EMTs, she saw Detective Neil Chasen coming toward her. He was a big man, tall and muscular, with skin so dark it almost looked black. She smiled at him.
“Rachel, how’s your head?”
She made a wry face. “Hurts.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Neil sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ll get this over with as quickly as possible. I need to ask you some questions about the person who attacked you.”
She nodded gingerly. Every movement of her head increased the throbbing. She much preferred the intense but quickly gone burning of the medication to the persistent headache she had now.
“Take me through what happened,” Neil said. “Start with when you got home.”
“I stopped at the grocery after work, so I got home about six. I put the groceries away, and decided to lie down for a few minutes.” She paused, debating whether to tell Neil she was pregnant. She decided it wasn’t relevant. “I don’t think I went to sleep. I heard a crash, like wood splintering, then I heard the front door swing open and hit the wall. It squeaks. So I knew someone had broken in.”
“Do you know what time that was?”
“No.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. It read 7:15. “Maybe 6:15 or so?”
“Okay.” Neil was scribbling in his notebook. “Go ahead.”
“I grabbed my keys and ran for the back door, but before I could get there, he grabbed me from behind and hit me on the head.”
“When you say grabbed—”
She closed her eyes, trying to relive the terrifying feeling of his hand stopping her. “I think he caught the back of my shirt.”
“Where’s the wound? Can I look at it?”
“Sure.” She turned her head and pulled the hair away so he could see the cut.
“It’s on the left side.” Neil sat back down and wrote some more. “He must have grabbed you with his right hand and swung the weapon with his left.” Neil acted out his theory. “Maybe a lefty. Then what?”
“I guess it stunned me. I fell. I remember hearing him throwing things around and cursing.”
“Are you sure it was a man?”
She nodded. “I could tell by his voice, and—and aftershave or cologne. He smelled like a man.”
“Good. Could you identify the aftershave?”
“No.”
“Did he—touch you again, or talk to you?”
Rachel shuddered at the implications of Neil’s words. “I was afraid to move. I wanted him to think I was still unconscious. He threw something—or kicked something, cursed loudly and slammed the front door.” She took a breath. “I didn’t know whether he’d left or not, so I still didn’t move.”
“Okay. When did you move?”
“I heard someone come in. I could hear their footsteps. Then I heard—I heard Ash’s voice.” Rachel’s eyes filled with tears and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. “I’m sorry, Neil. I was just so scared. I thought the man had come back.”
Neil nodded.
“But it was Ash—” She sniffed.
Neil dug in his pocket and handed her a neatly folded handkerchief. “Have you had a chance to look around? Is anything missing?”
She shook her head and handed back his handkerchief. “I haven’t looked.”
“Why don’t we look now?”
Rachel let Neil take her hand and help her up. They went through the rooms. The man had trashed each one, but for all the disarray, Rachel couldn’t tell that anything was missing. Not even her jewelry, which was scattered across the top of her dresser.
“What about papers, case files, anything to do with a case you’re working on?”
“I don’t bring anything home that has to do with a specific case,” she muttered, grimacing at the stinging pain from the head wound.
“Nothing?” Neil asked. “Not even a laptop or PDA?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. We have to sign out case files. I’ve never signed one out. If I have to work late, I stay at the office.”
“Does everyone know that? Is it possible that someone might break in here thinking you’ve got files at home?”
“I’m sure it’s possible. You think that’s why he broke in? Why he didn’t steal anything? I thought he was just a burglar who probably didn’t know anyone was home.”
Rachel didn’t want to think about the possibility that the intruder might have targeted her. She worked on sensitive cases, identified dangerous criminals. So she was very happy that her job was insulated from direct contact with criminals and victims.
She knew a lot about police procedure and handling dangerous situations from her dad. He’d taught her how to shoot and clean a gun. She even had a carry permit. Then her dad had been killed when he’d answered a call about a domestic dispute.
After he had died, Rachel, who’d almost let him talk her into going to the police academy despite her mother’s opposition, went back to graduate school and got her Ph.D. in Molecular Biology.
“Could be.”
“What?” Rachel blinked. She’d drifted off into thought. She pressed her fingers against the skin near the cut.
Neil was still talking. “I’ll need a list of your current cases. Is there one that stands out? That might be particularly controversial?”
Rachel bit her lip. Of course there was. The Christmas Eve Murders. Could the man who had assaulted her have been looking for information about Rick Campbell’s DNA? She glanced over at Ash, who was talking to one of the EMTs. She wasn’t supposed to know whose DNA it was. And neither was Ash. She tried to corral her thoughts so she could answer Neil.
“I work a lot with cold cases, where DNA is analyzed or reanalyzed. Those files are usually sanitized.” That was true, as far as it went. She hoped Neil would take the cue and request those official files rather than asking her anything else about them. She knew Neil would find the Christmas Eve Murders in with the rest of her recent cases, but she didn’t want to call attention to it. Let him be the one to bring it up.
“Okay.” Neil pocketed his notebook and stood. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions later, but that’s it for now.” He smiled and shook her hand. “Have you got someplace to go? Need a ride anywhere?”
She shook her head as Ash came over to join them.
“Anything?” he asked Neil.
“Not much. Rachel can’t identify anything that’s missing. I think we’re going to have to assume the
