He immediately saw his assailant, who was wearing black clothes and a black ski mask and holding a leather belt in his hands. Though the face wasn’t visible, the frame suggested a male. Garland took a step toward the man, who held his hand up to block the light and lurched forward. They collided hard but the other man’s weight advantage sent Garland sprawling back into the dresser. His bifocals flew off. He felt the dresser’s wood edges slam into his back and grunted.
He tried to ignore it and focus on the figure, who was still coming at him fast. As the man rushed forward, Garland swung his flashlight upward, making solid contact with the spot just below the attacker’s left rib cage. The man inhaled sharply as he doubled over, allowing Garland to shove him to the ground.
He stepped around the man and dashed toward to the bedroom door. Even at this short distance away, it looked blurry without his glasses. About three steps from the hallway, he felt a hand grab hold of his right ankle and tug, making him lose his footing and fall to the floor. As he did, he heard a crack and a searing pain cut through his right hip. He cried out despite himself.
Garland tried to ignore the burning sensation. He wanted to roll over so he wouldn’t be in such a vulnerable position but his body wasn’t complying. Instead he did the only thing he could think of. He tried to crawl out of the room. The agony made his eyes water but he dragged himself along anyway. That’s when he felt the weight of the other man climbing on top of his waist.
The physical distress was unbearable as waves of pain radiated out from his hip. But that was nothing compared to the clenching grip of fear he felt envelop his entire body. There was a man on top of him holding a belt and there was nothing he could physically do about it.
He had the briefest flash of recognition, aware that he was going through the same moment of terror that so many victims he’d seen had experienced. Then, deciding he would not join their ranks, he stopped struggling to escape and instead pressed his forehead into the carpet as he pulled his fists up to his neck to preemptively protect it.
A moment later, he felt the belt swing over his head, felt the man try to wrench it between his forehead and the carpet to get it around his neck. The yanking motion tore some of the skin off his forehead as it ripped downward. Ignoring it, Garland opened his balled up fists and grabbed the belt so the backs of his palms created a barrier between the belt and his throat.
The man on top of him didn’t seem to care. He pulled up hard so that Garland’s own knuckles were squeezing into his Adam’s apple, making him gasp for air. The smell of his own latex gloves filled his nostrils. He took a big gulp and tried to hold the belt off while he thought of something he could do.
He looked around desperately. Everything looked indistinct. Still, there had to be something nearby he could grab or some maneuver he could try. There had to be some way to outwit his attacker. Forty-five years of stopping killers couldn’t end this way.
But there was nothing—nothing to grab, no way to shout. He was stuck. He was going to die on this carpet in this house, just yards from people waiting for their pets to do their business so they could settle in for the night. He was out of options.
But as his breathing became labored and his thoughts grew fuzzy, he realized that wasn’t quite true. He might not live through this but at least he could provide a clue as to who did it. Detective Ryan Hernandez would surely investigate his death. And if he did, he would consult with Jessie Hunt. If Garland could provide any clue as to who had done this, Jessie might uncover it. If anyone could, it was her.
So he resolved to do the only thing he could think of. He pressed his body downward toward the carpet as forcefully as he could, pulling hard away from the man above him. Then, when he felt the man pulling his hardest, he stopped fighting and allowed himself to be yanked upward, throwing his head back aggressively.
He had been hoping to make contact with the man’s face, to leave a visible bruise. Instead he felt the back of his skull slam into something hard but less prominent. He heard a crack. The man yelped and released his grip slightly. Garland guessed that it was the man’s clavicle.
For a fraction of a second he was tempted to try to wriggle free, but knew that would be fruitless. The other man still had the advantage. Instead, he used the brief respite to take another gulp of air and slam his head back again. The scream from the man told him he’d once again hit the target.
But then the man seemed to find a new reserve of strength and fury. Garland felt the belt squeeze tighter than before and found that he could no longer make fists to grab it. He could actually feel the blood pumping through his carotid artery as it pressed against the back of his hand. Another violent tug crushed his trachea and he heard himself rasping softly.
All of a sudden, he noticed that the pain in his hip, back, hands, and throat was subsiding. He wondered what could be causing it. And then, with his last coherent thought, it occurred to him: he was losing consciousness for what would be the final time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jessie sat bolt upright in bed.
The sound of Ryan’s ringing phone had ripped her from the best night of sleep she’d had in weeks. She recognized the ring tone immediately. It was Captain Decker. She glanced over at her bedside clock. It was 2:46 a.m. For the captain of their station to call at this hour, it had to be something serious.
“Hello,” Ryan mumbled after fumbling with the phone for several seconds.
Jessie could hear Decker’s voice but he was speaking more quietly than usual and she couldn’t make out any words. She did notice Ryan’s body visibly stiffen.
“Okay,” he said quietly as he turned on the light and sat up in bed.
Decker continued talking for another half minute while Ryan listened, never interrupting.
“I will,” he finally said, before hanging up.
“What is it?” Jessie asked.
Ryan got up and rolled out of bed, his body facing away from her as he pulled on his pants.
“There’s been another murder in Manhattan Beach,” he said quietly, “in the same house as the previous killing actually. Decker wants me there now.”
There was something in his voice she found unsettling, though she couldn’t place what it was. He seemed to be struggling to keep his composure.
“What’s going on, Ryan?’ she demanded. “You’re acting funny.”
He looked over at her and she thought his eyes looked watery. He looked like he was about to reveal something, but then his expression changed and she knew he’d changed his mind.
“I’m just out of sorts, I guess. I didn’t expect to be woken up in the middle of the night with this kind of news. It’s not what I was hoping for.”
She still felt like he was holding back but decided not to press.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Thanks, but no. You should try to go back to sleep. The best thing you can do right now is take care of yourself.”
“Okay,” she said before asking, “Is Garland meeting you there?”
Ryan took a big glug of water from the bedside table before answering her.
“He’s already there,” he said, standing up.
“Pretty impressive for an old dude,” she noted, unable to hide the astonishment in her voice. “That guy is full of surprises.”