Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4)

I looked back.

“Call me when you can. And for God’s sake, be careful.”

Nina couldn’t have said anything more perfect.

I blew her a kiss and stepped out into the rain.

13

I took Selby Avenue to Dale Street to 1-94 to Highway 280 to 1-35W to Highway 10 to Anoka County Road 47, driving at speeds that invited disaster. A hard, slanting, remorseless rain, driven on by a steady wind, continued to fall from the northwest, and I drove straight into it. Water cascaded in sheets down the windshield, the wipers barely keeping up. Often I was forced to reduce my speed to as little as 20 mph. Light shimmered on my windows; the red taillights of the vehicles in front of me softened to pink smudges, and oncoming traffic seemed like a mirage. Gutters were clogged. Storm sewers backed up and overflowed, creating virtual ponds on the streets. All of it seemed designed to slow me down.

It took a long time before I could find Debbie Miller’s apartment building in Coon Rapids—I passed it twice—and the delay tied painful knots in my stomach. Finally, I turned into the parking lot, splashing water that had pooled at a sewer grate. I found an empty spot at the end of a long line of cars and stopped. It was very dark beyond the ragged blur of light coming from the building’s foyer. There were no people anywhere, no dogs—why would there be? I made a run for it, the heavy rain making noisy little thuds on my shoulders and bare head. I attempted to vault a puddle and failed. Water drowned my shoes and soaked the bottoms of my jeans. I reached the doorway and entered the foyer. There was no security system, no locked doors to get past. I checked the mailboxes for Debbie’s apartment number, found it, and bounded up the stairs to the second floor. Debbie Miller’s apartment was at the end of the corridor. The door was open.

I pulled my Beretta from its holster and thumbed off the safety.

Debbie was sitting in a chair, hunched forward, one hand clutching her stomach, the other supporting her head. She was swaying slightly from side to side, and her breath came in labored, sobbing gasps. The sight of her sent a shiver through me. Yet I didn’t rush to her side. I had been too well trained for that. Instead, I quickly searched the apartment, the nine-millimeter leading the way, checking all rooms and closets. The place was surprisingly neat. Except for the tiny bloodstains that he had splattered on the arms and cushions of Debbie’s chair, Nye had done his work without muss or fuss.

After I assured myself that we were alone, I went to Debbie and knelt next to the chair.

“I’m here,” I said.

“I can’t stop crying,” Debbie managed to sputter.

I didn’t blame her. Debbie’s eyes were red and bruised. Her nose was broken, and her nostrils were caked with blood—she made sucking noises trying to breathe through it. There was a gaping hole in her mouth where two teeth had been. The right side of her jaw was swollen and discolored. The body I had admired only hours earlier now seemed frail and brittle. The way Debbie clutched her stomach, I knew some serious damage had been done there.

Debbie’s voice was a hoarse whisper, and she spoke so low that I could barely hear her over the wind and rain that rattled the apartment windows.

“He hurt me,” Debbie said. “He hurt me.” Then, “He made me ashamed.”

Her sobbing ceased, replaced with a quiet agony. I hugged her shoulder. I wanted to touch her in a way that would make all the pain and suffering disappear, but I didn’t know how. Better not to try. Vulnerability, my inner voice told me, is the curse of all those who care.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” I said, although in this weather I wouldn’t have wanted to make book on how long it would take to arrive. The plan was nixed anyway.

“Take me . . . hospital,” Debbie begged.

“Yes.”

As I helped Debbie to her feet, the phone rang. We both swung toward the sound, as startled as if it had been a gunshot.

“It’s him, it’s him,” Debbie muttered through cracked and torn lips.

“Good,” I told her. “That means he’s not here.”

I lifted her in my arms. The phone was still ringing when I carried Debbie across the threshold like a bride, hooking the apartment door closed behind us with my wet shoe.