Witness in the Dark (Love Under Fire #1)(3)

She told him how she’d heard a noise, and had seen a woman being dragged out of a black car. Then the part where she heard the gunshots and the woman stopped moving. Once she was able to speak, she couldn’t seem to stop. Every detail of what happened came rushing out of her.

She explained how the gun sounded. How it didn’t make loud cracks, but airy, whizzing sounds.

“A silencer, most likely,” the detective said. Which also explained why it had looked so long as he’d put it back in his coat. “So, you saw him?”

“What?” She blinked in confusion.

“You saw him put the gun back in his coat. You know his suit coat was black. You saw him.”

All the details seemed to float out into the ether, leaving her with nothing. Of course she’d seen him. She must have. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to draw up the image of the man, but all she could see was the gun as he tucked it inside his coat. She shook her head and tried again.

She must have seen his face. Why wouldn’t her brain work?

“All I can remember is the gun. I’m not sure if I saw his face. I was too focused on the girl and the size of the gun. I’m so sorry,” she said.

Fear and guilt washed over her and she rubbed her temples. She hadn’t been able to stop this woman, Heather Riddell, from being killed, and now her faulty brain was going to fail her in death.

“It’s okay,” said Richards. “Don’t try too hard with his face. Let’s back up. You said his suit was black?”

She understood this tactic. She had taken psychology in college. Asking too many questions too quickly made a person shut down. She tried not to shut down. She needed to be strong so she could help find the man and bring him to justice for what he’d done. For Heather.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure. It was dark.”

“Do you remember his size? Think about the suit. Was he broad across the shoulders? Thin? Tall?”

She thought about it. “Tall. He seemed to tower over her as he pointed the gun. I don’t remember if he was thin, but he wasn’t fat. He must have been strong. He pulled her out of the car with one hand.”

“Let’s talk about the car. What kind of car was it?”

“Black.”

“Black?” he repeated, as if he expected her to change her mind.

A black suit, a black car in a black alley. She could maybe see why he was skeptical.

“It was definitely black. With chrome door handles. A sedan.”

“License plate?” the detective asked hopefully.

“No. I couldn’t see the back of the car. The dumpster was blocking it. I could only see the front passenger side.”

“Okay.”

She frowned. She was being no help at all. “I’m sorry, I’m trying.” She glanced up at the clock above his head. It was nearly eleven. It felt like it could have been eleven the next morning.

“It’s okay. You’re doing an excellent job,” the detective reassured her.

She wasn’t doing an excellent job. She’d remembered all the unimportant things like the sound the gun made and how long it was, but she couldn’t remember what the man looked like or the license plate number. She was useless.

Just then, Nikki burst into the room.

“Sam! Are you all right? Anthony told me what happened. I had to get someone to give me a ride. Are you okay?”

Nikki didn’t stop the questions long enough for Sam to answer.

“You look like hell,” Nikki said, and turned to the detective. “Can she go home now? Look at her. She’s exhausted.”

“I have a few more questions, then you may go.”

Nik nodded and took the seat next to her while Anthony hovered by the door. “Do you have her? I was going to head out,” Anthony said as he handed Nikki Sam’s phone.

“Yes. Thanks for calling me.”

Detective Richards asked his other questions, most of which Sam couldn’t answer.

When he finished, he stood. “Usually, when we find a dead girl in an alley, she’s a prostitute. But we haven’t come up with a rap sheet for Heather Riddell, and she wasn’t dressed like a hooker. Plus, the fancy car and the silencer lead me to believe this was more than a john who couldn’t come up with the money after the fun was over.”

His bluntness should have bothered Sam, but she was so tired she probably wouldn’t have understood if he’d tried to sugarcoat it.

“I’ll have an officer drive you to your car so you can go home and get some rest. Tomorrow you can come in and look through the mug books. Maybe something will jog your memory.”

She nodded, hoping he was right.

Nikki helped her up. She felt stiff from sitting so long. Detective Richards called for a patrol car to take her to the pizza shop where her car was parked. She and Nikki sat silently in the backseat like they were guilty of something.

Sam was guilty.

She should have thought more quickly. She should have used her phone to get a photo of the man or the license plate, but she’d panicked and blown it.

As she stared out the window, berating herself, a Metrobus came up next to them at a stoplight. She just about threw up. The man in the photo on the side of the bus…

Oh my God.

He was the killer.