He quietly shut her door. He wasn’t expecting a nosy neighbor, though. He looked at the old woman watering her roses. Her face was scrunched up like she smelled something disgusting. Her eyes were squinted in suspicion. Her mouth was in a straight line that made the wrinkles around it spread out. When she did purse her lips, she looked like she’d been sucking something sour. She wore an old house gown, and her grey hair was tightly wound around curlers. Everything about her was repulsive. He wanted to kill her because she reminded him of a hateful grandmother he’d grown up with. Bitch.
“What are you doing in Page’s house? You aren’t her boyfriend, and her roommate doesn’t have one.” The old lady glared at him. “Maybe I should call her.” Her face was set with a determination El Loco didn’t like. She should be scared, and she wasn’t. El Loco viewed it as disrespect—just another reason to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until the bitch’s life popped out of her. He didn’t like this woman.
El Loco could feel rage coursing through him—it thrummed with a beat that wasn’t good. He couldn’t control the need to attack her anymore. He sidestepped the water from the hose she was watering her flowers with. He slammed her into the side of her house and wrapped his large hands around her neck, shaking her like a ragdoll. He liked the sound of her skull-crushing against the brick. The shock on her face was giving him what he needed: her fear. Now she respected him. Fear always led to respect. His hands felt good around her frail neck as it slumped beneath the force of his strength. The look of horror in her eyes spurred him on until he felt the need to see the light leave her eyes. It was always the same: their eyes dilated in fear and then went back down to pinpoints as the light of life left them. He squeezed until she wilted down the bricking like a dying vine. He pulled his cap down over his eyes and rushed back to his truck. Leaving a hint about being in Page’s house was one thing. Leaving a witness wasn’t going to happen. Not on his watch.
Chapter Twenty Six
Page sat up straighter from the passenger seat and looked out the windshield at the blue flashing lights. There were vehicles parked in her neighbor’s driveway and all over her lawn. It looked like something off a cop show. She looked over at Mano with a worried look on her face. “Something must be going on with Mrs. Boxley. She hasn’t been sick or anything.”
“There wouldn’t be this many cops here. Not just for a sick woman. Something else is going on.”
An officer strode over to the SUV when Mano pulled into Page’s driveway. He stood at the window and hiked his pants up, which wouldn’t go past his large potbelly. The look of authority on his face gave the impression he didn’t have many big cases in his career, and he was going to relish in this one.
“What’s going on, officer?”
“Your neighbor was killed. Do either of you know someone who would want to do something like that?” The man didn’t mince words. Mano was relieved it didn’t have anything to do with them, but he was shocked there was death so close to Page’s. His mind was in overdrive trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
“Oh my God,” Page gasped. “This is a quiet neighborhood. I don’t know anyone who would do something so awful.” She knew better than to mention someone had almost shoved her off the side of a ravine. For some odd reason, the officer walked around the vehicle, circling it.
“Is this wreck recent?” He pulled his pants up again that didn’t seem to want to stay in place. His hands rested on the large black leather belt he wore as he scrutinized the dent in the back of the SUV. He looked like he was waiting for it to reveal any lies the passengers might be telling him. This case could be his one big break to a promotion. The kids needed braces, and then there would be college to look at.
“Somebody smacked into it in a parking lot and left the scene,” Mano answered for her.
The officer walked back to the driver’s side and studied the occupants. His eyes held suspicion, and Page wished he’d just go back over to the neighbors. She felt like they were being interrogated. He finally slipped his hand in his shirt pocket and handed Mano a card.
“If you think of anything, be sure and give me a call. This is my card,” he said as if they needed to know what was already evident. “And make sure you report that nasty dent to your insurance agent. Hit and runs are against the law.” He shook his head, and his jowls moved in time with it.
He strode back over to the neighbor’s house with his back straight, and his chest puffed out. This was probably more action than he’d seen in years. Officers were gathered around talking and looking at the house as if it would reveal some clue that had been overlooked. Crime technicians were going over the area looking for any hidden clue like a word search game. The ME was there giving details like the time of death. Neighbors were huddled together, talking and pointing. Some looked curious, some horrified, and some with a look of disbelief that this could happen in their safe suburban neighborhood. People took pictures they could post later, on their profiles. There hadn’t been this much excitement for some of them in years. Like any situation, it would escalate. The job of the cartel was to ensure there was no fallout.
“Let’s get in the house,” Mano said under his breath as if the officer was still in earshot.
They jumped from the truck and went up to the door. The first thing Page noticed was the deadbolt wasn’t locked. “I don’t think I forgot to lock that. I always double-check it—hell, I double-check everything. I’m funny about my house, you know that. You’re always making fun of me about it. Something’s going on, Mano.” Mano always teased her about being OCD, and maybe she was a little bit when it came to things like the stove or doors and windows being locked. She was used to being single, independent, and above all, safe.
“You’re damn straight it is. That old lady didn’t just die—somebody killed her, and I’d bet it’s connected to the guy who tried to run you off the road. I don’t believe in coincidences in my line of work.”
“I wonder how they did it?” She couldn’t help but let her mind wander about how the woman had been killed. She hoped she hadn’t suffered, but there was no undoing what had been done—her neighbor was dead, and it might be because of her.
“Neighborhood gossip will let you in on that. We’ll wait for the cops to clear out and then ask some neighbors if they saw anything. People are all too willing to talk in situations like this. They won’t think anything of us knocking on their door and asking questions. They’ll just think it’s a neighborhood watch type of thing. This is the most excitement this neighborhood has ever seen.”
Page plopped down on the couch and scrubbed her hands over her face, “I hate to think Mrs. Boxley was killed because of me. I can’t imagine a blog causing this much trouble.”
“The power of the written word, babe. He may be scared you’re going to reveal something he’s kept hidden. It’s hard to know how a psycho is thinking. He killed your neighbor. She must have seen him coming out of your house or something. If she confronted him and he was scared she’d tell you, that’s all it would take.” Mano sat and rubbed a hand across her back, an attempt to calm her. “This isn’t your fault. We’re dealing with a sick sonofabitch who enjoys killing. He doesn’t need a reason. Do you want me to fix you some coffee?”