And she saw her. Joan was walking back toward the house at a leisurely pace. She was still holding the gun at her side. She’d simply turned her back on the bloody, awful scene that had blown up in her own backyard. All because of the gunshots she’d fired.
But in Claire’s opinion, Joan had shot Peter in self-defense. Those shots had saved her life and probably Claire’s, too. She must be in shock. That was understandable. But now that a man’s life was on the line, Joan had to snap out of it.
Claire yelled, “Joan! Call an ambulance!”
“Okay,” said Joan. But she didn’t quicken her pace. She just continued to stroll up the soft, grassy lawns toward the house.
“Joan, they don’t call this a matter of life and death for no reason! If you don’t hurry up, Peter could actually die!”
Joan turned and seemed to give Claire’s words some thought. Then she shrugged her shoulders and said, “There’s a landline in the pool house.”
“Make the call,” Claire said. “Damn it, Joan! Run!”
Claire’s mind was reeling. She obviously couldn’t count on Joan to do what needed to be done, and she didn’t know if she could count on Robert to help her, either. Claire was surrounded by eccentrics when she needed an ambulance filled with professionals and a platoon of cops.
She went back to Robert and Peter. Robert had completely lost his cool. As far as Claire could tell, he wasn’t acting. Clearly, he cared a lot about the man in his arms—and that man was currently pale, sweaty, and losing consciousness. She told Robert, “Joan is calling an ambulance.” Honestly, she couldn’t be confident that Joan had listened to her, but she hoped the news would calm Robert down.
Claire walked toward the street and looked out over a grassy hillock and the stone staircase that led toward the drive, the gates, and the street.
She was completely unprepared to see a woman’s body sprawled out on the stairs, her head facing toward the bottom.
Oh, my God. Peter had killed someone.
Of course. She and Joan had heard shots at breakfast, and they had been fatal. Claire ran toward the body, and once she got closer, her heart almost stopped.
It couldn’t be true, but it was.
The woman on the steps had a blond mop of curls and her entire outfit was baby blue. It was Cindy.
And she was lying motionless on the ground.
Please. Don’t let her be dead.
Chapter 27
Claire knelt down beside her friend. There was blood at Cindy’s temple. A head wound. But Claire could see the gentle rise and fall of Cindy’s chest. Her friend was still breathing.
Claire felt her pulse. It was strong. Thank you, Lord.
“Cindy, can you hear me? It’s me, Claire.”
She gently turned Cindy’s head and looked for the source of the blood. She was covered in it. It was running from her temple, down her neck, and into her sweater. Had Cindy been shot in the head?
But then Claire found it. Four inches behind the temple, at the back of her head, was a bloody gash. Not a hole. Claire parted Cindy’s hair and saw that the laceration looked like it had been caused by Cindy’s fall. She must have hit her head on the edge of a stone tread.
Claire put her hands on Cindy’s shoulders.
“Cindy. It’s Claire. Can you hear me?”
Cindy groaned and Claire said, “Thank you, God.”
“Claire? What happened?”
“Put your arms around my neck.”
Cindy reached up, and Claire helped her friend into a more comfortable position. She sat her on a step, and leaned her back against the edge of the wall.
“How do you feel?”
“My head hurts. And I think I twisted my ankle.”
“Aw, Cindy. I’m here. I’m here.” Claire patted her friend’s back.
Claire saw Cindy’s handbag below the steps, lying on the grass. She ran down to get it, opened the hobo bag, and poured out the contents. She pawed through the litter of purse junk until she found it.
Cindy’s cell phone. She checked the battery. The phone was charged.
Next, she dialed the radio room at the Hall and let out a breath of relief when she got the voice of dispatcher May Hess. May knew every cop in the Southern Station. And she knew everyone in the ME’s office, as well. Claire was in good hands.
“May, this is Claire Washburn and I’m reporting an emergency. I need an ambulance pronto to 420 El Camino Del Mar. We’ve got a man bleeding out from multiple gunshots. And we have another victim here with a head injury. When I say pronto, I mean it. Get everyone moving at the speed of light.”
When she clicked off with dispatch, Claire called Richie, cursing silently when the call went to voice mail. “Rich, I’m at Joan Murphy’s house. Cindy is here. She’s taken a fall and is a little shaken up, but she’s going to be okay.
“Also, Rich, the pool boy who goes by the name of Peter was about to fire on Joan but she shot him first. Twice.
“An ambulance is on the way. Listen, Rich, I think Robert Murphy might be involved with Peter. And it seems that Peter may have knowledge of the Warwick Hotel shooting. He might tell you what he knows. But on the other hand, there’s a good chance he might die. And soon.”
Chapter 28
Claire listened for the sound of sirens.
Only four minutes had passed since she’d called dispatch, but each minute was critical. She needed to get Peter into emergency care alive.
Robert was still cradling Peter’s head in his lap. He was also holding his hand, stroking his hair, and telling him that he would be fine. But as the soothing words left his mouth, Robert shot a questioning look at Claire, looking for verification that Peter would survive.
She nodded but couldn’t fully commit to her answer. The man’s shorts were soaked with blood. Despite the tourniquet, Peter was hemorrhaging. He could very easily bleed out if help didn’t arrive soon.
“The ambulance will be here in a minute. I’ll be right over there with the other victim.”
She walked back to the staircase where Cindy was reclining against the stone wall, breathing normally. Her bleeding had stopped. Thank goodness.
Claire wrapped her in a big, comforting hug, saying, “Richie is on his way.”
Cindy smiled and said, “Oh, good.” But then her face crumpled and she started to cry. Claire hugged her friend more tightly and then pulled back to look into her face. Cindy’s sobs had turned into laughter that was now verging on hysteria.
“What’s going on, Cindy?”
“I’m just overwhelmed,” Cindy admitted. “What if you hadn’t found me here? Who knows what would have happened to me.”
“I know, Cindy, I know,” Claire murmured, patting Cindy’s back some more.
But then Cindy shook her head and put on her tough face. She wiped her tears and said, “How is it that I missed all the action? Can you tell me that?”
“You’re alive, dummy,” Claire said. “Could you just be happy that you’re alive?”
Their playful exchange was interrupted by a woman’s voice that said, “Claire?”
It was Joan. She was walking down the steps, looking cute and unconcerned. It was almost as if she had a new role in a movie and had just walked out onto the set, thinking she could wing her lines.
“Wait, is that Cindy next to you?” she asked.