Luke Platt’s pulse became erratic. The rate slowed with each breath. A few more gurgles and it was over. He exhaled and the noises stopped. Anya put down the hand and a scar reflected the light. The white patch. She almost vomited. He’d had the tattoo removed.
Desiree had hurled the phonebase at the television. The screen smashed, sending sparks flying. Anya turned her eyes away. Hopefully someone had heard the noise, she thought. Maybe the woman next door.
“Come on, Luke, that’s it, you’re going to sleep but you’ll still be able to hear us.” She kept pressing on the rug and pretending to feel the non-existent pulse. “You’re doing really well.”
She glanced up at Desiree, unable to see the woman’s face. Lights flashed across her retinas every time she blinked, thanks to the screen damage. She hoped like hell that Desiree couldn’t clearly see Luke’s face. Even without good vision, the knife back between her shoulder blades meant moving was too risky.
“Desiree, you should talk to him. Tell him how you feel. It’ll help.”
The pregnant woman started to cry, but the knife moved millimeters deeper. Anya arched her back to try to avoid the blade’s tip penetrating further and felt a warm ooze down her spine.
“I didn’t mean to do it, baby. I just wanted to protect you.”
Anya felt for the absent pulse again. “You’re doing well, Luke. Hang in there. I think we’ve stopped the bleeding.” She used part of the rug to hide the blood pooling around the body, seeping along the floor. “You’re in shock, I need to keep you warm.” She did not know how much longer she could keep up the charade. Pretty soon it would be obvious that Luke was dead.
A noise near the kitchen caught her attention. Desiree didn’t seem to notice.
Then she heard it again. Someone else was in the house. God, she hoped Desiree hadn’t brought anyone with her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a shadow. It stayed still. She spoke to let whoever it was know where they were.
“I can’t help Luke with you sticking the knife in my back. I can’t get away. You know that.”
“Shut up. Just fix him.”
The shadow was close, then moved quickly.
Anya turned her head too late. Something solid whipped her head back. She fell to the right, clutching her face as the thud landed.
“Annie, get the knife.” Martin’s voice was breathless. “Hurry! I’ve got her down.”
Relief pulsing through her, Anya crawled, feeling her way on the floor. The knife had to be up the hallway. Grasping and groping, she couldn’t find it in the dark. It could have been anywhere. The sound of a siren approached. She’d never heard anything sound so good, except Martin’s voice a moment before.
The lights were out, but the appliances weren’t. She crawled back behind the lounge and around to the lamp. She flicked the switch, trying to catch her breath.
Martin lay on top of Desiree, who was trying to buck free. It was like seeing a turtle on its back.
“Use your knees to pin her arms,” Anya urged.
Martin held her wrists down and crept up, avoiding her abdomen, and sat straddled over her, knees trapping her elbows. The woman hissed and spat like a trapped animal.
Within seconds, the police arrived and entered via the back door, followed shortly after by Hayden Richards and Meira Sorrenti.
“We need an ambulance, there’s been a stabbing,” Hayden yelled into his mobile phone.
Anya slumped to the floor, aching and exhausted. “Where’s Ben?”
Meira bent down. “He’s with one of the constables.”
“Platt’s dead,” she said. “She stabbed him when he got between us.”
Desiree wailed, “Liar! You killed him. You said he was gonna be all right.”
The ambulance men arrived and one ran to Anya, who’d only just realized she was covered in Luke’s blood. “I’m all right,” she said. “The blood’s not mine.”
Meira remained at her side. “Nasty hit to your face. Did Platt do that?”
“No, that was my ex-husband.” She smiled and the movement split her lip open. “What did you hit me with?”
“My foot. I dived on the woman. Only I misjudged a little and kicked you. Sorry.”
Two uniforms lifted and hand-cuffed Desiree before leading her away. Martin stood watching the commotion. He had seen death during his years as an intensive-care nurse, but he had never been involved in a crime. His whole body trembled. Hayden Richards moved over and took him outside.
All Anya could think of was that at least he was respectable enough for Ben to see once he got over the initial shock. Whereas she’d have to get cleaned up first.
Meira asked one of the Crime Scene Officers to swab and photograph Anya straight away, so they could bag her clothes and let her get clean.
“Could you hold out your hands, please?” asked the gloved constable. A white cotton swab dabbed at one of the bloody spots. Then another. “Did you scratch your assailant?”
“No…I mean, yes, I think. When he had me around the neck.”
The constable swabbed beneath her nails and then cut them, placing the cuttings in a plastic jar.
“We need to do this to tie up the loose ends.” Meira sounded sympathetic.
“All done until we do the clothes. When you undress, could you place this paper sheet beneath you?”
“I know the routine,” Anya said.
“Come on.” Meira put her arm around Anya’s shoulder. “I’ll help you upstairs.”
Meira waited until they were alone in the bathroom. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
All her adrenalin spent, Anya had trouble mustering the energy to go over the last few hours. “He came to rape me but he didn’t get the chance.” The words came out, but it was as though she were talking about someone else. “Desiree arrived and stopped him.”
The detective seemed relieved. “You used your wits. They saved your life,” she said. “You’re a strong woman. You’ll get over this.” She rubbed Anya’s shoulder. “I’ll wait here while you have a shower. Chain of evidence and all that.” Any sentimentality was erased from the moment.
When Anya closed the bathroom door, she heard, “And there’s a kind of cute kid next door busting to see you, so could you hurry it up?”
Staring at the shower, Anya decided to scrub herself down from the sink. The thought of Platt staring at her while she washed was too fresh. Stepping out of the blood-soaked clothes, she took a wet face-washer and began to wipe off the red stains.