Free Most Wanted by Michele Martinez Page B

she’d found the room when she saw the crew-cut cop reading a newspaper in a chair beside the door—the one who’d manned the barricade at the murder scene the night before.
    He nodded at her as she approached. “Prosecutor, right? Go ahead.”
    Motionless, a thin, pale girl was propped up in the hospital bed in the middle of the room, her eyes half closed and vacant. One arm was bandaged past the elbow, the other stuck with an IV. She breathed softly through her open mouth, and Melanie saw the silver glint of a retainer. So young. A kid, just a kid. The room swam.
    “¡Corre!”
Papi had managed to say. Run! But instead Melanie took several steps farther into the office. She watched with horror as a fat droplet of blood fell from his chin and splattered on an invoice sitting on the desktop, making a sharp, clicking sound. Why was he bleeding like that
?
    “¿Papi, por qué estás sangrando?
Did you cut yourself?” she asked
.
    She asked, but she already knew. She knew he was there, she could feel it. A man, a large man, breathing heavily, crouching behind the door.
    “Who are you?” someone asked sharply, snapping Melanie back to the present.
    In the corner beyond Amanda Benson’s bed, a blond woman and a tall, silver-haired black man had been engaged in urgent conversation. They’d both looked up when Melanie entered, and it was the blond woman who’d questioned her.
    “I’m looking for Detective Randall Walker,” Melanie said.
    “That’s me,” the man said. He was neatly dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, his face grim and world-weary.
    “Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
    “Right, okay, heard a lot about you from my partner. Can we step outside for a minute? Excuse me, ma’am.”
    Randall grabbed Melanie’s elbow and propelled her out into the hallway before she could protest.
    “Good thing you showed up,” he said in a low voice when they were out of earshot of the door. “I need reinforcements. She’s giving me an unbelievably hard time.”
    “Who? Amanda?”
    “No, her mother. The widow. Not too happy about my visit.”
    “Oh. What’s the problem? Amanda looks better than I expected. Bandages and an IV, but no burns.”
    “She didn’t get burned.”
    “I saw. I’m so relieved. I thought she would look much worse. But how did she escape? Benson was incinerated, and they were in the same room.”
    “We don’t know. She was found outside the house, unconscious, and we can’t figure out how she got there. You interviewed the housekeeper, right? Does she know?”
    “No, she draws a blank from hearing the gunshot to when she’s outside.”
    “Well, if her mother would give me half a chance, I’d ask Amanda how she got out. I’d ask her a lot of other things, too.”
    “So Amanda can talk? She’s not too out of it?”
    “I spoke to the doc on my way in. She came to about an hour ago for the first time since they brought her in last night. She was in surgery for hours. Three fingers severed right below the knuckle. Fingers couldn’t be saved. I guess the…uh…the pieces, they were left inside, burned in the fire.” He looked away as he said this. It was a tough thing to say.
    That animal, hurting an innocent young girl! Once again Melanie vowed she’d get Slice. How would Amanda ever sleep peacefully again, if he remained at large? She’d be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. Melanie knew too well what that was like.
    “But the doctor said she could be interviewed?” Melanie asked.
    “He said we could try and see if she responds, that it can’t hurt her. She lost a lot of blood. She was in shock when they brought her in. They put her under and operated to stop the bleeding. She’s coming out of it now, but she’s sedated and on heavy painkillers. Still, she might be able to give basic information if her mother would let us talk to her. I explained to the mother that the doctor says it’s okay, but she won’t budge.”
    “Let me