Missing Pieces(28)

In the near distance Sarah heard the wail of sirens. “They’re here,” Sarah said as she turned from the window and hurried out from behind the shrubs, her shirt catching on the sharp branches.

“I’m going to hang up now, Sarah,” Margaret explained. “Call me if you need anything, you hear? You’ve got my number.”

“I will, thank you,” Sarah said gratefully as a sheriff’s vehicle turned the corner and came to a stop in front of the house. By now, most of the neighbors were outside and standing together in small clusters, with arms crossed and wearing worried expressions.

A young sheriff’s deputy leaped from the car. “Where is she?” he asked.

“Inside,” Sarah said, and pointed to the front door. “It’s locked. We can see her through the window, but she won’t wake up.” She wished he would hurry up and get inside.

The deputy, thickly built with a short marine haircut, tried the doorknob. “I’ll have to force my way in.”

“Where’s the ambulance?” Sarah asked. “Margaret said that an ambulance was coming.”

“It’s on its way,” he promised. “Now stand back.” Sarah and Cora stepped aside as the deputy gave the door a tentative shove, causing it to shudder on its hinges. He planted his feet and brought his hands in front of him, then threw his shoulder into the door. It swung open with such force that it bounced off the interior wall and flew back toward the deputy, who put out a protective hand to stop it from striking him in the face. The sound of another siren filled the air. The ambulance was near.

In seconds they were inside the house and Sarah was immediately assaulted with the unmistakable smell of vomit. The deputy pulled away the blanket to reveal Amy’s still form. She was lying on her back, her face turned and pressed against the couch cushions, which were soaked in vomit. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. One arm was tucked beneath her body, the other dangled limply at her side, her knuckles grazing the floor.

“Is she breathing?” Sarah asked.

The deputy placed two fingers against the nape of Amy’s neck. “I think I found a pulse.”

“Oh, thank God,” Sarah said with relief.

The EMTs rushed into the room, and Sarah and Cora stepped aside so they could attend to Amy. The deputy canvassed the room. It looked as if Amy had been packing up her meager possessions. Dean had mentioned that she had recently lost her job. Maybe as a result Amy had lost her home, as well. A jumble of boxes filled with DVDs, books, magazines and knickknacks sat in a corner.

“Looks like it could have been an overdose,” the deputy observed, picking up the empty prescription bottle from the coffee table. “Diazepam. Valium,” he clarified. “Do you know any reason why she would want to hurt herself?”

Sarah didn’t know where to begin. Amy had just lost her aunt, possibly to murder. She was jobless and according to her cousin, a drug addict. And, Sarah thought, on top of it all, Amy’s mother had been murdered by her father. It was easy to see how all these could contribute to a suicide attempt. “I’m not sure,” Sarah finally said. “I think you’ll need to talk to her family.”

The deputy narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought you were family.”

“I am,” Sarah blustered. “Technically. But Amy’s my sister-in-law.” The deputy had already started to move away from her, his attention on Cora, who was bending over, staring intently into one of the boxes piled in the corner.

“Ma’am, is everything okay?” he asked.

Cora looked up at them with a puzzled expression. “I think it’s blood,” she said, pointing toward the box. “And maybe hair.”

Sarah and the deputy joined Cora to see what she had found.

“She’s coming around,” said one of the EMTs. “She’s waking up.”

Sarah turned from the box toward Amy, but the EMTs were surrounding her in tight formation, making it impossible for Sarah to see Amy’s face.

She turned back toward the box, where she discovered a plastic grocery bag, whose edges were speckled with what appeared to be dried blood. Inside the bag was some kind of tool. A metal hook with a short shank attached to a wormwood handle.

“Don’t touch anything,” the deputy ordered.

“What is it?” Sarah asked, her stomach flipping dangerously. The smell of vomit mixed with cigarette smoke and the perspiration of many gathered in a small space left her feeling vaguely nauseated.

“What the hell?” came a slurred, groggy voice. Sarah turned. Amy slid her legs from the sofa and sat upright, swaying unsteadily as she got her bearings. Eyes half-closed and unfocused, she swatted ineffectually at the EMT who was trying to take her blood pressure. “Get off me,” she said, pulling at the Velcro cuff on her arm.

“Ma’am, stay seated,” the EMT ordered. “We need to make sure you’re okay.”

“Amy,” Sarah began, “you weren’t answering your phone. I came here to check on you and found you unconscious. We got scared and called an ambulance.”

“You let them in?” Amy abruptly stood, then wobbled, grabbing on to the nearest EMT to steady herself. She glanced at the front door, which was wide-open and hanging from one hinge. “You had no right,” she said with indignation. “You can’t just break into someone’s house.”