I gave him Ned and Celeste’s address and phone number in Cottonwood. I replaced the handset in the cradle, feeling the tension seep out of me. It was a relief to turn the whole issue of Ned Lowe over to law enforcement. I’d pursued the matter as far as I could, and now that I knew about the two missing girls, it was clear I was out of my element. Dietz had sworn he’d keep me posted, but I didn’t expect news anytime soon. In the meantime, I was hoping for a way to distract myself. I pulled out two sheets of typing paper and a fresh sheet of carbon paper and rolled them into the carriage, pausing to think about how to frame the information I’d just been given.
I heard the office door open and close. I looked up, but no one appeared in the doorway. I waited briefly and then got up from my desk and crossed the room, peering out into the reception area. I looked to my right just as Ned Lowe grabbed me and locked his arm around my neck. He leaned back and lifted me almost off my feet and then flipped me so that I came down hard. I might have grunted as I hit the carpet, but that was the only sound I made. I was astonished to find myself facedown, staring at the floor from a distance of less than an inch. My cheek was pressed hard against the rug, which bit into my skin more viciously than you’d imagine. The takedown had been so quick, I could scarcely comprehend what was happening. I had that odd sensation at the bridge of my nose that denotes a hard blow. No blood gushed out, so my guess was the cartilage was intact. He had his knee in the middle of my back and he grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head up far enough to get one hand on my face. He pinched my nose shut, that same warm hand covering my mouth. I thought, Oh shit. I knew what this was. This was how Lenore died.
In the brief moment as I went down, I’d noted the absurdity of my situation. It was broad daylight. My office was wired, equipped with a panel where an emergency button would signal my distress and bring help in short order. The problem was while I could move my feet, I couldn’t lift my hips or legs and I couldn’t buck or turn my lower body. The small effort I made was futile and only burned oxygen I needed to conserve.
I converted any thought of resistance to a simple resolve to breathe. Fewer than ten seconds had passed, but his weight prevented me from drawing a breath and the panic was overwhelming. Compressive asphyxia had limited the expansion of my lungs to the point of suffocation. This crushing phenomena was precisely what I’d been avoiding by never jacking up my car and sliding under it to make homely repairs. The nose pinch and the palm pressed hard against my mouth formed a seal. My attention was most wonderfully concentrated on the need for air. Often in moments of physical jeopardy, I’m entertained by the incongruities of time and place. Once when I was bleeding on a stretch of office carpeting, thinking soon I’d be shot to death, I wondered idly what unlucky soul would be hired to clean up the mess. With blood, cold water is always preferable to hot because heat cooks the protein content, causing it to set. You don’t want blood to dry, either, because you’ll only compound the staining issue. Never seal your bloody evidence in a plastic bag. In short order, it will putrefy and will be worthless in court.
I wasn’t concerned with any of the above just then. Oxygen deprivation is a speedy means of leaving this earth. I figured three minutes tops—unconsciousness followed by crippling brain damage followed by death. The pain in my lungs was searing, the need for air so acute that I nearly gave myself up to it. I could not make a sound. No air passed in or out of me, and the carbon dioxide in my system built so rapidly that I felt like I was being consumed from within. The hand was warm and fleshy, and if he’d been doing anything other than killing me, I might have appreciated his strength. All the times I worked late, the nights I’d stopped off at the market on my way home, times I’d found myself on empty streets in the dark. I’d always felt safe. I’d thought I was prepared.
Straining for air was pointless. I lay still, trying to signal submission. Did he know he was killing me? Of course he did! That was the point. My heart hammered and my blood pressure soared as my systems labored to feed my brain the oxygen required to continue functioning. Heat radiated through my chest and spread along my arms.