier than before, a reminder of what he’d done, the life he’d taken.

Max closed the bag and stepped back beside Randy. Since Max looked miserable about taking the gun, Chris gave him a reassuring nod to let him know that he understood.

“You said they were arguing when you approached the house,” the chief said. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

He replayed the moment when he was crouching by the window, trying to remember what he’d heard.

“Seems like they both said something about ‘keys,’ or maybe it was ‘please.’ I definitely heard the man mention a gun. But he was holding a knife, so that doesn’t seem right.” He shrugged. “I was too far away to hear them clearly. I was more focused on what he was doing with the butcher knife and how to get it away from him.”

The low wail of a siren filled the air as an ambulance turned down the road and headed toward them.

“About time,” the chief said. “I was thinking we’d have to wake up Doc Brookes if it took any longer.”

Chris couldn’t help smiling. Even though it was only a few hours past sundown, it was probably Doc Brookes’s bedtime. The town’s only doctor was getting up there in years. And he made sure everyone knew not to bother him after hours unless there was arterial bleeding involved or a bone sticking out. Unfortunately, with the only hospital nearly forty-five minutes from Destiny, ornery Brookes was who they were stuck with most of the time.

“I’d better move my truck,” Max said.

“Ah, shoot,” Colby said. His truck’s front bumper was partly blocking the end of the driveway. “Me, too.”

They hurried to their vehicles to make room before the ambulance reached the house.

“Chief, got a second?” Chris asked.

Thornton looked pointedly at Randy, who took the unsubtle hint and awkwardly pounded Chris on the back before heading toward the house.

As soon as Randy was out of earshot, the chief held up his hand to stop Chris from saying anything.

“I know we still have to process the scene, and get the coroner out here, perform due diligence and all that. But honestly, son, it looks like a clean shoot to me. I can tell it’s eating you up inside, but you need to let that go. You saved a life tonight. That’s what you should focus on.”

They moved farther into the grass while the ambulance pulled into the driveway. The EMTs hopped out of the vehicle and grabbed their gear.

“I appreciate that, Chief,” Chris said. “I feel like hell for taking a life. But I know I did what I had to do. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Colby and Max jogged up the driveway, having parked their trucks farther down the road. They started toward Chris and the chief, but a stern look from Thornton had them heading toward the house, instead, and following the EMTs inside.

Still, Chris hesitated. Putting his concerns into words was proving harder than he’d expected.

“Well, go on, son. Spit out whatever’s bothering you. The skeeters are eatin’ me alive out here.”

As if to demonstrate what he’d said, the chief smacked his arm, leaving a red smear where a mosquito had been making a buffet out of him. He wiped his arm on his shorts, grimacing at the stain he’d left behind, before giving Chris an impatient look. “Well?”

“It’s Mrs. Webb,” Chris said. “The thing is, after the shooting, she asked me whether the guy I’d shot was dead. No, what she asked was whether I was sure, as if she thought I was playing a cruel joke on her, as if she wanted him to be dead. The guy is, was, her husband. And it seemed like she was...relieved...that I’d killed him.”

“Well, he did hold a knife on her. Makes sense she’d be happy to be alive and that she didn’t have to worry about him attacking her again.”

Chris scrubbed his face and then looked down the dark road, lit only by the occasional firefly. Crickets and bullfrogs competed with one another in their nightly symphony. All in all, everything seemed so normal. And, yet, nothing was the same.

“You think there’s more to it than that, don’t you?” The chief was studying him intently. “Why?”

“Because she didn’t ask me just once whether he was dead. She asked several times. And it was more the way she asked it that spooked me. You know how it is. If there’s a domestic dispute, a husband beating his wife or trying to kill her, we cops intervene and suddenly we’re the bad guys. Happens almost every time. But I shoot Mrs. Webb’s husband and she starts praying out loud, thanking God. I don’t know about you, but that’s a first for me.”

Thornton was quiet for a long moment, leaving Chris to wallow in his own thoughts, to wonder if saying anything was the right thing to do. He hated the unflattering picture that he’d just painted of Julie Webb. It didn’t seem right, as if he was spreading rumors, gossiping—something his father would have rewarded with an extra long switch applied liberally to his hide. But this wasn’t high school. This was the real world, a death investigation, where actions and words had consequences. They mattered. And he couldn’t ignore something just because it was uncomfortable.

“How did she seem before all of this?” Thornton finally asked. “If her husband had a history of violence against her, she might have joined a support group and got the help she needed to cut all ties. Maybe she moved here to escape him, thought she was safe. But he figured out where she was, came after her. Seems to me that’d make her mighty grateful that he’s never going to hurt her again.”

“Maybe.” He wanted to believe that was it. But even he could hear the doubt in his voice. He shrugged. “Hard to say what her state of mind was prior to this incident. She kept to herself, didn’t even wave. I did get the feeling earlier today, when I saw her on her porch, that she was afraid of...something. And that was before her husband showed up.”

“There, see? It’s like I said. Her behavior could very well make sense, given those circumstances. And she’s lucky you were close by to save her.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Lucky for both of us.”

The chief gave him a knowing look. And it dawned on Chris that Thornton might know firsthand how he felt. Chris had joined the force right out of college, thirteen years ago. But Thornton was already chief by then. There was no telling what horrors he might have faced as a young beat cop, or even in his detective days, what burdens he might have accumulated like an invisible weight that no one else could see. All Chris knew for sure was what he felt, which was all kinds of uneasy about this whole thing.

It was bad enough that he’d taken a life. Even worse if there was something else going on here. The “something else” that kept running through his mind was so prejudicial against Julie Webb that he couldn’t voice it to the chief, not without proof, something concrete. All he had was a disturbing series of impressions that had begun to take root in his mind from the moment he’d seen her reaction to the shooting.