Free Slaves to Evil - 11 by Lee Goldberg Page A

worry about the prying eyes of your neighbors.
    Matt went to each house, whether it looked occupied or not, and carefully peered in the windows. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for but hoped he’d recognize a clue if he stumbled on it. He skipped one house when a fiftyish woman came out to get the mail and gave him a friendly wave. He’d come back to that one if necessary.
    Then he got to a large, gray, Cape Cod-style home with one unusual feature. There were security bars over the second-story windows. Matt supposed the homeowner could be especially security conscious—except there were no bars on the first floor. He saw two cars parked in the driveway but no other signs of life. The house was quiet. Every window was blocked by shutters or drapes. Matt approached, using the square-cut hedges as cover. He didn’t want some housewife to see him creeping through her yard and call the cops.
    He got to the front door. There were several small ceramic pots on the wide front step, containing what smelled like herbs. He picked up a few of them and took cover behind the hedge. Matt threw one of the pots onto the front walk. It landed with a sharp crack, breaking into pieces. He waited. No response. He tossed a second pot onto the flagstone. Crack.
    This time the front door opened and a woman peered out. It was Ross. She looked out, saw nothing amiss, and started to close the door when Matt threw a little pot onto the grass. It made a muffled thump. That was enough to bring the policewoman out to investigate. She ventured a few steps down the walk, her mummified flesh rustling like dry leaves against her clothes. She scanned the yard. Matt had a clear shot but didn’t want to announce his presence with gunfire. He raised the ax over his shoulder like a batter waiting for a pitch.
    When Ross got close enough, he swung. The blunt end of the axe hit the back of the woman’s head and she fell forward onto the flagstone. Matt was on her in a second, pulling the gun from the holster at her hip.
    But Ross hadn’t been knocked out or apparently even stunned. She rolled into Matt, pushing him off balance. He staggered back a few steps, dropping the gun but staying on his feet. As she reached for the weapon, Matt brought down the ax. The blade went through her forearm, and it snapped like a dry twig. Her hand landed softly on the grass.
    They both stared at it for a horrified moment. Then Ross swept her leg across both of his, and now he did fall, landing on his wounded shoulder. The bolt of pain drove the breath right out of him. Matt saw the cop getting to her feet, heading toward the house, and he forced himself to move. He lunged forward, grabbing her ankle with his good hand. She stumbled. Matt half-tackled her, forcing her the rest of the way down. Holding the ax handle with both hands, he pressed it against her neck.
    Ross thrashed. Matt straddled her body, pushing down on the handle with as much force as his shoulder could bear. She reached up with her remaining hand and scratched him with her clawlike fingers. She went for his eyes and almost got to the left one, digging furrows in Matt’s cheek. He kept pressing down, feeling her trachea start to collapse under his weight. She managed a choking gasp, then one more, and was still. Matt kept the pressure on her neck until he saw Ross’ mummified flesh bloom back into apparent health. Blood now leaked from her severed arm. He relaxed his grip. He suspected he’d be seeing that dead, dry hand in his dreams tonight.
    He climbed off the body and looked up at the house. Had anyone heard them? A quiet minute passed and no one came out. He sat on the lawn for a moment, his shoulder throbbing. At least, thought Matt, he knew he had the right place.
    He picked up Ross’s gun and approached the front door. He pushed it open and stepped into the combination living/dining room, which took up most of the main floor. There was a stairway up to the second floor and another set